What I’ve Learned from What I’ve Lost

As the story goes, eagles welcome storms. While other birds run for cover, the eagle sits waiting for the storm’s arrival.

Eagles soar on wind currents and updrafts—something a storm has plenty of. So when that wind hits, it is said an eagle can use those currents to carry him higher and higher.

So can we. Our storms can ground us. Or they can carry us higher than we’ve flown before.

Again, it is our choices that determine the outcome. We don’t get to decide if and when a life storm hits us or even what we lose in the storm. But we do decide where the storm takes us.

When we lose someone or something that has been a life anchor, it often leaves a gaping hole in our heart.

My friend John, reflecting on his five years without Nancy, said “You rebuild your life around that hole.”

So the final question that rises from the ashes of a great hurt is: What have I learned from what I’ve lost that can make me stronger?

My blueprint for a more storm-proof me includes so much of what I have gained from what I have lost.

• Treasure the people you love above any list, any schedule, any activity—while you can.


• Deal with what you regret while there’s still time.


• Let your heart that broke keep your heart tender toward God and people. Don’t ever let it close up.


• Take the elevator to the top floor to see the bigger picture God sees.


• Live each day as if you won’t have another.


• Stay as real and raw with Jesus as you were at the point of your great loss. It allows Him to be closer than you’ve ever felt Him.


• Look for the people who need the comfort and caring that sustained you in your storm.


• The Anchor holds.

The hammer of a devastating loss can indeed build you or demolish you. But the hammer doesn’t decide the outcome. We decide.

It is those hope choices that defy those hope robbers that come when we lose something or someone we treasure. 

You can lose a loved one. You can lose a job, a home, a dream. You can lose your health, your innocence, even an anchor relationship.

But you don’t have to lose hope if you make the choices that defy surrender.

I can only hope that the extreme shaking and sifting and heat of my loss has produced something of value—to God, to those I love, to hurting people who will cross my path the rest of my life.

If I choose hope, gold can come from grief.