My book releases in ten days. I’m a mess. I want to take it all back, forget this ever happened, hide under covers.
I really tell all, in this book. I really dive deep into the nature and matter of grief, the stuff that makes it hurt and haunt us so.
I open my heart unreservedly in this book, telling honest stories and telling on myself, confessing that, when in grief ’s grip, it is not always God we grasp and grope for.
The Matter of Little Losses, p. 20
This book isn’t trite or tidy (that’s what scares me about it so much), but it is true.
It’s my true story, and it seeks to tell the often dismissed truth about grief and loss and death — all those little and large.
This past week, I was in the studio recording the audio for The Matter of Little Losses. As I narrated line by line, chapter by chapter, I kept wondering what one quote or line or passage do I hope really resonates with readers. While I thought of many, here is the one I think and hope hits deep. This is the passage that I would read or recite if I were sitting across from you in a corner café, hearing your story and thinking of words to offer in reply.
This, is what I would say to you:
The world has taken, the world has touched, the world has turned your eyes to see more than you should. It has trained you to know more than you should, do more than you should; you’ve tallied loss after loss and it hurts, incurable wounds gaping wide and lonely and real and raw.
The world will have you believe that there is no space to spare in bearing your burdens, in grieving your losses, namely that of your innocence. It will beg of you to comply, cover up your wounds, come and conform to what is normal and what is needed. Esteeming reputation and fearing retribution, the world will shame you into silence, carving out corners to keep you quiet and contained.
Your takers, or abusers, or leaders, or rulers, will purport that, because it happened forever and a day ago, it does not matter. That by now you should have magically, mysteriously mended. They will say that because the fragments are fuzzy they must be fiction. The world will tell you that silence saves and shame is a song. Its laws cannot, will not, label your “little” loss, which is not large enough to lead to legal action. Your loss is unwarranted because it went unwitnessed, and it will reduce you to testimony and trials. The world will tell you that if there is such a hurt it can heal, and there is hope, and the searing pain will someday become a scar, a story worth telling others.
You must know, and I fear perhaps you already do know, that the world cannot stitch up that gaping hole from which memory spills, cannot erase the images that come flashing like fireworks frightening the black sky of night. The world will not wake in the middle of the night to stop the story from asserting itself.
We wax with wounds as the years go by, losing more and more to brokenness. The world takes and takes and takes. We lose things and things are lost to us. We break and are burdened; we see and hear the one thousand earthquakes that we’ll never unsee, never unhear. We’ve lost our unknowingness.
We know too much…
The Matter of Little Losses, p. 98-101
Friends,
I don’t know the litany of losses in each of your lives. I don’t know the beautiful babies you’ve lost, the friendships that have failed, the dreams you’ve deferred, the illnesses you’ve endured. I don’t know the deaths you’ve witnessed or your fear of death.
I don’t know the strangers who stole your innocence or the homes you miss and mourn. I don’t know how it feels to walk in your shoes, wandering in your loss of faith in God or church or man . . . or whatever it is you’ve come to call it.
I do know, though, how it feels cradle grief. I know the disenfranchisement, the disillusionment, the disappointment. And though the grief-paved path is not a pretty, easy road to walk . . . here is what I believe is good about it.
Your grief
gives glimpse
to God.So, may you
never lose the
lament of your
little losses.May you not
despise them, for
they are proof
that pain wasn’t
a part of God’s plan.
When I wrote this book, I never set out to tell you how to “get over” grief, as if we ever could.
I will not twist your arm and tell you to tame what is eternally torn within you, will not whisper secrets in the wind nor list the top ten ways for getting over grief. This is no guide. There is no getting over grief, no getting behind or above or beyond it.
The Matter of Little Losses, p. 27
I did, however, seek to share stories that paint pictures of ways we can deeply, honestly ponder our pain . . . and, consequently, all the ways our pain points us to the God who never meant for grief to be a seed in his good garden.
God never meant
for grief to be
a seed in his
good garden.
My book seeks to say, this is why your little losses, the whole sweep of your griefs, matter. Little losses are longings that look like God’s heart. They point to the places in us that ache for what has been lost . . . they ache when the world isn’t as it should be, could be.
One day we will all ascend like Christ into heaven—to that place with no pandemics, no pain, no shootings, no sorrows. No tragedies, no tears, no disease, no death.
For now, though, never lose the lament of your little losses. The pain, the pining, even this all points to Him, to his heart.
Mmm. ♡
Let me know how these words speak to your heart. Leave a comment and let me know what resonates — what tugs, pulls, scares, aches, confirms, and comforts you.
Preorder, pleaseeeeeee.
Your preorders (and reviews) of The Matter of Little Losses help me scatter these stories like seeds in a hurting world. Your preorders (and reviews) help prove to my publishers and Amazon that this book and, my words, matter.
Preorders also get you some stellar gifts! ♡ The audiobook of The Matter of Little Losses and exclusive access to my Lent listening journey, Unearthed.
To get these gifts, preorder The Matter of Little Losses (only $10.79). Then, fill out the preorder form.
Can’t believe you’ll be holding this book in just ten days . . .
Can’t wait!
I just read that part in the early release copy! Cried a little then, too