eleven
Filling Yourself with God as You Grieve
Death rarely inconvenienced me or made its presence known in my life while I was growing up. I’d always heard about death, of course, and knew it was something that happens to all of us. I had friends lose someone they loved, and my great-grandparents passed away when I was a little girl. But for the most part I didn’t give death much thought until it came time for the woman I loved most in this world to experience it.
I watched my mother slowly die over a span of eleven years. It was as if her bags were symbolically packed for heaven, sitting quietly over in the corner of the room, staring at me. I rode the roller coaster of emotions, thinking she was close to dying, then watching her recover and suffer some more. My mother was even placed into hospice care only to rebound and return home with us a couple of days later. Her bags remained packed for another two months.
On October 8, 2012, my mother was fully healed in heaven. I’d give anything to still have her here. She is supposed to be helping me raise my children and cheering me on as I write this book. But my mother is dead. And now her bags are gone.
Loss of any kind leaves an empty, negative space in our hearts. But God has a purpose for this, and he uses it to fill us with what is positive.
Space: The Occupied or Empty Places in or around a Masterpiece
Space in art refers to the distance or area between, around, above, below, or within shapes and forms found within a composition.
Positive space is the “occupied” areas in a work of art that is filled with something such as lines, colors and shapes.
Negative space is the unoccupied areas that surround the subject matter. . . . It goes in all directions and goes on forever.1
We have arrived at our last design principle. This one is probably the hardest to grasp or is the most abstract one of them all, but space is a critical yet overlooked thing to consider whenever we design or create anything. The important thing to remember is that negative space primarily draws our attention back to the positive space in a room, on the printed page, or in a piece of art.
For example, the designer for the interior of this book understands and utilized positive and negative space to design this page. Notice there is less space between the individual letters in these words so you can read and decipher what they mean. Also note how there is more space between the paragraphs or between the entire chapters of this book, which also helps you understand where a complete group of thoughts ends and begins. Think what would happen if the designer undermined the importance of the negative space and filled the whole page with words without leaving any space between them!
Or think what would happen if someone who designs plastic containers disregarded this principle. For them to make a useful product, they must first consider how big or small the objects (the positive space) are that will be placed within the interior of the container (the negative space). If they disregard the positive space, the negative space may not be able to store the things it was designed to hold. Positive space influences negative space.
The same is true for our homes. If the space within a home is filled to the brim, it feels cluttered and dirtier. Larger, more open spaces that have fewer items in them give one’s mind and eyes a moment to pause. They can make a home feel roomier and cleaner. This is why I used to tell my clients that the cliché “less is more” really is true.
Likewise, grief and loss create their own type of silence or empty, negative space within our hearts. Grief is like negative space in a piece of art. It gives our life definition, and at times seems to go on forever, leaving its presence all over our actions and thoughts. Our grief, with its accompanying anger, depression, and fear, can feel like it is lord over us. Be encouraged, for it is not. God is sovereign and Lord over all of these things.
God, then, uses loss like an artist uses negative space to give us permission to pause, reevaluate, and ultimately draw our attention back to what is positive—God himself and the hope we have in him. Just like positive space is the focal point or subject matter of a piece of art or interior room, God is our positive space, the main focal point of our lives as well. There’s nothing more positive or more fulfilling than the personhood and ways of our God. Death, grief, and loss help us learn and live this, enabling us to find our hope and restoration in him. When we fill the negative space in our hearts with the positive of God, we will be able to uncover the purposes of God when life doesn’t go as planned.
My dear friend Becky has walked through quite a bit of heartache. But she has chosen to lean into her grief as she continues to mourn the loss of her dad. She and I have logged many hours on Voxer sharing about those we’ve lost and the numerous ways God continues to comfort us. Here is a portion of what she has learned from the negative space in her own redesigned life.
The Ache of Remembrance
Becky Keife
I expect to cry on my dad’s birthday. I expect the tides of grief to start rolling in around the anniversary of his death, unsettling my soul like sand slowly sinking where I stand. I expect the weight of loss to crash hard like rhythmic markers signaling another year gone by since my father’s passing. It makes sense to weep when I think back to the day my sister called, confirming what I somehow knew in my gut to be true. Seven years have gone by, but it’s like I’m right back in the living room of our little blue house, crumpled on the floor, rocking my baby and toddler with each heaving sob. How could he be gone?
I expect sad things to be sad. But grief doesn’t stick to the rhythm of our own making—at least I haven’t figured out how to make it play by my rules. If it did, the ache wouldn’t sneak up on me in places like amusement parks and baseball games.
My family recently had the gift of going to Disneyland. While my sons threw their arms up in Thunder Mountain thrill and licked cinnamon sugar off their lips—oh, the glory of warm churros—a lump of grief rose in my throat. When my seven-year-old asked with sparkly eyes if the hippos on the Jungle Cruise were real, I smiled wide yet fought the tears welling behind my eyes. My dad loved Disneyland. He was a serious person in many ways, somber, often closed off. But somehow the roller coasters and stage shows, parades and clam chowder bread bowls brought out a tender lightness and generosity of spirit I seldom saw elsewhere. He would have loved going to Disneyland with my boys.
Last night my oldest son stood on the pitcher’s mound in his first Little League playoff game. Nine years old, tall and lean and strong—such a different picture from the tiny toddler with blond ringlets my dad knew. With every pitch and catch and crack of the bat, my chest tightened, my breath caught shallow. Oh, how my dad loved baseball. He was always happy to show me the black-and-white yearbook photos of his high school team and spent who knows how many long evenings at Angel Stadium enjoying salty peanuts and America’s favorite pastime. The thought of my dad proudly cheering on his grandson made me want to sob.
These aren’t the first times that sweet and celebratory moments have stirred my heart toward grief. There was the birth of my youngest son, graduation from grad school, and a promotion at work. But the happy-turned-achy still catches me by surprise. I resist it. I don’t want the joy of the present to be tainted by the loss of the past. I want to separate blessing from sorrow. Stuff down the hard so I can fully savor the good. But God doesn’t compartmentalize our hearts. Loss doesn’t stay in its own tidy box. It seeps into all areas of our lives. And I’m learning to recognize that the ache of remembrance for what was—or what should have been—is actually an invitation to press into the One who understands my grief. I’m learning that when I give myself permission to feel the pain instead of dismissing it, I’m able to acknowledge the gift of then and now.
Without the aching hole, I wouldn’t remember to give thanks for so many wonderful memories with my dad. Without the aching hole, I wouldn’t be as grateful for the blessings of my husband, children, and wonderful friends who come alongside me to champion and cheer both the daily joys and joyous milestones. And without the grief, I honestly wouldn’t be as mindful of heaven. The ache of loss reminds me that this life is so very temporary and that we were created for so much more. I long for the days of eternal glory in my heavenly Father’s presence—and the hope of seeing my earthly father face-to-face again.
Death was not part of God’s original design. It’s certainly not part of my plans either. But, in his faithfulness, God meets us in the ache. All we have to do is lean in.
Space within the Pages of Scripture
When I started to think through the principle of space and something that creates what we would consider to be negative space in our heart, I immediately thought of death. For me, the loss of certain dreams and relationships, as well as my mother’s death, has left holes in my heart. I feel incredibly empty sometimes. I bet you feel the same as the result of death or the loss of anything in your life—whether a job, a dream, or a relationship.
The death and loss of someone we love is something all of us experience, making it the natural topic of countless poems and songs. Even Hollywood has produced movies like Ghost, Beaches, and Steel Magnolias, all of which make me bawl my face off every time I watch them. Many books have been written on death as well, by people with a bunch of letters behind their names. All of these things bring us some comfort as we grapple with the inevitability of our own death or the death of those we love. But as Becky mentioned in her story, death was not part of God’s original plan for our lives. I know this because the Bible has some things to say about the death of God’s children and the purpose of grief. While death is hard to understand and accept from a human perspective, here is some of what we know in regard to God’s perspective on death and loss:
The death of God’s children is precious to him. Death is our enemy; God is not our enemy.
I think one of the most beautiful verses in all of the Bible is Psalm 116:15, which says, “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his faithful servants.” We know that God weeps with us. Jesus wept over the death of his friend Lazarus (John 11:35) and is noted for being a “a man of suffering, and familiar with pain” (Isa. 53:3). How comforting it is to know that God understands and relates to our sorrow!
You may also believe or feel that death is one of the ways God punishes those who love him. While the Bible teaches that the payment for sin is death, Jesus paid this price for our sin on the cross, dying in our place for our sin. No condemnation remains then for a believer in Christ. Death is a result of a believer living in a world plagued with the effects of sin.
Death was not an original part of Adam and Eve’s life in the Garden of Eden. It didn’t exist until after the fall and only because of their rebellion. From that day forward, death became the enemy, robbing the lives of those made in God’s image. One day death will be destroyed, however, and Jesus will reign forever and ever (1 Cor. 15:26, 54–56; Rev. 20:14). How glorious this will be!
Our grief and loss enable us to love like Jesus and to be acquainted with him in his sufferings.
It still baffles me that Jesus left heaven to dwell with people on earth. What is even more puzzling is that the human part of Jesus was made perfect “through suffering” (Heb. 2:10 ESV) and that he “learned obedience through what he suffered” (Heb. 5:8 ESV).
If Jesus became obedient and was made perfect through sufferings, then you can bet this is one of the reasons God allows us to experience grief and loss. These are part of our sanctification, making us more like Christ. I have experienced loss changing me and those around me for the better. We’re more sympathetic to the pain of others as a result of it, and we become more aware of the preciousness of life and of what truly matters. And we learn to trust and love God even when our heart is breaking and when things happen that we do not understand.
So for reasons like these, we can truly rejoice in the midst of our grief and loss. And when it is time for us to die, we are promised that we will be glorified completely with Christ in our death (Rom. 8:17; 1 Pet. 4:13).
God is a God who gives, comforts, and restores back to those who grieve and experience loss.
God is the ultimate Positive—full of love, goodness, justice, kindness, wisdom, patience, peace, joy, and a whole bunch of other wonderful attributes. In other words, God is positively indescribable! He promises that when we seek him with our whole heart he will be found by us (Jer. 29:13).
We already discussed how God is present in our lives and how he wishes to communicate with us in the chapter on the principle of pattern. Not only is God our great Communicator, he is also our gracious Comforter. When we cry out to God, we are asking him to fill the negative space in our heart with his comfort, strength, peace, or wisdom. I can attest to the fact that in moments of my deepest grief I have called out to God, asking for his help. In the days and months that followed my mother’s passing, I experienced some of the sweetest moments of his comfort and his closeness. Perhaps you have had a similar experience. When we come to him with our loss, when we offer him the gaping hole in our heart, he will fill it with his peace, love, strength, or hope. How can he not since he is described as the God of all comfort (2 Cor. 1:3)?
When God comforts us, we’re able to get up in the morning and make it through another day. And the months and years after that. This doesn’t mean we’re happy or that our depression suddenly vanishes, but somehow we make it. Via God’s use of the principle of space, we smile again and find new purpose and strength in the wake of our losses.
God has given us pops of color to live out. Death and loss, and the space they leave within us, help make our particular color or emphasis brighter and more productive since we learn from them and become stronger from them. God not only comforts and fills us with his strength to continue onward, he also restores and gives back to those who have lost something or someone, causing them to shine brightly in a world blanketed in gray.
Though I’ve lost my mother, God has given me older women in the church who guide and love me in her absence. These women continue to help me to keep going in my marriage, ministry, or in motherhood whenever grief starts to overwhelm me.
I’ve also wept and prayed with precious friends who have lost babies. And I’ve smiled with joy as I watched these same friends become pregnant again and become mamas, or watched as God grew their families through adoption. Their stories and testimonies to the faithfulness of God prove that he brings new life from death and that he will bless and comfort those who mourn.
The longer I wrestle with and embrace the truths we just looked at, the more I see the beauty and purpose behind all the pain I endure and the pain those I love endure. Yes, some of my dreams have died and are still dead. My mother is still home in heaven too. But as God continues to redesign my life, he fills the empty places in my heart with himself, his promises, and the newness of unexpected blessings and people.
Why Negative Space Matters
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me. (Ps. 23:4)
The Bible has much to say about death and our God within its pages. I pray specifically for those of you who are in the midst of grieving loss of any kind, that these words will somehow bring comfort to you. I am truly sorry for your loss.
Just like negative space plays a vital role on the printed page or in the interior layout of our homes, it also plays a vital and needed role within us as well. I trust that God will help you find your way as you meander through your losses and that he will restore your joy and your strength as you come to him seeking them. I am not a grief expert, nor am I trying to dismiss the loss you are feeling.
I am in the valley with you.
But I refuse to be defined by the valley, and I am growing in my appreciation of its depths and of its beauty. The valley is where I have found my faith to be genuine and to be my guide when I cannot see. When the negative quenches the warm and fuzzy, my faith nudges me to cling tighter to my creative Creator. And so I do. He is everything to me. He is the positive space or the focal point of my life.
When others hear my mother’s story they sometimes ask me if I am scared of death or dying in the manner that my mom did. No, not anymore. I watched my mother hold on to the same truths we just looked at until the very end of her life. She died well with her eyes glued on her God. Now I also know how to die well. So I no longer fear death but am embracing the days I have left instead, knowing that my figurative bags are packed in the corner too. The same is true for you, fellow traveler.
Is God the focal point of your life even though you have faced loss of some kind that you didn’t design or want? What are you trying to fill the negative space in your heart with? Yes, I am asking you to consider these oh-so-uplifting questions because death and grief are the toughest things we will face in this life. I don’t want you to be surprised by them or taken out of the game because of them. We can try to fill the negative space with more relationships, alcohol, shopping, Netflix, food, or more work, but things like these will never completely fulfill us like God can.
You and I are needed in this world. We cannot stop living even though things or people that we love are dying.
It’s one thing to see a shiny-happy Christian bounce into a church building with a plate of cookies and bag of highlighters, posting memes and selfies from Bible study. It’s a whole other thing to hear women in the pit of despair and loss say the name of Jesus with hope and love and watch them continue to trust him, proclaiming his truths with everything they’ve got left. Something powerful and needed happens when we comfort others with the same truth and comfort that God has poured into our hearts (2 Cor. 3–4).
Comfort is so needed in this world.
So is the gospel truth.
Give others comfort and this truth, broken one.
Give them.
I want us to be the kind of couture children who continue on, no matter what. Ones who while clinging to Christ in the midst of loss cover others with the same comfort we have received from him. Do not let your grief go to waste or wish it away. We cannot cover others with comfort if we have not received comfort ourselves. We cannot know the blessedness of receiving comfort either if something or someone has not been taken away from us first.
Maybe the ultimate point of death is not loss but restoration of life. Maybe the point of loss is to show us that all is actually not lost. While the things of this earth fade away, our God never will. The more we allow loss to change our perspective, the more we will experience God’s comfort and his sufficiency, just like my friend Becky testified. And whether we find ourselves fighting back tears at a baseball game or while at Disneyland, the smile that has gone missing from our face will be found again.