This is an exerpt from a blog entry that a friend sent me. There is so much wisdom in this young father's words. His son has leukemia. I've changed the name of the boy. What a beautiful reminder of the gift of grief.

Another thing that this means is that reality strikes our family again.

I say "reality" because it's funny how you can almost forget everything that has happened over the last year, that Tom has cancer, in the normalcy of life. Then you have an appointment like today and the harsh truth of reality comes back - leukemia still rules the day. So today, and days like this, are in some ways a grieving process at least for mommy and daddy. We grieve about little things - that we can't play on the playland at Chick-Filet; that Tom has some minor social awkwardness around kids because he hasn't been around alot of them; that we can't make real plans with friends without saying, "If everything is okay." And frankly, grieving isn't fun. It is, however, good.

Not to compare our struggles to that of Job, but it is interesting that for 7 days Job's friends came to him and sat in silence to grieve with him. That became a lasting tradition throughout Judaism, and is known as sitting shi'vah (from "shi'vah" meaning "seven.") It's a period when people come and visit with the person that is grieving but don't say anything (maybe God knows that we have the propensity to say stupid things during times of loss). I think that's a little comforting today because I believe God likes the mourning process. I think he likes it for many reasons such as:

Mourning is the way we reconcile the fact that our dreams for our lives may not square with God's dream for our lives.

Mourning is the process of coming to grips with God's sovereignty in the universe.

Mourning is a reminder of hope, even in the midst of loss.

But I like this one best today: Mourning is perhaps the truest expression of authenticity. And I think God values authenticity more than He values right answers, screwed on smiles, and perfectly Christian people.