The Wilderness

Slogging through complicated grief is just that, a slog. Like you’re walking through knee-deep mud and you can barely move. People tell you “one day at a time.” I say in return that sometimes it’s one moment at a time. There is so much to process. When I’m spending time focusing and processing on one facet of grief, it feels like another facet becomes lifelike and waves it’s hands saying, “hey-o, over here, I need some attention!” Then I feel guilty. Am I focusing too much on one facet and not enough on the other? Thankfully, my grief counselor gives me some perspective.

When it’s all piled on somewhere in your head, but you’re numb and in shock by the weight of it all, it feels like you’re wandering in the wilderness. Where am I going? What must I address? When can I take a break? When can I just breathe? It really didn’t matter what I ate, it all tasted the same, sort of like quail and manna, I guess. But is wandering in the wilderness a bad thing? Is it bad to be in the dark? Well, I certainly wouldn’t put myself there on purpose. Though now that the intense part of wilderness walking is mostly over, I can look back on that time and remember that I never quite felt held by the Lord’s everlasting arms as much as I did then. His presence with me, once I recognized it, was a precious gift I found in the wilderness.