I try so hard to fill my days. I rush to get ready, get in my car, drive somewhere, do something. Every moment seems to be well thought out and carefully planned to ensure there are no idle moments. On the rare mornings when my schedule doesn’t require my full attention, I sleep in, hoping to catch up on rest and turn on my noise machine to provide a constant soundtrack to breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between. Whether it’s music, a podcast, or the hum of a TV show, I let the noise go.
I realize now that I’m afraid to be alone, to listen to my heartbeat, my thoughts, and ponder my problems. The silence feels overwhelming, so I fill my room with distractions and eliminate the need to confront them. According to a recent study, the average person spends more than two hours a day on social media. This constant connection, or perhaps distraction, has become my way of coping with loneliness and inner chaos.
But sadness cannot be ignored. It needs to be felt and acknowledged. It doesn’t allow me to cover my thoughts with a blanket and hide under it. I can’t turn up the music or TV loud enough to drown out the rhythm of sadness and keep the beat in my head. It’s always there, a constant background noise that can’t be turned off.
When I read “A Grief Observed” by C.S. Lewis, I was comforted to know that this man, an intellectual giant, a creative genius, a thoughtful and capable apologist for the gospel, struggled with grief, pain, loss, and the same issues I was. His words resonated deeply, reflecting my own struggles and fears. Contrary to my desires, not every question had an answer.
Quoting Bible verses didn’t soothe every taut nerve. There was no rock-solid reassurance that would erase every doubt. While the Scriptures were comforting, sometimes they seemed distant and unable to penetrate the depths of my pain. Being alone with God was a challenge. Without the distracting noise of the outside world, I was forced to confront my own fears and hidden darkness. In these quiet moments, the weight of grief felt almost unbearable.
In silence, easy answers left me feeling empty and unsatisfied. Platitudes and well-meaning advice were not enough to fill the void.
Ultimately, I had to hold on to Jesus Himself. His presence became my refuge, my constant in the storms of emotion. In His arms, I found the strength to face each day despite the grief that enveloped my every move. The journey through grief is not about finding quick fixes or distractions, but about embracing the pain, letting it change me, and finding comfort in Christ’s presence. This path is hard and challenging, but it is also where I have found true peace and healing. It’s a journey of learning to sit with the pain, allowing it to wash over me, and finding solace in the quiet presence of a loving Savior who understands every tear and ache of my heart.
