Our family watched the movie “Sully” the other night.
I cried when they showed the real people whose lives were spared hugging and thanking Captain Sully for his choice to do what was necessary to save them.
Because I know that each life saved also saved lives of others–saved them from the awful burden of grief and sorrow that would have become their daily experience.
Read the rest here: Rejoice With Those Who Rejoice
Do not waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this, we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.
~C.S. Lewis
Romantic love is a relatively new idea in the long history of mankind.
We moderns take for granted that in order to DO something kind and loving for another person, we must FEEL kind and loving toward that person.
But that’s not really what love is all about.
We act in love all the time without feeling love.
Changing diapers. Changing oil. Cooking chicken nuggets when you really want coq au vin.
I am absolutely convinced God makes babies utterly helpless because as parents care for them, they come to love them more deeply and in ways that would never happen without hours and weeks and YEARS of hands-on ministration.
That same principle can be transferred to anyone.
If I am having a hard time “loving” my neighbor or my co-worker or my family member, if I begin to DO loving things for them, my heart will follow.
Maybe not in a day or a week. It might well take a year or more. But eventually, the feelings will develop.
And if they don’t because the person continues his or her prickly ways?
Well, then I will have become a more loving and patient and kind person regardless of their response to me.
Either way, I win.
So this year I am purposing to choose three people in my life that are hard to love and begin actively loving them.
I am going to make sure I contact them often, speak kindly, include them in events and reach out in other ways. I will look for small favors to do that can brighten their days. I will remember birthdays and anniversaries and other special days, I will speak well of them to others.
And I will pray that grace flows both ways from them to me and back again until it blossoms into love.
Stay tuned. 🙂
Toss that rock in the water and see what happens.
It’s impossible to keep the ripples from moving farther and farther from the point of impact.
And even though I can’t see it, my casual toss has changed the environment of the pond in ways it would not have been changed without my action.
Our lives are like that- we touch other people every day and rarely know how our brief brush may ripple through their lives for years or even eternity.
I have been lifted up by a smile offered by a stranger-that buoyant mood lasting long enough to save an otherwise dreary day.
I have also had a beautiful morning made overcast by the sour attitude of someone that should be helpful.
I want to bring sunshine not rain wherever I go.
I want to speak courage to trembling hearts.
No telling how far the ripples may go. ❤️
It was a long time before I wanted to believe that I received any gifts worth keeping from this life I didn’t choose.
I knew I had tears, pain, agonizing sorrow, loss, heartache, dashed hopes, empty arms.
If I could give those back and regain my son, I would do it in less than a heartbeat.
I can’t, so I’m left here to ponder what else I’ve received from burying a child.
And I am learning that I have been given some gifts I truly cherish, although the price was higher than I would have willingly paid.
I call them grace gifts: heart-expanding, hope-enlarging.
I am learning compassion, which is something quite different than sympathy or pity which are just compassion’s paper stand-ins.
My heart is tuned to the suffering of others in a way I never knew before, even if their suffering is very different than my own.
I have been given new eyes for the people around me. I’m not as quick to decide I know someone’s story based on the clothes they wear or the car they drive.
I’m more patient with strugglers and stragglers although I am less patient with braggarts and bullies.
I’m more inclined to listen than I used to be.
My heart writes my “to do” list instead of my head-people over projects.
Every. Time.
I love harder but more loosely than I did before. I’ve learned you can only hold on to this moment, this smile, this hug, and the rest is in God’s hands.
I am quicker to forgive-myself and others-because we are all failures in one sense or another.
I speak blessings aloud instead of simply in my head, too embarrassed lest anyone should laugh at such an archaic tradition.
I am learning to let go of my own and others’ expectations.
I shed tears when I need to, smile when I want to, belly laugh when I can.
I’m very much NOT the person I was before Dominic ran ahead to heaven-in many ways a sadder person.
But in many ways a wiser one as well.
This was shared in a bereaved parents’ group to which I belong and I really like it.
It’s a great reminder to those of us traveling this road that it is a lifelong journey.
It’s also a good explanation of why there is a gap between our experience and those who have never experienced child loss.
They want to apply the mechanical or medical model to us but it just doesn’t work.
We can’t be “fixed”, we can only learn to make adjustments that incorporate our new reality.
When your car breaks down, you go to a mechanic. He puts in new parts, makes adjustments, and your car runs fine again. When your body is ill, the doctor examines you and makes a diagnosis. Medication or surgery can cure the problem. With treatment, you’re healthy again.
The mechanical and medical models do not help when it comes to grief. Part of you died when your child died. That part of you is irreplaceable. There are no interchangeable parts to get you through grief. You have to adjust. There is no simple process.
Think of your journey through grief as a kind of rehabilitation. When a woman loses her eyesight, there are ways of coping. She can learn to read braille, get a seeing eye dog, and learn to navigate with a cane. If a man loses his hearing, he can get hearing aids and learn to communicate through sign language and lipreading.
Living through the aftershock of death can teach you new ways to adapt and survive. Life is never the same after a loved one dies. You will need to learn new ways of thinking, acting, and feeling.
Life is still worth living, but there are adjustments to make. They are not easy, because they require admitting that your child is no longer there. The adjustments can include not making as much food for a family meal; missing that precious face at the dinner table; not tucking your child into bed at night; buying fewer Christmas presents (or no birthday gifts); having tears come unbidden when surprised. You can make these adjustments as you walk through the grieving process. Determine that you will learn the skills needed to survive.
You will never forget your child. Your life will not be the same. As you go through the changes, you can hang onto God, because he never changes: ‘Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever’ (Heb. 13:8). His love surrounds you. His strength is available to you, and he will help you face each demanding new day.
~Warren Wiersbe, Gone But Not Lost
I can’t tell you how many people try to tell me what Dominic’s “legacy” is. They extol his positive virtues and comment on how many lives he touched in his short 23 years.
They want me to be consoled with the intangible, relational, immeasurable impact of his life on the lives of others.
Yet they continue to live as if their OWN legacy will be determined by the amount of stuff they acquire or the size of their retirement accounts or the money they leave behind for others to spend.
It can’t be both.
If my son’s life is worth remembering just because of who he was, the people he loved and how he lived, then EVERYONE’S life is worth remembering for the very same things.
Christmas is the one time a year when far-flung family members are often gathered around the same table. It’s an opportunity to make connections and build relationships.
So I ask myself, “Am I going to spend it talking about the weather and the news and other sundry things that won’t matter in a day, much less a year?”
OR, maybe I can choose to reach out, to ask deep questions, to make space for honest conversation and real sharing.
Maybe I can mend a broken relationship by offering a long-hoped-for apology, speaking aloud the offense and taking responsibility for the pain I’ve caused in the past.
Perhaps I can proclaim a REAL blessing-not just the one we memorized from grade school-over the food and over the heads of the people gathering to eat it.
Why am I glad they are there? TELL THEM!
Most of the presents under the tree will be consumed, broken, outgrown and tossed away one day. But meaningful words spoken in love and kindness will live forever in a person’s heart.
We all leave something behind.
We are all building a legacy.
This Christmas I’m asking myself, “What’s mine?”
Christmas is fast approaching so I’m posting this one last time. I hope it helps someone who is struggling to share how hard it can be to “make merry” when a heart is broken. ❤
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
Since Dominic ran ahead to heaven we have celebrated four graduations and a wedding.
Wednesday night was another one. My daughter, Fiona, graduated nursing school.
We are so excited for her!
And, as usual, our family rallied round, pitched in, showed up and made a great fuss over the accomplishment.
It was beautiful and hard all at the same time.
Because time and time again we join hands and hearts to celebrate an achievement, a milestone, a special moment or a holiday and there is always, always, always one missing.
Every photo is just slightly askew- one daughter, three two sons.
We’ve gotten good at closing ranks, squeezing out the space where he should be standing. But our hearts mark the gap.
Our hearts will always mark the gap.
I am much better now at actually enjoying these things-I love the way my daughter’s friends surround and encourage her, I laughed at the antics of the children that enjoyed running from adult to adult, getting more attention than they knew what to do with. I sat and listened with great pride as Fiona gave the closing remarks to her graduating class, drawing from a deep well of wisdom that includes heartache as well as hallelujahs.
And it was all good. Really, truly good.
But you have to go home eventually.
Hugging necks and saying “good-bye” is when it always hits me-I hug harder, cling longer, make sure to whisper not only “I love you” but everything I need to say-just in case.
And grown children text their mama so she knows they are safely home.
Dominic’s legacy is this: We never miss a chance to celebrate one another.
We cling to the good and try to let go of the bad.
We love fiercely and openly and are not ashamed for one minute of our tears or our laughter.
Because you never know.
This will be the [eleventh] Christmas without Dominic.
I’m certain that for some of my family and many of my friends, they are less and less aware of his absence. That’s completely natural and understandable.
But for me, his absence looms just as large THIS Christmas as it did that FIRST Christmas.
Even if you do realize how hard it is for grievers during the holidays, you might not have any idea how to show you care.
I came across this list originally published Family Life Today that gives 25 ideas to give holiday hope to the grieving and wanted to share it because I think it is wonderful.
I can promise you that any hurting heart would be delighted to have a friend or family member reach out in one or more of these ways.
25 Christmas Gifts or Remembrances for the Brokenhearted
1. A tree that can be planted in the family’s yard in memory of the loved one (or a gift certificate to a nursery that can be used to purchase a tree in the spring)
2. Bibles, Christmas Poinsettias, or library books given as memorials
3. Memorials to the local church or charities
4. Home videos of the loved one (especially ones of activities that the family may not have)
5. A scrapbook filled with pictures of the loved one
6. Special Christmas ornaments (for example, if the child played the piano, see if you can find an ornament in the shape of a piano)
7. Books such as Streams in the Dessert and When Life is Changed Forever
8. A personal item that would become a memento about the loved one’s personality or gifting
9. Gift certificates to a cabin or lodge, or to a place that the loved one once enjoyed
10. An original poem about the deceased
11. A journal from friends and family with written memories about the deceased
12. A written tribute to the deceased (The Best Gift You Can Ever Give Your Parents by Dennis Rainey and David Boehi, explains how you can do this.)
13. Addressing their Christmas cards or notes
14. Joining them in holiday shopping or doing the shopping for them
15. Asking if you can help decorate their home for Christmas
16. Sharing homemade Christmas cookies
17. Arranging family photographs in albums
18. Inviting them to decorate a gingerbread house
19. Picking them up for Christmas services at church and holiday get-togethers
20. Helping them shop for that “perfect gift” that they can give to others in memory of their loved one
21. Decorating a small tree with ornaments that have special memories of the loved one
22. Helping them write holiday memories
23. Organizing a candle-light memorial for close friends and family
24. Having a family-time of singing some of the deceased’s favorite Christmas carols and hymns
25. Giving the brokenhearted blank journals to write Bible verses that remind them of God’s presence, such as 2 Corinthians 1:3-4a and Jeremiah 29:11
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?
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