Loss Changes Our Priorities

'Loss changes our priorities,' a lesson loss taught me. Read the Grief Story, 'Finding Rest for Your Weary Heart' by Evelyn Sherwood about the importance of finding rest in the midst of grief

Sep 17, 2024

Welcome to the Grief Stories community! I hope you’ll find this to be a welcoming place where you’ll be able to share experiences, get things off your chest, support one another, ask questions, and chat to people who truly ‘get it’. I invite you to read and share stories of hope and healing; giving a voice to loss and grief. This is a safe place helping us to feel less alone on our journey and providing comfort in hard times.

After my accident, something changed in me. I had to embark on a long journey of recovery. And it wasn’t just a journey of recovery, I also had to reconnect with myself, God and all His creations. It was a journey of finding myself again. I had to accept that I needed to slow down and by doing so I had the opportunity to appreciate all the little things, everything that God created. This wasn’t always easy in the rushed world we live in, but I had to learn to live in the present moment. To appreciate the ’here’ and ‘now’ was the lesson of my loss.

Life is a learning curve and a process that sometimes requires us to change our expectations and priorities. My loss taught me how fragile life is and that we truly only have this one life. There’s no repeat button, nor an encore. And no one knows when their life will come to an end. What my mum (as I called my mother-in-law) taught me was to live life fully to the end. That’s how she lived her life and that’s how I am learning to live mine.

My loss taught me how fragile life is and that we truly only have this one life.

So, I’m learning that in the midst of grief, I can pause and find rest for my wretched heart. And I can find this in God, by giving all my fear and worries to Him. I can be honest with Him. After all, He knows everything. He knows our pain and our hurt. And He encourages us to come to Him as we are.

Whatever I'm going through, knowing that God is there with me and for me, helps keep me going. I don’t have to go through this alone, I know that God will carry me, when I can go no further.

Giving ourselves time, sitting with our pain and emotions and allowing ourselves to have these feelings and face the hard truth is what acceptance is all about.

Acceptance isn't weakness. It doesn't mean that we are ok with what has happened, we might never be. It just means that we allow ourselves to be real. Accept the reality that there's nothing we can do about what happened, that we don't have everything under control.

Today in the Grief Stories I am sharing a story by Evelyn Sherwood about the importance of finding rest when we are exhausted by grief. She encourages us to pause, rest, and find comfort in God’s presence and grace by allowing ourselves to come under His tender care.

We can pause, rest, and find comfort in God’s presence and grace when we just allow ourselves to come under His tender care.

I am so grateful to Evelyn for comforting us with her story. Evelyn Sherwood has recently published her book, ‘Just Breathe: 30 Practices To Calm The Weary Heart’. Evelyn’s book draws upon her life experiences to provide the perfect companion for anyone facing uncertainty, transition, or loss. She encourages her readers to grab hope in life’s trials by helping them recall God’s work in their past.

‘Finding Rest for Your Weary Heart’ by Evelyn Sherwood

Grief Stories #005

Then Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

It was 3 am when Steve's voice jarred me awake. "Hon, I need you to take me to the ER."

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I mumbled, "What's up, babe?"

"I have a stabbing pain in my back, tightness in my chest, and both arms are numb. I think I am having a heart attack."

I threw back the covers and jumped into high gear, grabbing shoes, my purse, and the keys. Then, throwing on coats, we were out the door.

Several hours later, after close observation, many tests, and consultation with the heart center in Indianapolis, the doctors confirmed that Steve had indeed had a heart attack. Given his recent medical history, they would transfer him via ambulance to the heart center in Indy.

Over the past few years, Steve and I have become all too familiar with hospital stays. So, while he waited for an available bed and the ambulance to arrive, I rushed home to pack the items I knew we would both need for the journey ahead.

It's funny how quickly our vision of God's faithfulness blurs when the waves of uncertainty and heartache come crashing down. Survival mode kicks in, and we wonder: "God, are you still there? Do you see me? Will we get through this?"

It's funny how quickly our vision of God's faithfulness blurs when the waves of uncertainty and heartache come crashing down.

God promises to be near those who are brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). He said He would never leave or forsake us (Duet. 31:6).

So, when trials and loss come, we must remember that our circumstances and feelings do not negate the truth of a God who never leaves us and the reliability of His promises that never fail.

So, as I threw items into the overnight bag and thoughts swirled furiously in my mind, I whispered a prayer. "God, the battles of the past few years have left us bone-tired. I don't know how we are going to get through this. The grief is too much. But You have proven time and again that you are with us. Carry us, lead us, and strengthen us once again. Show us where you are working. Help. We need you."

I soon got a text from Steve saying that a bed was ready and the ambulance had arrived. I would meet him at the heart center.

Armed with prayer and overnight supplies, tears fell as I made the 40-minute drive down Highway 31, calling our kids, church leaders, and a handful of friends. As I often do when alone in the car, I glanced at the empty passenger seat, and God whispered, "I am here."

I am not alone.

Under the cloak of the early morning hours, I arrive at the hospital. Steve is wired up and settled in for a long list of tests to determine the damage and the next course of action.

We pray, weep, and become intentional about looking for God in the storm. Inch by inch, God pulled back the curtain, showing His behind-the-scenes presence at work on our behalf:

It was in compassionate conversations with various nurses
I felt it in the peace that flooded Steve's room
It was in the text messages and phone calls revealing the number of people who were praying that don't even usually attend church
A dear friend brought me lunch each day and gave me the gift of quiet presence.
I saw God in our family as they all piled into Steve's room circled his bed, told stories, laughed, and prayed.

While I look for evidence of God's faithfulness through this last storm surge, I have discovered something about myself. I am battle-weary from the culmination of losses and struggles over the past few years, and that's okay because I am grieving. And you cannot rush grief.

You cannot rush grief.

Have you ever experienced life's battle fatigue? You are doing all the right things, clinging to God's promises, holding on to hope through tear-drenched prayers, and yet wonder, "How long, Oh Lord? When will the sun burst through these storm clouds?"

Years ago, Twyla Paris penned a song that describes this fatigue.

"Unafraid because His armor is the best

But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest

People say that I'm amazing, never face retreat

But they don't see the enemies that lay me at His feet

They don't know that I go running home when I fall down.

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

'Cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child."

This song reminds us that we can stop, curl up at Jesus's feet, lay our heads gently down, and find rest for our weathered hearts. He is the Gentle Shepherd who tenderly cares for us.

So, while we have been walking through another storm, I have given myself permission to pull away from the doing for a season to be held by my Father. His presence is full of joy, peace in uncertainty, strength in our weakness, and hope for our tomorrows.

Friends, if you feel worn from all the losses, it is time to put some tasks on pause to be held and refreshed by the Father. It's okay. God knows. He waits for you with open arms to find comfort and rest in His embrace. Breathe in His grace.

Grief Story by Evelyn Sherwood

Friend, are you navigating a season of loss? Have you ever given yourself permission to pause in the midst of a heavy storm? What has carried you through the hardest days of grief? Share in the comments.

Grief Stories by Katy Parker from Journeyofsmiley

Discussion about this post