Grieving the Loss of Life the Way I Want It

So I was telling my counselor a couple weeks ago about my struggle to grasp self-discipline in my own life while parenting three little boys. Before kids I would get up in the morning to read, exercise and get the day going. By the time I got to work I was awake, rested and feeling good. That stopped when the kids started coming.

Lindsay and I say often that we’re in a season – a season of crazy schedules, less-than-adequate sleep and a general state of chaos and disorder. At times the promise of this season ending is what keeps me sane. Don’t get me wrong, I will definitely miss this stage when we’re out of it. But the part of me that LOVES starting my days on my own schedule looks forward to the next season. This is the part of me that had its way for the first 30 years of my life.

There’s the hope that once this season ends, I can return to the “way things used to be” … morning exercise, quiet time, relaxing, reflecting, pre-flecting, etc. My counselor challenged me that maybe that’s not the case. Maybe that won’t happen. Maybe I need to grieve the loss of that order in my life, of the time when life could be the way I wanted it.

That thought struck me as soon as he shared it and has resonated in me ever since. I’ve never really known much grief. In fact, I’ve often thought of grief as a dirty word … along with sadness, melancholy, pain, etc. … I haven’t spent much time with them. And now I think I need to get to know them. I want to get to know them. I know that God can do things in me there that can’t be done in other places.

So I’m trying to grieve the loss. A loss that doesn’t compare to most loss that people experience, but a loss to me nonetheless. I’m trying to learn what it means to grieve. To be sad. To let go. And I believe that if I can do that and let God meet me there, that He’ll help me make something new, something better.

 

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