The Future

Would you want to know your future?

If someone today could tell you where you’d be in a year, would you want to know?

Would it change your decisions?  Would it change your perspective?  Perhaps.  But for good or ill? 

What if you were enjoying a trip with your family, living each day to its fullest?

Bryan at Landstuhl Castle, Germany, July 2011

Would you want to know that one year from that date, people would be attending your funeral?

Some of you are saying, yes, you would want to know, for better or worse, what is coming.  You’d make plans.  You’d do things.  You’d say things.  Others would rather just deal with things as they come.  There’s no sense in worrying about things you can’t change.

It’s been three years since Bryan died, and I can say unequivocally that I am thankful that we didn’t know what was coming.  We lived his last year (with the exception of the last four weeks of his life) just like we had lived the years before it.  We worked, we played, we enjoyed the ups and struggled with the downs. 

Might we have done things differently if we had known he wouldn’t be here?  Sure.  We probably would have spent the last year trying to “get things in order.”  But I don’t necessarily think that the decisions we would have made would have left us any better off.  We would have been very tempted to make life-limiting decisions, missing out on the everyday happinesses as we tried to control things beyond our control.

There were things that were a hassle in the immediate days after Bryan died.  Passwords, for one.  I knew some, but not all, of the passwords.  And everything these days has a password.  It took me a week to unearth the will.  (Bryan wasn’t organized.  I can say that because he’s not around to contradict me, but, trust me, he wasn’t.  The will was in a basket on a shelf in the closet, not in the file labeled “WILL.”)  But those are little things and they all worked out in the end.

Now that I’m a full three years out from those immediate grief-filled days, I know that we couldn’t have foreseen all the changes that Bryan’s death would necessitate.  And if I had known, I probably would have collapsed from the seeming enormity of it all.  Instead, I’ve made those changes over time, and in many ways, we’re a very different family than we were then.  I’m certainly a different person, and my children have grown so much that it’s hard to remember what it was like having seven “little people.”  There is no way we could have foreseen those changes and prepared for them, even if we had known the future.

Instead, we lived life each day.  Bryan always lived like life was short, so we got a lot of living done.  We took six young children on an overseas trip when I was pregnant because Bryan said, “You never know how much time you have!”  He didn’t want to wait till it was more practical.  He wanted to live NOW. 

The whole Bain family
plus my sister Sara
plus Austin in Mommy's tummy
in Germany, July 2011

So should you know the future?  If you’re truly living in the present, you don’t need to know what’s around the bend.

{For my reflections on the past anniversaries of Bryan's death, see
First Anniversary: One Year
Second Anniversary: From the Outside Looking In}

From the Outside Looking In

I was standing in line at the grocery store, and I was reading the fronts of the magazines.  I saw a picture of Kate Gosselin.  "Oh my goodness!" I thought, "I can't believe she's raising all those kids by herself."

And then I laughed.  Out loud.

What was I thinking?  She only has one more child than I do and hers are older than mine!

But that brief moment in the store gave me insight into everyone around me, and for that I'm thankful.  It made me realize that things appear far different from the outside looking in.

It's been two years since Bryan died, and we're doing well.  Our lives have changed dramatically, and will continue to change over the next two years, and the two years after that.  Some of the change has been inevitable, some of it has been the result of my prayerful decisions.  All of it has moved us forward.  One of the biggest challenges we face now is the reaction of others to our situation.

"You have how many kids?"

"Seven.  Six boys.  One girl."

"Wow!  Are you going to have more?" (or, alternatively...) "What does your husband do?"

"I'm a widow."

And then, the reaction.  Best: "I'm sorry."  Okay: "Oh."  Worst: Anything longer than the first two.

Because I get it.  It's sad.  Seven kids.  No dad.  Cue the violins.  No one would choose something like this.  But, it's our LIFE, and quite honestly, we spend most of our time happy, or at the very least "normal."  There are tears, but they're usually of the "he destroyed my six day Lego project" type.  Life goes on, and especially with growing and active children, grief just can't stay around for long.

As the two year anniversary of Bryan's death approached, I did a little investigative work with my kids.  Did they want to "do something" to remember the date?  Ummm, no.  Turns out we are not a memorializing family.

We do remember Bryan, of course.  He comes up in conversations all the time.  But we rarely talk about the sad stuff.  We remember things he said, things he did.  The kids are particularly fond of the things that make them laugh.  They want their memories of their dad to be happy, and I'm okay with that.  More than okay, actually.  I know that it's exactly what Bryan would have wanted.

Bryan was all about moving forward.  He was, actually, all about careening forward at break-neck speed and actively looking for ways to reach out to others.  He wanted to squeeze every drop he could out of life, and he never let pain or grief stop him.  He figured that death demonstrated that life was short, and that the departed would be honored to know that their loved ones were continuing to embrace life.

And we are embracing life.

But I understand that others don't understand.  When you're on the outside looking in, life looks messy, scary, and sometimes sad.  God gives grace for each moment, though, and with His grace comes joy and strength for the battle.

I want our family to share the blessing of God's provision for us with others.  I want my kids to see that life goes on and that we need to do what we can to serve others.  I want our family to be part of something bigger.

On that note, I've decided, because I believe it will honor Bryan and his embrace life and reach out philosophy, to begin half marathon training with the Leukemia Lymphoma Society Team in Training.  (If you'd like to donate in Bryan's memory to fund research to combat blood cancer, you can click here.)  I'll post more details on what led me to take this leap and on what I'll be doing and why.  Until then, dear friends, embrace life, and remember, things look a lot better from the inside.

The Road Map

About a year after Bryan died, I did a post reflecting on the grieving process, and I said that I'd be posting some more thoughts on that over the next week or two.  Week, months- it's all the same, right?

This might be a little overdue for me, but I hope that it comes at just the right moment for someone else.

One of the challenges that I had early on in the grieving process was feeling a little lost.  Grieving is by its nature a messy process, but I knew that the God who promised to give us "all things that pertain to life and godliness" (1 Pet. 1:3) had to have something to say about how to grieve well.  There are people who allow circumstances to destroy them, to make them bitter, to give them an excuse for every other problem they fail to overcome.  There's no guarantee that suffering will create a stronger person.

So, where was the road map?  Where was God's divine example on how to grieve in a way that forms good character, a way that pushes us further in our journey to maturity?

Job.  The road map for grief is in the book of Job.

People talk a lot about Job.  We reference the "patience of Job" especially.  But there's a lot more to the story.  First, there's the why: Job had it all- family, home, health, possessions- and God allowed it to be taken away, just to test him.  Job didn't lose it all because of his sin; he lost it because God was letting everyone see that Job would still be the same man without all of it.

Then, there are the well-meaning friends.  Job's friends hurt for him.  They wanted to see him get over this thing and move on.  They all had answers.  Most of what they said was good, sound theology.  Much of it was beautiful.  ("Behold, happy is the man whom God corrects...For he bruises, but He binds up; He wounds, but His hands make whole.  He shall deliver you in six troubles, yes, in seven no evil shall touch you." 5:17-18)  And they were all wrong.  Their timing was off, and they didn't understand God's purpose any better than Job did.  Incidentally, Job wins the award for best sarcastic response in the Bible, when he disdainfully replies to his friends, "Surely you are the people, and wisdom will die with you!" (12:2)

Job even had trouble grieving with family members.  We tend to be a little hard on Job's wife, but, remember, she lost everything too.  And her response was very different than Job's.  She wanted him to let go of his integrity.  Surely their troubles warranted that.  They were suffering.  He was sick and in pain.  She spoke out of anger and bitterness and told him to "Curse God and die."  And in those four words we have an example of how to grieve poorly.  Perhaps Job's reply helped his grieving wife to gain the proper perspective and mindset: "Shall we indeed accept good from God and shall we not accept adversity?"  (2:9-10)  Everyone grieves differently, and many take out their anger on those closest to them.  It's tough, but families have to stick together during hard times.  At the end of the journey, no one wants to look around and find himself estranged from everyone he once held dear.

The most important part of any map, though, is the crossroad.  As long as the journey is heading on a straight path, the map isn't very necessary.  But, when faced with two options, we'd better know which road leads to our desired destination.

For most of the book, God lets Job go.  He complains, he protests his innocence, he asks why.  In a word, he mourns his loss.  But then comes chapter 38.  It's the crossroad.  God speaks, and Job has a decision to make.

"Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said: 

'Who is this who darkens counsel

by words without knowledge?

Now prepare yourself like a man;

I will question you, and you shall answer Me.

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?'"

Job 38:1-4

God says, "Enough."  And Job must decide.  Does he cling to his argument?  After all, God never said in His reply that Job deserved what he got.  He just talked about His omnipotence and Job's humanity.  Should Job just say, "But, LORD, You were wrong."  In other words, does Job take the path of pride and bitterness and anger?  Or does he choose the path of surrender?

Job, of course, chooses surrender:  "I raise my hand over my mouth."  But many of us fail to make that choice.  We continue on the path of bitterness and some even turn against the LORD in their anger.  I'll say it again: Suffering does not guarantee a stronger character.  What we allow suffering to do to us depends on the choice we make at the crossroads.  

When you reach the crossroad, choose surrender.  Choose hope.  

"Now the LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning."

Job 42:12

What To Say

I never used to know what to say to a grieving or hurting person.  I was too afraid that anything I might come up with would do more harm than good.  It seems I wasn't alone in my dilemma.  Many people feel the same way, and their caution and uncertainty is warranted.  It's incredibly easy to say the wrong thing.  I have had my fair share of "I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this" moments.  And I'm not the only one.  Just last week, a young widow told me that two days after her husband committed suicide, a guy felt the need to give her a lecture on the importance of gun control.  Don't be that guy.  Here are some tips on what to say and do, gleaned from my own personal experience, conversations I've had with others, and things I've read.

• The less said, the better.  Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People, summed it up this way:  "Show up and shut up."  It's hard to do that.  If we feel the need to show up, we feel the need to talk.  While my experience has been that grieving people definitely need company, they are much less helped by words, particularly in the early days and months.  
• Avoid cheering them up.  Timing is important when we speak.  Cheerful encouragement in the midst of intense grieving is kind of like a cymbal crash at the wrong point in a symphony.  It's bad.  This applies to Bible verses too.  They're all good, they're all inspired, but "played" at the wrong moment, they can come across as cruel ironies.  (I'll give one specific example- completely free of charge- Jeremiah 29:11.  The Lord's plans to give a "future and a hope" don't really seem to apply when somebody dies, do they?  Save that one for graduation.)
• Be there.  What I've just said might tempt you to just stay away.  But don't!  It's good for grieving people to have others around.  Hang out.  Be available.  LISTEN, but keep your words few.  After his wife died, CS Lewis said, "I want the others to be about me.  I dread the moments when the house is empty.  If only they would talk to one another and not to me."  (A Grief Observed, 1961)  Head over with some friends and talk among yourselves.  I'll be forever grateful to the friends who came over with their kids during Bryan's last week so that my kids would have other little ones to play with. I know that was a tough assignment for them to accept, but they did it with grace, and I don't know what we would have done without them.
• Give some space.  As much as it helps to have a houseful of people around in the early days, it's important for the person to have some private space to withdraw to.  He might retreat to the bedroom for a few minutes, and then reemerge.  It's challenging to be present and yet hang back at the same time, but that's the type of sensitivity that's called for.  Friends who can strike this balance are pure gold in the tough times.
• Find comfort for your own grief.  When someone you care about is in a dark valley, chances are good that you may be hurting too.  Perhaps it was a death that touched you too, or maybe it's a divorce or a job loss that makes you feel insecure about your own life.  You may need help dealing with your feelings.  I know I spent time comforting and calming others after Bryan died and even during his final week, and others who are in the middle of a storm have had the same experience.  We can play the role of comforter because of the special grace we've been given, but it can nevertheless be exhausting.  Talk to other friends and family.  Go to your pastor.  Life's battles affect us all.
• Remember that you don't know what it's like.  We've all had tough times.  We've all lost loved ones.  The main lesson we should all take from that is that grieving is a deeply individual process.  Every little variable gets magnified.  Unless your situation really is stunningly similar, don't try too hard to establish commonality.  Losing a father is different than losing a husband is different than losing a child, and even within all of those categories, the manner of death and the nature of the relationship is going to make things different.  You can't comprehend someone else's grief any more than you can understand someone else's nightmare.
• Go easy on the books.  I have found that those of us who have lost loved ones share a joke: the stack of books on our nightstands that well-meaning friends have given us.  And depending on the fad of the moment, we probably have multiple copies of some books.  Books are helpful, but it's hard to say which ones are actually going to be the helpful ones.  If you must give a book, I'd recommend going for something that's stood the test of time.  You've noticed that I personally liked A Grief Observed because I'm a CS Lewis fan and the Lord of the Rings trilogy and Jane Eyre.  (Reading stories of epic struggles by authors with a keen understanding of the human heart is far more beneficial to me than any pop psychology volume.)  Elisabeth Elliot has some great books as well.  And no, those weren't the books people bought me.  I'll admit to being quirky in this regard, but from what I've heard from other grieving people, the book deluge is usually unnecessary.  
• Cards are great.  Getting a card with a little "I'm praying for you" note is very refreshing during any of life's difficulties.  The great thing about a card is that it conveys sympathy, but it doesn't intrude.  I tended to set the cards aside when they came in the mail and opened them a couple of times a week.  They were a nice encouragement, and opening them in batches allowed me to choose when I wanted to "hear" what my friends and family had to say and react in privacy. 
• Share your memories.  If it's a death and the person who died touched you in some way, definitely bring it up, either in a card or in person.  It's encouraging to know that a loved one will be remembered fondly.

As time goes forward, needs change.  Life has to go on, but it's much more difficult than it seems to move forward.  In some ways, support from friends becomes even more important as the early days give way to weeks and months.  Here are a few more tips for that period:

• Assess what the person needs.  It might be good to just ask.  My experience tells me that asking, "What do you need?" will probably be met with, "I don't know," or, "I think I'm okay."  One's brain is so fuzzy for such a long time in these situations.  It's better to consider the person's life and roles (mom, grandma, employee) and ask specific questions.  "I'd like to take your kids to soccer next week if they're going.  What time should I pick them up?"  People can always say no, but it really helps to know that help is available if needed.
• Keep checking in.  Depending on the severity of the situation, long term help and emotional support might be important.  Help six months out can sometimes be even more precious than help six days out.  It's a real encouragement to know you haven't been forgotten.
• Ask around.  If you're part of the person's circle of friends, ask around to see who's keeping in touch as time passes.  If everyone thinks someone else is, check with the person to make sure that support is staying strong.
• Don't complain.  There's seems to be a general consensus among grieving people that hearing other people complain about what they have (spouse, children, job) is pretty maddening.  Widows don't really care that your husband's snoring kept you awake, and moms who've lost children would give anything to deal with that two year old tantrum that you found so annoying.  And if you do slip up and complain, take the sarcastic comment you might get with a little humility.  It might be a good reminder to be thankful even in the midst of life's little hassles.
• Never, ever, ever corner the person at a social event.  It takes a herculean effort to force oneself out of the house and into "normal" life.  If you bring up the situation when everyone's trying to act "normal," you risk making that poor person wish she'd never left the house. CS Lewis bemoaned the fact that he had become in his widowhood "an embarrassment" to everyone he met.  He'd watch his friends and colleagues "trying to make up their minds whether they'll 'say something about it or not.'"  Then, he wondered if, perhaps, "the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers."  (A Grief Observed, 1961)  Let's not make things worse by making sad people feel like they have a disease.
• Let the person bring it up.  You may find that you become the confidant, you may not.  Just let the one doing the grieving decide and follow his lead.
• Ask someone who's been there.  If you know someone who's been in a similar situation, they probably would be able to give specific advice on what might be helpful.  They'll remember what people did for them, and they'll have the added benefit of hindsight to help them know what might be welcome.
• Pray.  Not only does prayer carry with it the power of healing grief, it can also give you the guidance of the Holy Spirit on what to say and what to do.

Finally, from all of us who have gone through tough times: Thank you!  It's the encouragement and support of  our friends and family that keeps us going.  I have been blessed by an amazing bunch of supportive and helpful individuals, and when I hear that someone's hurting, my first thought, my first question, my first prayer, is that they will be surrounded by friends as wonderful as mine.

If you're experiencing loss or difficulty right now, feel free to email me: aimee(at)hillcountryvillage(dot)com.  I promise not to talk about gun control.

One Year

Today marks one year since Bryan died.

I really can't believe it hasn't been a lot longer.  I suppose when you go through a major life change, it's normal for your sense of time to get a little skewed.  So much has changed that it feels like at least several years have passed- probably more like five.

And I think that's a good thing. It means that more healing has taken place than seems possible in just one year.  It means we've moved on and started a new life.

Over the next week or two, I plan to do a few posts sharing some of my reflections on the last year, but for now, my message is for those who are grieving.  I've learned many things in the last twelve months, but the most important lesson, while not particularly earth-shattering or grand, is most emphatically true.

There's no way through it, but through it.

That's it.  That's what I've learned.  When life is terrible, you just have to keep moving ahead.  You can't hide.  You can't go back.  Time keeps moving, and so must you.  You can wrestle with your guilt, you can indulge your grief, you can get angry, you can ask why.  All of that is acceptable.  All of that is expected.  But, in the end, whether or not you've sorted everything out and gotten all of the answers (and you won't), the only way to deal with grief is to keep living.  

I'm not saying it's easy.  It's not.  It's excruciatingly difficult.  But it is also absolutely imperative.  And I am here to tell you that, whether it seems like it now or not, you, my dear grieving friend, will get through it as long as you keep moving.

Bear in mind though, as you go through it, that grief is by no means a straight path.  The day a loved one dies, you don't pass through the gate and begin moving briskly forward, passing one landmark at a time.  It's a road with many twists and turns and some very dark tunnels.  CS Lewis says it best (doesn't he always?):

"Grief is like a long valley,

a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape...

[but] not every bend does.

Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one;

you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago.

That is when you wonder whether the valley isn't a circular trench."

(A Grief Observed, 1961)

The minute you thought you were "over" something, that you had moved past a particular trigger, you will realize that you haven't at all.  "Am I right back where I started?  I thought I 20]3was done with this grieving thing," you'll think to yourself.  But I've come to see that those setbacks aren't really setbacks in the truest sense of the word.  They may seem to impede your progress, but if you pick yourself up and keep going, they become just another step forward in the messy valley of grief.  The darkness of the bad days lightens, almost imperceptibly at first, and then more and more as time passes.  And the dark days come less frequently.  Grief is not, as CS Lewis goes on to conclude, a circular trench after all.

My testimony to the grieving is this:  There is hope.  There is life.  There is light.  Maybe not yet, but soon.  Just keep going through it.

O, Lord,

"Remember the word to Your servant,

Upon which You have caused me to hope.

This is my comfort in my affliction,

For Your word has given me life."

Ps. 119:49-50

Lens of Grace

A few weeks ago- actually on the Sunday of the boys' baptism- I had a shock in church.  It seems that during the week, a member had passed away.  I guess I must have fallen off the church email list or something, because, though I had heard that she had been hospitalized and that her cancer might not be as under control as they had hoped, I had no idea that it was that bad.

I was stunned.  I would like to say that I felt deeply saddened as I remembered how this woman, a fellow widow, had reached out to me during some of my darkest hours.  That came later, but first, I got angry.  "It's not fair!" was my emphatic protest.  See, this lady had a daughter- a high schooler.  Now this young lady has been robbed of both of her parents.  And it's not fair.

I found myself thinking, "How is she going to get through this?  She has another year of school.  She needs to go off to college.  This is TERRIBLE!"  And almost immediately, I realized that I was making the same mistake that people make when they look at my situation.  I was looking at the stark reality.  I failed to use the lens of grace.

See, when you're in the midst of a terrible situation, God's grace really is sufficient to sustain you.  Somehow, someway, He carries you through the darkest days.  People looking in from the outside don't know how you keep going.  They just know that if they were in your shoes, they'd collapse from the strain.

But they wouldn't.  They'd be sad, they'd be panicked, they'd be scared, they'd be angry and overwhelmed, but they'd keep going.  And if, after the initial shock wore off, they chose to let the Lord help them, they'd come through it victors.

Knowing this- that God's grace is greatest when we are weakest- gives us a different perspective on life.  Yes, when tragedy strikes our lives are changed forever.  But that doesn't mean that life is over.  It doesn't mean that we have to go through life broken.  It means that God gives us the grace to make the changes that are necessary.  He gives us the grace to heal.  And because of His grace, we can confidently move forward, not perhaps into the life we had planned for ourselves, but into the life that has been chosen for us.

I am comforted to know that this young lady is part of a church that specializes in being instruments of God's grace to the people who need it most.  She won't have to go through this alone, and I believe, looking through the lens of grace, that she can emerge from this a strong and vibrant woman, a living testament to the One who sustains her.

"So now...I commend you to God

and to the word of His grace,

which is able to build you up 

and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified."

Acts 20:32

Remembering Daddy

Today, of course, was Father's Day, but it was also Bryan's birthday.  We all took some time to remember Daddy.

How many times have you heard in church or read in a book that in your life, you should stop and think about what people will have to say about you when you're gone?

It's an interesting exercise- pondering one's own eulogy.  We probably think of lofty things that we hope will one day be true of our lives: charity, charisma, kindness, success, love.  All of those things are noble goals, but the fact is, when it comes to our children, it doesn't actually take much to make an impression.

Here's a sampling of what my little people had to say about what they liked best about Daddy:

"I liked it when he made waffles."

"He always talked to me about the cats."

"My favorite time was talking to him early in the morning."

"He tickled me before bed."

"I liked praying with him at night."

Talking, cats, tickle fights, waffles: simple things.  Things that happen in the normal course of life.  It's the "regular" moments that matter the most- not big trips or exciting gifts, not even holidays, special events or "memory makers." It's just being there, listening, and being involved.  The day to day interaction is what matters to the people who love us.

John Bunyan said that if a man would live well, he should "fetch his last day to him, and make it always his company keeper."  It's true that not all of us will meet with an early death, but no matter how long we live, life is extremely short.  A mere breath, really.  If we could fully grasp the meaning in the simplest things of life, the smallest act could be infused with purpose, the littlest deed would have importance.

Few of us will do great and amazing things, but all of us will do "normal" things.  If we remember that all of those simple things are the building blocks of a life well-lived, then we can take the time to do ordinary things with love and attention.  And we will live knowing that, to the people who love us most, it's the way we do the ordinary that makes us extraordinary.

He Cares

Just before we moved, I heard Michael Walsh on Hugh Hewitt's show.  Mr. Walsh, an author, apparently had a 22 year old daughter who died unexpectedly at the end of 2011.  He had many interesting and insightful things to say about death and grieving, and I thought I'd share some of what he said here.

(Disclaimer:  I was listening to the radio, not reading a transcript, so I might possibly misrepresent Mr. Walsh's words or meaning, though I'll certainly try not to.  I couldn't find anything that he had written on the subject.  Although that makes sense in light of the fact that he mentioned that he had been fairly private about it up to this point, it also means that I have to rely on my memory of what he said.)

First, he started by talking about the fact that death is a part of life.  This is, of course, obvious, but when death claims someone we love, it's hard to view it as a natural part of the cycle of living on this earth.  Instead, we feel wronged- robbed of something that was dear.

Then, he reflected on how much we want to believe that everything happens for a purpose.  Telling ourselves this can seem helpful during small crises- lost job, temporary illness, interrupted plans- but when it comes to something as final and crushing as death, trying to make sense of it is really beyond our ability.  Mr. Walsh insisted that everything doesn't happen for a purpose.  Some things just happen because that's just the way the world is.  I heartily agree with him on that point.  Trying to figure out why something awful happened can become a fruitless and unending endeavor.  The world is fallen.  It will be set right one day, but for now, it is what it is.  Death, sadness, and suffering happen.

The thing Mr. Walsh said, though, that made me think most deeply was this:  God doesn't care like we care. He said God is so big and has such a cosmic, eternal perspective, that He views our problems as petty and very small.  Here, I believe, my view is different than his, though not perhaps as different as it would have been before my present trial.

I have come to see that God's perspective is vastly different than our own.  And it certainly is true that because He exists in eternity, He sees things in an entirely alternate light.  We see ourselves and our lives as occupying the very center of the universe.  God knows better.  In the eternal scheme of God's grand plan, man is but a breath.

But that doesn't mean that He doesn't care about our struggles and emotions.  He allowed Himself, in the form of His Son, to put on humanness.  He experienced what we experience.  He was a "man of sorrows and acquainted with grief."  (Isaiah 53:3)  When He lost His friend Lazarus and saw everyone crying, He wept.  He could have said, knowing the glorious miracle He was planning, "Quit crying.  It's all going to work out in the end."  But He didn't.  He knew humans exist in the present, and He cried for their pain.

It's a glorious thing to have a high priest who can sympathize with our weakness.  (Hebrews 4:15)  That doesn't mean He does what we want Him to.  That doesn't mean He makes sure we're always happy.  But He does care.  God is not too big to care about our petty problems, He is so big that He both works in eternity and tenderly weeps for our grief.