grief – Page 258 – thelifeididntchoose

Do I Measure Up?

How can I measure how far I’ve come in this grief journey?

Distance traveled or hours endured?

Do I set my heart next to that of another grieving mother and see which of us has managed to piece together more or less of what was left after losing our child?

I want to be able to give myself a grade-to place my experience on a ladder of “success” and determine just where I rank.

That sounds ridiculous, and really, it IS.

Yet I am constantly bombarded with cues that declare: “You need to be making progress;” “You need to get ‘better’;” “You need to ‘get over’ Dominic’s death;” “You need to ‘move on'”.

As a stay at home mom, I’ve lived most of my life in the shadows of behind-the-scenes support to my husband and children. My hours were spent doing necessary tasks rarely considered “amazing” or “noteworthy”.

So I had to learn not to measure my worth based on what others thought I should be doing but instead on whether or not I was living in obedience to what God had called me to do.

My list of accomplishments is short, but my living legacy is large. My children are my curriculum vitae:

²You are our letter, every word burned onto our^[a] hearts to be read by everyone. ³You are the living letter of the Anointed One, the Liberating King, nurtured by us and inscribed, not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God—a letter too passionate to be chiseled onto stone tablets, but emblazoned upon the human heart.

2 Corinthians 3:2-3 VOICE

As a bereaved mom, I’m now living in longer shadows. Shadows I never imagined. Shadows I would never have chosen. I can’t see the end, I can’t mend my heart or undo the sorrow and pain.

I often feel like a failure because I can’t point to the “good” from this terrible tragedy. I often feel like I don’t measure up to the standard of a victorious Christian life.

We love a good “beauty from ashes” story. We send videos viral when they illustrate that the human spirit can conquer any challenge when someone is committed to success and refuses to give up.

The underlying assumption is that we are always in a position to declare victory or understand endurance or measure strength.

But we aren’t.

Some victories are invisible. Some strength unknowable. And some endurance won’t be revealed until our last breath.

So I am learning again not to measure my worth or my progress by what others think I should be doing or feeling but instead on whether or not I am living in obedience to what God has called me to do.

I don’t have to be an “overcomer” to be worthy of God’s love and care.

I don’t have to declare “victory” to enjoy His grace and mercy.

All I have to do is rest in His perfect, faithful love-leading and guiding-guaranteeing that I will not fail, because my “success” doesn’t depend on ME, it depends on HIM.

For The Good

This sister speaks my heart. It may seem a subtle difference to some who have yet to face unspeakable horror and pain-but it is an important one. Thank you Susie for your faithful witness and your prayerful heart in sharing what God is showing you.

Susie Stewart

I don’t believe

that when God says

He works

all things

for the good,

that He means

He gives us brokenness

and then calls it good

I don’t believe that

I believe that

when God says

He works

all things

for the good

He means

that for those who love Him,

He takes our brokenness

in this broken world

and He uses it for good

He redeems it

He uses

difficult

and harsh

and sad

and awful

and changes hearts

heals wounds

teaches

and makes something beautiful

He wraps His loving arms

around the worst

and when He opens His arms

we find that the worst

looks like good

– Susie Stewart

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

– Romans 8:28 (NIV)

For I know the plans I have for you,” says…

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Facing My Inner Pharisee

In centuries past it was common for Christ followers to fast.

They fasted for many reasons: to consecrate themselves for a task; to seek answers to prayer; observance of seasons on the church calendar; or for strength to overcome besetting sin.

Today, fasting has fallen out of favor in most western churches-deemed unnecessary or an attempt to gain favor with God by “works”.

That’s unfortunate.

Because fasting has never been about making points with God, it’s been about removing self-reliance from our spiritual vocabulary.

It’s not about demonstrating personal fortitude or displaying self-righteousness, it’s about recognizing my weakness and desperate dependence on Christ.

Perhaps the greatest hindrance to our work is our own imagined strength; and in fasting we learn what poor, weak creatures we are – dependent on a meal of meat for the little strength which we are so apt to lean upon.

~Hudson Taylor

Like the Pharisees, though, I am apt to make much of my “sacrifice” and little of Christ’s sufficiency. I want to bargain with God and rise in the ranks of His favor because I’m so “good”.

It doesn’t work like that.

I was almost to the end of a 40 day fast when Dominic was killed.

I am physically unable to fast 40 days consecutively so, for several years, I had done an every-other-day fast so that it equaled 40 days.

At some point in the first week after Dom ran ahead to heaven I remember crying out to God, “What exactly do You want from me??? I’ve done all that I know to do in an attempt to live up to Your expectations, and yet it is never enough!”

And (not then, certainly!) but at some point in the nearly 3 years since, He answered, “Your righteous acts are as filthy rags. The only sufficient sacrifice is My own Son’s blood.”

THAT was humbling.

Because even though I would have given the same answer to anyone else who thought they could “work” their way into God’s good graces, obviously the truth of it had not seeped into the fabric of my being.

I WAS trying to make points with God. And I was angry He hadn’t taken that into consideration and spared me the pain of burying my son.

We often mock the Pharisees for thinking that “getting it right” means “being righteous”, but I understand the temptation to substitute acts of righteousness for relying on relationship through Jesus Christ.

The one means I am in control, the other means I have to follow and give up control.

If there is one thing I’ve learned through child loss that I cannot forget for even a millisecond is: I am NOT in control.

I am utterly dependent on Him for life, for breath, for saving AND sustaining grace.

For it’s by God’s grace that you have been saved. You receive it through faith. It was not our plan or our effort. It is God’s gift, pure and simple. You didn’t earn it, not one of us did, so don’t go around bragging that you must have done something amazing.

Ephesians 2:8-9 VOICE

Fasting from food is relatively easy. Fasting from my tendency toward self-righteousness is much harder.

This year, as I observe Lent,

as I fast,

as I add in holy habits,

I am asking God to help me remember that I am not trying to win His favor,

I am making room to hear His heart.

I’m Not Going to “Get Over” This

Think 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?

Countdown

This week marks the beginning of a countdown no mama wants to observe.

It’s not the happy “days left ’til delivery” of a newborn bundle of joy. It’s not “days left ’til school’s out” or prom or a wedding or a college graduation.

Instead it’s a heart-wrenching countdown to all the “lasts” before the final “last time I saw his face”.

Today is the third anniversary of the last time I saw Dominic alive.

The last time I spoke to him in person, the last time I hugged his neck, the last time I hollered, “Be safe!” as he pulled down the long driveway on his way back to his apartment.

I wish I had said more,

hugged more,

studied his face more closely,

breathed in his scent more deeply,

done ANYTHING that would have made that moment more memorable.

But it was just one more ordinary moment in what I was certain would be many more ordinary moments.

Except it wasn’t.

I don’t know how many years it might take for my heart and mind and body and soul to stop marking these dates. I doubt I’ll live long enough for that to happen.

I’m thankful I will see him again. But I want to see him NOW.

My heart cries, “I want it back! Oh, how I want it back!”

My heart hurts.

And it is going to hurt-the countdown is only beginning.

No Condemnation

I had no idea that the last time I spoke with Dominic would be the LAST time I spoke with him.

How could I?

He wasn’t hanging on to life by a thread, threatened with a deadly disease nor involved in risky behavior. So I wasn’t weighing my words like I might have if the last time I saw him was in a hospital bed or after springing him from rehab.

No, it was just another casual evening “check in”, another random exchange that ended with, “See you tomorrow. Love you.”

Except tomorrow never came for Dominic even though it surely came for me–with claws and fangs and growling horror.

For some bereaved parents the last words they exchanged with their missing child were awful. They may have been angry or dismissive. They may have been distracted and forgot to say, “I love you.”

And even for us whose words were kind, there is this nagging sense that if we had only known (but how could we?) we would have said something profound, something that would be worth hanging onto if they were hanging onto anything in those last moments before breath left their bodies.

But I honestly believe that our children-in the Presence of Jesus-are not reciting anything that happened before they reached their beautiful eternal Home.

ALL of my mistakes and sins were nailed to the cross.

That is why there is therefore NO condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. I know it doesn’t take away the feelings of condemnation or guilt, but if Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient (and it IS) then my feelings are lying.

My relationship with Dominic was filled with love, laughter, affirmation and acceptance.

He knew that then and he knows that now.

I have to remind my heart of the facts until it can hear and embrace them.

And when it forgets, I remind it again.

Step By Step

I’m gonna just tell you right now: If you let your mind wander to the days, months and possibly years ahead you will drown in sorrow.

The only way to make this journey is step by step.

This one moment, this one breath, this one memory bringing tears to my eyes. I don’t receive the strength for another moment until I live through this one.

But each moment bravely faced speaks courage to my heart for the next.

Some days I feel empty of hope. Some days it takes every ounce of will to get out of bed. Sometimes I lie there and think, “Can’t I skip today?”

It’s a genuine temptation.

And then a still, small Voice speaks to my heart and says, “I’m here. You don’t have to figure it all out, just make the first step.”

So I do.

New Eyes for an Old Story

I’ve studied it many times over a lifetime-beginning with fun “coat of many colors” crafts in preschool and ending with an emphasis on remaining faithful in trials.

Joseph’s story is typically told from his point of view.

But I’ve never considered it from Jacob’s perspective. Until now.

Because on Jacob’s side of the door, Joseph was gone, gone, gone-beyond reach, out of sight, nowhere to be found.

All the while Joseph was very much alive, God was working and Joseph would (ultimately) flourish and Jacob would (ultimately) be reunited with his son.

There was no way for Jacob to know this so, of course, he was heartbroken:

Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days. All his sons and daughters came to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. “No,” he said, “I will continue to mourn until I join my son in the grave.” So his father wept for him. Genesis 37:34-35

Jacob’s grief was real. His loss was devastating. His heart was shattered and there was no substitute for the son he was missing.

I understand that now.

I glossed over these verses in the past-rushing to the “happy ending” promised a few chapters later.

But Jacob didn’t have that option.

He was living these years-one day after another, one foot in front of another, one sunrise, one sunset-never knowing he was making his way toward reunion with a living son.

I share Jacob’s heartbreak.

My son is out of reach, out of sight, unavailable to my arms and eyes.

But I have something Jacob didn’t have-I know the end of the story. I have the Bible and its promise that this life is not all there is, that while this body dies, the soul lives on eternally.

And for those who choose Jesus, the soul lives for ever and ever with Him.

Hallelujah!

While I too, mourn deeply for Dominic, there IS comfort.

I cannot ignore the pain of separation, but I will hold steadfast to the promise of reunion. I cry for what has been lost, but cry out for faith to cling to what will ever be.

This earthly journey is dark, but there is assurance that light will triumph.

My Heart Hurts

Oh, how my heart hurts!

Deep down where no one can touch it-it aches for my missing child, the family I used to have, the lost opportunities, the missed moments.

And there is no cure.

Yes, there is a Balm in Gilead-there is hope in the Person of Jesus Christ.

And it soothes the pain, takes the edge off, makes it bearable.

But it does not take it away.

I’m sorry if that tosses grit in the works of your theology. I’m sorry if that makes you a little afraid that if this happened to you, the pain might last a lifetime.

I wish some of the books I’d read, the movies I’d seen, the sermons I’d heard had dealt more honestly and openly with the topic of loss, grief, heartache and unchangeable circumstance. Most of them minimized the crisis and moved straightaway to the victorious ending. That’s a convenience and device unavailable to us who are living with the reality day to day.

I can’t turn a page and get to the finale.

I can’t wrap up my experience in three points and a tidy tag line.

So as the ache began to settle in, I questioned my faith. I questioned my relationship with Jesus. I questioned my sanity and my strength and my sadness.

What was wrong with me????

Why can others move through and move on????

And then I reexamined the published stories and realized that the arc presented as going from devastation to declaration of God’s goodness was very selective.

If I wanted to, I could craft my narrative the same way.

I am definitely better than I was. Definitely more confident of God’s working in this Valley than I was. Definitely more convinced that God will redeem and restore than when I first faced the fact my son was dead.

But it is still a battle.

It is still a choice that I have to make every day. It is still something I hold onto IN SPITE of my hurting heart. My hope has not replaced the pain. It lives alongside it and sometimes overshadows it-but the pain is still there.

I can not pretend that “all is well” any more than I can claim I understand when Paul writes I am “seated in the heavenlies with Jesus”.

God sees it all in the “right now”.

I am trapped in time.

Yes, these things are true. But I do not experience them as true right now.

So in the meantime, I wait to see with my eyes what has been promised to my heart. And the distance between now and then leaves a gaping wound that hurts.

It’s simply the truth.

Vocabulary Lesson: Learning the Language of Grief and Loss

How do you speak of the unspeakable?

How do you constrain the earth-shattering reality of child loss to a few syllables?

How do you SAY what must be said?

I remember the first hour after the news. I had to make phone calls. Had to confirm my son’s identity and let family know what had happened.

I used the only words I had at the time, “I have to tell you something terrible. Dominic is dead.”

Over, and over, and over.

Until others could pick up the chant and spread it to the ends of the earth.

And then silence.

Such a deep wound requires silence. Because there are no words for the ache inside a mother’s heart, the pain that burrows into her bones, the sorrow that sucks the breath from her body.

It was some months before I found a community of bereaved parents who began to give me a vocabulary for my experience.

And it was more than helpful, it was liberating!

As I began to speak aloud what was hidden inside, it broke chains I didn’t realize held me hostage.

As long as my feelings are secret, they trap my heart and mind in an endless cycle of regret, fear, sorrow, pain and anxiety. When I speak them aloud, I can recognize them and fight them and overpower them. And when I share them, I find that I am not alone.

Others come alongside and say, “Me too!” Validation makes me stronger. Understanding makes me brave.

I hate the fact that my son is dead.

I hate the pain that his death has inflicted on me and on my family.

There are days I wish I could run away and hide, that I could pretend this never happened, that I could undo the broken that permeates my life.

But I can’t.

There’s no way through but through. I have to face the awful truth, I have to consider the ways it is changing me and remaking who I am.

I need words to process the pain because that’s how I can disarm its power over me.

It’s tempting to try to ignore the hard parts of our stories thinking that we are getting away from them.

But we aren’t.

The harder the season, the more profound the wound or bitter the struggle the more time it takes to process.

The first step is learning the words and finding community in which to speak them.

Here are links to three online communities for bereaved parents:

While We’re Waiting-Support for Bereaved Parents

Heartache and Hope: Life After Losing a Child

TCF-Loss of a Child (The Compassionate Friends)

If you have lost a child and are looking for a place to learn the language of grief and loss, a safe space to share your pain with others who understand it, see if one of these groups might be the place for you.

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