Seriously, God...we have to talk about my grief on this day?
Seriously, God...we have to talk about my grief on this day?
We sometimes never get over our losses, but grief isn't why I don't like showing emotions.
In 2005, during Super Bowl XXXIX, the Eagles trailed by 10 points in the 4th quarter, and they attempted a comeback against the New England Patriot late in the game. Led by quarterback, Donovan McNabb, the Eagles came close to reaching their goal but fell short. Possibly because of poor conditioning or nerves, the rumor was McNabb puked in a huddle during that comeback. It’s unclear whether McNabb actually threw up ( he denies it), and the story is a thing of urban legend at this point. But for Philadelphia fans and the general sports world, he will be remembered as the guy who didn’t have the will to win. He wasn’t strong enough.
If I was in his shoes, would I have been strong enough?
Currently, I’m taking an introduction to Group Dynamics where we are learning how to run a group therapy session. Part of the class allows us to gather in small groups as fellow students, and we take turns leading a group session. This past week was our first student-led session, and my classmate opened up with the caveat that he had previously considered another topic (immigration in the US) but wanted to go with a lighter topic. We’d be sharing moments of grief.
I want to love this fellow student of mine, but how is that a lighter topic, brother? I’d rather talk about Trump accusing Haitians of eating pets than talk about grief.
In this session we sat around a dark mahogany stained oval table in a windowless conference room. When I heard the topic was grief, the already enclosed room felt that much tighter with what little air in the room vanquished. I began to bob in my reclining chair as I waited for my turn to talk. The group wanted to go in a circle, which would make me last to share. How long could I hold in my tears? Half way around the table, I started to sniffle, and I’m sure everyone didn’t want to look at me directly in fear they would cry. There were a lot of emotional things shared, but I could only hear half of what was said because I was too preoccupied with wanting to not let my emotions go.
Besides not knowing this group of people that well, I’m the oldest in the group by a lot, so I didn’t want to be that middle-aged guy to lose it during our first student-led session. When the sharing finally got to me, I couldn’t hold in my tears any longer and mumbled that I’d lost my dad about 3.5 years ago as I wept. I said something like, “He had lived a decently long and full life, so I can’t complain. But no one is ready for loss. It’s still hard.”
After finishing and making my way back home, I began to think about why I felt so uncomfortable with the entire thing. The honest reason is I feel a level of shame being so emotional about losing my dad. I’m not embarrassed about being emotional in front of others, but I’m embarrassed that I’m not over it yet.
Is there something wrong with me that when I do talk about him the emotions still feel so raw? I’ve had this idea for a long time that I have to be put together all the time. Add another perspective I have—you have to rush to change things, including yourself. I can’t be a mess…for too long…especially in front of others. It’s likely a PK (pastor’s kid) thing, but I was so bothered that I wasn’t the strong one in the room. I’m 43, my fellow students are in their mid 20’s, and I’m weeping about losing my dad almost four years ago. Many of them shared very tragic stories which I did not expect, but they all kept it together. What was wrong with me?
I see political leaders and they always seem to have the right things to say. Business leaders take a crisis and find a way to spin it where there is opportunity. Athletes have millions of eyes watching, but don’t cave. When any of them cave we call them unfit to lead. All of this is why I don’t like the fact that I don’t seem to be getting over my loss. It isn’t completely about my grief as much as what it means about my fitness to lead. My fear is not unfounded—there are examples and evidence that the world we live in is the survival of the fittest. The strong lead. Things have changed, but not fully.
Though the world we live in may be like this, it makes what Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 all the sweeter.
9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
For me, as long as Jesus can see my potential and design, it’s all that matters. Leadership is a type of exercise of power, but if Christ’s power is perfected in our weakness then maybe I am not in such a bad position after all. Lord, use us weak ones to perfect your power if that means more eyes look to you. It’s hard to say this because it may mean no one may looks at me, but I’d rather have real power exercised than something I made up on my own. I know I’m going to get stronger, but I’m not going to skip the process I have to go through. It’s time to own where I am and accept the time it takes to navigate it. I will take as long as I need to become what I will be next and crave to see Jesus’ power exercised throughout.
Do you have trouble looking weak in front of others?
When did Jesus show his power through your weakness?