The Labyrinth

My Opa was quite a craftsman.

Even in retirement, he spent many hours in the wood shop of his condo complex, creating all sorts of beautiful pieces – we even have a few in our home.

One smaller piece I remember him making was a wooden labyrinth.

Perhaps you’ve seen one of them before. It’s a game where a wooden tray sits atop a hollow box. Two knobs allow you to move the tray so you can navigate a marble through the little alleyways until you reach the finish. It would be simple were it not for the holes that line the path. One wrong twist of the knob and plop! You’re back at the beginning.


Grief is kind of like that labyrinth.

At first you’re a mess.

You’re falling down holes all the time.

You feel like you’re always starting over. You wonder why you even try. You entertain thoughts of giving up daily. Hourly.

Then you get a bit better. You’re able to navigate. You steer clear of the holes that sent you down before. But then there’s another one you weren’t anticipating: a face, a phrase, a smell, a look . . .a photo frame in Chapters with ‘Me & Papa’ engraved at the bottom of it.

And plop! You’re back at the beginning again. 

I’ve been trying to catch myself.

Trying to catch those around me. Yelling “Look out!” when I see a huge gaping pit in front of them.

But that’s the thing with grief.

Everyone has to navigate it for themselves. Everyone’s path looks different. And their triggers will too. The best you can hope for is to find your own way through so you can be there to cheer others on.

I don’t know if there is an end to it. Maybe we’re only meant to get to a certain point. A point where we’re just left with memories and a deep dull ache. Or maybe we arrive at a finish line, where heaven reaches down and draws us close, before sending us on our way.

But right now I feel stuck in the labyrinth and I keep dropping down all these holes. 

So I go back to the beginning and start again.

Maybe I’ll make it a bit further next time.

12 thoughts on “The Labyrinth

  1. Thank YOU Meg, for opening yourself up and sharing whats on your heart…we take it day by day, hour by hour…and know that when you arent able to navigate, we are lifting you up in prayer…having gone through this process several times, Psalm 46 became my chapter of refuge.

  2. Meg you are in my prayers. May God continue
    to show you the way. His word is a lamp to your feet and a light to your path.
    Psalm 119:105
    Thank you for opening your heart to us. Hugs to you.

  3. Thanks for this. When you wrote it I pushed it aside saying “this is not for me right now” but maybe in the future. Then BAM things happen and well I’m glad this post was here. Praying for you!

    • So glad the timing on this post was right for you! Praying for you as well, and trusting you’re finding the supernatural strength to move through, one day at a time.

  4. This is THE PERFECT metaphor for grief. Wow.

    – Everyone’s path is different.
    – The path is erratic.
    – It’s falling down into holes.
    – Plop! Ending up back at the beginning.

    Writing genius aside, holding your hand in the hard season.


    • Wow, what a huge compliment my dear! You’ll give me a big head. Please don’t ever use the word ‘genius’ again though! Scary 🙂 Thanks you so much. I feel you holding my hand friend . . much love

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