For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?
How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
No matter how tightly I strap on my armor, grief sends arrows through the tiniest unprotected chink and pierces my heart.
Read the rest of this post here: Not as Strong as I Look
C. S. Lewis wrote:
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.
A Grief Observed
It DOES feel like fear, and if I’m not diligent in resistance, that feeling can spread over my world like a dark blanket, blocking out the sun.
I have never been a fearful person-as a three year old, I climbed what seemed a countless number of steps up the high dive and plunged (belly first!) into the deep end of the pool.
A little older and I flew upside down in an open cockpit biplane next to the mountains in Colorado-fanny pack parachute strapped on just in case we needed to abandon the aircraft.
I have traveled to countries where I didn’t speak the language. Ridden less-than-cooperative horses, spoken in front of thousands and trudged through snakey woods-always confident that things would be OK.
But now I know by experience that things are not always OK.
Sometimes they are very, very bad.
And they are bad in ways that cannot be undone this side of Heaven.
So I must continually remind my heart of truth:
that my Father loves me,
that He is in control even when things feel out of control,
and that He will carry me when I cannot carry myself.