Every time the headlines scream death and destruction, my heart stops.
When it’s YOUR child, husband, mother, cousin you can’t change the channel or route the conversation to lighter topics.
You just have to bear it.
Read the rest here: Not What I Had Planned
I don’t get to choose.
I don’t get to plan the way life is going to be.
Oh, I bring out the calendar and mark down the days: birthdays, holidays, special events and obligations.
But then one dark morning a knock stops the clock and makes the world spin faster all at once.
I’m suspended and plunged under in the same breath.
Frozen. Broken. Horrified.
How did this happen?
How is this my life?
My head and heart explode in pain.
Months pass. The days march on.
I still don’t get to choose what sunrise brings.
But looking back I’m grateful that when my circle was whole we chose love.
That when the days were unfolding we chose faith.
That even as the night closed in and the days grew dark we continued to cling to the one Hope that proves true.
I’m thankful that my heart was full of praise songs and Scripture and that when I couldn’t lift my hand to turn the pages of my Bible the Spirit used them to whisper courage to my soul.
This Valley is deep and the sun is often hidden by the towering mountains on either side.
I have learned two things:
I can’t determine how life unfolds,
but I can decide where to place my hope.
“I admit how broken I am in body and spirit,
but God is my strength,
and He will be mine forever.”
Psalm 73:26 VOICE
Let me begin by saying I purposely remove myself from the 24/7 news cycle that beats our ears and tries hard to hammer hearts into whatever shape a particular organization deems most meritorious.
So it is no surprise that I was unaware of the Orlando tragedy until well into the day on Sunday.
And I don’t know what the pundits and politicians or social media gurus are saying.
I only know how it feels.
I know how it feels to have an officer come to your door and tell you that your child is never coming home.
I know how it feels to receive the devastating news that whatever you said the last time you saw or spoke to your child is the LAST thing you will ever have the opportunity to say to them.
I know how it feels to stand, dumbstruck and reeling, with the instant realization that your world has been wrecked beyond repair-To have to whisper to your heart, “you’ve got to make calls, make connections, make arrangements”.
Oh! My!
Why, why, why can we not as a nation simply step back and embrace those who have lost so much instead of standing on the ruins of their lives and posturing for ratings, rankings and political, social or moral agendas????
I wrote before, when commenting here on the incident at the Cincinatti zoo:
If we covered the stories of families who have lost children with the same zeal and creative journalism as we do the lives and deaths of endangered animals, that would change.
If the despair, heartbreak, brokenness and utter horror of bereaved parents’ lives were on display like the sickening piles of poached elephants and rhinos then at least we could have a discussion that was more informed and even-tempered.
We are a death avoidant culture-we splatter gore across the screen in video games and movies-but we DO NOT discuss the ongoing impact loss has on the ones left behind.
These lives are not numbers, they are not just names or a sweet little synoptic bio plastered on Twitter, Facebook or an AP newswire.
They are people-with families, friends and loved ones.
There is a single, appropriate response to this tragedy–deep mourning for the lives lost to hatred and violent action and prayer for the ones left behind.
I refuse to entertain the musings and posturing of ANYONE who does not first-and for an appropriate length of time-acknowledge the loss of sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers-each a unique creation with an eternal soul.
Tears.
TEARS are what should be filling the airwaves, the streets, our altars.
I first learned my son had been killed in the dark hours of morning.
I made phone calls.
I had to be certain there was no mistake in identifying the accident victim. I assured the officer on the other end of the phone I was not in denial, I was just confirming what I knew was true.
That was a lie-my ears heard it as true.
Some part of my brain was acting as if it were true.
And I was passing the information along as true, but it was not until I saw his body that my heart embraced as absolutely undeniable what I had been told.
He was gone, gone, gone. No coming back.
That’s when I knew: Death is awful.
It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn’t matter. ~C.S.Lewis
Death was not part of God’s perfect plan for the people He made and the world He created.
But sin marred that perfection and we are left to walk this wounded world in bodies that, at best, wear out, and at worst, plunge headlong into darkness due to illness, accident or violence.
Where is the victory in this defeat?
Where is the happy ending to this sad chapter of life?
Victory is declared when I trust in Jehovah-Nissi-the LORD my Banner-to uproot the evil that the enemy seeks to sow into my life.
Victory is displayed in my surviving children who have chosen to lean in and labor on and love and laugh even while grieving the loss of their brother.
Victory is demonstrated when my marriage does not crumble under the heavy weight of sorrow, when my family is made stronger- not weaker-and when our story breathes courage into the hearts and lives of others facing devastating trials.
The ultimate and eternal victory lies in the finished work of Christ.
I need to emphasize, friends, that our natural, earthy lives don’t in themselves lead us by their very nature into the kingdom of God. Their very “nature” is to die, so how could they “naturally” end up in the Life kingdom?
But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over. On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal. Then the saying will come true:
Death swallowed by triumphant Life!
Who got the last word, oh, Death?
Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now?It was sin that made death so frightening and law-code guilt that gave sin its leverage, its destructive power. But now in a single victorious stroke of Life, all three—sin, guilt, death—are gone, the gift of our Master, Jesus Christ. Thank God!
With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don’t hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort.
I Corinthians 15:50-58 MSG
Jesus has redeemed and restored what the enemy has stolen.
I will not enjoy the fullness of this victory until I embrace Dominic in heaven.
But I can live confidently in the promise that it has already been decided.
I can walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death without fear, because Jehovah-Nissi-the LORD my Banner (my Victory) is with me. (Psalm 23:4)
I am not alone.
During the course of my lifetime I have seen many topics dragged from behind closed doors out onto the stage and under the public spotlight.
Frankly, some of them could have remained in darkness as far as I’m concerned.
But there is something still taboo in polite conversation–something hushed with awkward silence should it ever be spoken aloud in a crowded room–mention GRIEF and eyes drop to the floor or someone hastily throws an arm around you and says, “There, there–it’s going to be alright.”
I don’t blame them.
In my growing up years I don’t remember anyone speaking about death and grief for longer than the time it took to go to a funeral home visitation and stand by the grave as the casket was lowered in the ground. People were designated by their loss: He was a widower; she lost a child; her mother died when she was young.
But what came AFTER the loss–not a word.
We need to talk about it. We need to educate ourselves about it. Because, like my EMT son says, “No one gets out of here alive.”
You WILL experience grief in your lifetime.
I pray that the people you lose are full of years and ready to go–that you get to say “good-bye” and that all the important things have been said and done so that you aren’t left with extra emotional baggage in addition to the sorrow and missing.
But you never know. Neither you nor I are in control.
And even in the one place where it would seem most natural to talk about life and death and grief and pain–our churches–it still makes those who are not experiencing it uncomfortable.
Yes, there are grief support groups. And, yes, they are helpful in ways that only a group made up of people who understand by experience what you are going through can be.
But much of life is spent rubbing elbows with folks unlike ourselves, with parents who know the fear of losing a child but not the awful reality. And just a little bit of openness, a little bit of education and a little bit of understanding would make such a difference.
So for the next few days I am going to be posting about the grief process itself. About what grieving parents experience and how friends, family, co-workers and churches can support them.
If you are a grieving parent, I hope these posts will serve as a launchpad for you to have conversations with your own friends and extended family. If you aren’t a bereaved parent, please commit just the few minutes it takes and consider how you might support someone in your circle of influence who has lost a child.
We don’t want pity.
We aren’t looking for special accomodations that single us out and mark us as “needy”. But we long for understanding and compassion and the opportunity to tell our stories.
With GPS apps on our phones and in our cars, getting lost in the physical world is becoming ever more rare.
But grief is disorienting and every day I must relearn which way is true north.
It has never bothered me to ask directions. I’ll pull off in a heartbeat–ask a stranger–stop a mailman–look for a fire station (they have to know all the addresses of their district). I’m not shy and I’m not proud.
But as a bereaved mother, I’ve struggled to find a map, or guide or landmarks that can help me navigate this wilderness called grief.
Twenty months down this path, here are some practical ways I’ve discovered to help me get through this unmarked world.
It is hard to concentrate so I have learned to break tasks up into smaller units. I might only clean the bathroom sink and then move on to something else, coming back later to do the tub or mirrors.
I have trouble remembering EVERYTHING so important things like my phone and keys ALWAYS go in the same place. My purse has designated pockets for specific items and I hold onto my keys when I get out of my truck so I don’t lock them inside.
Going to the store can be very challenging with all the noise, distractions and people (and the memories of his favorite foods). Even if I’m only shopping for a few groceries, I make a list.
Keeping track of things like phone calls, gifts or thank you notes is also difficult. I use an inexpensive spiral notebook that lives on the kitchen table to write down numbers, notes or anything I need to remember. I staple receipts to a page so that I won’t lose them.
I use a pocket calendar to note appointments, family schedules or important dates. I don’t agree to or change anything until I have it in front of me.
I have learned to ask people to repeat things that I’m not sure I understand. Sometimes it seems as if folks around me are speaking a foreign language because my brain simply won’t process the words.
I don’t apologize for my tears or for my need to give myself space and time to make a decision when asked to do something.
Grieving requires so much emotional, physical and mental energy that there is little left for everyday tasks. But life goes on even if I want it to stop.
This is who I am now, and I will need to make accomodations for that as long as I live.
For most of my adult years I felt like I had a robust prayer life. I regularly interceded for my family, for my church, for missionaries and for the world. I’ve kept a prayer journal for over twenty years.
I felt connected to the God of the Universe.
But when Dominic died I felt like I lost that connection.
Of course, the first moments after hearing the news I screamed, “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” My foxhole prayer for divine intervention–make it stop; make it untrue; make it go away…
But it was true. It didn’t stop. And it hasn’t gone away.
As the reality of what happened sank in, I searched my heart for why.
Why did MY son die? What fault had God found in me that wasn’t covered by the blood of Jesus and demanded my son’s life as payment? Why were people who caused death and destruction and spread hatred and strife still walking around?
Did I, whose son died, pray less fervently or with less faith than the mother whose son lives?
So many people think that “good” Christians don’t ask, “why?” But I can’t find a compelling scriptural argument that supports this view.
The Psalmist asked, “Why?”
He often recited a litany of complaints that included his perception that God had abandoned him. But there is a turning point when the Psalmist focuses his heart and mind on the truth that:
God is sovereign;
God is faithful;
And God’s love endures forever.
I am thankful that before Dominic died I had a habit of praying and reading Scripture. I am thankful for the many verses that are so ingrained in my thoughts that they come, unbidden to my mind.
So I have continued to pray each morning, opening my journal and my Bible.
Even when I cannot feel the connection, I know God is there.
And by an act of will and in obedience, I turn my heart and my mind to acknowledge His sovereignty.
To trust His faithfulness.
And to run for safety to His enduring love.
As the deer pants for water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God. Where can I find him to come and stand before him? Day and night I weep for his help, and all the while my enemies taunt me. “Where is this God of yours?” they scoff.
Take courage, my soul! Do you remember those times (but how could you ever forget them!) when you led a great procession to the Temple on festival days, singing with joy, praising the Lord? Why then be downcast? Why be discouraged and sad? Hope in God! I shall yet praise him again. Yes, I shall again praise him for his help.
Yet I am standing here depressed and gloomy, but I will meditate upon your kindness to this lovely land where the Jordan River flows and where Mount Hermon and Mount Mizar stand. All your waves and billows have gone over me, and floods of sorrow pour upon me like a thundering cataract.
Yet day by day the Lord also pours out his steadfast love upon me, and through the night I sing his songs and pray to God who gives me life.
Psalm 42: 1-8 TLB
No way around it–this goat is ugly. He was born a runt and never outgrew it.
But he’s my favorite.
Several years ago he was attacked by dogs. One had him by the ear (thus his missing ear) and one had him by the hindquarters. Only my youngest son’s swift barefoot run through the woods saved him from being killed. Julian carried him out, mangled and bloody.
We spent weeks cleaning and treating his wounds and months nursing him back to health.
He has no monetary value–in fact he’s cost me a good deal. But I love him because he is a testimony of hope.
He lives in spite of his scars.
Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, I’m meeting others who have buried their children too.
And it is so, so hard.
But these mamas are so, so brave.
And they are clinging with all their might to the hand of the One Who has promised to redeem this pain and these wounds.
I can’t tell you that anything “good” has come from my son’s death–at least nothing that couldn’t have come from his life.
But I can tell you that what the enemy intended to use to destroy me and my family has not done that.
I am hurt and I bear scars.
But the Shepherd of my soul has carried me and is carrying me.
I will continue to trust in Him and offer my life as a testimony of hope.
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
Romans 5:3-5 NIV
“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End [the Eternal One].” Revelation 22:13 AMP
Jesus, the eternal Son of the eternal Father, bookends all history.
Even though there are things that surprise me, there is nothing that surprises Him.
When my son died, I wrote this to be included in the bulletin at his funeral:
“Dominic’s death was an accident from our perspective, but God knew from the moment He gave Dominic to us, that this would happen. He was not surprised and He was and is in control. Jesus was with my precious child when he took his first breath and when he took his last. I don’t understand but I will trust.”
I still don’t understand, and I hurt, but Jesus is eternal, ever present and ever faithful–and I will trust.
“Lord, I am so caught up in the here and now that I often lose sight of eternity. Forgive me. When things surprise me, help me rest in You–the Beginning and the End–to trust You–the Alpha and Omega. Give me the grace to face each day with the settled assurance that whatever it may bring, You hold it in Your hand.”
If you are a Star Trek fan, you get the reference. In most episodes involving fear of mortal danger, the landing team included several main characters and one or two “redshirts”. Those were the expendable crewmen (or women)–the ones you knew would take the fatal hit and fade into the story background. There might be a moment when Captain Kirk or Spock or Dr. McCoy were threatened, but in your heart you just knew that they would be safe because, after all, there’s next week’s episode.
In some ways, this mentality crept into my life. The people I love are too important, too central to my life to die. Sure, eventually, we all leave this earth. But not today, not without warning.
And not in the middle of the story.
I resisted the truth that “life is but a vapor”. I acknowledged it in my head but ignored it in my heart.
I’m here to tell you–life is a vapor…it can be gone as quickly as the morning mist and there is no getting it back.
I console myself that Dominic knew I loved him. Because I told him so–in person, on the phone and in messages. I couldn’t save him from death, but am spared at least that one regret.
If you knew that today would be the last day you would be with someone, what would you do differently? What would you say? What would you choose not to say?
We never know. Even anticipated deaths are often unexpected. Age and illness seem like creeping things until the moment they strike the final blow.
There are no red shirts in real life. No telltale symbol to clue us in to who will be here tomorrow and who will enter eternity today. Babies aren’t born with expiration dates.
Choose to honor the ones that are important to you.
Leave in love. Part in peace.
thelifeididntchoose 