What if My Testimony is Endurance?

Clearly marked boundaries, categories and rules make things easier.

But life rarely fits in the tidy boxes I like to create.

And when it doesn’t I’m tempted to ignore the parts that don’t fit-tempted to pretend they don’t exist-so I can maintain the world I’ve created for myself. I would rather march on in ignorance than drag out my underlying assumptions to figure out if they are true or false.

That takes a lot of work.

In the church we like to line up the “Overcomers” to give testimony of how faith in Christ has turned their life around.

And He absolutely does that.

Some are delivered from addiction, sin and abuse.  Some receive healing-none the less miraculous if it comes through the hands of skilled physicians.  Some enjoy restored relationships.

But not everyone gets what they long for.  Not every loss can be undone.

imagine child lossAnd those left to live their lives hoping but not healed can be labeled “losers”.  We can be marginalized because our story is messy and can’t be tied up in a neat spiritual package.

It MATTERS how we frame the very personal tragedies that people around us experience.

My friend and fellow loss mom, Janet Boxx,  has written a beautiful post that exposes one of the ways life doesn’t fit the neat categories we like to use.

Please take a moment to read her post It’s Personal .

its-personal-pt1-tm

Sometimes people outside our experience toss Scripture at us who are suffering like confetti in a parade-as if we are heroes who only have yet to take the podium and declare the victory.

But what if  there IS no victory in this life for some of us?

What if there is only endurancewhich is a sort of victory but one not highly valued?

Paul never declared a final victory over his thorn in the flesh.  He characterized his life as one “poured out like a drink offering”.  He said he “groaned” in his earthly tent and “longed” to be clothed with the heavenly.

I am living.  I don’t spend my days curled up in a ball (even when I want to).

But I groanI groan for the time when what the enemy has stolen will be restored.

Until then, even if I have to crawl, battered and bruised:

“I push myself forward toward the goal to win the prize. God has appointed me to win it. The heavenly prize is Christ Jesus himself.” (Philippians 3:14 NIRV)

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The final destruction of death is still in the future. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. Not only will I see Lenya again, but I will hold the same body I held here, only better, because what the thief has stolen will be restored sevenfold (Proverbs 6:31)!
This is why it’s crucial for you to see that we don’t need to put a nice face on our pain or hurry people through a process that can’t be rushed; the fact that our sadness doesn’t go away makes our triumph even more powerful. Our faith works in the fire, and not just when life is fun. We can be hard-pressed and yet not crushed, struck down and yet not destroyed — not because we know general facts about the resurrection or that there is a heaven, but because we trust in the one who said that he is the resurrection and the life, who took the keys from death and hell, was dead, and lives forever. His name is Jesus, and he always leads us in triumph!
~Levi Lusko, Through the Eyes of a Lion

 

Bridle your Tongue

In this journey of loss I have been blessed and wounded by words.

I have been encouraged and disheartened by stray comments.  I’ve been thrown a lifeline and pushed under the raging waves of grief by friends, family and acquaintances who often had no clue they were doing either.

Our words matter. 

Our tongues have the power of life and death.

Whoever first wrote “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me” was either in denial or lived a very sheltered life.

Please, for the love of love, think before you speak.

Choose to listen before you lob a response bomb across whatever divides your heart from another. Count to ten if you have to, take a deep breath, read and re-read your words before you press “post”.

And, if all else fails remember:  if you don’t have something nice to say, maybe it’s better not to say anything at all.

The one you think is invincible may be on the edge of crumbling.  The one you think is strong may be hanging by a thread.

We all make mistakes in all kinds of ways, but the man who can claim that he never says the wrong thing can consider himself perfect, for if he can control his tongue he can control every other part of his personality! Men control the movements of a large animal like the horse with a tiny bit placed in its mouth. Ships too, for all their size and the momentum they have with a strong wind behind them, are controlled by a very small rudder according to the course chosen by the helmsman. The human tongue is physically small, but what tremendous effects it can boast of! A whole forest can be set ablaze by a tiny spark of fire, and the tongue is as dangerous as any fire, with vast potentialities for evil. It can poison the whole body, it can make the whole of life a blazing hell.

James 2-6 PHILLIPS

Every person on this planet bears the image of the God who made him or her.  You can’t disrespect the person without also disrespecting the Lord.

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Tell Your Story

We all have one you know.

A story.

Many of us think ours isn’t important because it feels so small.  We can’t imagine our truth blazoned across a headline.

Your story matters.

Who you are and how you got there is worthy of repeating.  You never know if your story will be the key to unlock someone else’s prison.

your-story-could-be-the-key

Some heart is begging to know that they are not alone.

Some soul waits breathless to hear that what they are hiding is OK to share.

Someone, somewhere needs you to unlock the vault of memory and invite them to do the same.  

Speak your truth.  

Tell your story.

You own it.

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Repost: Grief and Holidays: What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family

The election’s over and whether we like the outcome or not, the calendar pages still turn. 

Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming fast.  For some of us carrying the pain of loss, the holidays are a treacherous time.  

I’m reposting this link in the hopes it might help make things a little easier:

its hurting again

“I know it is hard.  I know you don’t truly understand how I feel.  You can’t.  It wasn’t your child.

I know I may look and act like I’m “better”.  I know that you would love for things to be like they were:  BEFORE.  But they aren’t.

I know my grief interferes with your plans.  I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years.  But I can’t help it.  I didn’t ask for this to be my life.”

Read the rest here:  Grief and Holidays:What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family

Some Days, I’m Just a Mess

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The other day a conversation about the upcoming holidays devolved into a confrontation.

What I was trying to communicate came out wrong and one thing led to another until I fled- a crying, trembling mess. 

I am trying so hard to manage this life I have left.  

I work out plans in my head to navigate what I know will be challenging events or days or gatherings.  I execute the plan as best I can and when I feel overwhelmed I try to escape to a quiet corner or a bathroom or outside for a moment to regather my composure.

But it doesn’t always work.

There are so many variables-people, lack of sleep, random added stressors, physical pain, grief triggers, and even low blood sugar-any one of which, or a combination of which, can sabotage the carefully constructed plan I’ve made.  

I feel like there are no easy days.  I feel like there are no moments when I don’t have to be on alert.  I feel like I am constantly doing battle.

I stop by the store and meet someone I haven’t seen in awhile.  They ask, “How are you?”

So I go down the line of my living children and give a description of what they are doing-leaving out how they are feeling.  I don’t mention me. The person never notices but I’m reminded again of the disconnect between what others see and what I know to be true.

Sunday’s sermon is taken from a text that could be interpreted to mean that God protects His faithful people from physical harm.  I’m hemmed in by someone on the end of the pew but I want to get up and run from the sanctuary.  

Is my son’s death judgement on my unfaithfulness or on his?

It takes every ounce of self-control I can muster to remain in place.  No one is even aware of the battle raging inside.  

I walk through each day pushing down the pain, shoving aside the rising tide of tears.

I measure my words, measure my reactions, measure my emotions-trying so very hard to keep it in.

I wish I could crawl in bed, cover my head with the blanket and just stay there until this all went away.

But I can’t.

So I muddle through the best I can-hoping that one day I will figure it out.

Probably not today.

 

 

 

 

Repost: When Will You Be Over This?

 

family never gets over the death of a loved oneThink back on the most awful thing that has ever happened to you.

Does it still hurt?  Do you still carry scars from where it pierced your soul and broke your heart?

Can you forget it? Really, really forget it?

Read the rest here:   When Will You Be Over This?

Nothing Left

carrying-a-heavy-load

These past few weeks have been challenging.

A dozen unrelated things have added up to a load I struggle to carry.

I have absolutely NO reserves.

No extra emotional or physical resources that can help me bounce back when things get tough.

None.

Every day I tread a razor’s edge instead of the broad path I used to walk.

It takes so much effort just to keep from falling off that I have a hard time looking ahead and am regularly blindsided by things I might have avoided, or handled better or made plans to endure.

So I take the hits full forcedefenses down. 

I’ve learned to hide it.  Most of the time.  

I’ve learned to lower my eyes, bite my tongue or walk away to catch my breath.

I’ve nearly mastered the art of holding in the tears.

You think I’m strong.  

But I’m not.

You will hardly ever know when my heart is hurting.  

But it is.  

 

 

 

 

 

Another Milestone

I began this blog almost a year and a half into my grief journey.

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At first I wasn’t fully committed to writing on a regular basis.

I certainly never thought I’d write every day.

But this month marks a milestone:  From November 1, 2015 to today I have posted at least once a day.  Not every post original-some reposts of my blog or links to other blogs.

But I’ve shown up.

And it has been helpful to me, even if it hasn’t helped anyone else.

I had been journaling since the day I got the news but was too raw and too hurt to share my thoughts with anyone but God.

Goodness, I’d been journaling for almost 20 years and never expected to share any of it with anyone.  It was my way of working through hard emotions, recording insights and venting things that wouldn’t be helpful for others to hear.

But here I am-letting so much of it out to the world.

Every time I press “post” I still tremble.  Am I saying something helpful? Hurtful? Foolish? Wise?  I never know until I get some feedback.

I appreciate everyone who has commented on or “liked” or shared a post.

It gives me courage to carry on.

My only ambition for this effort is that I remain authentic, faithful and honest about the journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

I want to finish well. I want to make Dominic proud.

It is my way of redeeming the pain.

Thank you for joining me in the journey.

easier-to-begin-than-finish-well

 

Repost: Thankful But Broken

Autumn-Leaves-32

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.

My birthday sometimes falls on the day itself, and I have often been able to celebrate with extended family and friends-a full table of food and a full house of fellowship.

I love the colors of fall, the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin, the freedom from gift-giving pressures that lets me focus on the people in my life.

Read the rest here:  Thankful But Broken

Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance

Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.

He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.

I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”,  and hung up the phone in tears.

He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.

He sent me flowers.

flower-arrangement

They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.

Our family observes a rule:  Don’t part in the heat of anger.

We may not be over our pain and the reason for the dispute may be legitimate, but NOTHING trumps relationship.

I am so very thankful for that rule.  Because one burden I don’t have to carry is that I might have left Dominic wondering if everything was OK between us.

It was.

So I say to you:

  • Speak your peace.
  • Say you’re sorry.
  • Move TOWARD the people you love and not away from them.

I pray every time I hear a siren that the person they are going to rescue will be alright.  I pray that the family that loves that person will get another chance.  I pray that the call that’s made is, “Come to the hospital to see me” and not “Come to the morgue”.

But you never know-you have NO guarantee that the last time you see or speak to someone you care about won’t be the LAST time.

And then you cannot undo the horror of regret that they might have left this world wondering if you loved them.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to stay angry with you.  Please forgive me.”

Say it loud, say it often, say it NOW.