thelifeididntchoose

Through Tears

Honestly I have no idea why I don’t climb my stairs, lay down in bed and pull the covers over my head.

Well, really I DO know why: it’s the enabling grace of Christ Jesus in my life

But my flesh still wants to give up and give in.

Because there is NO LIMIT to the amount of pain a heart may have to bear on this earthly journey.

I feel awfully guilty sometimes for being overwhelmed by my circumstances when I hear of much more challenging situations that other hearts face.

I have to remind myself that comparison is unhealthy regardless of whether I’m stacking up pain or pleasure, blessings or trials.

Truth is, sometimes life just sucks.

I know that’s an unpopular assertion among church folks.

But it’s a fact.

God shows up and He showers grace. And His grace sustains me. Still, I feel ALL the pain.

Faith is not anesthesia.

I’ll be honest-I’ve had a summer full of hard things. I’ve greeted more than one sunrise with tears. I’ve ended more than one day worn out, worn down and utterly bereft of hope that tomorrow will be any better.

When I’m finally able to enter the bliss of dreamless sleep I manage a bit of escape until the day’s dawn drags my heart back to reality.

Of course the background noise of grief and loss never changes but goodness gracious how I’d love 24 uninterrupted hours of everything going right!

So far that hasn’t happened,

Seriously.

I’m getting kind of used to it.

I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
    the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
    the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there’s one other thing I remember,
    and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
    his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
    How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
    He’s all I’ve got left.

Lamentations 3:19-24 MSG

Bereaved Parents Month Post: Stuck or Unstuck in Grief-Who Gets To Decide?

“Stuck in grief”-it’s a theme of blog posts, psychology papers and magazine articles. The author usually lists either a variety of “symptoms” or relates anecdotes of people who do truly odd things after a loved one dies. “Complicated grief” is a legitimate psychiatric diagnosis.

But who gets to decide?

What objective criteria can be applied to every situation, every person, every death to determine whether someone is truly stuck in grief? How do you take into account the circumstances of a death, the relationship of the bereaved to the deceased, trauma surrounding the event or any of a dozen other things that influence how long and how deeply one grieves a loss?

Read the rest here: Stuck or Unstuck in Grief? Who Gets to Decide?

Little Ways Grief Changes Things

I accidentally dialed my son’s number the other night.

All he heard amidst the noise of the baseball game he was attending was, “I’m sorry” which immediately put him in “oh no!” mode.

A couple words later and he understood that what I was sorry for was interrupting him, not another tragedy that required a heart-wrenching, life-changing long distance phone call.

But that’s how it is now.

The sheriff’s deputy came to my door and I had to make the awful phone calls.

But so many of Dominic’s friends first suspected something was wrong when they couldn’t reach him by phone on that Saturday after he left us.

I cannot abide the suspense of not being able to know for sure one of my precious family members is OK.

We carry our phones everywhere, silent to other calls when necessary but never to our “favorites” because we will not be unreachable.

If one of us calls another at an unexpected time, we begin with, “Nothing’s wrong!”

We have to or else hearts race, temples pound and it will be hours before we can come down from a state of heightened anxiety and near panic.

We touch base every morning and most evenings.

Like hands stretched out in the dark to comfort one another.

Just to be sure.

Be Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak

I’m pretty sure that every single grieving parent I know has gotten at least one private message, text or phone call that starts like this, “I know that I haven’t lost a child, but…” and ends with some sort of advice that seeks to correct a perceived flaw in how the parent is grieving (in public) his or her missing child.

I know I did. It was the genesis of this post.

But before you hit “send” on that well-meaning missive, you need to know this:

You have NO CLUE.

None.

Truly.

No matter if you lost a spouse, parent, close friend or favorite pet-it’s not the same thing.

It isn’t even the same thing if you have faced a season when your own child was near death due to accident or disease.

If your home has been demolished due to wind, fire or flood and all its contents lost forever-that is awful and tragic-but not comparable to watching the body of your child lowered beneath the ground.

Just like everyone else who uses social media, what you see in public does not reflect but a tiny corner of the whole picture.

I write every day about loss. But loss is not all I experience 24/7. I laugh, I love, I live.

And while I may post my yearning for Dominic, I speak my heart to my living children every. single. day.

My faith has been tried and tested. I will not be false and pretend that just because I trust the finished work of Christ my heart has had it easy.

But I’m still holding onto hope with both hands.

faith does not eliminate questions but faith knows wehre to take them

faith is the radar that sees through the fog

My body has borne the brunt of anxiety and stress and grief. You can see it in my eyes and in my hips.

But I’m still standing.

My marriage has been stretched and strained.

But we are still clinging to one another.

So before you suggest ways I might need to trim my sails,

just remember you aren’t sailing the same sea nor facing the same storms.

❤

Bereaved Parents Month Post: But I Had All That BEFORE!

I absolutely understand that when people say things like, “Just think of all the wonderful memories you have” or “He brought you so much joy” they mean well.

Because it’s true-I have beautiful memories of Dominic. And he DID bring me great joy.

But I had those things BEFORE he was beyond my reach.

Read the rest here: But I Had All That BEFORE!

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.

Keeping It Real: It’s STILL Hard

When I started writing, Dominic had been gone nearly 18 months.

Before I went public with my thoughts, I had filled six journals with page after page of ramblings, Scripture, quotes from books, questions and tears.

Those are some of my most precious possessions because when I look back I can see how even in the very first hours (yes, I started writing that morning) God was already bringing truth and healing to my shattered soul and broken heart.

In a couple months it will be three years since I started sharing here. And while I rarely look back on the posts in any orderly way, I can see that God has continued His faithfulness when I do.

But just like I promised when I wrote the introduction to my site, I will always be as honest as possible when I share.

So let me just tell you: It’s STILL hard.

Not in the same first, breath-robbing, soul-crushing, can’t-lift-my-head sort of way that makes a heart certain it can. not. survive.

But in a slow-leak, not-enough-air-in-my-tires sort of way that makes every road less comfortable to travel and necessitates lots of stops to make sure I can keep going.

I’ve just endured two weeks of one bad thing after another.

All of them have a solution which (on my scale) makes them hardly worth noting.

But each disrupted my life and will require significant time, energy and resources to address.

And for a heart that has learned how to make it by going slow, choosing predictable paths and incorporating lots of stops along the way, those kinds of disruptions create stress and strain on an already taxed system.

I will absolutely survive.

I’ve already survived the cruelest and most difficult days of my life.

But it’s no cake walk.

It’s still hard.

Is God Punishing Me? Theology Matters.

Even though I knew better, one of my first thoughts after I got the news that Dominic had run ahead to heaven was, “Is God punishing me?”

Because when something THIS awful happens, it seems logical to assume it is in response to a massive cosmic imbalance.

As a matter of fact, even though it sounds counter-intuitive, it’s almost more comforting to believe there is a discernible reason behind my son’s death than to swallow the truth I may have to live the rest of my years not knowing.

I combed through my life-searching every nook and cranny-for what I did that deserved this kind of retribution.

And while I, like all of us, have a closet full of sin, I could not find a single transgression that rose to the ranks of demanding my son’s life in payment.

But then I realized that any of my sins-whether I counted them big or small-DID demand payment.

And God sent HIS Son to pay for them.

To us, the greatest demonstration of God’s love for us has been his sending his only Son into the world to give us life through him. We see real love, not in that fact that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to make personal atonement for our sins.

I John 4:10 PHILLIPS

They HAVE been paid for. All of them. Every single one.

There is no sin debt outstanding.

That’s an important concept to grasp. It is absolutely critical that bereaved parents (and others who suffer horrible tragedies) get this theological point right.

God is not out to extract payment for sin.

Now, He may well allow us to suffer the natural consequences of our sinful actions. There may be things we must endure because of sinful choices we make.

But that is very different than suggesting God is visiting sickness or death or ill fortune on a heart because of unconfessed sin.

As a matter of fact, that was precisely the charge God Himself laid against Job’s friends when they simply would not let go of the idea that Job must have done something to justify his suffering.

After the Lord had spoken these words to Job, the Lord said to Eliphaz the Temanite: “My anger burns against you and against your two friends, for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has. ⁸Now therefore take seven bulls and seven rams and go to my servant Job and offer up a burnt offering for yourselves. And my servant Job shall pray for you, for I will accept his prayer not to deal with you according to your folly. For you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.” ⁹So Eliphaz the Temanite and Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite went and did what the Lord had told them, and the Lord accepted Job’s prayer.

Job 42:7-9 ESV

Even Job wanted God to explain Himself.

While the Lord showed up, He never did give Job an answer.

Instead HE asked the questions.

We like to think we can figure God out, dig up the reasons why this happens or that doesn’t.

Truth is, we’d do better to follow Job’s example once he encountered the Living God:

Oh, I am so small. How can I reply to You?
        I’ll cover my mouth with my hand, for I’ve already said too much. (Job 40:4)

Before I knew only what I had heard of You,
        but now I have seen You.
  Therefore I realize the truth:
        I disavow and mourn all I have said
        and repent in dust and ash.

Job 40:4 ; Job 42:5,6 VOICE

God’s thoughts are not my thoughts, His ways are not my ways.

But He is perfect.

He is SO perfect that He has provided the once and for all sacrifice that satisfies the price of sin by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.

I may not understand (DO not understand!) why He has allowed my son’s death. But is was NOT punishment. God does not lie.

I can rest satisfied in that truth.

Repost: Fault Lines: Bereaved Parents and Social Anxiety

Even at four years into this journey, I can surprise myself when, for no apparent reason, grief explodes from someplace deep within me.

I’m keyed into triggers-sights, smells, places and people that remind me of Dominic.

But sometimes I can’t figure out what causes the tears to fall or my stomach to be tied in knots.

It seems to happen most often when I’m in social situations. I feel surrounded, trapped and anxiety mounts.

I’m no geologist, but from what I understand, earthquakes are nearly always “about to happen”. Fault lines guarantee it. Pressure is building underneath the surface of the earth and when it reaches a level that can no longer be contained, it spews.

Can I just let you in on a secret?

Bereaved parents are full of fault lines.

Many of us are nearly ready to blow almost every single minute, yet hold it in and hold it together. If you could put a meter to our temple and measure how close we are to a come apart, you would be amazed that it happens so rarely!

Read the rest here: Fault Lines: Bereaved Parents and Social Anxiety

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Just after I got my driver’s license I was using the family station wagon to run some errands.

I remember thinking, “Should I pull into that space between two parked cars or should I just go a bit further and make it easy on myself?” I channeled my dad’s voice which was always pushing me past my comfort zone, threw off my fear and started into the smaller space.

Bad choice.

I kept trying to convince myself it was a dream. I was not going to have to go home and tell my father what I had done. It would disappear if only I wished hard enough.

But that was silly and untrue.

Denting the family wagon is small potatoes next to many other, bigger things I’ve faced in life.

And it is absolutely a zero on a scale of one to ten when considering the death of my son.

You can fix a dent. Even if it costs money and time.

You can’t fix child loss.

Because of that FACT-I wake every morning to the same awful reality: My child is dead. He’s not coming back. My life is forever changed. My family forever altered. My heart will carry this burden to the grave.

That makes waking up hard to do.

Each morning I must force myself to push through an invisible wall and set my feet on ground I’m not sure I want to walk upon.

I must open my eyes and abandon the sweet release of dreamless sleep.

I have to face the light and embrace reality.

Four years and it is still a shock.

Every

Single.

Morning.