During an exit interview with an aspiring mechanical engineering intern, the bright-eyed Johns Hopkins student asked, “How do I automatically know what’s needed? Like, how did someone know to add a guard on that shearer?” She isn’t a measure-twice-and-cut-once kind of girl. She leans more toward researching the best tape measure, gathering peer reviews, measuring seven times, and then cautiously cutting.
My response to her question? “It probably got added after someone’s arm was chopped off.”
The aftermath of unforeseen variables teaches us how to cover our bases better…but better isn’t perfect. No perfectionist or chronic planner wants to hear that there will always be gaps in our best-constructed strategies and ambiguity stitched into our unfolding destinies. That’s life in all its topsy-turvy glory, though, right?
There is an adage that says to be surprised by the inevitable is naive, and to be unprepared for the inevitable is irresponsible. I am neither naive nor irresponsible, but I only agree with this maxim to a degree. The Apostle Paul wrote, “We see in part, and we prophesy in part.” God is all-knowing; we are not.
A skilled project manager can understand the importance of leaving margin for unknown unknowns and still have their project totally derailed by a tornado leveling the construction site weeks before the facility is set to open. The need to tuck away a rainy-day fund is common knowledge because, sure enough, life will eventually send a downpour that only cash can catch. However, we can agree that a stage 4 cancer diagnosis feels more like a tsunami than a blown transmission ever could.
How do we prepare our hearts for the guarantees of life, like disappointment, grief, heartbreak, and betrayal? How does the Blood-bought believer preemptively stabilize their soul in expectation of hopes being shattered, the back-to-back loss of loved ones, and a trusted confidant proving to be untrustworthy? What’s the plan or checklist for getting ready to take emotional blow after blow after blow? I didn’t have the cheat code for simultaneously counting the cost and counting it all joy when an extended season of compound grief wreaked havoc on my nervous system.
Maybe you don’t have the cheat code either. And that’s okay. We’re all learning. Sometimes our aha moment comes before an arm gets chopped off. At other times, we figure it out after we metaphorically lose a limb. I will share with you what layered grief taught me and maybe, just maybe, it will help to strengthen the guard of your heart.
For me, grief looked like so many close-to-home deaths from January 2022 through May 2024 that even now, I refuse to count them for fear of being thrust back into overwhelming sorrow. Add to that stepping away from my church home of four years and, subsequently, losing some friendships that I held dear, the final release of long-hoped-for love, a mentor whose spiritual covering turned into an unhealthy grip, and the rise and fall of poorly timed new love. If being emotionally asthmatic is a thing, that was me. Thriving wasn’t even a goal; I just wanted to breathe with ease.
“The light in your eyes is gone.”
The straightforward yet compassionate indictment cut through me like a double-edged sword. Pastor Pops, as I call him, heard beyond my words. Although I claimed to just be tired, he knew I was on the brink of growing weary in well-doing, if not already there.
“Take a week off from work to be with the Father.” When I countered that since I only worked three days per week, seeking the Lord on my off days would suffice, he made it crystal-clear that he said what he said. I lacked the strength to wrestle with him or God, so I relented.
There, in a quaint Airbnb in Franklin, Tennessee, the long-overdue inevitable happened. I peacefully broke. The sobs and tears gushed out with no opposition from me. I prayed…cried…journaled…repented. I admitted to having projected my disappointment in people onto God. I owned the immaturity of running swiftly with revelation rather than returning to God’s presence with curiosity that would have reduced the likelihood of hearing correctly but interpreting incorrectly.
As cleansing as my getaway was, more healing was on the horizon. The “more” was gaining awareness of the enemy’s true intentions. The compound grief I experienced was real, visceral, and weighty. Still, the adversary wasn’t nearly as determined to inflict sadness on me as he was to sneakily erode my joy without me knowing. Yes, depleting my joy was his goal. The more his fiery darts struck the bullseye, the more my joy diminished.
But God.
In the weeks that followed my much-needed solitude, gratitude poured out from my heart as light began breaking through the dark clouds that had loomed overhead, first as a trickle of thanksgiving and then as impromptu testimony services. I felt myself returning to me, the God-breathed version of myself. The gifts and callings of God are without repentance, so creativity never left. (Romans 11:29). Now, though, bits and pieces of clarity were trailing on the heels of joy! With joy and clarity came hope!
The return of hope testified to the truth that the joy of the Lord is indeed my strength. (Nehemiah 8:10). Thus far, my greatest aha moment on the Light side of layered grief is this: Hope is weighty. The joy of the Lord provides the supernatural strength required to stand in hope and to hold onto hope.
Cheat Code: Practice gratitude in every season. Declare it. Write it. Live it!
Life is inevitably going to life, sometimes in the most severe ways. As cliché as it may sound, gratefulness truly shifts our focus from our circumstances to the unchanging nature of our Lord. As we draw near to Him, He draws near to us. (James 4:8). As we release praise in His presence, the path of life is seen more clearly, and joy comes flooding in. (Psalm 16:11). Joy gives us the strength to hope and keep hoping; believe and keep believing; persevere and keep persevering.
My dear friend, the joy of the Lord is your strength.
Sincerely,
LaToya NaShae
Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13, NKJV