Many years ago my husband and I nicknamed my pants "Gospel pants" due to a lot of pressure at the seminary from well meaning soon-to-be pastors' wives to define our stance against feminism by only wearing feminine and modest clothing: which meant long skirts. So I stood there feeling very indecisive and instead reached for the blinds to let the sun in. As I did I had to gasp, for the first time since early December, my baby girl's head stone stared up at me. "Hi mom!"
I don't know how long I stood there looking at her name staring up at me in the sunshine or even what I thought. Honestly I was paralyzed. All winter long she has been covered with a thick blanket of white and overnight that veil left.
I remember learning about the stages of grief in school on multiple occasions. But I think they missed one. What is it when you are just numb? When there is nothing left to feel or discuss because nothing will change and we have to trust that God is good? When you're embarrassed about the way you've grieved in the past year, ashamed of the lack of cheerful-happy-Christian-trust and ashamed of how you let grief hit you so hard?
My life is so full. It's full because of Christ. And as I said before, even if all is stripped away, Jesus is still Jesus.
Perhaps it's acceptance when you wake up, thanks to a couple friends that aren't afraid to ask hard questions, and realize life isn't about you or the past or your wretched inability to sail through grief gracefully.
So, I reached for my Gospel pants, stared at a picture of my dad for a moment, and left Anastasia's window.
Soul Adorn yourself with gladness,
Leave the gloomy haunts of sadness,
Come into the daylight's splendor,
There with joy your praises render.
Bless the one whose grace unbounded
This amazing banquet founded; He, though heavenly, high, and holy,
Deigns to dwell with you most lowly.
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