Letters to GriefSample

When you're consumed by grief and suffering, it can be hard to find words to pray. Kate Motaung's letters to grief offer a helpful framework for framing experiences of suffering and inviting joy into even the darkest moments.

Dear Grief

Dear Grief,

Dear Grief,

I shudder to refer to you as “dear.” Yet you have been with me for so long that you have become a part of me, which I suppose entitles you to this term of affection, though my heart grants it unwillingly.

You are an enigmatic and elusive creature, a chameleon, changing color with habitat and season. Some say you pass with time, like grains of sand sifting through my fingers, no longer resting in the safety of my palm. Others say you are a process, as if by accomplishing twelve prescribed steps I could graduate from your possession and be free of you. But you are not a process. You do not pass, at least not in this lifetime.

You invoke both fits of rage and resigned surrender. You produce burning tears and melancholy, hollow stares. You grip, cripple, and choke, squeezing life out of lungs. You suffocate. Then you relent and make your bed in the well of empty hearts. You pull up the covers, and you lie down for a while.

You are my rising star, my setting sun, and everything in between. You dwell with me—in me—but you are not my master. You roam on a leash, tethered by the One who owns you. You haven’t always been here, and one day you’ll disappear, for there’s only one Alpha and Omega. One beginning and one end, and you are neither.

You will not win, nor overcome. You’ve already been subdued and defeated, for “death has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Corinthians 15:54). A day is coming soon when you’ll be deemed redundant and your crown obsolete, for there shall be “no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Revelation 21:4, NIV). On that day, O Grief, you will no longer be called “dear,” nor even a distant memory.

You dwell with me--in me--but you are not my master.

Be still, my soul;

the Lord is on your side;

bear patiently the

cross of grief or pain;

leave to your God

to order and provide;

in ev’ry change he

faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; your best,

your heav’nly friend

through thorny ways

leads to a joyful end.

“Be Still My Soul,”

Katharina von Schlegel

Questions for Reflection

1. Name as many emotions you can think of that could be

linked to grief.

2. How would you describe some of the cycles of grief you

have experienced?

3. What has been the most surprising aspect of grief for you?

Reflective Prayer

Lord, “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’” (Psalm 42:3, NIV) Where are You, God? Why have You left me to endure this unbearable burden on my own?

I don’t know what to expect next. My grief is continually catching me off guard. I feel so vulnerable and unprepared. I wish I could steel myself for the next blow so it wouldn’t hurt so much. But I realize that if I could protect and shield myself, I would have no need for You.

Use my pain as a means to draw me closer to You. Help me to confess my weakness and frailty, and to throw myself on Your grace and comfort.

Still my soul, God. Remind me that You are on my side. Give me Your sufficient grace for each hour and new mercies every morning to enable me to patiently bear this cross.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen

“Behold I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,” declares the Lord.

Zechariah 2:10B (NASB)