In what might be the most concise Old Testament picture of the gospel, the second half of Psalm 30:5 says, “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Those 12 words capture the pain of Friday’s crucifixion and the beautiful rejoicing of Sunday’s resurrection. Psalm 30:5 therefore serves as a reminder to those who are going through trials: Sunday is coming! Christ is returning, and he will wipe away all our tears.
Yet those of us who have experienced the loss of a family member or friend tend to feel the first half of Psalm 30:5 much more than the second.
The question so many grieving folks want answered is this: When do the tears end, and when does joy begin to enter the picture?
In other words, what do you do when joy does not come in the morning?
Unfortunately I don’t have those answers. I can only share my experience.
May 27th has been and will continue to be a heavy and confusing day for my family. On one hand, it’s my wife’s birthday. For those of you who know Kim, you what a lucky man I am. Kim is beyond special. But May 27th is also the anniversary of my nephew Noah’s tragic death. So May 27th is the day we attempt to live out Romans 12:15, which reads, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
This year’s May 27th, just a few days ago, marked three years since Noah’s death. And for the majority of the day, I was doing OK. I even sent texts to friends suggesting that my grieving had thankfully seemed to take a turn toward healing. But all was not well.
I just hadn’t gotten alone yet.
As I drove toward downtown St. Augustine to pick up dinner, blasting my “dad-rock” Indie playlist, the familiar brooding feeling came over me. So many of my favorite family memories are times we have spent together in St. Augustine, and those came flooding back.
Then a text from Todd, the middle brother in my family, came in. Shortly after that, my brother Ryan sent a text, and his pain was raw.
I was not able to stop the tears.
And this is where grief gets me. I can find ways to stay busy to keep it at bay, but it always catches up to me. Refusing to acknowledge my grief during the month of May allowed me to enjoy tear-free days and maintain a happy exterior. But all that did was stack grief upon grief upon grief, which led to an explosion of emotions on May 27th.
So on my drive home from The Floridian, I stopped trying to wipe away the tears and just let them go. When I got home, the birthday girl saw my face and knew the deal. We talked, cried together, and then sat down to eat.
And here is where I have learned to lean in.
When my daughter Kinley walked by, I didn’t hide my face, nor did my wife. We let our daughter join in our pain, and then she somewhat amazingly led us in prayer and asked God to reach us where we needed to be met. It was beautiful.
My diet no longer a concern, I piled extra honey onto my chicken & waffles and dug in. We ate and cried and laughed. After dinner, we went for a walk. We talked to neighbors, even though I didn’t want to. While everything wasn’t all better, I was better in that moment.
Everyone grieves differently. But if you are suffering right now, my encouragement is to take a cue from Psalm 42:3 and allow your tears to be your food day and night.
Step toward your grief.
Step toward our God.
Sunday is coming.