Posted in Salt and Light
Tonight, we will be hosting a gathering of several families. All of them knew Savannah, who died a year ago today. She was a neat little girl. She was the joy of her daddy's life. Since she's been gone, her family has struggled through more grief and heartache than I could possibly imagine. It has been an honor and a privelege to walk through this dark valley with them. I would not have chosen to do it, but I have been blessed by the ministry God has been able to do through us.
One of the things I believe we have done right in ministering to this family is that we have not placed any expectations on them. We never said, "here are the stages of grief and this is where you are at." We never drew comparisons between them and someone else who had lost a child. We offered other people's stories and experiences we'd learned when we felt they were helpful, but we never held them up in comparison. We extended patience to them and quietly listened and prayed for them. Most importantly, we never expect them to get over it or to feel one way or another about their loss.
In 1996, my friend John -- not his real name -- lost his wife to cancer. They were in their early 20's, the same age as my wife and me. We hung out together, had dinner parties (such as we could afford) and she even cut my hair to save us some money. After many prayers and prayer groups focused around her, she died and left us grieving our loss. I know now that God let me experience my friend's pain so that I would have a better idea what to do when my friend would lose his daughter 9 years later. I didn't understand why God had taken John's wife, and I still don't claim to know all the reasons. But her early death was the catalyst for so many other changes, not the least of which was the rededication of several Christians and a few new lives begun in Christ.
Today, John is re-married and they have a child, raising him in a new city with an established ministry to youth. Is John worse or better off for losing his wife? I'm not the judge of that. What I do know is that John's story is not over, and neither is Savannah's parents' story. They keep growing and changing, through the grief and heartache, but also through the quiet joys that still surface in the shadow of that tremendous pain. If the story ended today, it would be a tragedy. If it ends when the Storyteller says it's done, I have a feeling that it will be a happy ending.
One of the things I believe we have done right in ministering to this family is that we have not placed any expectations on them. We never said, "here are the stages of grief and this is where you are at." We never drew comparisons between them and someone else who had lost a child. We offered other people's stories and experiences we'd learned when we felt they were helpful, but we never held them up in comparison. We extended patience to them and quietly listened and prayed for them. Most importantly, we never expect them to get over it or to feel one way or another about their loss.
In 1996, my friend John -- not his real name -- lost his wife to cancer. They were in their early 20's, the same age as my wife and me. We hung out together, had dinner parties (such as we could afford) and she even cut my hair to save us some money. After many prayers and prayer groups focused around her, she died and left us grieving our loss. I know now that God let me experience my friend's pain so that I would have a better idea what to do when my friend would lose his daughter 9 years later. I didn't understand why God had taken John's wife, and I still don't claim to know all the reasons. But her early death was the catalyst for so many other changes, not the least of which was the rededication of several Christians and a few new lives begun in Christ.
Today, John is re-married and they have a child, raising him in a new city with an established ministry to youth. Is John worse or better off for losing his wife? I'm not the judge of that. What I do know is that John's story is not over, and neither is Savannah's parents' story. They keep growing and changing, through the grief and heartache, but also through the quiet joys that still surface in the shadow of that tremendous pain. If the story ended today, it would be a tragedy. If it ends when the Storyteller says it's done, I have a feeling that it will be a happy ending.
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