My friend and fellow bereaved mom, Margaret Franklin, Ryan’s mom, shared a beautiful Dutch word with me “Sterkte” (pronounced STAIRK-tah).
It literally translates “strength” or “power” but culturally means much more. It means bravery, strength, fortitude and endurance in the face of fear and insumountable odds through the empowering strength of God in me.
Not MY strength, but HIS.
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Appropriate God’s Strength
Child loss is Unnatural-no way around it.
Out of order death is devastating.
When my perfectly healthy, strong and gifted son was killed instantly in a motorcycle accident on April 12. 2014 my world fell apart. My heart shattered into a million pieces. And after three and a half years, I’ve yet to even FINDall of those pieces much less put them back together.
So what does a heart do when that happens?
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Admit the Pain
I used to spend every New Year’s morning with my Bible, my thoughts and my Lord.
I wrote each family member’s name in my journal and waited for the Holy Spirit to give me a verse to pray for them for the next year.
I would end with my own name and ask God what good works He had planned for me.
When I look back over these journals I realize that what I had essentially been doing for decades was asking God for “One Little Word” to focus my energy, resources and attention each year.
I honestly believe that every human on the face of the Earth is here for a reason. They are not a random collection of cells and neurons. They are created in the image of an Almighty God to impact the people around them in specific ways.
So I challenge you to ask the God of the universe to give you One Little Word for 2018.
And then hold every potential commitment up to that light to determine if it is really part of God’s plan for you this year.
For some of my hurting parent friends the word may be “healing” or “rest” and that’s just fine. For others it may be “endurance” or “perseverance” and that’s fine too.
It’s between you and God.
May you hear clearly and receive with open hands.
For the next few days, I’ll be sharing these previously published posts in a series born from a speaking engagement last October.
If you struggle with squaring God’s sovereignty, His love and man’s free will, then I invite you to join me.
I hope it helps your heart. ❤
If you’ve read the blog for very long, you’ve learned two things about me: (1) I am up front and honest about my feelings, my doubts, my faith and my heart; and (2) I’m not afraid to explore topics that often make the church uncomfortable.
So here I am again.
Read the rest here: Learning To Trust God Again After Loss
As I continue to walk this Valley, my heart asks the question, “What does healing look like?”
Fewer tears? Check.
More laughter? Check.
Better able to function? Check.
I’m definitely not as fragile as I was in the days and weeks and first months after Dominic left us.
I can do what life requires without falling apart (most of the time).
Read the rest here: What Does Healing Look Like?
There are so many surprises in the Christmas story.
A young woman “has” to get married. She and her husband are forced to make a long journey while she is large with child. Bethlehem is so full of folks there’s not a single place to lay their heads so she and he and the Son of God sleep in a “barn”.
But the birth is only the beginning.
God continued to bring forth His plan to save the world in ways our human hearts could never imagine.
Rejoice, people of Jerusalem. Shout for joy, people of Jerusalem. Your king is coming to you. He does what is right, and he saves. He is gentle and riding on a donkey. He is on the colt of a donkey.
Zechariah 9:9
Jesus is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Ruler over all the earth. He reigns supreme and cannot be conquered.
Yet He is also a Humble Servant, who gives Himself to all who ask.
My life is certainly not what I thought it would be. It’s upside-down and backwards from the plan I made for myself years ago.
It would be natural to turn away from God because what He has allowed is not what I want nor would choose.
But when I read the words of Zechariah, I am encouraged.
God turns the world’s wisdom on its head. He is not bound by my expectations nor my understanding.
I can rejoice because I know He is working His will even when the story is hard and painful and full of sorrow.
Jesus saves. Jesus redeems. Jesus restores.
That’s a promise.
But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah,
are only a small village among all the people of Judah.
Yet a ruler of Israel,
whose origins are in the distant past,
will come from you on my behalf.
3 The people of Israel will be abandoned to their enemies
until the woman in labor gives birth.
Then at last his fellow countrymen
will return from exile to their own land.
4 And he will stand to lead his flock with the Lord’s strength,
in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
Then his people will live there undisturbed,
for he will be highly honored around the world.
5 And he will be the source of peace.Micah 5: 2-5a NLT
One of the things I struggle with since Dominic ran ahead to heaven is this: is every detail of history planned by God? Or are there general outlines filled in by human choices (good and bad) and leading ultimately to God’s working out HIS story within OUR stories?
How do I reconcile God’s sovereignty and my free will?
I’m still working on that.
But there is one thing I do understand. God had a plan from the foundation of the earth to reconcile sinful man to Himself by the birth, life, death and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ.
He sent prophets to point the hearts of His people toward the place the Savior would be born. He laid out promise after promise for hundreds and thousands of years so that when Jesus came, they would be ready.
It was no accident Jesus was born precisely when and precisely where the prophets foretold.
Bethlehem-The House of Bread-became the place that housed the Bread of Life.
It’s a question every hurting heart has to answer if you celebrate a traditional western Christmas: Will I put up a tree this year?
I had a few months of lonely travel through the Valley of the Shadow of Death before I had to answer that one.
Dominic left us at Easter, so by December I had learned that wishing didn’t make anything better nor did it make decisions disappear.
As Christmas drew near, I just could not bring down the usual decorations from the attic.
So I didn’t.
Instead of trying to work up the courage to dig through boxes and decide what I could or could not bear to see that first year, I bought a new, small tree and put it atop the table in the living room.
How do you arrange pieces of happy memories in a world where everything has changed? How do you touch bits of who you used to be when you have no idea who you are right now?
I decided that even if I didn’t put one other decoration on it, I would have the company of sparkling lights in the darkness of winter evenings.
The lights remind me that the night has limits.
Their tiny twinkling helps me remember that even a small bit of hope is enough to hold on to.
This is the ninth Christmas since Dominic ran ahead to heaven and it is just as hard as the first one.
Each year there are additional challenges and additional heartaches on top of the giant one I carry every day. I’ve found that these years since he left I don’t do well with a lot of the trappings surrounding Christmas.
But what my heart holds onto is the promise of Christmas:
That the Baby became the Man and the Man was Messiah.
I light the lights because they remind me that darkness has limits.
I declare by my defiant act of celebration in the midst of heartache that one day every hard thing, every sad thing and every broken thing will be redeemed and restored.
My prayer for all the hurting hearts this year is that God will make His love real to you in ways you neither expect nor could imagine.
May you find some symbol this season that speaks courage and gives you strength to endure.
And may the promise of Christmas give you hope, even in the darkest night.
I’m up way before the sun each day-pecking away on the computer keyboard, puttering around in the kitchen, doing a few indoor chores, getting dressed.
But I always stop to watch the sunrise.
Because no matter how many times I observe the red and gold streaks make their way up over the black silhouette of trees and chase the night away, it never gets old.
Every single sunrise is a reminder that darkness has limits.
Every morning God whispers, “See, I’m still in charge.”
Every ray of light promises hope to my heart.
There are many things I do not understand about life this side of child loss. Many more I do not like and wish were different.
But this much I DO know:
God is here.
He has not abandoned me.
He has not left me to walk this Valley on my own. ❤
thelifeididntchoose 