A Pebble In My Pocket
As Christmas draws near, I find myself missing my mom especially intensely. I have many fond memories of the special things she did when Nikki and I were little to make the season extra fun. She decorated the house to the hilt, had chocolate covered cherries and store bought cookies on hand, created amazing tablescapes, cooked mouth-watering Christmas dinners for the whole family, and was the most amazing gift giver. My mom thoroughly enjoyed scouting out the best, most unique gifts for her loved ones. It gave her so much pleasure to surprise and delight us.
I was introduced to a little story today that really resonated with me. I'll share it here:
"Grief is a Pebble in our Pocket" by Chaplain Ruth Frost
When we first lose someone we love, our hearts are leaden with grief. It is as though we are carrying the weight of an enormous boulder over our hearts, a boulder which blocks out light and the view of anything else but the landscape of grief.
As time passes, we weep and pray and try to return to the responsibilities of daily life, forever altered by the new norm of our loved one's absence. We seek support from those who can give us time to listen, though it's never enough time to hear what the loss of our loved one means to us and we have no words adequate to describe the full extent of our loss even if time were infinite.
Yet, unseen to us, the hands of God cup our grief and gently smooth its raw edges with the healing balm of memory. As our hearts open in gratitude for the love that so filled our lives, we being participating again in the world around us. We reach out to others also burdened by grief. We celebrate life in the birth of a child. We remember to pray for strangers and friends. And in so doing, the boulder of grief becomes smoother and smaller under God's touch and through our participation in the world around us. Gradually, as we entrust our grief to God and practice the daily discipline of gratitude, our boulder of grief diminishes. One blessedly ordinary day, we wake up without the weight of the boulder on our hearts. In place of the boulder at our breast, is a smooth pebble in our hand. We hold it for a moment, remembering. Then with a kiss, we put it in our pocket. Grief will always be with us. It travels with us the rest of our days. But we can walk again with a lighter heart and a wiser spirit, knowing that love leaves a touchstone of grace and gratitude in our pocket forever.
The woman who shared the above with me presented me with a small, smooth stone to put in my pocket and use to remember this story and my mom.
I can feel myself slowly but surely moving out of the boulder phase. For a long time, the boulder of grief was so intense, I felt a physical presence dragging me down and causing me to feel physically ill. I have been intentional about reading, writing, praying, letting the tears fall, and thinking about all the blessings I carry on with me that are from my mom. Everyone is different and this is how I'm working through my grief. Right after my mom died, several people and things I read told me that I would now grieve forever and I found that prospect terrifying! But what I'm finding, and what this story says, is that you don't truly, deeply grieve forever; but you are forever changed. It's not that I will carry the enormous boulder of grief for the rest of my life; it's that I'll eventually have a little pebble in my pocket that will always be with me. Depending on what's happening in my life, the pebble might be slightly painful, digging in to me, or it might be a soothing presence to hold, stroke, and kiss. As horribly painful as grief is, it's a universal experience and I believe that God has a purpose for it. I feel myself growing and learning and changing how I live because of this grief. Thank you, Mom, for the beautiful Christmas memories you gave me and taught me to pass on to your beloved grandkids.
I was introduced to a little story today that really resonated with me. I'll share it here:
"Grief is a Pebble in our Pocket" by Chaplain Ruth Frost
When we first lose someone we love, our hearts are leaden with grief. It is as though we are carrying the weight of an enormous boulder over our hearts, a boulder which blocks out light and the view of anything else but the landscape of grief.
As time passes, we weep and pray and try to return to the responsibilities of daily life, forever altered by the new norm of our loved one's absence. We seek support from those who can give us time to listen, though it's never enough time to hear what the loss of our loved one means to us and we have no words adequate to describe the full extent of our loss even if time were infinite.
Yet, unseen to us, the hands of God cup our grief and gently smooth its raw edges with the healing balm of memory. As our hearts open in gratitude for the love that so filled our lives, we being participating again in the world around us. We reach out to others also burdened by grief. We celebrate life in the birth of a child. We remember to pray for strangers and friends. And in so doing, the boulder of grief becomes smoother and smaller under God's touch and through our participation in the world around us. Gradually, as we entrust our grief to God and practice the daily discipline of gratitude, our boulder of grief diminishes. One blessedly ordinary day, we wake up without the weight of the boulder on our hearts. In place of the boulder at our breast, is a smooth pebble in our hand. We hold it for a moment, remembering. Then with a kiss, we put it in our pocket. Grief will always be with us. It travels with us the rest of our days. But we can walk again with a lighter heart and a wiser spirit, knowing that love leaves a touchstone of grace and gratitude in our pocket forever.
The woman who shared the above with me presented me with a small, smooth stone to put in my pocket and use to remember this story and my mom.
I can feel myself slowly but surely moving out of the boulder phase. For a long time, the boulder of grief was so intense, I felt a physical presence dragging me down and causing me to feel physically ill. I have been intentional about reading, writing, praying, letting the tears fall, and thinking about all the blessings I carry on with me that are from my mom. Everyone is different and this is how I'm working through my grief. Right after my mom died, several people and things I read told me that I would now grieve forever and I found that prospect terrifying! But what I'm finding, and what this story says, is that you don't truly, deeply grieve forever; but you are forever changed. It's not that I will carry the enormous boulder of grief for the rest of my life; it's that I'll eventually have a little pebble in my pocket that will always be with me. Depending on what's happening in my life, the pebble might be slightly painful, digging in to me, or it might be a soothing presence to hold, stroke, and kiss. As horribly painful as grief is, it's a universal experience and I believe that God has a purpose for it. I feel myself growing and learning and changing how I live because of this grief. Thank you, Mom, for the beautiful Christmas memories you gave me and taught me to pass on to your beloved grandkids.
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