We all move through this world with some expectations. I never thought my expectations were excessive. A couple of kids with a husband I love. Our families near enough for frequent visits and support. Outdoor adventures with friends.
But now, sometimes it feels like I am gathering up broken pieces of what my life should have been. Loved ones have died. My family is smaller than I thought it would be. Every few years, I have to cultivate a new community, knowing that it will last only until the military moves us again.
Time and again in recent years, I’ve had to endure hardship alone, because our families aren’t nearby to offer comfort and support at the drop of a hat. And between anxiety and a toddler, let’s just say outdoor adventures are not what I imagined, either.
My life is not what I expected it would be.
Is It Wrong to Grieve the Life You Thought You’d Have?
Every chance to recreate it somehow gets derailed by reality and hardship. Yet I’ve been so blessed that I can’t seem to let myself grieve my dreams and expectations, because that would be discontent, right?
I think we often equate discontent with covetousness, with wanting more and being ungrateful for what we do have. And I suppose that when we linger in discontent, that can become true.
But there is a grief that is part of the fight to be content when God’s plans are different from what we wanted. Because here’s the thing: It’s not really that I want more, it’s that I thought things would be different. If I can’t acknowledge that, I can’t work through it. And if I can’t work through it, it will fester into a mindset of ashamed discontent.
Acknowledge the Loss of a Dream to Embrace Life
“Occasionally weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.” I kept this John Piper quote on my fridge for many years to remind myself that acknowledging loss is part of embracing life. Little did I know, in those years, how much more loss and letting go lay ahead.
A few months into motherhood, I wrote about the necessity of mourning what I’d wanted from motherhood, while fighting my way through the journey I was on.
Infancy wasn’t what I wanted. Instead of snuggles and a postpartum glow, I battled through colic, sleep issues, and postpartum anxiety and depression. Just as things began to get better, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and underwent two neck surgeries.
I expected my daughter’s childhood to be very different, filled with siblings, not doctor appointments. I grieve over the things I thought we’d experience together. I grieve over how far we are from our family, even though God is faithful to plant us in loving communities every time we change duty stations.
Or rather, I want to grieve, but it feels wrong. After all, I am incredibly blessed, right? Despite distance, our families are close. People visit, we talk all the time. I have a healthy daughter (who behaves exactly as a threenager should). Despite my various medical diagnoses over the last three years, I am on the whole healthy and able to do the things I want to do. How can I grieve when I have so much to be thankful for?
What I am learning, though, is that I have to acknowledge the grief and work through it with the Lord. Otherwise, I risk getting bitter, believing that God has withheld blessings instead of giving me the blessings that further His kingdom.
When I invite God in, I don’t have to grieve alone. He will sit with me in the grief (and yes, frustration and anger), covering me with His grace and attention. It’s a practice of self-compassion, which I think is really accepting God’s compassion.
The Hope In Lament
I can’t embrace the life I have until I acknowledge the life I hoped would be. For me, this includes admitting what I wanted and my disappointment at not getting it. It’s important to let God know my heart, because otherwise I’m not giving Him a chance to speak comfort and peace. Plus, I can’t trust God and move forward if I’m always looking back.
The Bible is full of verses that help us mourn what we hoped for and look forward to the future, including Psalm 126:
“When the LORD brought back the captivity of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing. Then they said among the nations, ‘The LORD has done great things for them.’ The LORD has done great things for us, and we are glad. Bring back our captivity, O LORD, as the streams in the South. Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.”
In Psalm 126, Israel acknowledged that their captivity was hard; it wasn’t what they expected, but it allowed God to show up for them and do great things for them. They wept when they didn’t understand why things were going so wrong. But they could see, after, that the harvest brought impossible joy. Lament expresses the grief and the pain, but always returns to hope because we know the God we serve. He is compassionate, steadfast, and the God Who Sees Us (Genesis 16:13).
Ignoring grief and disappointment does not blunt them or make them disappear. We won’t heal from what we don’t address. Grief and disappointment do not invalidate or detract from all the blessings we do have. My daughter is my joy and delight. Grief over what could have been does not diminish the joy of what I do have.
We won’t heal from what we don’t address.
While it is difficult for us to hold joy in one hand and grief in the other, God does not have our inhibitions. Thus, He can help us find the healing connections, holding us up and comforting us while we go through the tough process of acknowledging what isn’t meant for us so that we can begin to look forward to what is still to come. And while we wait, we can look for quiet joys—community, hobbies, the wonder of seeing life through a child’s eyes, or even just a good cup of coffee.
Friend, if you’re grieving alone, don’t. God is our refuge and strength. He is unfathomably good. God is there for you, even when no one else is. He can perfectly understand your grief over what you hoped would be. And if you let Him, He will comfort you with His promises of what will be. You won’t get a detailed 10-year plan, but He will give you enough. I know; I’ve lived it.
