“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give. If I carry only grief, I’ll bend toward cynicism and despair. If I have only gratitude, I’ll become saccharine and won’t develop much compassion for other people’s suffering. Grief keeps the heart fluid and soft, which helps make compassion possible.” ~Francis Ward Weller, Psychotherapist, Author, Activist
In December 2018, my husband told me he wanted a divorce and asked me to leave the marital home. Within two hours, I had packed a few bags and my dogs and headed to my friend’s, who graciously invited me to stay in her basement apartment. To be fair, we had struggled in our marriage for decades, and as is common in most cases, we both contributed to the toxicity that had developed between us. As I see it, my faith in Christ and how it played out in my daily life, coupled with my physical limitations and medical expenses, grated against my husband, and from my perspective, were key determinants in the death of our marriage.
Despite the problems and pain of a dysfunctional marriage, I was unprepared for the unrelenting grief I experienced. I remember driving with my friend to North Carolina just days after my husband asked me to leave. The grief was all-consuming, so much so that it made driving nearly impossible. I wisely asked my friend to take the wheel.
A conflux of emotions created an inner dissonance I struggled to resolve. On the one hand, I felt relief that I was moving into a healthy environment and community of people where I could be myself. On the other, I felt indescribable grief at the dissolution of a 40-year marriage. With the support of friends and a professional counselor, I navigated the complex emotions—feeling them, naming them, and listening to what they had to teach me about the state of my soul.
“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.”
New Beginnings
Fast forward six months later, and after many conversations, prayer, and input from a counselor, my friend and I decided to become roommates. We moved to a 10-acre hobby farm in North Carolina with a strong network of friends nearby. Two-Sparrows Farm, as we now call it, is home to ten rough collies, a mix of service dogs and show dogs primarily, three miniature donkeys, one of whom is blind, and about 20 chickens that free range in the barnyard and supply us with dozens of farm-fresh eggs.
My health began to improve dramatically. Abnormal markers in my blood began to level out and moved into normal ranges — something I had not experienced for decades. Walking back and forth to the barn (1/2 mile each way) multiple times a day strengthened my legs, and I no longer experienced numerous falls due to a neurological issue. Not only was I experiencing new life, but I was also thriving beyond my wildest dreams.
Still, I grieved the loss of my husband and my marriage. I mourned what could have been but never was.
“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.”
New Life and Hope
Now, three years down the road, a new pattern of life has emerged, woven together with threads of grief and gratitude. While most women my age were planning for retirement, I was trying to revive two businesses on life support to earn a living wage—all while managing a neurological disease and chronic illness.
I love the rhythm of farm life — wake up, feed the donkeys, care for the dogs, let out the chickens to free range. Then dinner with a friend and more farm chores—feed the donkeys, care for the dogs, put up the chickens for the night. Repeat. I savor the late summer shadows over the pastures, the song of a chicken laying an egg, and the mesmerizing call of coyotes just outside our property. The rush of the wind in the trees or the rain on the roof soothes and comforts me. I feel free.
I also feel angry. Fearful. Lonely. Normal emotional responses to a traumatic situation. I have learned to give myself grace.
During the early stages of my healing journey, I avoided Christian platitudes —”God uses all things for good (Romans 8:28)” or “My God will supply your every need (Phil. 4:19)” — and the people who spouted them. It’s not that I didn’t believe these Scriptures. What I needed at the time was someone who would see my sense of hurt and betrayal, put their arms around my shoulder, and say, “Let’s walk through this together.”
Thankfully, my new community, and others from my past and present, were able to embody the love of Christ, allowing me to experience healthy grieving while walking with me through the process. They understood the complexity of my emotions and held space for me to grieve in all its messiness.
Today, I have many dear friends who walk with me, who would drop everything to be with me in a moment of crisis. Some of these people are in the church. Most of them are not, which I’m sure many will find curious. I am the most blessed of women, and like most people, I have suffered pain and loss. Welcome to the human condition.
In the midst of it all, I have learned to express my grief and gratitude. I have also learned to name my emotions and take them to the feet of God in prayer, where my pain and perspective are transformed in the light of God’s countenance and where I, too, am transformed.
Today, I grieve. And today, I am grateful.
“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give.
What would it look like for you to embrace your circumstances, allowing grief and gratitude to walk hand-in-hand? What emotions do you feel about your loss or losses? How can you move toward gratitude?