The Grieving Room

Knock knock knock.

I jumped because I wasn’t expecting company. I opened the door to my friend Sarah leaping into my arms in tears. She was holding a hospital gown and blue hospital socks and as she handed them to me she said, “I promise this isn’t the end of your story.” I knew what she was referring to and shook my head in disbelief. To avoid the tears I rushed to get some tea prepared and began processing the topic of grief with her. “What do you do when you’re hoping for a miracle only to open your door to even worse company?” She wiped a tear off of my cheek and said, “You keep hoping, Elizabeth.” We cried, then we cried some more. You see I am learning that tears often say prayers my heart will not and that at times they have a way of carrying more hope than my tiny human heart. ⁣

I looked at the coffee table and saw the hospital gown and blue socks lying there and Sarah whispered softly, “These can be the shoes of peace and the shield of faith if you let it be...” I smiled because for the first time in the last 48 hours, I realized the grieving room can also be the war room...⁣