The Beggar
There’s a ragged old man who sits outside my front door. He’s a beggar. You only need to catch a passing whiff of his odor to know he doesn’t own a bathtub with soaps and salts and a razor. I’m sure he’s craving a warm meal on these cold winter nights.
He’s persistent, this beggar, but he doesn’t yell or harass. He just looks at me wearily each time I walk into my house. He pleads quietly, “please,” he says, “please let me in.”
I pretend to be too busy. I convince myself it’s better to ignore him. It’s a scary thought to let him in my home. There’s a lengthy list of unpredictables and the danger is weighty.
But sometimes while I’m walking by, we catch eyes. They’re soft, his eyes, worn with comforting lines of age. I’m curious to know more of his story, and why is he on my front porch?
Maybe if I speak to him, just briefly, he would move on. Maybe if I explain the danger I feel about letting him in he would understand and seek help down the road a ways. He can see that I’m a young mom, although he doesn’t really seem like fit company for anyone.
So, I work up the nerve.
“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” I ask, my voice a little shaky.
“May I come in?” he replied.
“I’m sorry, is there anywhere else you can go?”
He nods with understanding but persists.
“I’d like to come in,” he says. His tone is steady and calm.
“I think maybe you have the wrong house, it can be a little confusing in this neighborhood,” I suggested. “All the houses look alike.”
“I’d like to come in,” he says once more. “I need some food and a warm place to stay.”
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
“My name is Grief.”
LETTING GRIEF INSIDE
It took some time before I was brave enough to let Grief into my home and reside with my family. He takes a lot of my attention away from my kids and I don’t like that. He makes me feel so anxious that at times it becomes hard to breathe and I can’t deal with that. So sometimes, I’m regretful to say, I escort him right out the front door and tell him to come back when it’s more convenient - whenever that is.
I neglect him until the stench of his presence on my front porch grows unbearable. But he continues to come back and patiently asks for another warm meal.
Grief is a part of our family now, and not just a passing visitor as I had hoped. My boys have a more natural comfort with him than I do, and I’m not really sure why that is. Maybe their young innocence nurtures trust while my boxed in heart breeds fear.
Slowly but surely I’ve learned that when I offer grief the care and attention he deserves, it seems to grant him the freedom to venture out more frequently.
Even still, he finds his way back.
GRIEF AND GRACE
Grief illuminates the intense pain we’d rather keep hidden, and exposes the truth of our soul in a vulnerable way. He is burdensome and needy. His awkward presence struggles to find a place in our social circles, in our homes, and in our churches.
But grief also offers ample opportunity for grace. The oasis we can rest in while grieving, and doubting, and searching, and screaming is God’s grace:
I don’t have to fear evil, but grace holds my hand when I do.
When I stray down a path of unrighteousness, grace forgives me.
Even while I doubt the goodness that is following me, grace will lead me home.
As I stumble further through my own valley I’ve become convinced of this: God is faithful to offer equal parts pain and grace - grace that is sufficient - grace that covers all of my exposed wounds and weakness like a warm blanket.
And my boxed in fearful heart? Grief and grace are teaming up to chip away at that box - replacing fear with repentant faith. Redemption.
SHARING OUR GRIEF
We all have the opportunity to steward our grief well.
I believe it’s important to not only embrace our suffering but to share it as well. Maybe with only one or two trusted people at first - a friend, spouse, parent, or counselor. But take the time to get comfortable opening up and sharing this part of yourself. Neglecting or ignoring it will only compound the pain.
Ultimately, I believe sharing our grief unites our hearts in a divine way. It’s an invitation to closer communion and holistic healing when we pray for each other, anchor ourselves in the truth of God’s Word, and hold each other accountable to that truth as well. Our openness and vulnerability with each other creates trust and exercises grace, which becomes the ingredients for authentic community.
Together we can give glory to God who remains faithful and good even when the world around us is anything but.
While grief is easily identified in death, it can also take root in the instance of any significant loss - loss of a dream, a relationship, a career, health, a home, a community, etc. Keep that in mind the next time you see the beggar on your own front porch.
Meet grief with an open, honest heart. Extend to him the same grace you would hope for.
Offer him a warm meal and a place to stay in the winter of your soul.
