Gifts to Give a Grieving Heart
I love that vinyl records have made a comeback. I have wonderful memories of the music we used to listen to on our family’s stereo, growing up… songs from albums that my grandparents would have listened to, down to the more popular ones on the albums purchased by my older (and yes, cooler) siblings. To this day, whenever I hear a familiar song on the radio or from a playlist I’ve created, the lyrics will pluck a heartstring, and I am reminded of an event, in another time, in another place… (Isn’t it funny how a simple song can stir so many memories, so much emotion even as I write this, with a familiar playlist accompanying the clicking on my keyboard?)
This time of year, we would load the turntable with a stack of Firestone Christmas albums and listen to Christmas songs sung by the vocal greats of my parents’ generation, like Julie Andrews, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby. I can still hear Andy Williams singing his rendition of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”. Just the thought of this brings back so many happy memories of the Christmas traditions my parents created for me and my four brothers and four sisters. I grew up truly believing that the holiday season was the most wonderful time of the year, not only in song but in sentiment.
What I didn’t know then was, the very things that seemed to make the season merry and bright didn’t always bring tidings of comfort and joy to all. The city’s busy sidewalks may have been dressed up in holiday style to create a feeling of Christmas; but it was, nonetheless, a feeling not always felt by everyone.
I made these unfortunate discoveries during the holiday season of 2008, the first Christmas after the sudden, unexpectant death of my husband. It certainly was not the most wonderful time of that year or any other in my foreseeable future. I knew all of the words to the songs filling the airways… the songs I used to sing with my family around the dinner table on Christmas Eve… songs that used to bring such joy, but I was so overcome with grief and sadness that the songs, and the sentiments were meaningless to me.
I remember standing in my kitchen, at one point, feeling like I was trapped in a snow globe that was in a perpetual state of agitation, unable to hear anything even closely related to beautiful music… it was all “noise” that only I could hear, apparently. The “snowflakes” swirling around me were like an ongoing snowstorm that kept me from seeing past our known struggles and the unknown ones, yet to be encountered. I can remember feeling like I was looking out into a world where others were dancing about in their normal, daily routines, and wondering if anyone even saw me, let alone cared that I was trapped on the inside of this space…
removed from the changing of the seasons…
removed from an outside world where I knew there was joy…
unspeakable joy that was so far beyond my reach…
wondering if I would ever get to experience it all again…
wondering if I would be able to hear my life’s song again.
We were, according to the Christmas writings of my then seven-year-old son, “in a world that is not the same without you in it, Dad.”
I can’t tell you exactly when the “snowstorms” of my life slowed down, only to note that they did. I can’t tell you exactly when I emerged from my “snow globe” because it wasn’t as if there was a dramatic shattering of the glass that “freed” me. What I can tell you is I held tight to the only things I knew to be true in my life: the Words of my Father. At the time, I felt like they were all I had. I mean, I knew Him; He met me on the shore of the Gulf waters the morning after that horrific accident, and… I trusted Him… I had to...
The verse from Romans 8:28 became my anthem at times, my declaration at others, the question I threw back in God’s face when I had no idea how He was going to come through, and His reassurance to me when I could not see Him moving. The first time I heard the song, “Your Love Never Fails,” after my husband’s death, I felt like God knew those words would find their way into my heart and the lyrics, that nearly told my own story, would release Holy Spirit’s healing in me… in time.
God then began highlighting other songs to me, almost as if to say, Oh, I like this song. Sing this one to Me. I sang songs as devotions in full acknowledgment of faith. Sometimes, I sang them so long and loud, as though I was willing myself to believe them. Songs gained new meaning as God used them to reveal more of my identity, not in spite of my grief, but because of my grief. God even uncovered newer, deeper meanings through all of the familiar Christmas carols of my youth.
I also learned that I am walking on the other side of my grief with some tremendous gifts that I am responsible for giving to others. Gifts I give to you all that can be given away, all year long, beginning with this holiday season. Gifts that will allow each of us to be His “Joy” to the World.
The best gifts to give someone walking through a season of grief:
The gift of Time… time to grieve, time to talk about their loved one, time to sit quietly in the presence of friends, time doing odd jobs or everyday tasks.
The gift of Encouragement… Ask what might feel good to them this year as opposed to telling them what they should do. They might not have an answer but appreciate being asked.
The gift of Memories… Share a story, particularly one that makes you laugh. (Laughter is still good medicine.) Make mention of those things or events that brought the loved one to mind. Take the time to write out the memory as a cherished keepsake, particularly if there are young ones.
Karen Goss
The Vineyard Church // Sullivan, IL