When Gifts Come From Grief
I learned early in our grief journey about “gifts of grief.” In fact, it’s what Alicia and I have been saying to each other for years. We are, to each other, gifts of grief. We never would’ve met without sharing the excruciating loss of babies. We connected seventeen years ago over coffee and have been friends of comfort ever since. Over the years, in every season of suffering, the gifts keep appearing. Hellacious loss bringing holy goodness. It’s certainly not a “why” to our grief, but it is a “because of” that soothes the ache and illuminates the dark.
Becca is yet another gift written into my life with His sovereign ink. I can’t type her name without tears of gratitude, though once upon a time, they were tears of sorrow. My first love, Jeff, chose Becca for forever and not me. I had never met her, but knew how worthy and lovely she must be. I was certain I would die of a broken heart. Not long after, true love came bursting into my life like a sunrise. Chris was my forever. The love I had for Jeff changed, but it didn’t go away. We grew up together during those years that matter so, fifteen to twenty-one. The ache in my heart was now replaced with an affectionate curiosity. How is he doing? How are his beautiful wife and three boys? What makes him smile and what struggles does he face?
When we lost our daughter Anna in 2005, our mutual friend Courtney shared that both Jeff and Becca wept and prayed when they heard the news. It was an answer to the pained questions I had. Does he know? Does he care? Learning that Jeff and Becca grieved for us brought significant comfort. Ten years later, I was astounded with news that brought me to my knees for Jeff and Becca. His cancer diagnosis was brutal and aggressive. I wept thinking of his family and wanted so badly to love and serve them, but it wasn’t my place. Nine months later, in his childhood home, Jeff died. I went to the funeral and hid in the back with my effusive grief. It didn’t feel right to introduce myself on such a day. That evening, Becca saw my name in the guest book and she messaged me. She was living with Jeff’s mom and needed help. She had questions about how to navigate life in this new town and hoped I could offer answers. Where do I get haircuts for the boys? Where do I enroll them in school? What counselor can I trust to help me wade through the grief? How can I make safe friends? Where do I work and where do I live? I was shocked that she wanted to connect with me, but so unbelievably grateful. We cried and hugged when we met, and I knew, the grace to be sisters was present.
It’s been nine years since we first met, and now we live side by side on a sleepy little cul-de-sac in Mennonite country. I wince to think about why we began, and yet, revel in the abundant gift that is us. Becca is a profound and sovereign gift of grief to me and to Alicia.
Becca, Kate, Alicia
Are you in a season of sorrow? Is the darkness consuming? Look for the gifts. By naming them, you light candles in the dark. This is the way to illuminate the handprints of the God who “works all things together for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28). This is the way to look for greater gifts of grief.
