I lost my mother two years ago, and I expected my faith to make the grief lighter. Instead, grief turned my faith inside out. I'd believed suffering would diminish if I believed hard enough, prayed earnestly enough. But the pain didn't soften.
Peter writes to people facing persecution, and he acknowledges they're experiencing 'grief.' Not as a failure of faith, but as something real happening alongside faith. Even while trials are purifying your faith, you grieve. You mourn. That's not un-Christian.
Something about Peter naming both things at once - that I can believe in Jesus AND be devastated - gave me permission to stop performing strength. I stopped the 'she's in a better place' spiritual platitudes that felt like betrayal of how much I loved her.
I started going to a grief group, and everyone there had faith in different forms - some Christian, some Buddhist, some agnostic. But we all shared that permission to say: I miss them. I'm angry. I'm devastated. And I don't have to choose between that heartbreak and hope. Peter taught me those things can exist in the same chest, at the same time.
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