Category: grief

Yielded and Still

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I can’t claim to be satisfied with this life I’m living.  

I do not like this path I am forced to walk, this darkness that hides the light, this pain that burrows deep in my bones.

But I can say I’m learning not to fight it.  

Sometimes I still pitch a fit.  

Sometimes I still yell at the sky, “Where were You?” Sometimes I lie down in the floor and beg for relief.  Sometimes I quietly rebel with only a single tear.

Most days though, I get up and give in.

I turn my face to the rising sun and choose to carry on.  I submit my heart, again, to the One Who created it.

I don’t struggle.

I don’t fight the facts that greet me.

“I don’t think the way you think.
    The way you work isn’t the way I work.”
        God’s Decree.
“For as the sky soars high above earth,
    so the way I work surpasses the way you work,
    and the way I think is beyond the way you think.
Just as rain and snow descend from the skies
    and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth,
Doing their work of making things grow and blossom,
    producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry,
So will the words that come out of my mouth
    not come back empty-handed.
They’ll do the work I sent them to do,
    they’ll complete the assignment I gave them.”

Isaiah 55:8-11 MSG

I am not God.

His thoughts are not my thoughts.

His ways are not my ways.

His plans are bigger than me, bigger than my hopes and dreams, bigger than anything I can imagine.

He has created me for His glory-not the other way around.

So I join with thousands who sing:

Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have Thine own way;
Thou art the Potter,
I am the clay.
Mould me and make me
  After Thy will,
While I am waiting,
  Yielded and still.

Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have Thine own way;
Wounded and weary,
  Help me, I pray.
Power, all power,
Surely is Thine,
Touch me and heal me,
  Savior divine.

 

The Odd Bits That Break My Heart

Oh, how I wish it were different!

The odd bits that break my heart-

The  moment my three living children are in the family room, joking and laughing-but his voice is so obviously missing.

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The moment I say to one son, “Have you texted your brother?” and don’t have to give a name, because there is only one brother left to text.

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The moment I go down the list of who-I-have-heard-from-in-the-last-24-hours and it is short a single name.  I know where Dominic is.  

The moment I realize that it has been three years (!) since I bought him a present, asked him for a Christmas wish list, checked in to check his schedule so I can arrange family dinners and holiday get togethers.

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The moment I count plates or cups or places at the table-always one less, always one empty chair.

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Yes, there are good days.  

Yes, I am so very thankful for each moment I have with the ones left.

But if counting blessings is supposed to undo my heartache I must be doing it all wrong.  

If focusing on the “now” is a way to ignore the “then” I need more practice.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot get over the hurdle of wanting things to be like they were.  

I am not ungrateful.  I cherish every single second we are together.

I hold every farewell close to my heart.

I make a mental picture of the face, the smile, the wave-because when you learn the hard way that this time might be the last time-you don’t take anything for granted.

I cling to the promise that one day we will be reunited.

But right now, it’s hard.

 

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Repost: We Are Not Home Yet

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This past week has been brutal in many ways.  

Some of us are fearful.  Some of us are hopeful.  Some of us just want it all to go away.

For me, it’s yet another reminder that We are Not Home Yet.

 

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.

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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:

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“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.

 

 

 

 

Is Trust an All or Nothing Proposition?

My heart has been grievously wounded. How can that wounding not also become part of my testimony of faith? I can’t pretend that God did not allow something very terrible in my life.

Janet does a beautiful job expounding on the intersection of wounding and trust. I encourage you to read this post-and to follow her blog. It has been, and continues to be, a blessing in my life.

Janet Boxx's avatarBoxx Banter

Counseling-theoriesI reiterated to my grief counselor last week that I trust God for my eternal future and I trust that God will walk me through anything He allows to transpire in my life but that I don’t currently trust Him with my heart.

Ruth responded, “But is that really trust at all?”

I cocked my head to the right and looked her in the eye and proceeded to relate a very poor analogy in support of my position. You see, I knew I believed that trust, like faith, grows over time in every personal relationship, but I wasn’t really prepared with an answer to support my conclusion.

When my daughters were young, on occasion they would be afraid to go to bed fearing that they would have a nightmare. My husband, David, is pretty much a creative genius. He thinks fast on his feet (unlike myself). His immediate response the…

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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?

Think Before You Speak, or Post, or Comment…

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Burying a child is teaching me many things:

  • Control is an illusion.
  • What God allows may be very painful.
  • I can choose where to place my trust.
  • God is faithful and His grace is sufficient.
  • Love truly IS what lasts.
  • Relationship matters.

And as I approach what will undoubtedly be a tumultous, fractious and upsetting day for the United States-regardless of how the votes land-I am reminded of these things I’m learning.

My part in this larger landscape is limited.  I get a single vote.  Depending on the margin of victory my vote may matter very little indeed.

But my part in the smaller world of those I love, care about and have relationship with is so much larger.  What I say, how I treat them, if I extend love, grace and mercy–THAT makes a big difference.

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So as we move forward this week, could I please give you advice from a broken heart?

Can I please speak truth that will matter for eternity, not just for a single political cycle?

Do not hurt people in your life because you’ve hitched your wagon to a particular cause or candidate or party.

Don’t play politics with your personal relationships.

Don’t call people names that can’t be taken back, hurt feelings that may never heal or draw lines that make division permanent.

Vote.

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That’s your privilege and, some say, your obligation as an American.

But remember that no matter who wins the White House, the people around your own table are the ones that truly matter.

They are the ones that show up when it counts.

Please don’t throw relationships away in the heat of the moment.

You may never get the chance to undo it.  

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Light Bearers and Candle Snuffers

One of the rituals I observe when the time changes and night closes in so very early is to light a candle each evening in the dark.

I’ve done it for years but now as I do it, I think of Dominic.

It is my small way of declaring the truth that darkness will not win.

It’s my protest against despair and hopelessness that threatens to undo me–threatens to undo ALL of us at one time or another.

Because when I sit in the circle of the glow of that single candle, I’m reminded that no matter how small the flame, darkness cannot overcome the light.

I’m reminded that I can be a light bearer or a candle snuffer.

candle and hand

I can help others find hope or I can douse the tiny flame that still burns in their troubled heart.

Dominic was a light bearer.

After his death, the University of Alabama newspaper, The Crimson and White ran an article that said in part:

“Dominic was always very mechanically inclined and sort of became the law school mechanic,” close friend and classmate Joe Heilman said. “We are all poor college kids, so when we had questions, we would always go to him. This year alone I think he worked on five different law students’ cars and wouldn’t let them give him any more money than what it cost to replace the part.”

Heilman said Dominic’s selflessness far surpassed that of most people.

“He was one of the most hospitable people that I had ever met,” Heilman said. “I don’t have Internet or cable at my apartment, and when he found that out, he handed me the extra key to his apartment, no questions asked, and just said, ‘Come over whenever.’”

“He was exactly the kind of friend that everyone wants to have and that everyone tries to be,” Jonathan Mayhall, another friend, said.

All my children are light bearers.

They bring light and life to everyone they meet.  They encourage, help and minister to the people in their lives.  They stop for strangers, buy meals for the homeless, show up when friends are moving and put people first.

I encourage you, friend, as these nights get longer and darkness seems so very present-light a candle.

Sit in the circle of its glow and think how bright that little light shines in the black around you.

And remember that we all have the power to be light bearers, no matter how dark the night.

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