102 Sermon Illustrations on Grief

Millions of people have found comfort in the great gospel hymn "It Is Well with My Soul" since it was written more than a century ago. But few people know the tragic story behind the composition of the hymn--a story of a soul finding peace in God even in the midst of grief and loss.

We pick up the story in 1871, the year of the great Chicago fire. One man who was particularly hard hit by the fire was a Christian named Horatio Spafford, who had invested heavily in real estate along Lake Michigan. The great fire wiped out Spafford's holdings.

This was not the first disaster to strike Spafford and his wife. Only a short time earlier they had suffered the loss of their son. Yet, even worse was to come.

Two years later, Spafford decided to take his wife and four daughters to Europe on vacation, where Spafford planned to assist his friend evangelist Dwight Moody in running an evangelistic campaign in Great Britain. But last minute business kept Spafford home in Chicago. He sent his wife and children ahead on the oceanliner S.S. Ville du Havre.

And then, tragedy struck. Halfway across the Atlantic, an English vessel rammed the Ville du Havre and cut her in two. In the chaos that followed, Mrs. Spafford watched helplessly as her four daughters were swept overboard to their deaths. Within just twelve minutes the ship had sunk.

The rescued survivors were taken to Wales. From there Mrs. Spafford cabled the terrible news to her husband, who was awaiting news of his family's fare. The cable consisted of just two words: "Saved alone."

Spafford immediately boarded the next ship and set off for Wales to be with his wife.

As his ship approached the mid-Atlantic, he looked out over the billowing waves that had taken the lives of his beloved daughters. Inspired by the sight, Spafford wrote the words of his now famous hymn:

When peace like a river attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll,

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, It is well with my soul.

What an astounding sentiment! We can only imagine the grief he must have suffered -- how he must have prayed and wept and searched for meaning in the tragedy. But in the end, he was able to affirm a deep faith that, for the believer, "it IS well," even in the face of great personal suffering. The greatest hymns are those that speak out of the warp and woof of a flawed and fallen world -- that give expression to our deepest fears and hopes.

Music helps us express thoughts too profound for simple prose, and gives melody to the richest experiences of faith. And as the life of Horatio Spafford teaches us, music can flow from a wounded heart to soothe and bless Christians for generations to come.

(c) 1998 Prison Fellowship Ministries

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Version by Rev. Alan Carr in "A Tearful Moment," sermon #19910:

In 1871, tragedy struck Chicago as fire ravaged the city. When it was finally extinguished, the fire had taken over 300 lives and had left some 100,000 homeless. A man by the name of Horatio Spafford was one of those who tried to help the people of the city get back on their feet. Spafford was a Chicago lawyer who had invested heavily in the downtown area and lost everything as a result of the fire.

More tragically, Spafford had also suffered the loss his only son just a year earlier. Still, for two years Spafford assisted the homeless, the poor, the grief-stricken and others ruined by the fire.

It drained the family and they decided they needed a vacation. They were to go to England to join Moody and Ira Sankey on one of their evangelistic crusades, then travel in Europe. Mr. Spafford was delayed by some business, but sent his family on ahead. He would catch up to them on the other side of the Atlantic.

Their ship, the Ville de Havre, never made it. Off Newfoundland it collided with an English sailing ship and sank within 20 minutes. Though Horatio's wife, Anna, was able to cling to a piece of floating wreckage (one of only 47 survivors among hundreds), their four daughters were killed. Horatio received a horrible telegram from his wife, only two words long: “Saved alone.”

Spafford boarded the next available ship to be near his grieving wife. When the ship passed near the spot where his daughters died, Spafford penned these precious words:

When peace, like a river attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll.

What ever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Edith Rockefeller McCormick, the daughter of John D. Rockefeller, maintained a large household staff. She applied one rule to every servant without exception: they were not permitted to speak to her. The rule was broken only once, when word arrived at the family's country retreat that their young son had died of scarlet fever. The McCormicks were hosting a dinner party, but following a discussion in the servants' quarters it was decided that Mrs. McCormick needed to know right away. When the tragic news was whispered to her, she merely nodded her head and the party continued without interruption.

What a picture of the world's attitude toward death! Try to ignore it. Brush it off. Don't let it ruin the party. But as hard as the world works to deny the reality of death, nothing can stave off the inevitability of life's final transition.

-- The Little Brown Book of Anecdotes

One evening in 1954, Billie Sicard resigned from life. No official announcement was made, and no papers were signed. But still, she resigned. For all practical purposes Billie decided to live no longer. Her spirit died in 1954; her body died in 1979.

On that evening in 1954, Billie's only reason to live left her. Her twelve-year-old son, George, died of a brain tumor. Little George's death left Billie prisoned inside a vacuum. She had been thirty-four when she had borne him. After her husband left, little George became her life. When he died, his death became hers.

She was well-to-do. Billie had lived on the exclusive Sunset Island in Miami since 1937. After her death the house went at an auctioned price of $226,000. Yet all this was immaterial to Billie. Her life had been her child.

They said that after George died in a New York City hospital, the body was brought to her home for a wake. After displaying the body for a day in the home of Mrs. Sicard, the funeral director came to remove it. She refused to let him. For several days she mourned behind locked doors before she gave the body up.

It was nothing for Billie to go on a shopping spree and spend a hundred dollars on toys for George. In 1979 when her body was found, so were the toys, exactly as her son had left them. Nothing was packed, nothing moved. For twenty-five years Billie had roamed in a house full of toys, with a heart full of memories. When the house was sold after her death, little George's Cub Scout uniform was still hanging in the downstairs coat closet. On the wall was a child's sketch of a choo-choo train drawn in red crayon. She had never washed it off. His Mickey mouse slippers sat in the corner of his bedroom. In the garage sat a 1941 Packard, a gift she had given to little George on his tenth birthday.

When Billie resigned from life, she became a social recluse. Her yard became a jungle. Her home became a source of ghost stories and old wives' tales. She overate. She withdrew. She didn't care.

Billie resigned.

Her life stands as a quiet legacy to us all. Man must have something larger than death ... or death takes man.

-- Max Lucado

*

R. F. Smith in his book {Sit Down, God . . . I'm Angry

}states the following: "As I walked into the darkness (on the night of

my son's death), I almost apologized for my audacity in taking on God

so angrily. But I was stopped short by a psychiatrist, a close friend

of the family. 'You have good precedent for expressing anger over the

death of you son,' he said. 'That's exactly what God did. When his

son died, God quaked the earth and blackened the heavens. Don't you

think God was mad?"

- {Discovering, }Summer, 1997, Vol. 8, No. 1, p. 3

Mourners can be imbeciles. "[M]any of those people who died this past week," Billy Graham instructed the prayer service at the National Cathedral on September 14 [2001], "are in heaven right now, and they wouldn't want to come back. It's so glorious and so wonderful." This was Mohamed Atta's eschatology, too. It is not consoling, it is insulting. We are not a country of children. Nothing that transpired on September 11 was wonderful, nothing. The only effect of these fantasies is to loosen the American grip on reality at precisely the moment that it needs to be tightened. If it makes sense to call on religion in times of trouble, it is not because religion abolishes spiritual pain, but because religion acknowledges spiritual pain. When all the political and military and economic and psychological and cultural analyses of the slaughter are exhausted, there remains the question of the justice of the world.

Whether or not it has a religious answer, this is a religious question. About this question it is not easy to be brilliant. Silence is often a surer sign of mental progress than is articulateness. For some people, a house of worship is useful for such a reflection because it is God's house; but there are those who repair to a house of worship because it is Job's house, and therefore the natural setting for their objection to the order of things. Belief and unbelief are a disagreement, but they do not disagree about what is significant, and the vocabulary in which they conduct their disagreement is for certain purposes the only adequate vocabulary. And so Billy Graham's degradation of that vocabulary should have sent all intelligent souls in perplexity running from the church. Of course the air outside the church is not exactly thick with lucidity: at Yankee Stadium last Sunday, at the conclusion of the greatest afternoon in the history of American pluralism, Oprah Winfrey imparted the superstition that "when you lose a loved one, you gain an angel whose name you know." No, you do not.

Rick Ferguson once wrote about the comfort of Christ's love in his book, "The Servant Principle":

"As a pastor, I have performed literally hundreds of funerals. I have officiated ceremonies for the saved and unsaved. I've presided over funerals for Christian families and for families who have no faith in God. The most noticeable difference between the two types of families I have witnessed is the believers' experience of Christ's love. Their comfort is visible, evident, and undeniable. When the pain of death and separation pierces the heart of the believer, the love of Jesus Christ actively, attentively, and purposefully cushions the sting and begins mending the ragged hole left behind.

"This is not to say bereaved Christians do not mourn. Their hearts ache because of the loss. Their tears stream just as heavily as they reflect on happy memories. Their lips quiver and their throats thicken and choke up as they attempt to eulogize their beloved friend or family member. The homes' hallways still echo with laughter of past joys. Favorite chairs remain empty. Pictures are still poignant reminders of the beloved's best qualities. Death is death. Loss is loss, regardless of salvation. It hurts all the same, and when you hurt, you will mourn.

"Even though the experience of death is the same for Christians and non-Christians, it is also much different. The unsaved feel helpless while a dying kin or friend struggles for life, but Christians find solace in knowing that everything that occurs does so above the caring net of God's will. The lost search fruitlessly for a purpose in death, but the saved rest in the comfort that all things, even death, serve a definite purpose orchestrated by God. When the unbeliever drops to the bed, burying hot tears in the depths of pillows and shouting blame to God, the believer drops to knees bruised from constant prayer, lifting hands in praise and shouting, 'Rejoice that God is still God!' In the bleakest hours, when death is the only certainty, the future is filled with agonizing questions, and when the stark reality of saying your final goodbye coldly slaps a stinging smack across your face, God's love is the only comfort.

"And it is sufficient."

*

"You want to do what?" I asked him incredulously, my voice rising to the high-pitched level it reaches when I become exasperated. "Say that again, please; I don't think I heard you!"

"Oh, you heard me, all right," Frank snapped, waving his arms in his expressive manner. "I want to have my wake now - before I'm dead! Why should everyone else enjoy it and not me?"

He stalked into the kitchen, and I could hear him muttering to himself as he rummaged in the refrigerator. He returned shortly to the deck where I had remained to watch September's twilight blanket the Blue Ridge Mountains.

He finished munching a ripe peach, and then the voice that could never remain harsh for long broke the silence. "Honey, I want to do this."

I tightened my throat and tried not to cry. I was forty-four, and the thought of being widowed - again - was a devastating one. So devastating, in fact, that denial easily became the cloak I donned each day.

"But, but, you're stronger now. You said so! And the shots, they help..."

"Melva," he touched my shoulder as if pleading. "Let's have a party, and let's do it right. We could disguise it as an anniversary party. Of course, everyone who knows me so well will know."

I looked into those liquid brown eyes, their sparkle dulled now from pain, from medication, from worry. I knew what the last couple of years had taken from him. We had ceased to be the golden couple on the dance floor every weekend. Oh, we still went, he insisted; but we now spent most of the evenings sitting and chatting with friends.

His golf game, once marked by those powerful, straight drives and precision iron shots - he had four holes-in-one - had taken a downward turn.

The many enjoyable hours he once spent gardening and cutting firewood had dwindled to a precious few minutes that left him wan and spent.

The spirit never left him, though. While I seemed to constantly bemoan the changes in our life - in my life - he never complained. Suddenly, I realized that my fears and uncertainties paled in comparison to what he must be going through. The changes we had undergone appeared minuscule beside the cancer that raged within his body, vying with diabetes for the chance to determine his fate.

Swallowing my shame, I reached for his hand. "Okay. If it's a party you want, it's a party we'll have!"

The next morning, I ordered the 150 formal invitations for our "Anniversary Party." October 19, 1991, fell on a Saturday night, and we rented Frank's Shrine Club for the event.

Almost everyone we had invited came to share the evening with us. Mid-party, Frank took center stage with microphone in hand to give a glorious rendition of singer-songwriter Mac Davis's ballad, "It's Hard to Be Humble."

My husband delighted in being in the spotlight and finished to the cheers and, yes, tears, from all who loved him. He made a short speech then, thanking everyone for coming and proclaimed himself the luckiest man in the world! In so many words, he said good-bye.

And then we waltzed. Frank had begun to lose his balance and was no longer comfortable dancing with other women. But that night he danced with all.

Later, a slow number found me with one of his doctors. "How long does he have?" I asked quietly.

"That's impossible to predict, Melva, he seems stronger." "How long?" I asked again and was met by silence. We finished our dance, and he walked me back to my table. "Six months ... maybe longer," he finally answered me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

The rest of the night flew by like a vision, with Frank passing from one group to another, talking with everyone and regaling in the many stories told at his expense. Politicking, he'd once called it. As the evening drew to a close he remained at the door to bid each and every guest good night, standing at first, then needing to take a seat - but always smiling.

Three months and three days later, I sat shivering in the cold as his lodge brothers performed Masonic rites. I clutched the neatly folded flag while the strong arms of a friend led me to the waiting limousine.

About a year later, I had lunch with a new friend. She spoke of a wake she'd attended the night before. "What an absolutely beautiful way to say good-bye!" she remarked, obviously unaccustomed to such merriment.

I listened to her recount the frivolity, and I thought how sad that the dearly departed had missed such a fine evening. The "I should have done more" and "Why wasn't I stronger for him" guilt that had been my shroud began to slip away. My mind turned instead to Frank's joy at his last party.

"So, did you hold a wake for Frank?" my friend asked.

"Oh, yes," I replied. "It was a grand party, and he had the time of his life!"

_________________

by Melva Haggar Dye (c) 1999, from Chicken Soup for the Unsinkable Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Heather McNamara.

*

Every once in a while the sun decides to take a vacation for a few days. Recently, we had one of those stretches of weather when we didn't see the old boy for the better part of a week. It was just one rainy day after another. Everyone around here and everything around here was soaked. I was running into our Headquarters one morning at the same time as one of my co-workers, and we were both trying to avoid getting drenched in the process. I made some comment about the relentless rain, but he was looking at a little bigger picture than I was. Remembering last summer's withering drought, he said, "This is going to be good for us later on."

Well, I'm Ron Hutchcraft and I want to have A WORD WITH YOU today about "When The Rain Just Won't Stop."

You may be going through one of those seasons in your life when the "rain" never seems to stop. It's been stress, bad news, struggle - maybe disappointment, confusion, grief. We all take our turn facing those seasons when we keep waking up to another rainy day.

Our word for today from the Word of God has been, for 2,000 years, a bright light for dark days. The well-worn words of Romans 8:28 have helped millions of believers see a bigger picture when it seemed as if it would never stop raining. As familiar as you may be with these words, they may literally have your name on them for this particular season of your life. Listen to them with your heart - "We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose."

One great saint described Romans 8:28 as "a soft pillow for a long night." I hope you will let it be that for you. Because it gives you God's ironclad assurance that there is meaning in what you're going through ... that there is a holy purpose for God either sending or allowing those things in your life. His purpose for our dark times is seldom explained, but it's always there. No, it doesn't say everything is good here - it says everything is being worked together for good. For your good, if you're one of those who love Him.

So you can say - no matter how many days it's been raining - "This is going to be good for us later on." God simply wouldn't let this happen if it wasn't going to be good for you later on. Romans 8:29 tells us that the ultimate good God is going to bring out of this is to make you more like His Son. I believe God shapes and allows the circumstances to come into our life that will best develop some quality of Jesus in us. There's nothing greater God could do for you than to plant in you the way Jesus loves people ... the way Jesus treats people ... the way Jesus is patient with people ... the way Jesus understands what a hurting person is going through ... the kind of bondedness Jesus had with His Father.

And it may take a lot of rainy days for God to make you the man or woman He created you and redeemed you to be. He's toughening you ... or maybe tenderizing you ... purging you of old ways of doing things ... squeezing you into new and better priorities ... sensitizing you to people you've hurt or neglected ... moving you to burn some old bridges or to treat some old wounds. What gets you through the rainy days is the calm assurance that "God is working all this together for my good ... to make a better me."

Are you going to enjoy one rainy day after another? Not necessarily. But it sure helps to see them in the big picture perspective. God is using these days to prepare you for better days ahead. So, if you got up this morning and found that it was raining again, lean hard on Romans 8:28 - and say, with all the confidence of a blood-bought child of God, "This is going to be very good for us later on."

________________

Copyright © Ron Hutchcraft Ministries, Inc., PO Box 400, Harrison, AR 72602. Used by permission. Written by Ron Hutchcraft. "Practical Answers to Real Life Issues"

*

BP EDITORS' NOTE: On Sept. 30, 2001, God had completed Dyson Rusher's task here on earth, after a life of four years and eight months. His parents, Brett and Stephanie Rusher of Ordway, Colo., however, and his 7-year-old sister, Callie, have found numerous ministry opportunities because of Dyson's death. Their own faith has been renewed and deepened to a level they never imagined. And they've seen lives changed because of the work God is doing related to Dyson's death. These are Brett's words. It's his story ... as a father and as a believer.

________________________________

ORDWAY, Colorado (BP) -- Dyson was known to everyone as "Biff." He was a wreck waiting to happen. He pretty much led a charmed life. That kid didn't have a care in the world. He was almost always happy, and almost always up to something. Like most little kids, he had a gift from God. He touched the heart of almost everyone. A lot of people never knew his name, but everybody remembered him.

The Lord gave Dyson to us for four years and eight months. When he went to be with his Father in heaven, it was one of the most heartbreaking things we ever went through. More importantly, it was one of the most beautiful times in our lives.

I was working as a sales representative for a local feed store, but part of my job was to come in and watch the counter occasionally. Since Stephanie worked too, I sometimes took Callie and Dyson in with me. There were toys and things for them to play with, so they enjoyed being there. It was on such a day that our lives changed forever.

The kids were playing outside most of that day. I was talking with my boss and a customer when my boss' wife came in carrying Dyson. A heavy pipe rack that guarded the gas meter to the store had fallen on him. We could see right away that he wasn't conscious and he wasn't breathing. My boss immediately began CPR and I called 911. The ambulance was there within five minutes and Dyson was transported to the ER.

As soon as we were in the hospital, I began to pray. I knew that God would take care of Dyson, but I was scared of how he would do it.

The time in the ER was very uncertain for us. They lost Dyson's pulse, then got it back. And during all of this, Stephanie was in Breckenridge on a business trip. I finally got in touch with her. Thankfully, a close friend and co-worker, Joyce Bond, was with her on that trip. Joyce is also a Christian, and I praise God she was there. My boss had called our pastor and friend, Tab Ramsey, and he arrived to be with me.

The doctors decided that Dyson should be flown to the Children's Hospital in Denver. It would be about an hour before the plane arrived. Tab and I sat with Biff, praying that God would not let my faith weaken. I decided to cling to God and he began to reassure me that he was my only option. He let me know that he would bring us through no matter what.

By the time we arrived at the Children's Hospital, Stephanie and Joyce had arrived from Breckenridge. After treating him in the ER, Biff was taken to the intensive care unit. We decided we wouldn't accept the thought of Dyson leaving us until the Lord told us differently. We decided to pray for a miracle and put all our faith in God that he would give us one.

For the next five days, we ran the gamut of emotions. This is what I meant by the most heartbreaking yet beautiful time in our lives.

By now, Steph's parents, her brother, her sisters and their families were there. All of my family was there, and several close friends. There must've been about 30 people. God put a wonderful support staff in place for us. He strengthened all of us through each other as we prayed, laughed and cried together. Anyone who was in the hospital couldn't have denied the presence of God. And that's just one of miracles we saw that week.

We watched God change people right before our eyes. My mom turned into a whole new person. She's always been vocal, but she became vocal about God. And she didn't care who heard her. Steph's dad became softer than his normal, rigid self. Yet he had rock-like strength. My step-dad, who I wasn't even sure believed in God, joined us in prayer. I could go on and on.

In those five days, we watched God work right in front of us. We watched as he brought permanent changes to friends and loved ones. It's great to see even today how they continue to grow in Christ.

I've heard it said that it's when we're in the darkness that we can learn the most. I believe that to be true. When God is carrying us through darkness, he can teach us the most. In that hospital, we learned one of life's most important lessons. We learned what it means to submit everything in your life totally and completely to God. When you do, he can change you. And not just for the moment, but permanently.

At the beginning of those five days, Stephanie and I prayed to God for Dyson to get up and walk out of there. We wanted a happy ending and we knew God could provide it. It was a fight to maintain that faith. The enemy hammered us with doubts and fears. We began to fight anger with God. And after three days of no improvement, the doctors told us that, medically, there was no chance of recovery. They added, though, that we shouldn't give up hope because they had seen greater miracles.

They also said we needed to make a decision on when to pull the life support. The longer the respirator was on, the greater the chance of infection. We knew if we pulled the life support, that would be the moment of truth. Dyson would either breathe on his own and live, or he would die. We told the doctor we'd pray about it and when we felt at peace with a decision we'd let her know.

After that meeting, I got very angry at God. I went in Dyson's room and pleaded with God to take me instead. But in my heart, I knew he wasn't going to do that. I completely lost my temper with God and let him have every bit of anger I had in me. I begged him not to take my son from me. I asked him why he wouldn't answer my prayers. He finally brought me to the point where I realized that the answers were right there in the Bible; I just wasn't looking for them.

So I got my Bible out and desperately searched for answers. I was trying to figure out what I needed to do to save my son. Up to this point, I thought if enough people prayed hard enough and long enough, we could save Dyson's life. Then God pointed me to the 23rd Psalm. Then he showed me Psalm 27:14 which says to wait on the Lord. There were other Scriptures, too. I took Psalm 27:14 to heart and decided to do what it says, and wait for the Lord. I would wait for him to work on his own terms and in his own time. The answers began to come almost immediately.

That night, my mom came to stay with Dyson so Stephanie and I could get some much-needed sleep. She brought a book with her about physical healing. The author's belief was that we should always pray for physical healing because that's always God's will. But all of the Scriptures she referenced in the book were about spiritual healing. I so badly wanted to believe this author. There were cases of physical healing in the Scriptures, but God's ultimate purpose was always spiritual healing. I was confused and frustrated. I went back to my wife and mom to read part of the book to them and figure this out. Steph's immediate response was, "If God doesn't want us to suffer or feel physical pain, what about Job?"

There it was, the answer we had so desperately been searching for.

It took us almost two days to read the Book of Job and study it until we understood what God was saying. Job yelled and screamed at God but he never gave up on God. Nor did God ever give up on Job.

We realized that what God was saying to us was, "Look, I'm taking Dyson to heaven. He's fulfilled his purpose here. If you'll trust in me, that I know what's best for you, I'll carry you through the darkness. I understand that you're going to be angry with me. I understand that you'll yell and scream at me and ask why. But I want you to know that I'll carry you. I love you. You, like Dyson, are my children."

As we look back on that night in the hospital, when God was comforting us through the Book of Job, we've learned of several people who were also seeking God in the same Scriptures on that same night. Steph's cousin, her brother, a good friend of mine ... all were led to the same place in the Bible at the same time.

We prayed and asked God to make the decision about life support. He did, and when he had given us a peace with it, we had them pull the life support. Biff was gone almost immediately. We realized that he was never our child, but God's child. We're all God's children.

As for Steph, Callie and me, we know we're still here for a purpose. We've been given an awesome ministry through Dyson's life. We want to use it to glorify God. We praise God that Dyson is in heaven. Oh, we have our selfish moments when we think we'd like to have him back, but we know that in the scope of eternity, it'll be a very short time before we're in the kingdom with our Father and with Dyson.

*

When I was fourteen, in a two-week period before Thanksgiving, my dad developed hepatitis and died. It was a shock to all of us. He had always been so healthy. He'd only been sick once before and had bounced back quickly.

As one of eight children, I was usually lost in the crowd. Now, however, adults sought me out to console me. They told me how much I resembled my father and what a good man he had been. There was an outpouring of love, visitors and food to our home. To be honest, the months that followed his death were quite beautiful, in a weird way. I had never felt so immersed in love.

At school, none of my friends knew what to say to me. I did have one friend who came to see me at my house the day after my dad died. She sat quietly beside me. I now realize how much courage that must have taken. Besides her, none of my other friends acknowledged my father's death. They acted awkward around me. It was a strange feeling.

Several months later, one of the cheerleaders in my class lost her father to a massive heart attack. Usually, she was in the midst of a huge crowd. She seemed alone most of the time now.

I approached her tentatively one day during lunch. “I think I know how you're feeling. My dad died a few months ago,” I told her.

I didn't know what to expect. I was a little intimidated, to be honest. I didn't mix with “her crowd” too easily. They were all so good-looking and popular.

Abby looked me squarely in the face. Her eyes widened. And then she seemed to relax. We talked until the bell rang.

After that day, we chatted regularly. Sometimes it felt like we were in our own little world. We'd share stories and giggle about our dads. It felt good to have a connection with my dad through our talks. I cherished them.

The next school year a girl named Terry lost her dad. Terry was kind of nerdy. She was tall and skinny. Not even “my crowd” had much to do with her. Once again, I approached someone out of my need to have a bond with my father.

“I heard your dad died. My dad died last year,” I told her.

Terry sighed, then gave me a description of her past week. I listened to her every word. As soon as I could find Abby, I told her about Terry. Abby responded like I did. It was as if we were on a deserted island, and we had caught sight of a shipwrecked victim floating toward us.

We became a threesome. Not in a social way - we didn't really hang out together - but we snatched a few moments at our lockers and in homeroom to share bits of our dads. Just having someone who understood when we were going through a tough week was comforting.

I still have my yearbook in which Abby wrote, “Thanks for being my buddy. I needed you.” Occasionally, I hear from Terry. I have continued to reach out to people who are in pain. I've received comfort for myself, too, as a result of connecting with others.

Being able to reach out to others has returned blessings to me a hundredfold. I thank my dad for this lasting and life-affirming gift.

__________

Chicken Soup for the Christian Teenage Soul; Source: The Inspired Buffalo, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the-inspired-buffalo/

*

[Original illustration here was a duplicate in HolwickID 25837-26027]

“Then the sicknes begane to fall sore amongst them, and the weather so bad .... the Gov/r and cheefe of them, seeing so many dye, and fall downe sick dayly, thought it no wisdom to send away the ship....”

Capt. Miles Standish had been much at his wife Rose's bedside. As much time, that is, as he could spare from stalking game, guarding against savages, and felling trees to construct crude homes on shore.

A bitter wind whistled through chinks and cracks in the Mayflower, anchored in Plymouth harbor that winter of 1620-21. Rose's chills would turn to uncontrollable shaking. Then just as suddenly, her body would be ablaze with fever. Herbs from the surgeon's chest did little to relieve her. By spring only five wives remained out of the eighteen who had sailed to Plymouth. Rose was not among them.

Thanksgiving? What was that? The golden dreams of a New World that Miles and Rose had cherished together had evaporated into hollow hopes. And yet that fall Capt. Standish joined other bereaved Pilgrims in the first Thanksgiving celebration.

The real test of thankfulness is whether we can give thanks from the heart for what we do have, despite the wounds and pains of yesterday's struggles. Ours is not some fair-weather faith, but a resilient trust in in the midst of pain. The Pilgrims lived close to the edge of survival. Perhaps that is why they were so thankful.

How about you? Does your material bounty cause you to neglect thanks? When your clan gathers this Thanksgiving will a prayer of thankfulness be forgotten between moist turkey and pumpkin pie? Will your children see you bow your head to give thanks, or merely ask for another helping of dressing and cranberry sauce?

Children will be watching, you know. And their little faith is being formed by what they see. Your family's Thanksgiving celebration will instruct them about thankfulness, for good or ill.

Will they see you too wealthy to be thankful? Too independent to need God any more? Too bitter, perhaps? Or will they watch you truly give thanks for God's blessings on this special day? And maybe as they watch, they'll catch a hint that mom and dad and grandmother, in spite of painful seasons they have faced, have seen these bitter winters bear fruit in better thanksgiving.

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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #16800]

Planning and shopping for the holidays can be stressful enough, but coping with holiday festivities after a loss or traumatic event can be overwhelming. Sights, sounds and smells of the holidays can trigger memories of a person who died, a past job or past family gatherings. Keeping family traditions may seem impossible, but getting through the holidays is part of the process of recovery.

How can you survive the holiday season when you do not feel like celebrating?

How can you help children through the grieving process when you're not sure of the journey yourself?

Harold Ivan Smith, in his book, “Decembered Grief,” gives tips to surviving the holidays when you do not feel like celebrating:

-- ANTICIPATE THE HOLIDAYS. Approach the holidays with determination to treasure the memory of a loved one. Writing a letter to the deceased loved one allows you to express your feelings about the person's absence. Making a scrapbook helps you focus on important memories and also helps preserve photographs, newspaper clippings and other valuable items.

-- MAINTAIN ROUTINES. Children have great expectations at Christmas, and they need to know that life continues even after a major loss. Maintaining routines and giving lots of hugs and reassurance will bring feelings of security for children.

-- INVOLVE CHILDREN IN MAKING PLANS. Allow them to express their needs and wishes. In situations of divorce, children will be anxious about where they will spend Christmas, how and when presents will be opened, and whether they will be visiting grandparents as they have done in the past.

-- ALTER TRADITIONS. You may be tempted to forget past family traditions altogether. Consider altering them instead. Give yourself permission to create new traditions. Involve and take suggestions from your children, but realize that you may experience anger that your traditions and celebrations have been altered.

-- APPRECIATE YOUR GRIEF. Recognize that grief will be a reality and give yourself permission to cry, even at unexpected times. Schedule time alone if necessary. Ecclesiastes 3:4 assures us that there is a time for weeping and mourning. And remember it is okay to let your children see you cry.

-- ACKNOWLEDGE GOD. Grief was not unknown to Jesus Christ. He grieved the death of John the Baptist (Matthew 14:13) and wept at the death of Lazarus (John 11:35).

Even in sorrow, hope is alive for Christians. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 reminds us that Christians are not “to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” Through hope in Jesus Christ, sorrow will not go on forever.

Even though Christians are not protected from sorrow, God will show compassion (Lamentations 3:32-33). Prayer also provides a place to acknowledge your fears, sadness and loneliness to God. God will comfort you as a mother comforts her child (Isaiah 66:13).So this Christmas, if you are searching for hope in your sorrow, find a nativity scene and ponder Mary's expression as she cradles her newborn son. Then rejoice that God is cradling and comforting you in the same loving way. That's something to celebrate!

__________

Adapted from the article, “Surviving the Holidays?” in the December issue ParentLife

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Five Ways to Help a Hurting Friend:

1. Give lots of hugs. Almost always, a hug is better than words.

2. Write notes of encouragement. The simple notes of support I received after my miscarriage meant so much! They also provided an unexpected bridge into the lives of friends who'd suffered similar losses. I still take out the cards and letters and re-read them when I'm feeling down.

3. Acknowledge the loss. Author Rebecca Faber, in A Mother's Grief Observed, comments on people's tendency to avoid talking about painful things. In the months following the death of her toddler, William, she found that people were afraid to mention his name. One friend explained why: If Rebecca had momentarily forgotten the pain, they didn't want to make her feel bad again. She writes, “What people forget is that you never forget. The grief is always in your face, always there. It's far better for them to speak and show they care.”

The flip side of this is to be sensitive to avoid such phrases as “At least now you know you can get pregnant!” “Those statements are anything but comforting to grieving parents,” says Jennifer Saake, founder of Hannah's Prayer. “In fact, any statement containing an 'at least ... ' sentiment is inappropriate because you're minimizing another's pain. Simply say, 'I'm sorry you're having to go through this.'“

4. Be selective in sharing your story. After my miscarriage, it seemed that almost every woman I knew told me that she, too, had experienced a miscarriage. In a way, that was encouraging; it showed me I wasn't alone. But frankly, when people with broods of healthy children told me about the miscarriages they'd had years ago, it was little comfort to me right then. There may be times when your story will help your friend—but don't automatically assume she wants to hear it.

5. Be sensitive to her feelings if you become pregnant or adopt a child. When my friend Becky became pregnant not long after my miscarriage, she knew it could be difficult for me. I so appreciated her loving gesture of telling me her exciting news before making it public. While it was hard to watch Becky's belly expand during the following months, her sensitivity to my feelings made such a difference in my ability to cope with it. Now that she has a healthy son, she allows me to set the pace in interacting with him, knowing some days it's fine, and other days it hurts. Don't take it personally if sometimes your infertile friend simply can't bear to be around you and your little bundle of joy.

Be careful, too, about complaining. It's natural to joke about the trials and tribulations of motherhood—morning sickness, potty training, and all the rest. But remember, your good-natured banter might be painful to a friend who longs for a child.

*

How you can help her get through her grief

“If there’s anything I can do. “ I heard these words repeatedly three years ago on that rainy day when we buried our 29-day-old baby boy, Christopher. Most people who said them acted so awkwardly, I felt as though I had to cheer them up.

But others were more at ease. One friend, Anne, quietly shared how she was encouraged by our reliance on God during Christopher’s battle with a serious congenital heart defect. Another friend, Pam, e-mailed me, “I planted some violas for Christopher today, just outside my kitchen window.” While neither gesture was extravagant or profound, both shone some light on a very dark day.

Why do some people seem to know what to say to someone in pain, while the rest of us flounder? The reality is, being close to someone who’s heartbroken is difficult. We don’t want to compound her pain by saying the wrong thing, yet we earnestly desire to help lessen her suffering, just like Jesus, who came to “comfort all who mourn” (Isaiah 61:2). When our heart breaks for someone else, we reflect God’s sadness. How can we also reflect God’s comfort? First we need to understand what comforting does-and doesn’t-involve.

• Comforting Isn’t Explaining God’s Will

When Judy’s eight-year-old son, Kyle, was hospitalized with a life-threatening infection, a close relative wrote her to say God was punishing her for not attending church. Needless to say, the letter did little to encourage Judy.

The need to explain people’s suffering is natural. Even Jesus was asked, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2). Jesus replied that things aren’t always so straightforward. In this case, the man’s blindness was so “the work of God might be displayed in his life” (John 9:3). My friend Melissa confessed that when she first heard of Christopher’s illness, she believed it was a result of my husband’s previous involvement with role-playing games. But when she gave birth to a stillborn son a year later, she apologized for judging us.

• Comforting Isn’t Fixing the Problem

When Judith lost her daughter two weeks before her due date, many people assured her, “At least you know you can get pregnant.” Marilyn, who lost her son when she was 21 weeks pregnant, was likewise told, “At least you have children at home.” And my husband, who’s a pediatrician, often heard, “Think of what a better physician you’ll be after having such a sick child.” Trying to cheer people by telling them the character-building benefits of their suffering does little to comfort them. Those “benefits” can never compensate for the loss someone feels when a loved one dies.

• Comforting Is Making Yourself Available

To comfort a friend is to focus on her feelings, not yours. Once we recognize we’re helpless to explain the problem or to fix it, we can concentrate instead on meeting our friend’s needs as best we can, perhaps in the following ways:

Be there. We printed 70 programs for Christopher’s funeral, but we ran out long before the service began. The number of people who attended overwhelmed us. God used their presence to comfort us during that difficult time. When 9-year-old Randy died after an unsuccessful liver transplant, his mother, JoAnn, was moved when 16 intensive care nurses braved rainy, icy weather for 2 hours just to be at the funeral.

We often underestimate the impact our mere presence can have. But a hug, a pat on the arm, or attendance at a memorial service is often as valued as anything else.

• Listen.

Listening involves encouraging your friend to express her feelings. Pam Vredevelt, author of Empty Arms, says many women find it easier to suffer in silence because others won’t initiate discussions about their loss. So if your grieving friend says, “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of bed tomorrow,” help her open up by asking her a question such as, “What’s the scariest part of facing your day?” Then really listen to her answer. Try responding in a way that allows your friend to express what she really feels.

• Tell how the person/situation affected you.

When Christopher died, I was left with a huge hole in my life-while others’ lives stayed the same. Telling a grieving person how you were affected by her loved one, even if it was only minimally, lets her know you feel her loss, too. Writing that memory on a card or in a letter is helpful. Over the last three years I’ve repeatedly turned to my cards for comfort.

• Tell her how you’ve been praying.

In June 1998, Brenda’s husband, Rob, died suddenly in a car accident. They had three young daughters. The card Brenda found most uplifting explained in detail how her friend had been praying for Brenda and her daughters. When your prayers are wails, and despair is overwhelming, knowing others are lifting up the things you need can ease some of your burden.

• Tell her your story.

When Christopher died, I was touched by all the women who came to me with their own stories of “empty arms” and babies lost. Being able to share with someone, “I remember when I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, let alone eat,” helps a friend know she’s not crazy, that others have also felt that kind of pain. Be cautious, however, about saying “I understand how you feel”; some people might find this presumptuous. Though every loss is different, you can share your stories to let people know they’re not alone. This is the heart of the apostle Paul’s urging to “comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4).

• Offer tangible help.

In the days following Christopher’s death, we were often asked, “Is there anything you need?” Few people, however, feel comfortable admitting they need help-even if they’re grieving. Yet when my friend Raj said, “This Tuesday I’m bringing you and Keith dinner,” we had no choice-and we were grateful. The more specific your offer, the more likely someone will accept it.

• Follow through.

One of the hardest things about losing someone is that eventually everything on the outside returns to normal, while on the inside you still feel torn apart.

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral’s over. Though there are days when we almost forget our pain, there are others when the reality of our loss hits us all over again, just as it did those weeks, months, or even years ago. With time those days grow fewer and further between, but they still occur.

To make a special difference in someone’s life, follow through with your friends who mourn. Marilyn remembers with gratitude a woman from her church who sent her a card every few months, long after the others stopped coming.

Send a card on the anniversary of someone’s death, or on what would have been a birthday or an anniversary. Or you could offer to baby-sit or prepare a special meal.

Don’t worry about this reminding your friends of their loss. The grief will always be there. As one woman who lost a child remarked in Carol Staudacher’s Beyond Grief: “It’s as though people believe if you’re not talking about your loss, you’re not thinking about it. That’s as ridiculous as assuming if you’re not thinking about breathing, you’re not doing it.” JoAnn says that eight years after her son Randy’s death, she still receives cards from several friends on the anniversary each March. It touches her to know others think of him, too.

Comforting someone who grieves can be scary, because it reminds us of our fears. We don’t have to fix our friend’s problem or say anything profound; comforting doesn’t have to be onerous. Make yourself available to meet your friend where she is. In doing so, you can surround her with love at a time when she feels most alone.

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Sheila Wray Gregoire, a freelance writer and home business owner, lives with her family in Ontario, Canada.

20 Things to Do for a Grieving Friend

1 Give her a hug.

2 Attend the visitation and funeral.

3 Buy her a hardy plant.

4 Baby-sit her children.

5 Walk her pets.

6 Make her frozen casseroles.

7 Pray often and specifically for her-and tell her you’re doing so.

8 Bake her cookies.

9 Mop her floors.

10 Help her write thank-you cards.

11 Collect photos of the person who died from friends and relatives, and make an album for her.

12 Buy her a pretty journal.

13 Write out your prayers for her and encourage others to do the same. Put these in a booklet and give it to her.

14 Give her money anonymously (funerals are expensive).

15 Pick up some basic groceries at the store and deliver them to her.

16 Buy her a really comfortable pillow and blanket to help her sleep and keep cozy.

17 Call her every week to check in.

18 After some time’s passed, buy her a devotional on grief, or a good book on losing a loved one-such as Will I Ever Be Whole Again by Sandra P. Aldrich, or When Life Hurts: Understanding God’s Place in Your Pain by Philip Yancey.

19 Encourage her to go on walks or drives with you.

20 Keep inviting her to all the things you’d have invited her to before.-S.W.G.

In a seven-foot ditch that surrounds my sister’s house, fumes ignited from the substance my husband was using to waterproof her basement when the air-conditioner clicked on. The explosion left him severely burned. In the hospital, I helplessly watched him lay in excruciating pain for eight days before he died. I found myself alone, a brand-new mother and a widow at the age of 21. How would I get through such a crisis?

During the following days, I often turned to God’s Word for answers. A verse in the Book of James annoyed me as I read, “… count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, so that you may be perfect, complete, lacking nothing” (1:2-4, NKJ). Where was the joy, I wanted to ask James, when I walked into the emergency room and couldn’t recognize my husband? His skin had turned completely black, his head was twice the normal size and the skin on his arms was missing.

While some grief, such as death, may take a lifetime to heal, the good news is that during that lifetime you can, once again, experience joy. Over the years, I’ve found joy by discovering that my grief is in fact working for my good.

Still, having joy doesn’t mean that I will never feel pain. God created my emotions, so it’s acceptable to grieve. On the other hand, I don’t have to remain in dismay. Looking at my life before grief, during grief and after grief, combined with God’s Word, I began to see the purpose of my burden. God was at work in my grief, making me perfect, complete and lacking in nothing.

My life before grief felt as if all of my dreams had come true. Not long after we were married, God blessed us with a beautiful baby boy. Life was going just as I had planned. However, did you know that God’s plans are not always our plans? Isaiah 55:8 says it like this: “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,’ says the Lord. ‘… My ways are higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts’” (NKJ). I didn’t know God had a different plan than mine until the night my husband died. As a result, my life of grief began.

My life during grief was lonely without him. I felt angry and betrayed by the God I had loved since I was a little child. I locked those feelings in my heart, as if God didn’t know how I felt toward Him. Then one night I reached a desperate point and cried out to God. Bursting through the door to the throne room of grace, I shook my fist in His face and boldly questioned, “Why — why did you do this to me? Oh God, I need to know why!” Just as a mother runs to her screaming child, so did God the Father run to me, His child. I didn’t see Him with my eyes or touch Him with my hands, but I felt His presence consume me as if God poured Himself over my entire body. In the comfort of His presence, I was compelled to read Psalm 139: “Is there anyplace you can go from my spirit? If you climb to the sky, I am there! If you go underground, I am there!” (v. 7-8, The Message). I knew then that my Lord had not betrayed me, He had come to say, “I am here!” Healing began as I cried out to God and allowed Him to carry me through the painful moments. This process continued until He lifted me to a new level of grace.

Life after grief grew bright, as I focused on His promises instead of my circumstances. Grief usually offers me two choices. I can despise it and die in my anger and bitterness or I can live again by confessing my feelings and trusting God. I chose life. The Apostle Paul said in Romans that “we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose” (8:28, NKJ). I believe God is saying, “In this fallen world, not all of your experiences are going to be good ones, but because you love and obey Me, I will make them good.” Still, why should I believe God is working for good when it feels so bad? Because His Word says that nothing can separate me from His love, and I chose to believe that. I like the way The Message interrupts Romans 8:38: “Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst of sins listed in the Scripture…" I’ve learned not to judge God’s love for me by my circumstances, but by the cross where He suffered and died for me.

Consequently, grief has made me stronger, more mature and patient so that I’m able to handle trials to come. Plus, I’ve learned that joy can be found by believing that God loves me in all things and is working for my good, conforming me to the image of Christ. God also has kept His promises by blessing me with a wonderful new husband, two more beautiful children and a heart that believes my Lord is good — all the time.

How can you experience joy in the mist of your grief? First, draw close to God by crying out and allowing Him to meet you in your pain. Second, stop asking, “What am I going to do?” Instead ask, “What is God going to do?” God is not working to destroy you, but to re-create you. He is making you strong and Christ-like so that you’re able to finish the race. Finally, choose life by trusting God and not your circumstances. As you do, you’ll gain a renewed love for Him, as His love enables you to encompass joy in the midst of your grief.

Bob Russell is a friend of mine who preaches in Kentucky. His father passed away a few years ago. The funeral was held on a cold, blustery, Pennsylvania day. The snow-covered roads precluded the funeral procession, so the director told Bob, "I'll take your dad's body to the grave." Bob couldn't bear the thought of missing his father's burial, so he and his brother and their sons piled into a four-wheel drive vehicle and followed the hearse. Here is how he described the event:

"We plowed through ten inches of snow into the cemetery, got about fifty yards from my dad's grave, with the wind blowing about twenty-five miles per hour, and the six of us lugged that casket down to the gravesite. ... We watched the body lowered into the grave and we turned to leave. I felt something was undone, so I said, "I'd like for us to have a prayer." The six of us huddled together and I prayed, "Lord, this is such a cold, lonely place. ..." And then I got too choked up to pray anymore. I kept battling to get my composure, and finally I just whispered, "But I thank you, for we know to be absent from the body is to be safe in your warm arms."*

Isn't that what we want to believe? Just as a parent needs to know that his or her child is safe at school, we long to know that our loved ones are safe in death. We long for the reassurance that the soul goes immediately to be with God. But dare we believe it? Can we believe it? I think so. I think Bob's prayer was accurate. When it is cold on earth, we can take comfort in knowing that our loved ones are in the warm arms of God.

I had been ministering in San Antonio for less than a year when one of our members asked me to speak at the funeral of his mother. Her name was Ida Glossbrenner, but her friends called her Polly.

As the son and I planned the service, he told me a fascinating story about the final words his mother spoke. Mrs. Glossbrenner was unresponsive for the last few hours of her life. She never spoke a word. But moments before her death, she opened her eyes and stated in a clear voice, "My name is Ida Glossbrenner, but my friends call me Polly."

Meaningless words of hallucination? Perhaps. Or, perhaps more. Perhaps Ida was, well, maybe she was at the schoolhouse doors of heaven. Her body behind her. Her soul in the presence of God. And maybe she was getting acquainted.

I don't know. But I do know this. When it is cold on earth, we can take comfort in knowing that our loved ones are in the warm arms of God. And when Christ comes, we will hold them, too.

This is a good story that reminded me that God is always with us even in the darkest times of our life. I hope it encourages you to continually trust the Lord and know that He will never leave your side no matter what may be going wrong in your life. He is our bright and shining star, even in the midst of the darkness. (Job 36:5-7; Revelation 22:16)

EVEN IF IT’S DARK

He was a strong man facing an enemy beyond strength. His young wife had become gravely ill, then suddenly passed away, leaving the big man alone with a wide-eyed, flaxen-haired girl, not quite five years old.

The service in the village chapel was simple, and heavy with grief. After the burial at the small cemetery, the man’s neighbors gathered around him. “Please, bring your little girl and stay with us for several days,” someone said. “You shouldn’t go back home just yet.”

Broken hearted though he was, the man answered, “Thank you, friends, for the kind offer. But we need to go back home-where she was. My baby and I must face this.”

So they returned, the big man and his little girl, to what now seemed an empty, lifeless home. The man brought his daughter’s little bed into his room, so they could face the first dark night together.

As the minutes slipped by that night, the young girl was having a dreadful time trying to sleep … and so was her father. What could pierce a man’s heart deeper than a child sobbing for a mother who would never come back?

Along into the night the little one continued to weep. The big man reached down into her bed and tried to comfort her as best he could. After a while, the little girl managed to stop crying — but only out of sorrow for her father. Thinking his daughter was asleep, the father looked up and said brokenly, “I trust you, Father, but … it’s as dark as midnight!”

Hearing her dad’s prayer, the little girl began to cry again.

“I thought you were asleep, baby,” he said.

“Papa, I did try. I was sorry for you. I did try. But — I couldn’t go to sleep. Papa, did you ever know it could be so dark? Why Papa? I can’t even see you, it’s so dark.” Then, through her tears the little girl whispered, “But you love me even if it’s dark — don’t you, Papa?”

For an answer, the big man reached across with his massive hands, lifted his little girl out of her bed, brought her over onto his chest, and held her, until at last she fell asleep.

When she was finally quiet, he began to pray. He took his little daughters cry to himself, and passed it up to God.

“Father, it’s as dark as midnight. I can’t see you at all. But You love me, even when it’s dark and I can’t see, don’t you?”

From that blackest of hours, the Lord touched him with new strength, enabling him to carry on. He knew that God went on loving him, even in the dark.

When I answered my cell phone the voice on the other end didn’t sound human. I could not decipher who it was. “Calm down and speak slowly,” I repeated to no avail.

Finally, I recognized the desperate sobs of my sister-in-law, Gina. My face twisted in pain as I knew something terrible was about to rock my world.

“Benji’s not breathing!” Gina wailed, “His body is blue and he’s not breathing!”

“Oh! Jesus, please, Jesus!” my heart cried.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I told her through a tightened throat.

As my vision blurred and my legs turned to clay, running to my car was like running under water. Everything was happening in slow motion and it seemed an eternity before I came to a screeching halt just outside the emergency room. I bolted past the front desk and charged through the double doors, knowing in my heart that my 10-week-old nephew had left this world forever.

Our families huddled together pleading with Jesus to “let this cup pass” as doctors and nurses worked for over an hour, trying to revive our beloved Benji. Then came the most dreadful, gut-wrenching words a parent could ever hear, “I’m sorry, we did everything we could. He’s gone.” Gina crumbled to the floor. Inhuman noises echoed from her throat as grief like I’ve never heard forced its way out. Pain so deep that it sucked the air from my lungs ravaged my body as I held Gina in my arms.

That was a few weeks ago. What has taken place since then is nothing short of a miracle. Gina and my brother, Steven, have experienced God’s grace at a level that is unknown to many. They have been embraced by the comforting arms of Jesus, sustained by the soothing Word of God, and filled with peace that passes understanding. Evidence of God’s grace, poured out, was seen during the funeral, which was also Steven and Gina’s six-year anniversary.

As the same soloist that sang “There Is A Redeemer” on their wedding day sang it at their baby boy’s funeral, a comforting assurance washed over me. I knew that God was just as faithful now as He was then. The same Redeemer that celebrated in their joy is the same Redeemer that would sustain them in sorrow. The music played on, and when my precious sister-in-law tilted her head upward and lifted her hands to worship Jesus, God’s presence came down like I have never witnessed before.

The doctors said Benji died from SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). I say Benji’s heavenly Father looked upon his sleeping body that Thursday morning and proclaimed through tears of joy, “This one’s mine.” Not only has Benji traded the pain and suffering of this world for the magnificent glories of Heaven, but he has also been used more powerfully for God’s glory after a mere 10 weeks of life than most of us will be used in a lifetime.

Steven and Gina have glorified God in a way that would not have been possible had Benji remained on earth. As the co-owners of two popular restaurants in our community, people from all walks of life attended the funeral -- young and old, rich and poor, lost and saved. What they witnessed was not a family without hope. They saw much more than a young, grieving couple who would miss their baby boy in the painful days ahead. They saw a sovereign and faithful God who keeps His promises, a God who comforts those who mourn and gives hope to those who receive Him as Savior and Lord.

“I came to the funeral in such despair,” one woman shared, “but I left with such hope.”

“I want to know God the way your family knows Him,” said another.

“I never thought there was much to religion, but I saw something different than religion at Benji’s funeral,” admitted an acquaintance.

“I want to understand more about who God is,” explained a nurse.

Letters, phone calls and visitors have confirmed the beauty of God’s sovereignty, the goodness of His will and the perfection of His plan.

I am reminded of my 4-year-old niece’s words as she held my mother’s hand and stared at the tiny coffin that held her baby brother. It was shiny and white with lovely spring flowers draped over the top. With innocent curiosity and a knowing gleam in her eyes, she asked, “Nana, is that a present for Jesus?” As sure as any answer she’s ever given, my mother replied, “Yes, baby, it is ... it most certainly is.”

*

“Prosperity, pleasure, and success may be rough of grain and common in fibre, but sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things.”

Those are the words of the famed pleasure seeker, Oscar Wilde. In his DE PROFUNDIS, written in prison, he wrote with profound earnestness about how much sorrow had taught him. He went on to add, “Where there is sorrow there is holy ground. Some day people will realize what that means. They will know nothing of life till they do.”

As I reflect on those words, I take note first of the one who wrote them. A life of pain was the farthest thing from his mind when he made his choices. In that sense, none of us would ever CHOOSE sorrow. But I take note of something else in his words. His claim is bold; he is not merely confessing an idea written across his worldview, but one he insists is written across the world: SORROW IS HOLY GROUND AND THOSE WHO DO NOT LEARN TO WALK THERE KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT LIVING MEANS. What he means at the very least is that some of life’s most sacred truths are learned in the midst of sorrow. He learned, for example, that raw unadulterated pleasure for pleasure’s sake is never fulfilling pleasure. Violation of the sacred in the pursuit of happiness is not truly a source of happiness. In fact, it kills happiness because it can run roughshod over many a victim. Pleasure that profanes is pleasure that destroys.

Sorrow on the other hand -- while never pursued -- comes into one’s life and compels us to see our own finitude and frailty. It demands of us seriousness and tenderness if we are to live life the way it is meant to be lived. One of the most important things sorrow does is to show us what it needs and responds to. Wilde said it himself: “Sorrow is a wound that bleeds when any hand but that of love touches it, and even then must bleed again, though not in pain.”

Of all the descriptions given about Jesus, there is one that unabashedly stands out to confront us. It is a description uttered by the prophet Isaiah, prodding mind and heart at once: “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Like one from whom men hide their faces; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted” (53:3).

Maybe you are at a time in your life when hurt is writ large upon your thoughts. The Lord Jesus is not unacquainted with your pain. In fact, he draws near particularly with a hand of love. Your wound may still bleed for a while to remind you of your weakness. But he can help carry the pain to carry you in strength. This could be holy ground for you.

________

Copyright © 2007 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #26107]

Each Monday afternoon, I meet with three or four of our young pastors at a fast food cafe near my house. We sit there for an hour or more, drinking coffee or soft drinks, and sharing about our lives and ministries.

Recently, I threw out as a conversation starter: “Give us your life-verse, the Scripture that explains you.” I started with mine, Job 4:4, “Your words have stood men on their feet.”

Then Mark said, “Philippians 3:10, ‘That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings.’ I just want to know the Lord more and more. It’s all about Jesus.” He thought for a moment, then said, “And if you want to really know Him, you must be willing to suffer for Him. It’s a tough way, but it’s worth it.”

Mark told the group about some of the suffering in his life. He’s been through enough for several humans -- including the loss of both parents, difficulties in his church, depression in his personal life.

Someone said, “You never know that Jesus is enough until He’s all you have.”

While this discussion was going on, I was the only one who could see the two women employees who were having their late lunch in our little corner of the restaurant. The first one was reading her newspaper while working on her salad, but it would have been impossible for her not to hear what we were saying. The second woman came and went several times. A man sat at a booth not far away, clearly taking in the conversation.

When we first started meeting six months ago, we discussed meeting in a back room at one of their churches. I even thought of inviting them to my home. But everyone agreed the most convenient place was this little restaurant where people come and go all the time, where the coffee is cheap and hot, and where we will not be disturbing anyone by our meeting. I thought at the time, “And who knows -- the Lord may decide to use our witness to someone eavesdropping.”

Which is what happened today.

As the men were discussing how in our suffering God becomes more precious, the woman looked up suddenly and turned our way. I said, “Want to get in on this conversation?” and smiled. The men turned in her direction.

She said, “You were talking about our suffering. My 15-year-old son was killed in a car wreck three months ago and it broke my heart. But I’m so glad to know that just a few weeks earlier, he got saved.”

That brought a chorus of sympathy from these young pastors. She went on, “I can tell you’re all Christians. I’m a new Christian myself. I go to Victory Life. I’ve just been saved a short time. And you know what I discovered? It’s hard.”

Someone said, “You’ve been floating downstream, and now you’re swimming upstream. It is hard.”

“But you know what?” she said. “The big thing now is the Lord gives me hope. I never had any hope before. But in the long run, these earthly years are just a blip. A mist. We’ll hardly even remember them in eternity. The important thing is to get our family members saved.”

Her friend joined her and told of her situation. Two miscarriages, and a stillborn delivery.

“I’m Kathleen and she’s Debra,” the first one said. I said, “Could we pray for you?” And we did, filling that back room of the fast food place with our intercession for Heaven’s blessing upon these two women who have endured so much.

We were preparing to leave when one said, “We’re in the prison system. Assigned to this restaurant.”

That got our attention.

She named a nearby parish and said they have been in that prison, one for 10 months, the other for the past 2 years.

“Prayer is all you have,” one said. “Your children are out here, you don’t know doing what, and you can’t do a thing for them but pray. And what you pray is for the Lord to save them. Because if He does that, everything else falls into place.”

One said, “I never had time for God. I was raised in the church but went astray. I would walk past my Bible and look at it and know I should stop and read it. But I never took the time. Then I got in big trouble. When they put me in prison, it was a new one with larger cells for just two people. I finally had the time and opportunity to read my Bible, and I did. It took that for God to get through to me.”

As we were leaving, one of the pastors was getting names and contact information and giving them his. We said our goodbyes, then I turned back at the door. “The Lord sent me back to give you a hug,” I said.

One of those divine appointments that the Father delights in making.

Easily, the high point of that Monday.

Writer Katherine Friedman and her husband got on a plane in California to attend a cousin’s wedding in Cancún. An hour into the flight, there was a slight bump and a clicking sound as oxygen masks fell from the overhead panels. The plane began to plunge to the earth. The pilot announced, “This is an emergency. Put on your oxygen mask and fasten your seat belt.” A smoldering smell began to fill the cabin. Friedman writes:

My heart is pounding through my fingers and my pupils feel as if

they are about to burst, but the sense of panic, the urge to

scream or cry, is absent. There is no instant replay of my life.

No existential secrets are revealed to me. Could the moments

before death really be this banal?

I feel a deep and penetrating sadness for our parents and my

sister. A wave of empathy for our friends when they hear the

news. But I know life will go on for them. They have no choice.

And so, in a falling plane, over the sand-coated Mexican canyons,

I look out the window into the endless orange afternoon, and I

wait.

And then the plane stops falling.

They land at a small airport in Mexico and take another flight to Cancún. Friedman and her husband attend the wedding and go through the motions of a holiday. But Katherine feels like she is in purgatory. The first night in the hotel she brings it up to her husband.

We try to talk about what happened on the plane, try to

reconstruct it, and then we stop. He wants to move past it, I can

tell. “We’re lucky,” he says.

I nod. But the truth is, I don’t feel lucky. Or even alive. I

feel indifferent. All I can do is watch everyone around me

experience what I should be feeling. No, it’s worse: I watch them

and condemn them for the utter uselessness of their joy.

They board another plane for the flight home.

For the first time in my life, I am not afraid to fly. In fact, I

am not afraid of anything.

But the feeling is not one of liberation. I am still searching

for something -- even my old fear -- to tether me to my previous

life, but there is only this feeling of utter remove.

And suddenly, as our plane pushes skyward, its engines roaring, I

am taken back to that moment when the universe tightened its grip,

threatening to peel me from my family, my friends, my memories, a

future I would never know.

For a second, I resisted. I asked: How can my loved ones and I

exist apart? How can I be lost to the world? We spend our lives

binding ourselves to one another, attaching ourselves to this life

like mollusks clinging to the reef.

But as that plane dropped from the sky, I knew that the world

would go on without me. My friends would grieve and move on. My

loved ones would endure. All I had to do was accept this and let

go.

The plane does not crash. Back in California, Friedman struggles with the meaning of her experience, her disconnected feeling.

And here I remain -- among friends and loved ones, at the

beginning of my marriage and all the fierce entanglements of life.

Yet in letting go, it seems I created a break between my former

and current selves that isn’t so easily bridged.

At home, I go to the grocery store, rub the dog’s belly, fold the

laundry, return my mother’s calls -- all the routines and rituals

that are supposed to give life structure and meaning. But week

after week I am still in that other place, a half step removed,

wondering when and how I am ever going to come back from this.

A month after my return, the answer comes in the form of a phone

call summoning me to the emergency room: My father has had a heart

attack.

And it is not until I am beside him in the intensive care unit,

gripping his hand as he battles his weakened heart for each

breath, that I feel my own heart pounding again for the first time

since that day. It’s all so familiar: the panic, the terror, the

threat of imminent loss.

But this time I don’t let go. My father, laced with wires and

unconscious, is pulling me back.

Eric Wilson, a professor of English at Wake Forest University who investigates the relationship of literature and psychology, believes we should be careful to draw a line between clinical depression and ordinary melancholy. He argues we should not relentlessly seek happiness:

“A recent poll conducted by the Pew Research Center shows that almost 85 percent of Americans believe that they are very happy or at least pretty happy. The psychological world is now abuzz with a new field, positive psychology, devoted to finding ways to enhance happiness through pleasure, engagement, and meaning. ... It seems truly an age of almost perfect contentment, a brave new world of persistent good fortune, joy without trouble, felicity with no penalty.

“Surely all this happiness can’t be for real. How can so many people be happy in the midst of all the problems that beset our globe?...

“I for one am afraid that American culture’s overemphasis on happiness at the expense of sadness might be dangerous, a wanton forgetting of an essential part of a full life. I further am concerned that to desire only happiness in a world undoubtedly tragic is to become inauthentic, to settle for unrealistic abstractions that ignore concrete situations. I am finally fearful of our society’s efforts to expunge melancholia. Without the agitations of the soul, would all of our magnificently yearning towers topple? Would our heart-torn symphonies cease?”

________

“Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008)

You slowly hang up the phone and close your eyes. “Lord, use me!” you pray. “Help me know how to ease her pain.”

When death comes to a member of your church or to an unchurched acquaintance, your acts of ministry can remind the bereaved of God’s love for them.

The days between a death and the memorial service can be difficult. What role can you play? As soon as you learn of the death, ask God to give you wisdom in how to minister to the family.

God gives us this assurance and encouragement: “He gives us comfort in all our troubles. Then we can comfort other people who have the same troubles. We give the same kind of comfort God gives us” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

When a time for bereavement ministry, try some of these ideas:

The Hand-Holder. Your presence means a lot. Never overstay, of course, but when you’re there during crisis, it’s a reminder of God’s love. Share a prayer. A hug. A tear. A Scripture written on a note card.

The Food Organizer. Five dishes of macaroni might be too much of a good thing. If you’re organizing food for their guests or a funeral meal, consider using one of the many free online schedulers, such as TakeThemAMeal.com.

The Book Sharer. Find an encouraging pamphlet or book to share. Be sure it’s heavy on Scripture, the best words of comfort. I often give Joyce Rogers’ book, “Grace for the Widow” to recent widows. On the inside cover, write a note to tell something you loved about the deceased.

The Gesturer. Carefully observe needs, then help meet them. Do they need a pet-sitter? A phone answerer? Babysitter during funeral? Help with airport pickup? Mow the lawn. Offer to pick up kids at school. Deliver flowers from your garden to brighten their home. Write your phone number on a card and offer specific help.

The Rolodex King. When requested, a member of our church would help a grieving family to finish making personal notifications. After they’d called their closest friends, the volunteer sits in the kitchen with their list to compete the calls.

The Bag Lady. Early preparation enhances ministry. Stock up on sympathy cards. Keep a frozen casserole, soup or cookies for quick crisis ministry. Prepackage a grocery bag with paper towels, plates, cups, napkins, toilet paper and plastic utensils, and when you learn of a death, deliver it immediately to help with their guests. Plan ahead.

The Elephant. (No, I’m referring to memory, not size.) The moment you learn of the death, mark that date on your calendar each month for at least a year. This will remind you to pray, call, send a note or take him or her to coffee. Listen with love. Pray with them.

When death comes to those around you, act quickly. Move gently. Love largely. When someone in your church or community dies, your timely touch in Jesus’ name shows that you and your God truly care.

I just wanted to make her smile once. That was all I wanted that Christmas. I wanted my wife to smile again.

Christmastime has taken a quantum leap toward the better in my family over the past few years. Our 2012 Christmas was mired in grief with few glimmers of glee. Today, it is conversely defined mostly by joy with sparse speckles of pain.

The climb out took time and a work of God’s Spirit through His Word in our hearts. God’s Word can do the same for you and I will share with you how. Just know first that you are not alone in your grief, friend. The Lord is near to you. He is close because of your pain, and He is trying to teach you something through it. He is pointing you to His saving Gospel.

“The Lord is near the brokenhearted; he saves those crushed in spirit.” This exquisite passage from Psalm 34, verse 18, has been a salve to my heart many times. Now, I extend it to you. May you know that He is near. May He save you whose spirits are crushed. These incredible words of hope appear in the middle of the Bible and they extend a hand from God to those who are drowning in heartache. However, they do much more than that.

Psalm 34 was first written by David more than 1,000 years before Christ’s birth, but its full purpose was not realized until the first century when it was quoted by John as he wrote the New Testament Gospel that bears his name. In Psalm 34 as a whole, we see a picture of Jesus on the cross. This is especially remarkable when we consider that it was written centuries before the Romans developed crucifixion. Psalm 34 was a prophecy fulfilled by Jesus.

Now, I can hear the accusations of circular reasoning in showing how a prophecy made in the Bible is fulfilled in the Bible. However, these accusations fall flat when we understand that the Bible has not always existed as we know it today, bound in a single volume with both the Book of Psalms and the Gospel of John sharing one book spine. The Psalms existed in printed form on their own for over a millennium before John’s Gospel was written and the two did not appear together in a collection until well after Jesus’ ascension. There is a clear historical line between Psalm 34:20 and John 19:36. Thus, the reasoning here is linear and not circular.

In fact, that line has a purpose. The line begins at Psalm 34:16, connects to John 19:36, and now points squarely at you as you now read.

We have the Christmas story and the life of Jesus preserved in the Gospels for a purpose. John shared that purpose outright by writing directly to us in John 20:31: “But these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” John wrote by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and gave his firsthand account of what he saw as he stood by the cross.

He wrote straight to you when he penned John 19:33–36: “When they came to Jesus, they did not break his legs since they saw that he was already dead. But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once blood and water came out. He who saw this has testified so that you also may believe. His testimony is true, and he knows he is telling the truth. For these things happened so that the Scripture would be fulfilled: ‘Not one of his bones will be broken.’”

You see, the words of Psalm 34 are more than healing for your heart in this mere moment. They were part of God’s plan to heal your soul for eternity. They were words of prophecy foretelling what would happen centuries later to the Messiah as He took upon Himself the punishment for sin laid out by His own law.

I did eventually get my bride to smile that Christmas day after we buried our son Aiden. She smiled when I showed her a message I received from an old friend. He wrote, “I was watching the video of your son’s funeral. You quoted Psalm 34, so I looked it up. I read it and gave my life to God.”

The soul-piercing and life-giving words of Psalm 34 are alive and active today. That is why you are not alone this Christmas. God is near you, brokenhearted one. He is calling to you through His Word. Would you join Him there and listen?

Bear Grylls may be known for his wild ways and impressive survival skills, but there’s a side of Bear Grylls many haven’t seen. Bear Grylls believes in God. And if you meet him in person, you’ll quickly learn that he’s unashamed to tell you so.

But Grylls doesn’t claim to be a perfect Christian. In fact, he admits that many of his life’s deepest struggles are what caused him to turn to Christ.

Edward Michael “Bear” Grylls was born on June 7th, 1974, in Donaghadee, County Down, Northern Ireland. At one-week-old, Grylls’ elder sister and only sibling, Lara Fawcett, gave him the famous nickname that’s stuck to this day: “Bear”.

Born to conservative politician, Sir Michael Grylls and his wife, Lady Sarah Grylls — daughter of politician, Patricia Ford; it’s safe to say that Grylls had a fairly prestigious childhood.

When he was 4 years old, Grylls’ family shifted to Bembridge village on the easternmost point of the Isle of Wight — it was there that young Bear’s wild ways would begin. From an early age, the adventurous little tyke learned to climb and sail with his father, who was a member of the prestigious Royal Yacht Squadron. But Bear’s curious ways and tendency to run towards danger made him a difficult child to raise.

Grylls admitted, “I behaved badly at school, perhaps in part because Dad was working very hard, and often late. My mum, as his assistant, worked beside him. I remember once biting a boy so hard that I drew blood, and then watching as the teachers rang my father to say they didn’t know what to do with me. My father said he knew what to do, and came to the school at once. With a chair placed in the middle of the gym, and all the other children sitting cross-legged on the floor around him, he whacked me until my backside was black and blue.”

Bear became a Cub Scout at the age of eight, earning a "dan" black belt in Shotokan Karate when he was eleven, and learned to skydive as a young teen, and also was one of the youngest in the world to scale Mt. Everest at 23. Grylls’ formative years were quite impressive, but all the while, he clung to his faith in Jesus Christ.

“I had a very natural faith as a kid,” Grylls told Relevant Magazine. “As a really young kid, I never questioned God. I just knew God existed and it felt like He was my friend.”

Young Grylls’ adventurous spirit and wild heart didn’t make it easy on his parents — and he has an endless amount of escape stories to prove it.

Grylls shared, “My mother was forever having to lock me in my bedroom for trouble-making, but she would then get concerned that I might run out of oxygen, so she had a carpenter make some air-holes in the door. I worked out that, with a bent-over coat-hanger, I could undo the latch through the air-holes and escape. It was my first foray into the world of adapting and improvising, skills that have served me well over the years.”

In high school, Grylls came across several ‘believers’ that distorted his view of Christianity, and over time, Bear abandoned his faith.

“When I got to school it [Christianity] became a lot more religious and I thought, ‘I don’t like this,’” he told CBN. “It was all about church-going and people telling you not to smoke behind the bike shed. I thought, ‘If this is God, maybe I’ve got the whole deal wrong.’ So I kind of ditched my faith.”

With stories like miraculously surviving a sinking mud-pit, and getting dismissed from prep school for kissing the headmaster’s daughter; Grylls’ teenage years make even the wildest teenagers appear to be saints.

Bear reflected back on his rebellious ways, “I would explore all the forbidden areas of the school and grounds, and I knew I was faster and more agile than any of the security guards. One night, I attempted an ascent of the 120-foot-high school library dome. Sir Ranulph Fiennes, a pupil before me, had conquered it by improvising a stepladder. I used the lightning conductor.”

But everything changed at age 16, when Grylls lost his godfather — who had been like a second father. Crushed with grief and not knowing where else to turn, Bear looked to God.

“I remember wanting to pray, but not knowing how to,” he recalled to CBN. Grylls climbed up in a tree and poured his heart out to God. “Will you be that friend to me that you were at five or six when it felt natural?” he asked.

It was that simple prayer of surrender that finally led young Grylls to “finding his faith” in Jesus Christ once again. Grylls says he soon learned that religion has nothing to do with entrusting your life to Christ, and in fact, Jesus Himself was “the least religious person you’ll meet.”

Bear told Relevant Magazine, “It was no more complicated than that. And actually the amazing thing is that all God asks is that we sort of open the door and He’ll do the rest. So often we kinda hide behind our yearning for love and acceptance with loads of complicated theological questions, and actually once that’s stripped away, what we really are is just somebody who wants to have that relationship with your Father.”

With a restored faith in Christ, Grylls joined the ‘Territorial Army’ (Army Reserve UK) after high school and worked at the Special Air Service unit of the army for three years. While there, Grylls was a combat survival instructor and learnt demolitions, parachuting, unarmed combat, evasive driving and trauma medic.

During a SAS skydive in 1996, Grylls survived a horrifying parachuting accident in Zambia. His parachute ripped at 16,000 feet, partially opening, causing him to free-fall and land on his back. The accident partially crushed three vertebrae — and almost took his life, but by the grace of God, Bear survived.

According to his surgeon, Grylls came “within a whisker” of being paralyzed for life and it was questionable whether he would ever be able to walk again. Grylls spent the next 12 months in and out of military rehabilitation at Headley Court.

On 16 May 1998 — just 18 months after his horrific accident, Grylls achieved his childhood dream of climbing to the summit of Mount Everest in Nepal.

Twenty-four-year-old Grylls registered his name in the ‘Guinness Book of Records’ as the youngest Briton to climb Ama Dablam, a peak described by Sir Edmund Hillary as “unclimbable”.

But a world record wasn’t the only gift Everest brought him. Grylls met his future-wife while training to climb the world-famous mountain — and it took a special kind of woman to capture the adventurous heart of Grylls.

Bear met his wife, Shara, at a very inconvenient time. He had finally recovered from his parachute accident and was focused on preparing and training for the climb of his life – the summit of Mount Everest – which was only months away.

That’s when he noticed her. Grylls was attempting a “training hike” for Everest, and with every step, the danger grew. All of the girls began to get frightened, some even to the point of tears, at the difficult terrain. All but one — a beautiful young lady by the name of Shara Cannings Knight persevered and kept her composure. It was indeed, love at first sight. And from that moment forward, the two wild-hearted adventurers were inseparable and have been together ever since.

The match-made-in-heaven tied the knot in 2000. Soon after, the couple went for relationship counseling — despite many of his friends thinking they were ‘nuts’ for doing so. Grylls explained, “We figured that if [marriage] was the most important thing we were ever going to do, we should do everything we could to stop it breaking in the first place. At our wedding, we asked our guests for their best marriage advice. We got some gems of replies but the best came from a couple who had been married for 50 years. It was also the simplest: ‘Never stop holding hands.’ That’s what Shara and I have always tried to do, both physically and metaphorically.”

But within a year of their wedding, Grylls’ father – the most inspirational figure in his life – passed away at the age of 66. And a few months later, Shara also tragically lost her father. The newlywed couple was crushed and devastated beyond belief.

“Losing my dad when we had just got married was a really tough one,” he admitted in an interview with The Telegraph. “Suddenly it was like, ‘Bang! OK. How are we going to pay the electricity bill? How are we going to look after our mothers?’ I felt totally thrown in the deep end. It always felt too early. We had to lean on each other, and that was when our marriage really started.”

In an emotional interview, Grylls could barely talk through the grief and struggled to describe just how much his father meant to him.

It was at this low point that the couple decided to attend the “Alpha Course” in Christianity; a 10-week course on the basics of Christianity launched by the Rev. Charles Marnham in London. God sovereignly used this Christian course to cement the couple’s faith.

Grylls told CBN, “It helped us in a very low-key, un-pressured way to explore some big questions. Faith has been the wildest ride. And Jesus — the heart of the Christian faith is the wildest, most radical guy you’d ever come across. He was always hanging around with the prostitutes and the tax collectors and having parties and banquets, and I found myself drawn to that character, not the kind of fluff that we like to box as religion.”

And despite all of his accomplishments, Bear Grylls considers his faith and family his greatest joys. Bear shared that he’s committed to honoring his bride, and plans weekly date nights.

He explained that activities don’t have to be “expensive or fancy” — it’s more about spending quality time together. “Togetherness is what it’s all about,” he added.

Bear and Shara have three sons, Jesse, Marmaduke and Huckleberry — the last of whom was born on their Thames River houseboat — the same “fixer-upper” they purchased just before their wedding. As a family man, Grylls points to his and Shara’s shared faith as the foundation of their marriage.

“We’ve been married almost 10 years, and that’s been a great glue to our family, actually. I look back now and I think it’d be really hard without that faith together — that sustained us.”

Recently, Grylls shared that he believes that husbands and wives should love their spouse “above everything else” – even the children.

Grylls explained, “Couples often think that the kids should always come first, but smart couples know that the best foundation for the family is their relationship. In protecting that, they can then best love their children.” Grylls added, “If you ever think the grass is greener on the other side of the hill ... it’s time to start watering your own.”

He’s hosted eleven successful television shows, authored several books, and accomplished dozens of personal goals such as hiking Mount Everest, becoming the youngest Chief Scout ever (at the age of 34-years-old), wrestling an alligator, and holding the world record for the “Highest Open-Air Formal Dinner Party” — held in a hot-air balloon at 7,600m.

But despite his many achievements, Bear Grylls remains a humble family man who honors his wife and trusts in his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Bear Grylls told Relevant Magazine, “Sometimes it’s hard for us to believe, really believe, that God cares and wants good things for us and doesn’t just want us to go off and give everything up and become missionaries in Burundi. And some people are just scared, and they go, ‘Oh, God just wants me to be religious,’ but actually He just loves us. He just wants us to be with Him, and that’s been a journey to discover that. That’s one of the big questions I asked, was that, you know: ‘If You do exist, are You cozy? Are You what my heart really aches for?’ Christianity is not about religion, it’s about faith, about being held, about being forgiven. It’s about finding joy and finding home ... I’ve yet to meet anyone who doesn’t want to be forgiven or held or find peace or joy in their life. We try loads of other stuff — we think booze or foxy women or whatever will fill it — but it doesn’t fill the hole.”

“The simple things is what I try to keep my faith like: Jesus is unchanging and we are forgiven ... I for one, do not want to reach the end of my life in a perfectly preserved body. I want to come flying in sideways, covered in scars, beaten up and screaming: ‘Yahoo! What a ride!’” – Bear Grylls

Praise God for His redeeming love and grace! While listening to Bear Grylls’ inspiring story, I just couldn’t help but think of Colossians 1:13-14 which reads,

“God rescued us from dead-end alleys and dark dungeons. He’s set us up in the kingdom of the Son He loves so much, the Son who got us out of the pit we were in, got rid of the sins we were doomed to keep repeating.”

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