Grief

Grief is such a funny, funny thing.

I've thought about it a lot here lately and the conclusion I have come to is this:

It is so very selfish. 

I know, that seems a little harsh.  Maybe too abrupt. 

But the thought occurred to me yesterday while I was driving home, tears streaming down my face.

I lost my good friend Jonathan yesterday.  I knew the day would come - the phone call would come - at some point.  His heart and his lungs would some day give way and the phone call would come.  It came yesterday at 11:51 a.m.  And my heart was grieved because my friend was gone.  Just as I was getting ready to text his mom to see if now was a good time to come to the hospital to visit, my caller ID flashes the name of our pastor, and I knew.  I knew. 

As a thousand thoughts ran through my mind, about how it had to be a Thursday.  Thursday nights for the last year and a half have been spent watching Big Bang and Wipeout with Jonathan.  Of course, it would have to be a Thursday.  I thought about how Myrt and Paul are out of town and they don't know yet.  They'll miss his funeral.  I thought about Tanner, Jonathan's dog, and wondering about how confused he'll be that Jonathan hasn't come home yet.  I thought about James, Jonathan's caregiver, who has devoted ten years of his life to serving Jonathan.  And I thought about Tim and Twyla, Jonathan's parents.  I truly, truly believe that apart from God himself, they are the sole reason Jonathan lived as long as he did.  Thirty-one years is a long time to be living with Muscular Dystrophy.  He far outlived the usual life expectancy for people with this disease.  I have never met more selfless people.

And I thought about how selfish grief is.  I was grieving what I had lost instead of rejoicing in what my friend had gained.   And if there was anything Jonathan was about, he was about others and he was about selflessness.  Not once - not once - in the few short years that I knew him did I ever hear him complain or take pity on himself for being confined to a wheelchair.  I never heard him grumble, I never heard him say "woe is me."  He volunteered his time at the church doing Powerpoint (he literally only had the use of his right thumb, which was enough to let him use his computer and operate his wheelchair), he worked at another church creating and burning audio files of sermons and special events.  He always wanted to know how my family was, how my other friends were, what my boyfriend was up to.   It was always about others.

And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

Jonathan spent himself on behalf of others, just like Isaiah 58:10 commands us to do.  I cannot be selfish in my grief.  Not that I should disregard the sadness or squelch it or act like everything is a-okay, but that grief should never lose sight of what the ultimate truth is:

Jonathan spent his life on behalf of others because there was a Savior and a King who spent his life on behalf of Jonathan.  That is a life worth rejoicing over.