I interacted with the story of Job throughout my life as a faithful Sunday school student and church attendee; however, my first encounter with death and grief twelve years ago, when I had an early miscarriage, made it more personal.

The Sunday after my miscarriage, my tears fell in the hiddenness of this loss as I tried to sing along with words that echoed Job’s:

“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised" (Job 1:21b).

But walking through cancer journeys with both of my parents in the same season trumped any heartache I have experienced.

The first half of this blog post examines Job exegetically, while the second half offers personal reflections.

The words to this poem poured out through many tears one afternoon while working on a paper that reflected the themes of time, grief and wisdom from Ecclesiastes.

Suffering and loss are inevitable life experiences for individuals and communities.

While grief is reflected in a myriad of postures and expressions, a sense of longing is usually present).

Suffering, “a feeling of more than one can bear,” involves a longing that can translate to hope in the right environment.

But today’s drugs of choice, including common coping mechanisms of denial and illusions of control, only exacerbate pain.

The Bible provides a down-to-earth model to process difficult emotions and lift one out of the “pit of despair” (Psalm 40:2).

Before examining a familiar passage of lament and the impact these expressions have on our spiritual lives, ministries, and the modern world, a broad biblical survey reveals God’s heart in suffering.

If the faith my dad preached, while laying in a hospital bed, is not based on a fairy tale, then maybe with each new year, each new birthday, and each new Christmas, we can experience “a thrill of hope” as our weary souls rejoice in what is to come!

There was chai tea, turkey buns, pies, games, and a campfire on that perfect fall day.

At this covid-friendly, outdoor, family Thanksgiving we'd never guess that six weeks later our dad/grandpa/husband would be fighting leukemia.

Through my dad’s cancer journey this winter I held on to the hope of visiting with him around campfires this summer.

Now, grief has me longing for those first seconds after waking, when it is all just a bad dream.

But instead, I wake to a stinging reality, This Too Shall Last—a book I read this month about finding grace when suffering lingers.

In this post, I reflect on K.J. Ramsey's perspectives as I share my wrestling with suffering, goodness, community, and hope.