By: Brian Webb, Vista Community Church
I remember that cool February morning so vividly. The sun coming through the windows warmed the air but the windows were still cold to the touch. In some strange way, it was a reflection of my soul at that moment. My mom and I sat in the oncologist office trying to create small talk in hopes of keeping our minds off of the news that would be coming through the door at any moment. With a sudden knock, mom’s oncology team entered the room and sat beside her. After two week’s worth of tests, they delivered the news we were not prepared to hear, “Donna the cancer has metastasized. It has spread from your colon, to your kidneys and into your lungs. What we are looking at cannot be cured…but…we will do all we can to mitigate the symptoms and keep you comfortable.”
I remember the smell of the coffee in the waiting room.
I remember the feel of the fabric on the armrests of the chairs.
I remember thinking how this was going to change our lives.
I remember wondering what I was going to tell my daughter.
I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of grief. The grief was two-fold; there was an immediate grief and there was a future grief. Although I did not ask it out loud, I wondered how long mom had. My daughter’s graduation from high school was just over a year away; she and Mom had already started planning the party.
So much can change in 60 seconds. What seemed so clear and hopeful a minute before now seemed so unclear and desperate.
Life often unfolds in ways we least expect. We grow up with dreams, hopes and even blueprints of what we believe our futures will look like. However, reality has a way of diverging from these plans, and sometimes, we find ourselves grieving the futures we thought we would have. Grieving the futures we envisioned is a process that acknowledges the emotional investment we have made in our dreams and the grief that comes when they are altered.
What do we do when our futures suddenly look different than we imagined? As a pastor, I have walked alongside many who found themselves grieving a new future. Personally, through losses and heartbreak, the blueprint I created of my perfect future has been lost and redrawn several times.
Here is what I have learned:
We mourn. We have to mourn what has or what will be lost. Scripture tells us that, “Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). My favorite author, Henri Nouwen, who had the beautiful gift of putting words to what the heart feels, said this about mourning, “We must mourn our losses. We cannot talk or act them away, but we can shed tears over them and allow ourselves to grieve deeply.” Mourning is healthy, needed and necessary. Mourning is the vent that expels our grief; without it, we hold it until it turns into a deep pain that eventually comes out in ways that are hurtful to us and those around us.
We live. We have to live in the moment. God will meet your needs today…His grace is available today. Scripture reminds us that, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries” (Mathew 6:34). God will provide what you need for today, today. He will provide what you need for tomorrow, tomorrow. So, we live in the moment. Living in the moment helps us see and learn what God is doing now. I find this both comforting and challenging; I am comforted in knowing that God cares and is in the moment with me. I am challenged because living in the moment means relinquishing control of tomorrow. Living in the moment means we are dependent on God showing up. Learning to live in the moment affords us a perspective that we so often miss.
We look. We have to look for the purpose in our pain. There is purpose in the pain and grief. Once we allow ourselves to mourn and to live, we can see that our journey towards a new future has new possibilities. As Henri Nouwen so eloquently puts it, “Along the journey, you become a wounded healer.” Through the pain and mourning, we become different people. We become people of compassion. We become people of grace. We become people of empathy.
Mom’s battle with cancer lasted four short months. I could not have imagined on that cold February day that just four, short months later I would help usher her into heaven on a warm April morning.
Grieving the futures we thought we would have is a deeply personal journey that requires grace, empathy and compassion - from yourself and others. It is a process of reconciling our past dreams with our present reality while embracing the potential for new beginnings. By acknowledging our grief, living in the moment and looking for the purpose in our pain, we can find our way through life’s unexpected turns. The process is not easy. The process is not quick. However, the process is redeeming and restorative.
You are not alone.
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