I don’t know about you but my face and my body tell the tale.
It’s a story of stress and strife and it’s not pretty.
I look at photos before and after and see grief written all over the pictures taken since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
Read the rest here: Grief’s Physical Toll
Busyness has become a national idol-we rush from commitment to commitment, signing up to fill every single minute with something, anything that makes us feel important, valuable, irreplaceable.
Of course we have job and family obligations-as we should-but we don’t feel fully accomplished until we have colored in the edges of our calendar until no white space remains.
Because we think that if we don’t show up, people will miss us. We think that if WE don’t do this or that, it won’t get done. We are absolutely certain that our input is critical to the success of every mission, every committee, every project.
Can I let you in on a little secret? It’s not.
One of the inconvenient and difficult truths that has been burned in my brain since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven is this: his absence didn’t make a bit of difference to the world at large.
Read the rest here: Who’s Gonna Miss You Baby?
One of the things I’m learning this side of burying my precious child is that there is no upper limit to the sorrow and pain I may have to carry in this life. And it’s no use comparing my burden to that of another-begging God to consider the differing weights and to make adjustments to lighten my load because it is heavier than that of another.
I do not get a pass on daily stress and strain.
I’m not guaranteed physical health.
I am just as likely as anyone else to get the grumpy cashier, to drop a dish or lose my keys. Or worse.
Read the rest here: Life is Absolutely NOT Fair
I had a tearful day yesterday.
At seven years into this journey they don’t happen very often and when they do, it takes me by surprise-though it shouldn’t.
I finally had to simply go to bed, choose to call it a day, close my eyes and let sleep claim the sadness and grant blessed peace.
❤
You’d think I’d know how valuable tears are by now.
But sometimes I forget.
Read the rest here: I Would Not Cease Your Weeping
You know that scene in Forrest Gump where he starts running and just can’t stop?
I thought that was a funny way to deal with grief when I first saw the movie.
But now I understand it perfectly.
If I could have started running, walking or even crawling away from the heartache in those first days and weeks I would have.
Truth is, though, you can’t.
Read the rest here: Can’t Run Away
Each day I am reminded by sights, smells, sounds and memories that Dominic is in Heaven and not here.
But there are moments and seasons when his absence is particularly strong-when I can’t breathe in without also breathing a prayer, “Father, let me make it through this minute, this hour, this day.”
And that’s when I need grace-from family, friends and strangers.
Read the rest here: A Little Extra Grace
I was recently told by someone that my world was tiny.
It hurt my heart.
Not because it is factually inaccurate but because the person who said it implied that distance traveled from my front door equaled responsibility and influence. If I don’t wander hither and yon, then I’m inferior. If I don’t have paid employment then whatever I do doesn’t “really” count.
I know many bereaved parents have been forced to scale back commitments, maybe change jobs or retire early, and, like me, lead a smaller life than before.
I’m here to tell you that’s perfectly OK.
In fact, if you are faithfully leading the life to which God has called you, it’s MORE than OK.
It’s true that more days than not I never get farther than the quarter mile down my driveway.
But inside my home, behind my computer screen and through the magic of the Internet I regularly chat with folks from Australia to South Africa. I read news from around the world. I keep up with relatives all over the country.
And in my modest kitchen I prep and cook meals for my family as well as others in my community who might need them. I counsel friends struggling with loss or trying to companion someone struggling with loss. I moderate two closed groups for bereaved parents where they can safely share and seek support. I maintain three public Facebook pages-one for my church, one for bereaved parents and one with a more personal Biblical focus.
I write a blog.
It is absolutely correct that I receive no remuneration for any of this. So by worldly standards (and by the standards of the person who made the remark) these things are of small value. Because, after all, we know that if something’s free it must not be worth anything.
But that is simply not true!
Each of us (bereaved or not) has a unique circle of influence, a unique set of skills, a unique personality and ability to connect with those God brings across our paths. Some of us get paid for using them. Some of us don’t.
Regardless of how far-reaching your influence is, it is important.
It’s perfectly alright to be little bitty.
Do your thing, your way, right where you are.
And ignore those who can’t appreciate how beautifully your light shines.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes cute little memes intended to help me “look on the bright side” fly all over me.
Sure, if life gives you lemons (bad hair day, late to work, long line at the grocery store) make lemonade.
But sometimes it’s not lemons life gives you, it’s an avalanche of pain, heartache and world-shattering awful.
Read the rest here: Distant Music
I keep asking God to fill me with His love, mercy and grace. And I am more full of those things than before.
But there is still plenty of (if not hate then) less-than-love, judgement and impatience. Trials don’t automatically lead to refinement or stronger faith.
Tribulation can drive someone away from God as easily as it can drive them to their knees.
If I’m not careful-if I’m not very careful-I can use my pain as an excuse for all kinds of bad behavior.
Read the rest here: Can’t Hide the Ugly
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
James O’Barr
I grieve because I love.
My tears are a gift to the son I miss. My sorrow honors his memory. My broken heart gives evidence to the ones walking with me that my love is fierce and timeless.
Read the rest here: Love: The Reason I Grieve
thelifeididntchoose 