Grief in Advent: A five-minute reflection on Advent eve

GRIEF

Oof. 2020 has been one for the books. I think one of the best gifts we can offer in response to this year is to keep telling our stories.

It's natural for humans to remember the details surrounding global-scale tragedies and to tell the stories over and over for the rest of their lives. It's the stuff of family histories as well as the plotlines for society's retelling of itself archived in books, documentaries, and movies.

Where were you when it happened?

Where were you when the president was shot, the bomb dropped, the towers fell?

So, friends, where were you when coronavirus hit? It's a bit tricky to piece together these details into a shareable story, right? Especially since we're like 9 months in and the tragedy is still unfolding. We're still in the part of the story where we're frantically trying to find out if our friends and family are safe and if they've heard the news yet.

Advent, Wholeness & HealingTamara Hill MurphyNovember 28, 2020grief, Patreon, writing

13 Things I Learned This Summer

Best of... lists, Spiritual Practices, Peace & Justice, ChurchTamara Hill MurphySeptember 16, 2020What I Learned, writing, summer, justice, grief, Grandpa, Dad, Grandma, Church, Church of the Apostles, Neighborhood, Bridgeport

11 Things I Learned This Spring

Best of... lists, Spiritual Practices, Peace & Justice, ChurchTamara Hill MurphyJune 1, 2020What I Learned, finding Tamara, COVID-19, justice, links, Kendra, Jordan, Church, Natalie, grief, mental illness, Grandma, family, spring

Into Your Hands, I Commit My Spirit by Kimberly McHugh [Retrieve Lament 2020]

My grandson lived; he lived for 6 ½ years. We got to know him and love him deeply. I spent many hours leaning over a hospital bed, watching him, and praying for him. We exchanged goofy face pics and sweet voice messages from long distances. He called me Nana, and I can still hear his voice saying, Naa naaa’, in his slightly reproachful tone and grinning face, in response to something silly I did. I wear a shirt he loved because it has rhinestones and sequin embroidery and I can still feel his hands tracing the letters of “Istanbul” on my shirt. And then, quite suddenly Yahya died. I stood by my daughter’s side as she and her husband buried his ashes. …

Where is that peace that passes understanding, where are you, God? And I long for what ancients say can come after the wall: to know God’s sweetness and love, to have peace and rest, and a deep inner stillness. I am almost ready again to say, “Into your hands I commend my spirit”, and I believe when I do, I will pass through the wall to a sweeter knowledge of Him.

Weekend Daybook: All the Company of Heaven edition

Weekend Daybook, Creators & Cultivators, Best of... lists, Church CalendarTamara Hill MurphyOctober 26, 2019links, The Porters Gate, music, All Saints and Souls, autumn, grief, lament, worship, On Becoming Anglican, david taylor, television, films

Into your hands I commit my spirit: Erin Ware [Retrieve Lament 2019]

I kid you not, there was a time, not long before all of this happened, that I thought that “the worst thing that could happen” would be my car breaking down, because I was very financially vulnerable. Then, almost like a joke, my car was stolen, and I couldn’t replace it. (Spoiler alert: I got through it.) The truth is, for most of my life, losing my mom would have been the worst thing that I could imagine—and then that happened too. I don’t want to think about what my “worst thing” would be now. All I know is, through it all, I have come to realize that there is life after death in more ways than one.

It is finished: Marcie Walker [Retrieve Lament 2019]

When my mother was sentenced to serve 8-25 years in prison on the charge of involuntary manslaughter, we all said, “This is it,” which in our hearts translated to, “So, this is how it all ends.” She was nearly 60 and all of us, her children, were grown but still asking ourselves,”What kind of woman is this? Troubles ride on the wind and land at her feet.”

Why have you forsaken me?: Eva Chou [Retrieve Lament 2019]

After completing my last surgery, I received permission for emergency travel from my command (as all military members must), handed-off of my patients to my colleagues, and hopped on a plane with Jeff the next morning to Taiwan, where my parents had moved back to after I went off to college. In the states, I am comfortable navigating the medical system and have the inside advantage of being embedded within; in Taiwan, I am just a family member who speaks broken Chinese without any insight into their medical system. And here I was, put in charge of making medical decisions with the help of Google Translate.

Work Stories: Kim Akel's care-connecting calling

Ordinary Time, Calling StoriesTamara Hill MurphyOctober 17, 2018guest post, Work Stories, vocation, healing, grief

Reintegrating

Family, WritingTamara Hill MurphyJune 5, 2018finding Tamara, grief, parenting, empty nest Comments

Reorienting

RuminationTamara Hill MurphyJune 3, 2018finding Tamara, summer, stream of consciousness, grief Comments

I thirst: Brett Alan Dewing [Retrieve Lament]

It is OK to cry out to Him in my loneliness, in my frustrated sexual being, in my uncertainty, to mourn the life He called me out of, even if I find myself desiring it once more. It is OK to weep for the loss of a broken life. We must, in fact, let go of every “if” or “might have been” to truly follow Him without reservation. Let them float away like balloons, in an array of tears, offerings to Him that set us on the good path. He knows what we gave (give) up, and He can take the tears of pain and anger as we grieve our vinegar thirsts.

Why have you forsaken me?: Amy McLaughlin [Retrieve Lament]

And Father, how did you arrive at the conclusion that the way this would play out would be good for my sister and me? Why has it taken me so long? Why has it taken you so long? I felt as if God let me stand close and beat his chest with the depth of my pain. He did not waiver. He did not stop me. I felt I was to get it all out. And He was there when I settled. I didn’t have an answer. This experience became a sort of answer.

Behold your son: Walter Wittwer [Retrieve Lament]

"There is something about generational blessing that I think is important. It is a way of passing on something mystical, a deep calling another deep, a spiritual DNA of sorts. I believe all parents should bless their children and, at the proper time, all children should bless their parents. I took it upon myself to bless him whenever I saw him. I secretly hoped that he would bless me in return. And perhaps he has. As I write this, I wonder if perhaps he has. Blessings have a way of boomeranging.”

Retrieve Lament: Rachel Spies' mourning story

The past five years I have lived in Lent. The church calendar has ticked by but I have stayed here in the barren place, the dark place where hope is for others and resurrection is a belief but not tangible. It’s one of those long stories, too long certainly for this space, with long emotions and long components, but familiar too – grief, hurt, expectations not met, illness, grief, uncertainty, abuse, adoption, mental illness, destruction. Many families enter into these lands, and many families fall apart. We did. Some families are able to weather the storm. We couldn’t.

Retrieve Lament: Jen Thompson's mourning story

They are heavy memories. I keep them piled like discarded bricks in the back of my mind. Every now and then I try to put them into some kind of shape that makes sense, all the while knowing that there are pieces I won’t ever figure out how to fit together. Despite my faith, there was a descent to dark places. I struggled to understand the purpose of pain, of loss. I questioned God’s goodness and His love for me.

Faith was hard. Sometimes, even seven years later, it still is. There has been only one thought that has brought me any comfort some days, and it is this: I serve a God who watched His only son die.

Retrieve Lament: Natalie Murphy's mourning story

It’s hard to pinpoint the moment a dream officially dies. I know this because I still wake up each morning expecting to find myself living the super excellent fantasy life so clearly laid out in Natalie’s Plan to Be Good at Everything and Take Over the World, Probably. The Dream I once put my whole life’s purpose in is gone, like losing a friend whom I once turned to for comfort every day. The Dream was the one who woke me up and said ‘you can do it! I believe in you!’ Now when I wake up in my twin sized bed in my parents home, with no plan or purpose for the day, the Dream isn’t there to greet me. So I slide out of bed and pour a cup of coffee, my bathrobe hanging from my shoulders like a shawl of disappointment. …

The mourning isn’t over. Actually, I’m unsure if it’s even begun. Instead, I’m left only with a promise of goodness and hope, and a shield from harm. What comes next, I don’t know. But I do know what comes last, I do know the final destination for this nomad heart of mine. And for now, today, that is enough.

Retrieve Lament: Alicia Nichols' mourning story

And, the number of people who pleaded with the Father for my son (who is currently healthily crying upstairs. His life may be an answer to prayer, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take a nap). When I visited my sister’s church in Austin, TX in January of 2016, nearing 7 months and clearly great with child, the woman who came up to me and put her hand on my belly and said, with boldness, “I am invested in this child!”, I knew without a doubt she and so many others were.

Retrieve Lament: Les & Renee Aylesworth's mourning story

Yes, we strive towards some kind of new normal, but that is hard to swallow too. I think it's because we rarely believe or think that the "new normal" will last very long. We tend to think it's more like going to another country where there are different customs and languages and foods and even restrictions, and everything seems different and for the duration of your stay that is your "new normal." But you know that you will eventually come home and the "new normal" will have been temporary, and you will resume your "old normal."

A Book Review: "You Carried Me" by Melissa Ohden

Book Review, Published EssaysTamara Hill MurphyFebruary 9, 2017book reviews, books, plough publishing, forgiveness, suffering, grief, politics

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