On Oct. 20, 2011, I did something I had never done before. I normally dropped off my son, Buck, at the door of his school. But on this day, I decided I wanted to give him one more hug, so I parked the car and got out. Buck was in the third grade and big for his age, but he wasn’t embarrassed to hug me in public.

“I love you, son,” I said. “Go be a winner!”

My mother-in-law, Nelma, would pick up Buck after school. Buck’s three younger cousins had come to town, and Nelma wanted them to have an opportunity to play together. Buck was always happy to see his cousins and spend time at his grandma’s house.

But as they were exiting the interstate that afternoon, the brakes on Nelma’s car unexpectedly went out. She shouted to the kids, “Hang on! We’re going to wreck!”

She couldn’t avoid running the red light and entering the intersection.

Buck was sitting behind Nelma, and the driver’s side of the car took the brunt of the impact in the resulting three-car collision. Everyone else involved survived, but Buck and Nelma went to heaven that day.

I was already well acquainted with grief. My only brother had died just 10 months earlier. But this was a new kind of sorrow. This was our baby boy, the son we had asked God to send us. I was so thankful for that last hug, but I was struggling to make sense of the loss.

In my quiet times, I prayed a phrase from 2 Corinthians 4:8: “Lord, I’m ‘perplexed, but not in despair.’ I don’t understand, but I know You are a good Heavenly Father. I know You love our family. I know Your nature. You didn’t take our son to crush us, but You allowed it for a purpose. I may never understand in this life, so I need You to help me make it through. Yes, Lord, I’m perplexed, but I’ve come too far to give up now — especially since I know where my son is.”

In my state of brokenness, it helped to say these things out loud. Jesus knew my heart already, so it was freeing to vocalize my pain.

I was so thankful for that last hug, but I
was struggling to
make sense of the loss.

“Lord, I’m overwhelmed,” I confessed one day. “I walk by Buck’s room and hear him calling to me. Everywhere I go, everything reminds me of him. My child wasn’t supposed to die before me.”

In that moment, I sensed Jesus saying, “Give Me your grief. Let Me redeem it.”

I paused. What did that really mean?

As I let Jesus speak to me about His redemption, my focus began to change. In fact, it forever transformed the way I perceive the work Jesus did on the cross for me.

The Lord reminded me that when I had accepted Him as my Savior, it was a beautiful exchange. I gave Jesus my shame, my sin, my mess. He willingly took it all, and in return, He gave me a new life, forgiveness, the hope of heaven, and so much more.

Similarly, I learned to give Jesus my grief daily. It was too much for me to carry. In exchange, He gave me peace that transcends understanding (Philippians 4:7). Oh, how I needed that!

First Peter 5:7 says, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” I never knew from one day to the next what aspect of grief would hit me. But as it came, I released it to Jesus. Some struggles returned again and again. Each time, Jesus lovingly and patiently received them from me. And every time, without fail, He gave me something better in return: His hope, contentment, and joy.

This has given me an expectation in prayer I never had before. I’ve even started applying the principle to other areas of my life, such as my finances, my relationships and my ministry. When I simply say, “Lord, would You redeem … ,” I know I can give my worry to Him and trust Him to give me something better.

Of course, that doesn’t relieve me of all responsibility. On the contrary, Jesus sometimes lets me know it is my attitude that needs redeeming. He meets me where I am and leads me onward.

Psalm 130:7 says, “Put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.”

In 2012, I had a dream of Buck in heaven. He looked down at me and shouted in his excitable manner, “Mom, hurry! Hurry up and come! It’s awesome! Your gonna love it!”

I have reminded myself many times that Buck is in my past, but he’s also in my future. One day, Jesus will redeem us from this world of sin, pain, and grief, and we will be together forever.

This article appears in the Fall 2021 edition of Influence magazine.