One thought I was trying to communicate to him came over with difficulty. Jesus had stood, centuries ago, weeping at his friend's tomb. Those who stood around, seeing his tears of grief, naturally returned a singular verdict: Jesus had loved this friend. “See how he loved him” they remarked (John 11:36). That is all I wanted to say. “Look at the intensity of my grief and see how much I loved her.” “See how precious she was to me.” “My brokenness bears witness to how I cherished her until we were parted by death.”

If you understand what I am communicating, I am writing this series of blogs for you. I am sitting with you as my friend Josh sat with me. Even if I never meet you in person, my intention is to pierce rays of warm light into your cold darkness, that meet you with the hope that you really need.

The first arrow of hope has already taken flight from my bow. A true Christian friend—even though they are no replacement for the dear person you have lost—a friend who will listen and who will speak honestly to you from a Christ-centred worldview, is the most valuable asset you have in the middle of this calamity.

Yes, the tears kept flowing freely for four months. I didn't think much of the DSM4 or DSM5's guidelines that grief should largely be over within a six-week to two-month window. For me the experience has been too intense to wrap up within such a small package. All the more reason to position oneself for a longer journey, nestled among genuine Christian people. And when the rocky journey through grief is mostly conquered, you will have formed bonds that cannot be broken. Surely this is what the apostle Paul has in mind when he writes these words to the Corinthian Church, “Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.” (2 Corinthians 13:11 ESV)