Love out loud. Pass it on.
Love out loud. Pass it on.
Grief has worn away some of the sharp edges of my personality.
I’m still prone to impatience-especially when faced with incompetence or hateful behavior in others.
But I’m learning that walking gently through life is not only good for others, it’s good for ME.
Life IS short. ‘
Not just the life of a child or teen or young adult cut down by accident or disease.
But even if I live my “threescore and ten” the Bible talks about, it will STILL be short. Seventy, eighty, one hundred years set on the timeline of history or eternity is less than a pinpoint.
What do I want my legacy to be? What do I want to leave behind for others to remember, to ponder, to carry in their hearts attached to my memory?
That’s easy. I want my legacy to be love.
I want people to remember that I treated them with kindness, that I respected them as persons, that I reached out, reached down and never separated myself from them by false barriers, foolish divisions or fake measures of who is “better” and who is “worse”.
More than anything I want people to feel that I made their burden lighter, not heavier.
So much of life is hard.
So many things happen for which there is no remedy.
I can’t choose everything, but I can choose love.
Life is short and we have not much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark way with us. Oh, be swift to love! Make haste to be kind.
– Henri Fredric Amiel
We just moved through the feel-good season of Christmas where we look with awe on baby Jesus, cute and cuddly in swaddling clothes, surrounded by His loving parents.
But what most moderns miss is that even in His birth, His death was foretold.
The manger was most likely hewn from stone, as was His tomb. And while the wise men’s gifts were costly and appropriate, they not only spoke of His kingship, they also included myrrh which was used for embalming the dead.
Jesus came to live so that He could die.
Both His life and his death are models for my own.
Every day of ministry was a day of self-denial-a pouring out of life onto and into the ones He came to serve.
And if anyone-if ANY. ONE.-could have lifted Himself above those who presented their brokenness like offerings at His feet, He certainly could. Not only was He without sin, He was God Himself in the flesh.
But look how gently Jesus welcomed the lost and lonely. See the compassion of the Good Shepherd for His confused sheep. Notice the love and kindness as He gathered the children around Him.
THIS is my example.
I am most certainly not above my Master.
I am called to love and serve as He did-not in a condescending way that says, “I am helping you because I am better than you.” But in a way that says, “I am helping you because I AM you.”
I have nothing I did not receive. I have nothing to give except from the bounty of my Lord.
My heart is just as broken as the next heart.
We all need His touch.
Last October I attended my first group event for bereaved parents.
I really didn’t know what to expect. Was I going to be overwhelmed with sadness upon seeing so many other brokenhearted parents? Would I be cornered and forced to share my story with strangers? Would I come away refreshed or worn out?
What I discovered was that I was surrounded by other people who “got it” and who were not interested in putting any kind of pressure on me to be or say or do anything I didn’t want to. Sure there were tears, but there was laughter as well. And I was able to hug necks of online friends that have been so very supportive and loving.
It was good.
It was helpful.
It is something I will do again.
As a matter of fact, I’ll be doing it again THIS February 23-25th in Amory, Mississippi.
A fellow bereaved mom, Hope Lee, owns and operates a Christian Camp named in honor of her daughter, Abby (Abby’s Acres Christian Camp). She felt the Lord leading her to organize an intimate weekend getaway for bereaved moms and, after offering it to locals first, has now opened it to the public.
We will have some teaching/sharing/discussion sessions as well as free time and organized crafts.
It’s a wonderful opportunity to meet other moms whose experience may help you in your journey. It will definitely be a safe space to let your hair down and take your mask off.
Depending where you are in this journey the thought of a weekend away with other bereaved moms may be either terrifying or exciting.
But may I encourage you-whether terrified or excited-to listen to the Spirit? If He is pushing you to step out in faith, do it.
I promise you won’t regret it!
Spaces are limited so call the number today and reserve your spot.
Address (for navigation purposes): Abby Acres 50771 Old Hwy 25S Amory, MS 38821
Phone number: 662-574-8445
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
I participate in a number of online support groups for bereaved parents.
And one topic that makes the rounds at least once a week-often once a day-is how those outside our experience cannot truly understand our experience.
Because it’s true-you THINK you can imagine the pain of child loss if you have children, but even the most vivid imagination can’t conjure the utter blackness that waits on the other side of hearing, “Your son is dead.”
There’s a great divide between me and those who have not experienced child loss.
But it’s one I hope they never have to cross.
Because it’s a mercy to not know.
If all of us could fathom the pain of losing a child, no one would bear children–the risk would be too great.
So while the gap can be a source of misunderstanding and isolation for ME, it is a safeguard for YOU.
And I am grateful for it. ❤
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 very different than sympathy or pity which are 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 onto 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.