If you’ve read this blog for any amount of time, you know that my focus is on moving forward—constantly moving forward. Yes, even the Bible tells us to “remember,” but I think the point it makes is that we remember in order to learn and to help us maintain our forward momentum with the wisdom the past gave us.

So it’s no surprise that I’m having a difficult time learning how to walk down this back-and-forth path of grief. It seems that just when I get my eyes back on the road ahead, I am stopped in my tracks or even unwillingly walking backward. While I gratefully cling to the treasured memories of my dad and intentionally seek to live out the principles he taught me, it seems that particularly over these past six months, I have slipped and fallen on the path more often than not. I “move ahead” to the next “stage” of grief, only to find myself spiraling back to the previous stage (or two stages), catapulted there by the tiniest of instances. Backward is not a direction I’m familiar with, and I don’t like it.

My father passed away nearly nine months ago, and because he was “only” my father (as opposed to being my husband or son, which I think would be even more difficult), I’m not always sure how that impacts my own personal journey, probably because I served as one of his primary caregivers the last year of his life, and it was the focal point of all that I did. All I know is that my emotions have run the gamut, my spiritual walk has been blindsided, and my life has often felt like I’m in “survival” mode: just getting by with the basics and waiting for life to happen to me instead of my usual pursuit of making life happen. I’ve fallen behind on my work, allowed areas in my personal life to plummet to new lows, gained weight instead of losing it, been deliriously happy one day and devastated by a single text message the following day (and probably ruined important relationships in the process), and wondered if I just needed to move to Yugoslavia (i.e., somewhere very far away) and start over!

I have an amazing family, some really great friends, and a faith in God that is sure. But….

Isn’t that silly? I’ve often heard that when you say, “I love you, but…” the word but negates everything that comes before it. And here I wrote that I have a faith in God that is sure and followed it with the word but. I think the element that has tripped me up has not been my lack of faith or my uncertainty of my own standing with God; it has been my unrealistic expectations of how I would handle the uncertainty of grief when it arrived. And if you have ever suffered a loss—any loss, not just the death of someone you’ve loved—then you know that just when you think it’s all “back on track,” some tiny little  memory, scent, word, sound, song, or photo can flood your heart with a deluge of different emotions and reactions.

Those are the emotions we become angry with ourselves about. We feel ashamed that we weren’t stronger, wiser, more faith-filled, or better at “handling” them. Our rigid expectations can’t help but snap in unplanned ways when we hold to them so tightly. And when something snaps, whatever it was holding together or whatever was inside it falls apart or scatters. In the heart of one who is grieving a loss, our tears, words, reactions, and very thoughts are what all too often come “unglued” at such a moment.

So what’s the solution? It’s one thing for me to finally identify the inability to “handle” things, but I’m not the sort to be content with that milestone. I need to know what’s next? How do I stop this cycle? I’m not a therapist or counselor, but I can tell you three of the primary elements that are working for me:

1. As much as is possible, I must remove the harsh and unrealistic expectations I have placed on myself. I had a loss; loss hurts; and sadness, emptiness, and loneliness will naturally occur. So any expectations that don’t allow for that are a form of my attempting to change the natural reflexes God placed within me. I must give myself the freedom to know that this is process, not an event.

2. Even though the desire is often not as strong as I feel it should be right now, I must make and take time to read and dwell on the very words of God (as found in the Bible). His Word really is a “lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105), and when it’s the path that’s giving me trouble, this seems to be the perfect solution. But I must be deliberate in my choice to make that time happen.

3. I must ask why. I need to know why I am being entrusted with not only the personal loss of my father but also the loss of numerous dreams that I had for my life. I need to go to my sovereign God and ask why He has chosen me to go through these, what He wants me to learn from them, and how I can incorporate those lessons into my daily walk on the path that He handcrafted for me. Who will I be able to reach that I couldn’t have without these losses? Where will I be able to share these lessons I’m learning?

I can honestly say that I’ve shared Isaiah 41:13 with others over a hundred times this year. It’s an amazing promise from God. And it’s the promise that I will grasp tightly as I close this post. Because even though the journey is unfamiliar and filled with new responses that I didn’t plan on having, I find inexplicable comfort and courage in knowing that I don’t have to walk it alone. God keeps His promises, so I’ll end with the one that is my supportive “walking stick of God’s promises” on the uncertain trail ahead: “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, ‘Do not fear; I will help you.'”