Now since we all worked in care ministry together, I was sure that, although the transition time would be hard, we would all get through it relatively unscathed. And even though we were no longer a ministry team, we would easily maintain the same relationships we had enjoyed for years…one-to-one relationships as well as for the group as a whole.

For the first month or two, that was the case. We called, emailed, met for coffee and lunch, planned some group gatherings, just like we always had. For the next couple of months the interaction seemed to slow a bit. I was tempted to think that things had changed, but I knew that couldn’t be the case for the Dream Team.

And then in the last month, some conflict arose. Out of nowhere I found myself in an argument with one of the former team members I was closest to. We were at odds over an incident involving the church where that person is still part of the staff, and where I am not. This person with whom I had once seen eye-to-eye with on so many things, who had faced trouble arm-in-arm with me was now on the other side of the fence from me and we were arguing over who was supposed to trim the overhanging branches.

I’m normally the first one to welcome a conflict, to want to get to the bottom of a disconnect, especially if I’m involved in it. But this time it was different. This person…these people (there was a subset of the team present during our disagreement), were suddenly unable to connect with me. I couldn’t be brought back to center. I left feeling hurt and angry. (And I felt certain my former colleague on the other side of the fence was leaving the same way.)

For the next week I thought of the incident constantly. What was going on? What happened to these relationships that I held so dear? What happened to the Dream Team? Within the second week following the disagreement I was able to get together with that person, at the prompting of another former Dream Team member, and we talked through what had happened. We parted friends and made plans to meet for coffee as soon as we could. But I knew something had changed.

The following week I had a one-to-one meeting with another member of the Dream Team. I shared the basic details of my reconciliation meeting, then I processed the whole thing with this person. I expressed remaining confusion over what had happened, both during that disagreement and since. I just didn’t get it.

But, the person I was meeting with had no trouble hitting the nail on the head. “We were all trying to hang on to something special we had, but it’s over and we can’t get it back.” I wanted to argue, to counter, to prove the person wrong. But I couldn’t find an ounce of energy or a single word to do that. The words rang true. I hated to admit it, but they did.

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to understand how I could have missed it…how I could have thought that the special chemistry, the unique relationships the team had, with one another and as a whole could be preserved. We all knew God had brought us together to do His work. I knew it more than anyone and as their leader, I reminded them of that fact at least every week for years.

I’ve known for a long time that sometimes a thing has to die before a new beginning can be seen. I’ve experienced it, I’ve shared it, I’ve taught it. But sometimes life catches us by surprise. In this case, I was too close to the loss of what had been so special to see it objectively. I’ll always love these people as much as I could love any family member. And I’ll give thanks for the rest of my life that God gave me the privilege of working with them. And now that I’m beginning to accept that the Dream Team as we knew it has to die, I can be on the lookout for the new beginnings God has in store for each of us, not according to our plans, but according to His.

Are there things that you’re holding on to that you know you should let go? Things you’re breathing life into that perhaps you should let die? What are they?

In the opening prayer at the ceremony, I gave God thanks for the life of the sister who died, and for the spirit of love that surrounded her memory on that special day and always. As is often the case when praying for a lost loved one, I could feel the weight of the words on the congregation. But it felt very appropriate given what I was praying for and once the prayer was concluded, the wedding proceeded in joyous fashion.

After the ceremony, while I was waiting to have my picture taken, I ventured across the patio on which the wedding had been held in order to talk with the bride’s parents. The girl’s father shook my hand and thanked me for officiating, and for every word I said, especially for the acknowledgment of his late daughter. He then said that the bride had not given him or anyone else a heads-up that she had asked me to mention her sister in the ceremony. I realized what a shock it must have been to hear me pray for her unexpectedly. I apologized and said that if I had realized the bride had not told them about her request, I would have certainly made an effort to clue-them-in myself before the ceremony.

At that point the man gestured to his youngest daughter, who had been the stand-in Maid of Honor. I believe she was around ten years old. She had her face in her hands and she was crying. Her mother was sitting next to her with her arm around the girl’s shoulder. I apologized again to the dad for shocking the family by bringing up their loss without warning. He said, “It’s O.K. The feelings had to come out some time anyway.” I know he was referring mostly to his young daughter’s feelings of loss for the sister she had barely known. But there was also something in his expression that told me he was speaking not just for her, but for the whole family. In other words, my strong sense was that grief was just below the surface for them much of the time. At that point he traded places with his wife, with whom I then had a similar conversation. Finally, I offered my sympathies to the little girl before taking my place with the newlyweds for picture time.

On my drive home I thought a great deal about the dad’s comment. It seemed likely that after suffering the tragic death of a child, and a sister, this family had probably gone the way of so many people – they had never fully grieved their loss. Of course, a loved one who passes away will never, nor should ever be forgotten by the people they leave behind. And even if the person is in the oft-referenced “better place,” meaning heaven, it is a simple fact that they will never again walk the earth with the people who loved them, never celebrate another birthday or Christmas, never attend another wedding. There will always be an empty spot in the hearts of those who were closest to the deceased. But, nine years is a long time for tears of loss to be lurking just below the surface of the survivors’ emotions.

The experience brought to mind one of my seminary classes which focused on ministering to those who had been touched by loss. At some point in the class our professor had each of us share something in our lives which we were actively grieving. I shouldn’t have been surprised (and yet I was) that each and every one of the fifteen or so class members was in a grieving process over something significant. Many were dealing with deaths, some with a divorce or other broken relationship, some with a loss due to a serious health issue they or someone they knew was facing, and so on. But every single one of us, the professor included was grieving something.

What makes it so hard to let go of our losses? At most every funeral I conduct I encourage the family members to allow themselves and one another to grieve, “no matter how long it takes.” By that I mean they should be sad, as sad as they need to be, for as long as that sadness may last; that they should not rush their grief, nor tell others they have grieved long enough and should be “over it”. I want to make sure they know that no one can decide for them what “long enough” looks like.

At the same time, I do believe that grieving is a process, which in part means that it moves along a continuum. My partner in ministry Allen Eaton says asks people, “How do you rate your grief, if a 1 means you’re totally fine and 10 means you’re so sad you can’t get out of bed.” The idea that follows is that day-by day, a healthy grieving process moves incrementally from a higher number to a lower one. If a person is stuck at a grief level of 7 for a year, they’re probably not moving through a healthy process and may be stuck.

Thinking of grief as a burden we must carry, my mind goes to Matthew 11. Jesus tells us to exchange burdens with Him, to let him teach us how to live life, to take on his light load and give him the heavy load we carry (11:28-30). He felt everything we feel, including grief. He can teach us how to grieve.
There are few burdens greater than the one we carry when we lose a person we love. Even if we’re confident in the deepest part of our being that we’ll be reunited with them in heaven, they still won’t be with us in this life again. If we give our yoke of grief to Jesus daily, He will help us move from a 10 to a 1 on the continuum. And He will do that in His time, in the time of the Father, which is perfect.

What losses have you suffered? Where are you on the grief continuum for each? Is there something that keeps you from turning that burden over to Jesus? What is holding you back?