I was reminded once again this week how the events surrounding death and burial are inadequate indicators of the profound change that has taken place in the lives of those left behind.
Standing at the graveside of a precious friend’s father, I remembered watching Dominic’s earthly shell lowered beneath the ground.
I was wholly unprepared for the days and weeks and months that followed.
No one had told me it was only a beginning…Loving Well: Transitioning From “Good-bye” to Grief
I used to position myself at the end of the pew, just in case someone I’m not too comfortable with might come along and try to sit down.
It saved us both that awkward conversation where they ask if they can join me and I say “yes” with my mouth but “no” with my body language.
Frankly, I was at church to be lifted up so I could face the coming week with power and strength. I didn’t want to be dragged down by their reality of brokenness and sometimes bitter tears.
I don’t do that anymore.
I realize that most of what made me uncomfortable was other people’s pain.
Now I’m the one who’s broken. I’m the one who can’t get through “Amazing Grace” without blubbering.
And I’m the one that others hope won’t ask to join THEM.
But here’s the deal: God loves the broken. Christ came for the broken. It’s the broken and breathless who long for the Spirit to blow life across their wounded hearts.
It’s the hopeless and fearful that run faster to the safety of their Shepherd.
It’s the worried and weary who are thankful for a Burden-bearer.
When I refuse to move over and make room for the broken, I’m barring the way for the very ones who most desperately need the blessing. When I want my worship experience to exclude those who haven’t the strength to bring their own hearts before the throne of grace, I’m being selfish.
And that is sin.
Jesus went out of His way to heal the hurting,
to bless the broken and
to speak strength to the weary.
So now I sit in the middle of the pew and leave room for whoever God brings my way.
I want to be an open door, not a gatekeeper.
“Come to me, all of you who are weary and over-burdened, and I will give you rest! Put on my yoke and learn from me. For I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” ~Jesus
(Matthew 11:28-30 PHILLIPS)
It may not be this way around the country or around the world, but here in Alabama school has been in session for several weeks and the hot weather along with added commitments makes life a little harder.
After the excitement of posting “first day” photos wears off, routine sets in.
Carpools, music lessons, homework, getting everyone ready to rush out the door...it’s enough to wear anyone down.
That’s when it’s easy to lose sight of what’s important. That’s when the enemy whispers, “You don’t make a difference.”
He’s wrong.
You are shepherding eternal souls.
Don’t give up!
The tyranny of the urgent can push what’s important past the fringes of our attention.
Our vision can be so consumed with the day-to-day until there’s no space for long-term goals or ambitions.
But God has ordained that our children, eternal beings, be set in families.
Read the rest:
One breath
One glance
A single tiny detail transports me from here to there.
Takes me from doing alright to devastation
Changes daylight to dark and grips my soul with terrifying pain.
If I didn’t have hope to cling to
If I didn’t know that every promise of God in Christ is yes and amen
If I didn’t trust that my tears are recorded in His book,
my name written on His hands
and my life secure within His own I’d let the darkness take me under.
Breathe in
Breathe out
It will pass
THIS is not forever.
Forever is waiting for me
Dominic is already there-
Tomorrows without end.
No tears
No fears
No goodbyes
Open arms.
This actually happened one day last week and I was too ashamed to post it. I’m better now. But it took three days to recover from that emotional, physical, psychological and spiritual low point.
It required that I extend the grace to myself I would extend to another.
That’s actually harder than it sounds for someone who prefers to think of herself as the “good girl” and the “strong one”.
There’s only so much a body can take in a day. And I’ve reached the limit.
Started out pretty good-up with the chickens and settled into my rocking chair with a cup of coffee and my journal.
But it didn’t last. First one thing and then another-unexpected, unwelcome, uncomfortable-life just comes flying and all I can do is hang on.
Emotions run wild. Frustration reigns.
Why can’t things go like they are supposed to???
I am just so. very. tired. So very tired of dragging my heart through another day.
I’m trying to find the happy in this mess.
It’s hard.
I’m trying to look on the bright side.
I can’t.
I think I’ve reached my quota for today.
I don’t care if it is only noon.
I‘m going to bed.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to the twelve.
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to me when I was just a child.
“Yes,” I replied-not knowing or counting the cost.
If it was a single commitment without opportunity for turning back then it would be easy.
But it’s not.
Every day I have to face the question, “Did God REALLY say?” Boy that serpent knew just where to aim the spear of doubt so it would cause the greatest damage.
Can I believe that God is in control? Can I believe that He is good? Can I believe that He loves me?
Can I believe all those things when my circumstances scream, “NO!”
But I HAVE to believe.
Because if I can’t trust God, then I am without hope. If I can’t rely on His Word then there’s no foundation and no future. If He is not Who He says He is, then I should just quit now.
So I find myself at the foot of the cross, again. Facing my fears and having to choose: Who shall I serve?
Surrender is hard. Daily surrender is harder.
I cannot remake my heart. I cannot breathe life into my own breathless soul.
I can only place myself on the altar and allow God’s Spirit to do it for me.
So here I am.
Again.
Brothers and sisters, God has shown you his mercy. So I am asking you to offer up your bodies to him while you are still alive. Your bodies are a holy sacrifice that is pleasing to God. When you offer your bodies to God, you are worshiping him in the right way.
Romans 12: 1 NIRV
All the fears I thought I knew
All the what-ifs I pondered during inky nights-
None of them-none. of. them. prepared me for this reality.
I have thought many times of my own death. Anyone past twenty-five has to consider that the farther you get from high school the closer you get to the grave.
So I put foolish and risky behavior behind me. Eat fiber. Exercise.
Wise choices, that’s the ticket.
But what about random? What about unexpected? What about lightning strikes and sudden curves?
How do you plan for that?
I know I’ll end some day. That’s the way of things. And I’m OK with that.
My children.
They are my legacy. They are the keepers of my light.
They are the part of me that will live beyond me.
Except one of them.
I am his legacy-the unanticipated keeper of HIS light.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
Yet here I am.
Unnatural. Unacceptable.
Unthinkable.
Inescapably real.
I am committed to continue to trust Jesus and to look to the Word of God for my hope and direction in this life and in the one to come.
I speak truth to my heart through Scripture, worship songs, testimonies of others who have gone before and remaining in community with other believers.
But I’ve yet to reach the place where I can plan on most days being better days rather than hard ones.
I’m trying.
And I’m working to tease out the influences that make a difference-both the ones that help and the ones that hurt.
So here’s the list so far:
WHAT HELPS
WHAT HURTS
These are just some of the things that help/hurt me in my journey. I would love to have others share what helps/hurts them in theirs. There’s strength in community.
Leave your thoughts in the COMMENTS below!
I wake and you are still gone.
The cats tap-tap-tapping on my arms and face declare the day has begun despite the dark and I need to climb out of bed.
Why?
What difference does it make?
I trudge downstairs, put the coffee on, feed the cats and settle into my chair to read and write.
Habits.
Routine carries me through the day. There are things that need to be done.
The sun still rises-must be soon now because I hear the rooster’s escalating declaration that he, at least, can see the light.
One cat settles into my lap adding weight and warmth to the morning. I remember when I held you and your brothers and sister. I never tired of that sweet bundle bearing down on my heart.
I would do anything to feel it again.
But that can’t be. And I won’t hold your children either.
All of you was taken away.
Every last molecule, every last gene.
Nothing left but flat photos and memories that are increasingly difficult to piece together in rich detail.
The vital essence that sent shock waves through a room, the loud laugh, the snarky comments, the deep, deep voice that made you sound so serious-all gone.
Heaven is a real place and I know you are there.
But I want you here.
I can’t help it.
All the theological arguments don’t fill the hole in my heart where you are supposed to be.
Shake it off.
Here’s the sun.
Get to it.
Another day.
As a kid our family made a yearly pilgrimage to the Gulf Coast-back when the beaches were wide open vistas, the water see-through green and the days long and unhurried.
We didn’t spend money on the “attractions” or tourist trap souvenir shops-we got up early to watch the sun rise and spent the remainder of the day back and forth between the beach and the water.
I loved to find a spot that was about waist deep and feel the waves move across my body-up and down, up and down-floating in rhythm to the world’s heartbeat.
But every so often a wave would surprise me, crash over my head unannounced and break the cycle of gentle rocking with a sputter-inducing plunge beneath the salty sea.
As long as the giant waves were few and far between, I could recover, regather my sense of well-being and continue to enjoy the water.
But when the first wave marked a change in the tide or an incoming storm and was followed by more and more of the same, I knew it was time to move toward shore.
I could withstand one or two of these but if there was no chance to catch my breath in between I was going under.
This past week has been a deluge of waves.
Waves of grief,
waves of regret,
waves of disappointment,
waves of discouagement.
No storm clouds on the horizon. No major life events or grief anniversaries-just a turning of the tide.
And so I find myself retreating a bit.
Backtracking from progress I thought I had made. Retracing steps and repeating cycles I though I had left behind.
I suspect that most of us have weeks like this.
You don’t have to bury a child to beg Jesus to make things whole again-to bring hope to your heart again-to ask Him to calm the storm and save you from destruction.
Ebb and flow. Waves and calm. Storms and sunshine. Life is made up of all of these.
I am confident that Jesus is the Peace-speaker. He can calm the wind and the waves.
I want to have faith. I want to learn to call out in trust and not doubt.
I’m working on that and waiting for His Spirit to work on it in me.
But as I wait, I’m going to have to sit on shore for awhile.
thelifeididntchoose 