heart – Page 27 – thelifeididntchoose

Silence is a Gift

It’s hard to sit silent in an age when most of us live with noise nearly 24/7.

Out where I live, surrounded by grass and trees and plenty of room between me and my nearest neighbor, I am used to the quiet.

But it makes many folks uncomfortable.

They hasten to fill any empty airspace with chatter or nervous laughter or music or television or just about anything that means they don’t have to listen to their own thoughts.

It can be tempting, when trying to do the work grief requires to chase away the sorrow and pain with noise.

But that’s unhelpful.

Because you can’t really chase grief anywhere. It’s inside you, part of you, with you wherever you go.

Every morning I get up, make coffee, sit down and drink in the quiet with my caffeine. I listen for a bit and then write down what I hear my heart saying. It has been the most effective habit for helping me walk through this Valley in the [ten] years since Dominic left us.

Silence is necessary for a heart to do the work grief requires.

Don’t fight it.

Lean in, pen and pad at the ready, and let silence speak to your broken heart.

Bereaved Parents Month Post: A Broken Heart

I wrote this post in response to the deaths of Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher in December, 2016. Debbie died of a broken heart within a day of hearing of her daughter’s death.

It was an opportunity to educate others about the reality of child loss and a parent’s broken heart while the world’s attention was focused on the subject.

Like so many other things competing for headlines and social media hits, it was only a hot topic for a brief while.

But for those of us living with the daily reality of a missing child and a broken heart this still rings true.

I think Bereaved Parents Month is an appropriate time to revisit it. ❤

“The world is stunned by the deaths of Carrie Fisher at 60 and her mother Debbie Reynolds just one day later.

And it should be.”

Read the rest here: A Broken Heart

Helping Hearts Hold Onto Hope

I’ve always been a bit of a cheerleader.

Not THAT kind of cheerleader!

But the kind that stands alongside the road handing cups of water to the struggling stragglers in the far back of a marathon.

Because I believe in doing your best and finishing the race, even if it’s hard and even if it’s not pretty.

I also think that often the difference between giving up and giving in or going on and getting done is courage.

Not the “in your face I’m gonna fight you” courage of action movies but the quiet, everyday courage of simply carrying on when you’re tired, worn down and empty of hope.

And the thing about courage is this: I can lend you some of mine.

That’s really what cheer leading is all about-calling courage to another heart, lending courage from the sidelines.

So many wounded hearts are walking around, barely holding onto hope, and all it takes is a few minutes, a few words, an outstretched hand, a smile, an open door or a pat on the back to strengthen their grip.

So when you see that downcast face, that defeated stooping shoulder, that exasperated mama toting three kids into the grocery store-don’t turn away.

Reach out.

Hand a cup of kind words in the name of Jesus.

Help a heart hold onto hope.

Vulnerable

It’s tempting when wounded to build walls to try to protect your heart.

It seems logical.

Who wants to invite more pain when already carrying a load?

But the wall I build for protection keeps EVERYTHING out-love, grace, mercy and hope as well as heartache.

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

So I choose to let the walls fall.

I choose to let it all in and take the risk.

I will stay soft,

reachable,

vulnerable.

Bereaved Parents Month: Courage is a Heart Word

You know what breaks my heart all over again?

The fact that so many bereaved parents tell me they don’t feel they can share their experience on their own FaceBook or other social media pages.

That’s just WRONG!

They have been shushed to silent suffering because when they break open the vault of emotions and let others see what’s inside, most people turn away-or worse, they condemn that wounded heart for sharing.

SHAME on you if you are one of those people.

I’ve written about this before here:

In recent years we have dragged many topics into the light. We’ve made space in the public square for discussion of things we used to pretend didn’t exist.

But life after child loss is still a hushed topic.

The long road to healing after burying a child is rarely acknowledged outside the community of bereaved parents.

We have splashed all kinds of garbage across the Internet because in one way or another it makes us feel good (yep, admit it-it feeds some place in your soul) but we will not tolerate someone being utterly honest about how impossibly hard some things are to bear in this life.

Because THAT makes us uncomfortable.

Not every hurting heart is brave enough to risk negative public opinion. I understand that completely. This post is not for THEM, it’s for the hundreds and thousands who want to shut them down and shut them out.

This may be for you, if you have ever scrolled past a plaintive post or made some glib comment like, “God has a purpose in this for you” or worse, written a private message scolding someone and telling them they are begging for attention, refusing to “move on” or hanging on to hurt.

Think for one minute-literally 60 full seconds-how it would feel to hold the cold hand of your dead child, bury your child, go home to his empty room and then live the rest. of. your. life. without the earthly companionship of the child of your heart.

Then think again about censoring your friend who’s grieving.

Instead, speak courage to his or her heart.

Strengthen their hold on hope don’t destroy it.

Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor – the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant “To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences — good and bad.

~Brene Brown

It’s The Little Things

I am oh, so grateful for every single thing someone does to encourage my heart.

And I try hard to pass it on.

Because, really, when you think about it, it’s the little things that either wear us down or build us up.

The daily drip of encouragement or criticism is what shapes our hearts most.

The hardest stone can be worn away by water over time. And the softest earth can be packed firm and resist any new seed when trod upon and squeezed dry by drought.

Words are not neutral. They either build up or tear down.

And so many hearts are holding onto hope by the thinnest thread.

I want to be the person that helps build it into a lifeline, not the one who snaps it in two.

Barefoot Over Broken Ground

I first shared this in 2014 not quite a month after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

His leaving has made me much more aware that what we read as “stories” where we can turn to the last page and know the ending, others lived in real time, with no ability to fast forward to the ending.

It’s easy to be impatient with a heart barely holding onto hope and try to goad someone into “looking on the bright side” or hammer them with Scripture because “we know how this ends”.

But when you are walking barefoot over a path of sharp stones, you really can’t focus too much on the fact that it might not be as long as you think.

All you know is it hurts like hell right now.

When I read the Gospels it is tempting to mock those who refused to see that Jesus was bringing in a kingdom that would be so much better than the earthly one they expected from Messiah.

But they were living a day-to-day reality of hopelessness under Roman rule that made them ache for relief.

When life this side of heaven is more than you can bear, there is great tension in your soul to beg God for relief in this earthly life and to be a bit impatient with the idea of “all things working for good” in some distant future.

It doesn’t mean you don’t believe it, but it does mean that you carry a weight of sorrow.

So be patient with broken hearts and with those walking a broken path.

You might think declaring “Victory in Jesus” is helpful.

But it’s not.

Instead, hold a hand, call courage, choose to walk alongside.

In the end it’s endurance that’s the real victory and that is only possible when a heart can hold on.

From The Child Not Here on Mother’s Day

My daughter, Fiona, wrote this last year, in the voice of her brother who ran ahead to heaven.

I am so thankful for her and so sorry that she has gained this wisdom at great cost.

Some of the bravest, most loving women I know are those who have suffered one of life’s greatest losses. I hope you know how truly beautiful you are.

“Dear Mom,

I know most days your eyes are misty with tears, your mind full of questions, your voice quieted, your heart broken by the pain of living without me.

There are only two ways to gain a child: birth or adoption.

But nobody and nothing in this world prepares you for the harsh reality that there are countless ways to lose one.

I can’t dry your eyes or answer your questions; strengthen your voice or fix your broken heart. But today, the day you stand with empty arms or a few empty chairs while others’ hearts and homes are full, I want to remind you of a few things:

It is not your fault.

You are a great mom.

It’s OK to wish for more time.

Broken crayons still color and the world needs your tear-washed rainbows to remind them that stormy clouds are not the end of the story.

I’ll see you soon.

<3,

The One Not Sitting at Your Table”

How To Pray For Your Brokenhearted Friend

We’ve all been there-someone we love receives a terminal diagnosis, someone we care about loses a family member, her husband walks away from their marriage of twenty years, his addicted child hasn’t made contact in months.

The list is endless.

This life is hard and broken hearts abound.

What to do?

I’ve written extensively about the many practical ways a friend or family member can reach out and walk beside a wounded heart.

Choosing to offer compassionate companionship is the greatest gift you can give.

But there is another way you can help. You can carry the one you love to the Throne of Grace and intercede on his or her behalf with the One Who can be there when you just can’t.

I’ve learned the hard way that many situations are not fixable. They are only bearable. And because we so often pray for blessings and miracles, when faced with this reality, words tend to fail us.

But there are prayers to pray for the brokenhearted.

Pray for God’s Presence.

Father God, alone and broken is too much for anyone to bear. I know you are right beside my friend, but give her assurance of Your Presence. Let this wounded heart feel You very near her. When she despairs that You are not listening, bring to mind Your Word and flood her with Your comfort.

Pray for the presence of God’s people.

Lord, You don’t need people to do Your work, but you have ordained that the work of Your Body will be done by the hands of men. Stir the hearts of those that follow Jesus to show up and bring practical help to this broken heart. Give divine guidance to the people You want to be there so that they do things, bring things and say things that bless and do not harm. May this abundant outpouring of love, grace and mercy give strength to a struggling heart.

Pray for grace.

Father, we so often think of grace as what You give us when we receive salvation. But grace is so much more than that-it is the oil that lubricates the gears of life. It’s what gives us the space we need to process offense, to overlook offense and to avoid offense. My friend is wounded and oh, so vulnerable. Overwhelm his heart with Your grace so that the unthinking and even unkind words or actions of others will not hurt him more. Suffuse every single relationship that is being strained and stretched by this hard season with grace so that it remains supple and does not break. Fill the hearts of those who come to minister with grace to endure his silence or their rebuffed attempts to help. Keep relationships alive and intact, even in this difficult time.

Pray for mercy.

Oh, Lord! How well I know that one tragedy or unbearable hardship does not preclude another on its heels! I beg mercy for this family! Pour mercy out on them and in them and prevent any schemes of the evil one to succeed. They are so, so weak and such easy targets! Let Your mercy surround and protect them.

Pray for strength.

Father, “weak” can’t begin to describe the crumbling of a spirit under the crushing load of grief. If You do not raise the head of my friend, she will not be able to raise it herself. If you do not infuse her body with Your strength, she will not be able to make it through this valley. You have promised that if we wait on You-expectantly and hopefully and trustingly-that You will give us strength as eagles. We will run and not be weary, we will walk and not faint You are the Everlasting God. You are the Source of Strength. Fill my friend with Your strength as You have promised.

Pray for faith.

Lord, there is a space where faith and experience conflict. Losing a child creates a gulf between what a heart wants to believe and has believed and the unbearable pain that fills it right now Help my friend’s heart hold onto the hem of Your garment. Give him the will and conviction to say, “I believe, help Thou my unbelief!” Bring those who love You alongside to bear witness to this crisis of faith without correcting or shaming. Send Your Holy Spirit in power to flood this hurting heart with an assurance of Your Presence and power.

Pray for courage.

Father God, one of Your great champions, C.S. Lewis wrote, “No one ever told me grief felt so like fear.” He was right. Grief feels like the most profound fear a heart can experience. The entire world has shifted. The bottom has fallen out. It seems there is no end to the pain and suffering that a person may have to endure. And it is scary-so, so scary. Let my friend join the Psalmist in declaring, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea” (Psalm 46: 1,2 NIV) You are the unchanging constant Truth in a world where everything else seems untrustworthy.

Pray for perseverance.

Lord, it’s easy to start well but something else again to finish well. When a heart realizes that this missing, this sorrow and this pain is going to be with it for all the days of life on earth, that’s a whole other burden to bear. Defeat seems imminent. How can someone possibly carry this for years-perhaps decades? Give my friend the commitment and strength to persevere. Help her wake each day and decide to keep on keeping on. Infuse her tired body, mind and spirit with the power You have promised to give to all who love you: the power that raised Jesus from the grave (Ephesians 1:19,20).

Pray for love.

Father God, a broken heart is open and ready for filling. And it will be filled with something. It will be filled with love or it will be filled with bitterness. Overwhelm my friend with Your grace, mercy and love so that all the spaces are filled to overflowing with You and there is no room for bitterness. Bind the work of the enemy so that no scheme formed against him can stand. Give him a heart of flesh-that even hurting, even broken-he can give and receive love. Because love lives forever.

Amen.

Four Years. Today.

I remember when the first anniversary of Dominic’s death rolled around.

I was horrified that I had survived 365 days when I was certain I would not make it 24 hours.

Here I am three years later-the fourth anniversary of that awful day.

I’m still horrified on some level-it is obscene for a mother to outlive her child-completely Unnatural.

I’m also thankful-thankful that God has given me the strength to persevere when every fiber of my mama’s heart wants to give up.

Who in their right mind would CHOOSE to carry this pain?

And I miss Dominic.

I miss his voice which is increasingly hard to conjure in my mind. I miss his sharp wit and snarky commentary on political and social events. Now that I finally figured out how to tweet, I wish we could exchange comments and quotes. I miss his laugh.

I miss the family I used to have. The one that could look forward without fear of waking one morning to another member gone-poof! The family that was only going to grow, not shrink. A mother’s heart is absolutely ready to expand, but refuses to get smaller because a child is no longer present to receive her love.

I miss my rock-solid faith in a God Who promised to bless if I only followed. I am not calling His character into question-I believe as firmly today that He is weaving a good story out of every circumstance as I did before Dominic left us. But I do not receive this blow as a blessing.

I can’t.

I miss the enthusiasm I used to have for everyday events. Making things special and beautiful was the joy of my heart. I loved, loved, loved to add thoughtful touches to a meal or a moment. While I am just as committed to my family as I ever was, I rarely have the energy for these things anymore.

I miss the future I thought we would all have together. I am still so wounded I refuse to look much further than a month ahead unless absolutely necessary. The old me who envisioned grandchildren and golden years is gone.

I am utterly unprepared to declare Dominic’s “legacy”. Of course my child influenced people. That’s what we do-we interact and influence and leave a trail behind.

But that is completely different than making a choice about what to invest your life’s energy into-completely different than what one attributes to a person whose long life leaves behind actions, words and work that form a cohesive testimony to a personality or passion.

I am not hiding in a hole. I do not spend days in bed or sitting, sulking and silent, shaking my fist at the sky.

Even today I will get up, get dressed and DO what needs to be done.

But I will be mindful that one of my children is beyond reach. One piece of my heart is unavailable for me to hold.

I will cry at what I’ve lost and be thankful for what I had.

I will look at pictures of Dominic and wish photos and memories were not all that is left of my third child.

I will continue to live the life I didn’t choose.

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