A few years ago a friend of mine died. She’d been sick for a long time. I’m talking years. One health issue after another.
When she passed away, I was sad. Extremely sad.
The problem was, I just couldn’t seem to mourn. I cried. But didn’t mourn.
Yes. There is a difference.
Months went by. I was still blocked. What I didn’t realize is that grief works its way in strange ways. That the way I best realize grief is by writing.
And sometimes by reading.
I remember reading Club Sandwich by Lisa Samson. The kids were napping. I was curled up on the couch. I read a scene in the book that triggered it.
It pulled the grief to the surface. I gushed. It was a good thing the kiddos were sleeping. I was a mess.
Because what I’d read was just about exactly what I felt when my friend passed away.
Lisa Samson had written something that made me feel like I wasn’t alone. That gave me permission to release the pain.
Fiction is powerful. It truly is.
I feel like Lisa gave me a gift. I know she didn’t write it for me specifically. However, she wrote it as a gift for all who would read her book.
My Mother’s Chamomile releases in less than 2 weeks. Some people will read it. I hope, truly hope, that it is a gift to my readers. I mean for it to be.
My desire is that this gift will help someone release something inside them that is blocked.
Bitterness toward God.
In 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, we read that we are able to comfort because of the comfort we’ve received.
I received that kind of comfort when I read Lisa Samson’s novel.
Because I was comforted, I hope to offer that selfsame mercy to you. In one way or another.
That is a gift I’d like to give to you.