Surviving the First Week
There are some phone calls that we carry with us lifelong. We can remember the sounds, the people we were with, the time of day, what we were doing, and the way it knocked us to our knees.
Such was the case for many of us on Monday night — the phone call carrying the news of the tragic accident involving Jordan, the 18-year-old son of our lifelong friends, Brenda and Eric. The connections are many: cousin, friend, church family, schoolmate, lifetime vacation buddy, and on and on. Many of us just spent last week with Jordan at youth camp. Eighteen years of togetherness suddenly ended, and we stagger under the weight of it all.
The other night Sophie came home, white in the face and not having eaten all day —and so we sat and talked through what to expect and how to practically get through this week. I thought it would be helpful to share some of it here, as many of you are also affected by Jordan's death. And for other readers, I hope simple, practical advice in the face of tragedy will equip you as you come alongside others.
Reality must be absorbed again and again. You've probably experienced this. Waking up in the night, opening your eyes in the morning, and your first thoughts filled with "did that really happen?" As you remember the news, your brain is absorbing impossible information and figuring out how to cope again with the news, and thinking of ways it could have ended differently. This is normal and expected. We desperately want a different ending than the one we're facing. Some of you have even shared, "I dread going to bed because I know I'll have to face it all over again in the morning." Write down the truth of God on paper and as you groggily sit up in bed, let the hope of Christ wash over your mind and heart as you face the harsh reality again. His grace to us in Christ is deeper and broader than our despair, even when we don't feel the reality of that. "Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth, I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge." Psalm 61
Focus on doing the next thing. Read and pray as you wake. Brush your teeth. Eat some food if you can. It's very normal to think "nothing matters anymore." Work seems pointless, getting dressed pointless, cleaning out your car, or running errands for your parents — all of it feels pointless, and it can be hard to return to any routine tasks of life. But continuing to serve in small ways encourages those around you, gives you a sense of normalcy and displays a trust in God in the small moments. It also relieves the mind when our hands have a purpose. Vacuum out the car. Weed the garden. Work a few hours if you can. And then rest again. Talk again. Cry again. This is not ignoring grief or the reality of what's happened; it is giving you strength and respite so you can carry on with courage and faith.
Grief is like waves. Some of you can't stop crying; some of you haven't started. Some of you want to talk and be together; others can't get words out and want to be alone. Regardless of how you express yourself, we can all expect to feel the ebb and flow of grief. At times we can feel numb and then guilty that we went about our day and put it out for our minds for a few hours. Riding the waves of grief means there are different levels of intensity, and they come and go. When the waves are crashing over you, ask God to help you and sustain you. When the waves are quiet, give thanks for the ability to have relief. It is too heavy for us to carry the reality and depth every moment, but the Lord can, and He invites us to give our burden on Him. The Psalms give us a vivid picture of David riding these waves, turning to God, and being carried by Him.
You are not alone. Grief is experienced individually and to different extents, but you are not alone. When one member of the body of Christ suffers, we all suffer. You can reach out to your parents, youth camp leaders, friends, and teachers — we are here for you, with you. Ready to listen. Even better, Jesus Christ is called a "brother born for adversity." He is waiting for you to come to Him. He gave His life to redeem and sustain yours.
As always Kara, this is beautiful! Thank you for posting!
Wise words Kara. Thank you for posting. Grief truly is very complicated. So thankful for a gracious savior!