With this latest move of ours, I wasn’t fully prepared to find grief hiding where it did.

I’m seasoned enough at moving to understand that grief is often a companion for the journey. This makes sense given all the goodbyes and losses. But in some ways grief surprised me…

In typical fashion, I found myself reactive in my emotions before pausing to name or understand them. Once I stepped back and grew curious about my frustrations and anger, I gained some awareness and saw grief underneath.

You see, in this new small space of ours, I knew I would have no office, no designated writing space. I thought for sure I’d have to sell my antique writing desk. After all, there would likely be no space to use or store it. This desk symbolized a start of a journey for me. A journey of coming home, unburying my talents, and stepping into myself as a writer. That was 4 years ago on my 31st birthday. The same year I joined hope*writers, a writing community I joined and don’t ever plan on leaving. Despite all that the desk meant to me, I honestly thought I was okay giving it up. I could be flexible. I could write at the kitchen table or outside on the patio. Plenty of seasoned, published writers write for years upon years without ever having a desk or office space. I could do it too.

But as my new reality set in, one in which my kids are at home due to county mandated distance learning and my husband is working remotely from home as well, I began to fear there would be no space and no time for me to write at all.

Beyond the frustrations and fears, hid grief.

And not just any grief, but preemptive or anticipatory grief.

And so I mourned the losses that I thought were inevitably coming.

But I didn’t have to mourn. Out of impatience I raced ahead and imagined loss. And let me tell you, this is easy to do as someone who has faced traumatic losses in her life.

Turns out, I do have a writing space. Yes, my writing desk has a place, and I a place at the desk. And I have a designated time for showing up here each day.

I didn’t see a way. And God made one.

It almost feels silly to say this over something that may seem so trivial as a writing desk, but I will not diminish the littlest of things in God’s hand.

The truth is that this is about so much more than a writing desk.

It’s about what it revealed in my heart.

God made a way where I assumed He wouldn’t. He gave me something when I assumed it’d be taken. Sometimes having lost a child and father and homes and people and things in between, my default is set to loss and grief. If only I can be more patient to wait and see…so that I can start seeing more life than loss.

What about you?

Where does grief hide in your heart, masquerading as something else?

Is there any sorrow that you find that is preemptive or anticipatory grief as well?

Take time to explore and examine your heart with the Lord.

Let’s make space to wait well in expectation when our hearts are burning to wail.

Let’s cultivate curiosity and be gentle with ourselves as we move through any form of grief that we find.

Let us believe that the Lord will make a way and provide for us not matter what, when, and how that looks.

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert.

Isaiah 43:19 ESV

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*Hang out with me for any amount of time and you’ll hear me talking about hope*writers.

This online writing community (founded by Emily P. Freeman, Brian Dixon, and Gary Morland) has encouraged and equipped me on this writing journey for the past 4 years and counting. If you have an inkling of a writer heart, I want you to know about this community and check them out. Their doors only open to new members a few times a year, so while you wait, check out this quiz and learn more about hope*writers.

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