Childlike Grief

In Matthew 18:3, Jesus said that if we want to come to him, we must become like a child. For me, the image of becoming like a child has always been comforting. Children trust. Children admit their need. Children squeal in delight at the appearance of those they love. That all sounds good to me.

This week I have felt like a child.

But not the beautiful and trusting childlikeness I imagined.

In 2016, our family moved from Chicago-land to Nashville. We moved into our new home Memorial Day weekend. It was 95 degrees and I felt it each step as I carried all our possessions up our steep driveway because the moving truck couldn’t make it up the hill—but that’s a different story.

For a family used to Chicago’s relatively milder summers, we felt like we’d moved into a furnace. I don’t know if it cooled off a single day that summer. Locals later told me that was the hottest summer they could remember.

My wife was working furiously to finish her dissertation that summer, so I would take our children as much as possible so she would have time to work.

A friend had recommended a park with a stream that the children could play in. So on yet another extremely hot day, I promised adventure and cool water to wade in as I drove our girls to the park.

We never made it to the stream. Upon exiting the vehicle, one of my children immediately took up complaining about the heat—a lot and repetitively.

“It’s so hot!!!!” 

“I want to go inside! This is the worst!”

“Why is it so hot? This is not fair!”

I didn’t know where the stream was exactly and that did not go over well. Neither child had patience for exploring in the heat. Defeated by the heat, we returned home.

The entire summer, outside activities were impossible because the heat bothered them so much. More than once I felt exasperation at the complaints that I could not fix. What did they want me to do? I can’t control the weather. Didn’t they know that no amount of complaining would change the heat?

That is the type of childlike faith that I have this week.  The kind that complains and gripes about what cannot be changed.

Instead of hot weather I have grief and sadness. My pastor and his oldest child died in a tragic car accident last week. My sadness hurts. I want it to go away. I want to close my eyes, cover my ears and yell until it leaves me alone. It’s a burden that I do not want to bear. And, just like my daughter, I cry out:

“It’s not fair!”

And, just like when my daughters complained, nothing changes. My grief is still there. The sadness does not go away no matter how much I tell God it is too hot.

This type of childlike-ness does not feel sublime or particularly spiritual. In fact, it feels immature.

But maybe Jesus meant this part of being a child, too. Maybe coming to Jesus as a child includes more than joyful proclamations and blind trust. Maybe it also includes wailing and beating my fists against my Father because I hate what I am feeling.

Looking at Jesus’ words again in Matthew 18, I notice that he does not limit his childlike instructions to the “good” parts of children. He simply says to “become like a child.” While children are all the beautiful things I always imagined Jesus to mean, they are also impatient, demanding and illogical. That sounds right about now. I do not have many serene childlike qualities on hand at the moment—just plenty of childlike grief. I am full of impatient demands for something to change.

Jesus knew I would feel this way and he said that this is part of how we get into the kingdom of heaven. Maybe this grief is meant to teach me about something, perhaps who He is and how He feels. Or maybe not. I’m not sure. But I know he is my Father and He makes room on his lap for me, his child, grief and all.