gethsemane.

grief.

such a small word. 5 tiny letters. 5 sounds, all arbitrarily strung together. simple. utterly ordinary.

but, boy, does this little word carry a lot of weight.

I used to think of "grief" as a purely technical term, a word that doctors and psychologists used because it sounded more intelligent than using the word "sad." but, oh, it means so much more than that, doesn't it? it's much more than that dry, linear process that we are all supposed to go through when we experience a great loss or traumatic event. it's heavy. and it's everywhere. it catches us off guard. it grabs us when we least expect it. and sometimes we even find ourselves turning to it, holding onto it for dear life, like an old friend to whom we simply can't let go.

A wise friend of mine recently asked me a crazy little question: "what are you grieving in your life right now?" 


I sat in confusion, pondering this question. "what do you mean, what am I grieving?"

and he responded with a simple phrase that I haven't been able to get out of my mind ever since: we are ALL grieving something. 

friends, the life of LOVE, especially the life of loving Christ, is often a life of grief.

now, don't get me wrong. the bible tells us that life with Christ is a life of immeasurable joy. of uncontainable hope. of peace.

and it is. but Christ calls us to love people...not to "like," not to "be nice to," but to love. and love is hard. love can bring great joy. it can also bring great grief.

so, in response to his question, I started thinking about all the things in my life that I am grieving, all the love that I have (and let me tell you, there is a lot, and I'm so grateful) and all that I now miss. being far from my parents and brother and sister-in-law. i miss being a kid, with no worries or fears. living far away from dear friends. hugging Merideth. eating dinner with my family at the house that I've always called home. not being in athens for dad's birthday. missing thanksgiving in the mountains with my family. leaves changing. snuggling with my dogs. speaking english. real cheese (that's a pretty big one).

whoa. 

don't misunderstand me, I am beyond thankful for my life, and I wouldn't want it to look any different. but I also had no idea that I was grieving so many people, so many things. there's often a lot going on in our hearts than we don't realize if we don't intentionally dig into it and pull those things to the surface.

so my question is, what do we do with all of this grief? what do we do when we've pulled it from the deepest parts of our hearts and aired it out? what do we do when we pinpoint it, recognize it, write it down? do we ignore it? wrap it in a pretty package so no one will see the true struggles of our souls? run from it? run toward it?

truthfully, I don't really know. I'm still figuring out what to do with it...and that doubt takes me straight to jesus.

the thing is, grief is inevitable if we're living a life of love. just look at jesus in the garden. gethsemane. a Hebrew word that means "oil press." it's name signifies incredible pressure, the pressure applied to fresh olives to squeeze them for their oil. they are squeezed by an incredible weight, a weight that our human bodies could not endure nor even fathom. and all of that weight, the weight of the world, fell on jesus. under that pressure, jesus "fell with his face on the ground." he begged to be spared. his brow glistened red with sweat and blood. he cried out.

jesus felt both a love and a grief that we will never know, that we will never have to know. because of his great love for me, for you, for all of us, his heart broke a million times over. the sin of the world was upon him. and he fell to the ground under the pressure, under the tremendous grief. and this grief was not caused by the thought of death, but rather by love. by the love of the father for us.
 
what does this show us? that grief is okay. it's a normal part of life. we can expect it. why? because jesus himself was no stranger to grief.

and his response to that grief was to take it to the father. to hand it over. cry. pray. fall down. beg. plea. scream. sweat. clench fists. and surrender. 

so what do we do with our grief after we finally recognize it? what do we do with the hurt and the pain that love and discomfort often bring? we do what jesus did. we live it out. and we surrender it. every day, and every moment of every day, trusting that he is loving us in and through it all. and by his love, and his alone, we are changed.

"Draw near to me, my child, and I will draw near to you, as well."