Between year one and two of life without Abigail I was able to pick up some fiction again. Before now, it seemed so pointless. Admittedly fiction has, at times, served as a distraction. But even in the most random of selections the Lord has blessed with books unafraid to include the harshness of grief. Alas, I will limit this blog post to nonfiction books I found to be a blessing for the grieving and suffering.
Beyond the Darkness by Clarissa Moll: This book is now my “go to” option for the newly grieving and/or widow with children in the home. Although, as a grieving mother, I found sweet solidarity and encouragement here as well. There are treasures to unfold within its pages by any grieving person. Moll says, “There is a special kinship with those who mourn [...]. Grief lasts a lifetime. This world is a hurting, broken place, and even in the midst of resurrection hope, sorrow still lasts. Grief, like love, lives on long after death. Until Jesus comes again, grief will walk with us.” Even though our stories are different, Clarissa Moll speaks gently, yet refreshingly honestly, about a believer’s grief and experiences with the culture and church. “Grief care is not a niche ministry because death is not a niche experience. Instead, grief ministry is regular, whole-church ministry.” I’ve never met Clarissa, but as I read her book I thought, “Here’s a kindred spirit”.
She Died, I Didn’t by Courtney Mount: I’ve never met Courtney in person, but we’ve connected over social media. Our little girls were similar in ages, and we’ve both posted pictures of them in similar pajamas: proof it’s the smallest of things often drawing grieving mamas together. We also share a deep faith in the Lord. Despite differences in our girls’ stories, my heart wept bitterly with understanding over certain descriptions of her experience. Courtney’s book is raw and real with the heartache of losing a child, as well as the ensuing ways grief wraps its tendrils around marriage and surviving siblings. I will caution the reader that some content may be triggering, as Courtney doesn’t (nor should she) omit the realities of a terminal childhood illness. I don’t suggest anyone necessarily avoid it, because her story is the reality many have lived and are still living. I had a slight hesitation initially, but only because our daughters left us each in such a different manner. This was a needless concern on my part. The cry of one brokenhearted mother to another is a universal language. At the end of the day we’ve both held the lifeless body of our once vibrant baby. The leaves and blooms of grief’s tree may be varying shades, shapes, and sizes, but the roots are all found in the dark soil of death and suffering. Courtney is able to carry and share her faith and her precious daughter’s story in a way that honors both. Tissues are a must.
The Days Planned for Me by Jean Sullivan: Jean so generously mailed me a copy of her book after connecting with a blog post of mine shared by Tim Challies (author of a significantly impactful book I’ve mentioned in an alternate post accessed via the link above). I’m incredibly thankful for the way God orchestrates connections. Otherwise I may never have gotten the opportunity to “meet” this mama who literally lives across the country. This may seem odd to some, but one thing I particularly appreciated about Jean’s book was her dry humor. Humor is a God-given gift. In a season where I didn't (and still often don’t) give myself permission to laugh uninhibitedly with just anyone, I felt safe doing so within these pages and with a mama who knows the pain of burying a child. Jean candidly shares the harsh realities of death, suffering, both met and unmet longings, and honest conversations with the Lord. She beautifully balances heartbreak and hope while sharing her testimony.
The Case For Heaven by Lee Strobel: Moving out of the memoir-style books we encounter this gem written by a male investigative journalist instead of a grieving parent/spouse. After losing a beloved family member, reading about Heaven is often akin to curling up with a soft blanket by a cozy fire. If there’s anyone in your life struggling to confidently believe in the reality of Heaven and the comfort found within, this is an excellent resource. It reads as a series of interviews requiring small spurts of time versus tons of tissues.
The Silent Shades of Sorrow: Healing for the Wounded by C.H. Spurgeon and compiled by Zack Eswine: We should all spend time with some of the great theologians of yesteryear, and thus this volume of compiled sermons by Spurgeon comes highly recommended. Spurgeon was no stranger to suffering, nor was he afraid to speak about its harsh realities. That in itself is a lesson for our often avoidant (church) culture. “Remember, once more, that this acquaintance of Christ with Grief was a voluntary acquaintance for our sakes. He need never have known Grief at all, and at any moment He might have said to Grief, ‘farewell!’. The sympathy of Jesus is the next most precious thing to his sacrifice.” And so it goes; I could continue quoting Spurgeon, but instead beseech you to read his words yourself.
A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser: “I reject the idea and expectation of getting over it. There is no ‘recovery’. There is no chance of ‘starting over’. Suffering will not allow it because it is naggingly persistent. Suffering forces us to respond and change, for better or worse. It will never allow us to remain the same.[...] The choice to love requires the courage to grieve.” Sittser is no stranger to deep grief and anguish. After losing his wife, mother, and young daughter in a single car accident he describes his grief as “feeling so exhausted and anguished that I wondered whether I would survive another day, whether I wanted to survive another day. I felt punished by simply being alive and thought death would bring welcome relief.” His words resonate deeply with the grieving parent, and he offers a male voice in a world desperate for a father's and husband’s perspective. He speaks frankly and vulnerably about the carnage of death in this world. Sittser balances grief and grace, heartache and hope. The subtitle of his book, “how the soul grows through loss”, reflects the costly nature of such growth on each page.
Hinds’ Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard: I read this book for the first time many years ago as a teen, but decided it deserved a second read. Life, with its suffering, hardships, mountains, and valleys, offered a new perspective and deeper appreciation. “To love does mean to put yourself into the power of the loved one and to become very vulnerable to pain, and you are Much Afraid of pain, are you not? [...] Go with Sorrow and Suffering, and if you cannot welcome them now, when you come to the difficult places where you cannot manage alone, put your hands in theirs confidently and they will take you exactly where I want you to go.” This precious classic is an allegory of journeying with Sorrow and Suffering at the behest of the beloved Shepherd, all while trying to hold fast to the assurance of a beloved and kind Shepherd. Read it. Sit with it. I bet you’ll love it.
Anyone who knows me will understand why I cannot neglect to recommend these two precious children’s books for adults and children alike. Both illustrators made excellent use of color to reflect the tone of the stories. Neither of these are specific to the loss of a child or sibling, but each uses concrete language to gently teach, both children and adults, the truths of grief.
He Always Hears: A Story of Loss and the Hope of Things Made New by Alyson Punzi and illustrated by Tyler Charlton: PICO has been my self made acronym these past two years. Press In, Cry Out. This book eloquently echoes this idea. Young Jane’s parents begin teaching her that “God always hears our cries. You can tell him how much it hurts. Remember…Because God made and saved us, we hope in what is true: he promises that, one day, what’s broken, he’ll make new.” Thus, when Jane is faced with scary and sad situations out of her control she recalls the wisdom and truth her parents have taught her. I appreciate the ending of this book is left somewhat ambiguous. Jane’s father is taken to the hospital, but we do not learn whether he is healed this side of heaven or not. Because of this, this book resonates with various circumstances ,and the final truth remains: God always hears our cries.
Hope Comes to Stay by Clarissa Moll and illustrated by Gretchen Powers: In this poignant story a little girl named Lela experiences deep sadness upon the death of her father. She encounters family who seem to consider grief a burden or something to be quickly “gotten over”, but as the days and seasons go by little Lela continues to discover what grief actually is. At the end we read, “Grief hadn’t gone away like Cousin Virginia said it would, but it had brought other things to live beside it- courage, comfort, and happy memories. Yes, grief was still here, but hope had also come to stay.”
While space doesn’t allow me to detail every book I’ve read or gleaned from, the following deserve a mention as well. Roses in December: Comfort for the Grieving Heart by Marilyn Heavilin (this is the only one of these additional books specific to the death of a child); The Mourner’s Comfort: Seven Discourses on Isaiah 61 by Charles H Spurgeon; Suffering is Never for Nothing by Elizabeth Elliot; Sighing on Sunday: 40 Medications for When Church Hurts by Megan Hill.
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