It’s almost been a whole year since I received the news that one of my friends took her own life. This was, unfortunately, not the first time I lost someone to suicide. I was 16 the first time. It was more formative than I would’ve liked for it to have been (mostly because I would’ve liked for it to have never happened). And even though God and friends helped me manage my way through it, managing my way through this second time around has been so much harder. You’d think twice the amount of life experience might help to soften the blow, or at the very least add some perspective, but death is a vicious thief and grief is a terrible fog.

After stuffing the majority of my feelings for several months, some part of me forced the rest of me into staring down my inner demons and dealing with the jumbled mess of fear brewing inside of me. Thus began the months-long process of untangling the grief from the fear from the insecurity from all of the other things. And thus began the months-long process of learning to be okay with the messiness of the process. Thus began the months-long process of re-learning how to heal and putting all of my effort into it.

I think, after a year, I’m almost all the way through the worst of it. I think I’m nearing the “acceptance” stage. And while there is a long and winding list of things that have helped to push me closer to saying I think I’m almost at acceptance, one of the biggest (if not the biggest) things has been recognizing the beauty of God and His world around me.

My friend was a lovely person. She had a desire to know the Lord and make Him known to those around her. She put others before herself. She sought out the quieter people in the room and engaged them in conversation. She loved poetry and art and all things beautiful. She was in seminary, and at her memorial service her teacher shared that she was supposed to write a thesis on the beauty of God. I would’ve loved to have read that paper.

My friend left me with a whole host of thoughts and feelings after she died. The only one I really wanted to explore was the topic of her thesis. All of the others are too messy and complicated. Too painful. But feelings demand to be felt and my loudest ones had to be handled first.

The through-line in my grieving process has been filling my head with better things. It started as a way to try and drown out the terrifying thoughts swirling out of my control. Eventually, when I got a better handle on things, it just became a more pleasant way to treat my mind. As a lover of stories, I’ve long dipped my toes into unkind waters. I’ve feasted on the brutality of science fiction and the gore of horror and the discomfort of thrillers. Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.

God has created a beautiful world and pausing to take note of that beauty has helped me immensely during these turbulent months. From the colors of sunset to the brilliance of autumn. From the sparkle of snow to the first breath of spring. From the eclipse to the flowers to the bumble bees to the fireflies. From the warmth of summer to the sweet aroma of baked goods to the trickling sound of a stream. It’s warm and it’s soft and if I sit in it long enough in my head, I can feel the hammock of love cradling me in what I hope heaven might look like.

Psalm 23 has become a lifeline. The promise of God’s presence in the valley of the shadow of death. The table before my enemies. The green pastures and still waters. The restoration of my soul. All of it sings the song of God’s goodness and His beauty.

I wish my friend was still here. I wish I could talk about this with her. I wish we could reflect, together, on the goodness and beauty of God. Maybe we can meet up in eternity and behold His beauty first-hand. It’ll undoubtedly be better than any glimpse I can get here.

Until then, I’ll enjoy the glimpses. I’ll keep looking for them. I’ll keep holding God’s hand as I pass through the shadows and the light and everything in between.