When One Member Suffers

The Remarkable Ordinary #54: Ali Earthman on Dealing with Grief, Together

June of 2021 was anything but lively in my childhood home. Though the Oklahoma trees were blooming and winter’s frost was giving way to warm, sunny days, we weren’t outside soaking up the new light and life. We were awaiting an unwelcome guest—an inevitable one who couldn’t be ignored, even if we closed the shutters and turned off the lights. Our family was awaiting death.

I was 20 years old. I was too young to lose my mom. At least, that’s what I was continually told. But here I was, caring for my dying mother alongside my father and sister, day in and day out. We were exhausted, weak, and laden with grief.

I was 180 miles from my church home, and grieved the distance daily. Though I still drove the four hours each weekend to attend our Sunday service, I longed to have my church family close in this season of suffering. I longed to hear a knock on our door and be greeted with tender hugs and warm casseroles. Our family was in survival mode, barely keeping our heads above water.

As my mother’s condition progressed, my prayers began to morph into weak sobs. I recalled God’s promise that His Spirit would intercede on my behalf, so I trusted Him and continued crying out in agony. I didn’t know what I was praying for anymore— I just knew I needed help.

One day, there was a knock at our door. Three Chick-Fil-A meals, a plethora of sides, and cookies to go around sat on our porch. God had answered my unintelligible cries. From 200 miles away, my church showed up at our doorstep, thanks to the modern gift of DoorDash. I wept.

The next evening, another take-out meal quietly arrived on our porch. With tear-filled eyes and a full yet weary heart, I served my family dinner, thanking God for His loving provision.

This continued on for a week. Our frail and grieving bodies were nourished day after day by a church body hours away. We continued to care for my mother, serving her meals from some of her favorite restaurants. Though our appetites were minuscule, we ate with gratitude.

On the morning of June 14th, there was a knock on the door. But this time, a warm meal wasn’t waiting on our porch. Death had arrived.

We collapsed in grief.

No amount of time could have prepared us for what took place that day. We sat frozen in shock and sorrow.

That evening, three pastas, salads, and desserts arrived at our doorstep. I brought them in, and we ate. I exhaled deeply as I took a bite of Alfredo, realizing every need had been met without my asking. My beloved church was, indeed, very near. Distance made no difference— we were knit together in Christ.

In a world where many flee when times get difficult, my church family drew all the nearer. They loved quietly, yet fiercely. They shared in our grief, weeping and praying alongside us. Their love was steadfast and long-suffering, refusing to waver or fade as months passed and my grief ebbed and flowed.

They were—and are—the church, as Jesus intended the church to be. God didn’t transport my church to my hometown in that awful season, as I wished He would. But with clearer vision now, I’m wholly thankful He didn’t. For in His withholding, God gifted me something far greater: the beauty of witnessing Christ’s church bridge gaps in sacrificial, steadfast love.

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

— Galatians 6:2

Thanks so very much to Ali Earthman for sending in this incredible story. For more from her, check out her publication!

The Remarkable Ordinary is a (ideally) weekly publication highlighting Christians performing ordinary acts of kindness, hospitality, and integrity. Its goal is to be an anti-moral failure, anti-church scandal, anti-hypocrisy kind of journalism.

For more info on the “why” behind The Remarkable Ordinary, check out this essay.

Have a remarkably ordinary story? Feel free to reach out and send one in to Griffin Gooch’s direct messages!