In this heartfelt meditation, Clifton Spangler shares how avoiding pain paralyzes suffering, while mourning brings growth and the presence of God. In the same way, Rebecca Simon’s Finding God Every Day it reveals how God meets us even in our most difficult losses. Read below to see how grief can bring healing and hope.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4
I had gone through life without looking back at the tragedy I had left in the past.
Even worse, I was closing my eyes to the past damage to me.
Sure, during brief moments in the past, I had tasted sadness and trembled at fleeting losses, but I always pushed it away and buried it under layers of wounded pride.
Regret? It was for the weak. Real men don’t cry. Tears were a crack in my armor, a sign that I would not be defeated. An apology felt like a concession, regret for wasting energy. Why focus on what could not be changed? Admitting I’d done anything wrong felt like admitting failure, and I couldn’t admit any failure. I told myself that I was more than that, that I could take the pain away. But the truth is, I cared a lot.
One relationship led to the next, each a sad lesson in not learning my lesson. I didn’t want to sit still long enough to hear the truth. I was running away from myself and avoiding the people I had hurt. I was too proud to admit that I had made mistakes, too afraid to face the miserable man I could become. So I kept moving, running, and filling the silence with noise, hoping it would take away the heartache.
I held grudges like trophies, reminders of everything small, everything bad. I told myself that refusing to forgive kept me safe. But it didn’t happen. It weighed me down. I carried the resentment for years, decades even, until the weight became too much to bear. At the time I didn’t know that holding on to pain—mine or theirs—was a special kind of pain. Rather than the fake strength I tried to project, there was a sad weakness in pretending I didn’t cause and feel pain.
Despite the walls I had built to protect myself, I found myself trapped. And outside those walls, everyone but me could see two blindingly obvious things:
I was in pain.
And I hurt others.
The mask I had worn all my life shattered. I cried so much, I thought I was really going to die because of my crying.
Those grudges felt like parts of my soul, as if losing them would leave me naked, cold, exposed, and vulnerable. But when I cried for them, I felt light, free, and whole.
Swallowing my pride, I reached out to those I had wronged—not to change the past, but to acknowledge the truth. Some forgive me; others did not.
I realized that the mourning did not represent my death. The birth of a new, better person. The birth process can be painful, but it is necessary.
There, on the other side of my sorrow, I found God, who has been waiting for me all this time.