A milestone? An accomplishment? A crowning moment?
Getting into my car after my morning workout, I received a phone call. “I’ve got books,” my excited husband announced. Arriving home, he handed me the first book. “Come stand over here, hold the book up,” and he started taking pictures. Hugging me, he whispered, “Well done.” And then I started to cry.
I went to my Thursday morning bible study, gave each of my friends and prayer warriors a signed copy and cried. Driving home, I wailed and sobbed.
Gary and I went to our couple’s dinner group that night where he showed off the book to our friends and I started to cry.
From other authors I have spoken with, I expected a wonderful feeling of exhilaration when holding the first copy of my first published book. It would be a day and a night of celebration, right? It would be a bit like holding your first child…a little like making a hole in one…like winning an election…right?
Not for me.
It’s not that it isn’t an accomplishment, it’s not that I can’t recognize the Lord’s hand in it all, it’s just that I didn’t want and would not choose this to be our story. I’m pretty sure no one really wants to have reason to author a grief book. If it were in my power, I would rewrite many chapters in my life story, and exclude death. Wouldn’t we all would rewrite chapters in our lives if only we could?
I’m not sure how other authors find titles for their books. I’m told it usually comes out of some comment that is made within the book that resonates with the author or with the editor. When it came to naming this book, I had a real struggle. Its first title was An Unfinished Story. Some felt that the book needed the word grief in the title to make it clear to a purchaser what the book was about. Portraits were a large part of the work that my husband and I did in our Photography business, thus A Portrait of Grief came to mind. And this book is a portrait, a representation of many things. It frames and portrays lives that are lost, survivors that struggle, a process that can’t be escaped and most importantly, a testament to the author of life Himself.
While tragedy is a part of the stories of our lives, it need not define us. We must remember that our experiences, our losses, our lives themselves are unfinished stories.
We await the writing of the last chapters.
I love Jim Branch’s words in his book Watch and Wait. He puts it this way:
Who would’ve imagined that the groans and cries and tears and struggle would have brought us to that place; that place where our hearts were both broken and expanded, where our souls were both crushed and deepened beyond measure. Who could’ve dreamt that the effects of the fire and the water would have been to make us more like Jesus—who suffers with and delivers, he who weeps over and heals?
While we will never get answers to our tragedy and suffering, by the grace of God, we can find meaning. While we will never understand the why of our journey, we cannot question the fact of the transformation that has taken place inside of us. We must remind ourselves and each other every day that the resurrection of Christ changes everything. It provides all the hope we need in life and in death.
It’s okay to look back and cry, for some wounds never fully heal. We live in a world filled with sadness; but we must live forward. Let us fix our thoughts on “whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things—And the God of peace will be with you” (Philippians 4:8-9).
