I want to make sense of the senseless.
I want to draw boundary lines around tragedy so I know what precautions can keep it far away from me.
But God is in control. Not me.
How Job’s comforters got it wrong…
Tag: compassion
It Changes Everything
Part of the reason I share my story is to provide insight for people who haven’t lost a child into the hearts and lives of those who have.
But mainly it is to be a voice for and to encourage other parents walking this valley by letting them know they aren’t alone, their feelings and experiences are perfectly normal and that just as welcoming a child into your family is a life-altering event, saying good-bye to a child is a life-altering event.
We do not expect a mom to “get over” the changes having a baby brings to her everyday experience, and we should not expect a bereaved mom to “get over” the changes burying one brings either.
Want to help? Read: Loving the Grieving Heart
Please-Just. Listen.
It’s hard-it’s hard to stay the words that come unbidden to mind and threaten to fly out of your mouth.
It takes restraint. And patience. And wisdom.
But when I finally open my locked box of hurt and pain and memories and heartache-please, please-just listen.
I know better than you that nothing anyone says, or does or hopes to do can change the facts.
Dominic’s not here-he’s there.
And I also know that makes you feel helpless. I feel helpless too.
I’m not looking for pity. I don’t want attention. I have no desire to make you sad.
I have to let it out or I’ll burst. If others saw the fullness of emotions brimming in my heart they would stand amazed that I could push them down and keep them inside so much of the time.
But speaking my sorrow is empowering.
It provides a witness. It means that he matters, that I matter and that this awful reality is recognized by someone other than just me.
When you shut me down or shut me out I. am. crushed.
Again.
In the end, you can walk away. You have another life to go back to. My pain is tangential to the reality of your every day.
It is central to mine.
So, please-encourage my heart with compassionate presence and just listen.
Monday Musings: Be Kind
I wrote and scheduled this post BEFORE the Nice terrorist attack and BEFORE the gunning down of police officers in Baton Rouge just yesterday morning.
But how very timely-as long as we divide the world into “us” and “them” we fuel hatred and acts of violence. As long as we choose rhetoric rather than reason we encourage a mindset that believes only radical action will spur change.
As I wrote over a week ago, My Heart Hurts. And I refuse to be part of the division that will only surely result in more death and destruction.
Instead I will choose to be radically kind.
This year has been filled with divisive politics, headlines and heartbreaking reminders of the many ways people can hurt one another.
I have my own opinions and positions on various issues and sometimes they are at odds with those of my friends or acquaintances.
But I am committed to speak, write and interact with everyone I meet in kindness-respecting our differences.
Because we are all image-bearers of the One True God.
James said, “With our tongues we praise our Lord and Father. Yet, with the same tongues we curse people, who were created in God’s likeness. Praise and curses come from the same mouth. My brothers and sisters, this should not happen!” (James 3:9-10 GW)
Jesus answered the question, “Who is my neighbor?” with a well-known parable that shocked His audience and challenged their preconceived ideas.
As soon as I ask, “Who is my neighbor?” I am trying to draw a circle around who I should and should not be obligated to treat with kindness and love.
I’m not going to do that.
Henri Nouwen writes:
Kindness is a beautiful human attribute. When we say, “She is a kind person” or “He surely was kind to me,” we express a very warm feeling. In our competitive and often violent world, kindness is not the most frequent response. But when we encounter it we know that we are blessed. Is it possible to grow in kindness, to become a kind person? Yes, but it requires discipline. To be kind means to treat another person as your “kin,” your intimate relative. We say, “We are kin” or “He is next of kin.” To be kind is to reach out to someone as being of “kindred” spirit.
Here is the great challenge: All people, whatever their color, religion, or sex, belong to humankind and are called to be kind to one another, treating one another as brothers and sisters. There is hardly a day in our lives in which we are not called to this.
I can purpose to listen even when I disagree.
The Wrecking Ball of Grace
In the aftermath of loss, relationships suffer.
Sometimes it’s because of harsh words exchanged in the heat of emotional moments.
Sometimes it’s due to disagreements about how to deal with ongoing issues. Often, it’s because most people just don’t know what to say and don’t know what to do in the presence of great pain and suffering.
Days and weeks and months pass and one day we wake up and realize that a previously close relationship is now distant and strained.
I know that in my grief I have felt abandoned by people I felt sure would stand with me, would never leave me, would be my most stalwart encouragers.
And I know, too, that I have shut some people out. Some were too chipper or too quick to offer platitudes and others just seemed intolerant of my ongoing pain and sorrow.
Walls have been erected.
My heart sectioned off and my world divided into “us” and “them”.
I’m sorry for that. That’s not the way I want it to be.
Walls between people are built brick by brick.
A word spoken or not spoken. A call, text or message misinterpreted or mistimed.
But they can be brought down with one blow.
Grace is a wrecking ball that breaks through walls and stone cold hearts.
Grace given and grace received.
A call, a text, an email or message that says, “I’m thinking of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
Or a card sent the old fashioned way filled with love to assure a wounded heart that it is not abandoned or forgotten.
“”I’m sorry.”
“I miss you.”
“I love you.”
It may not be easy and it might take several attempts.
But in the end, who can refuse extended arms and an open heart?
Loving the Wounded
God bless the inventor of Band Aids!
That little tacky plaster has soothed more fears and tears than almost any other invention in the world.
Skinned knee? Put a BandAid on it.
Bee sting? BandAid.
Tiny bump that no one can even see? Oh, sweetie, let me give you a BandAid.
Simply acknowledging pain and woundedness is so often all that is needed to encourage a heart and point it toward healing.
It’s the same in the world of emotional, psychological and spiritual wounds.
But we have yet to invent the BandAid for those.
Instead, frequently we ignore, refute, minimize and pass over the one in our midst who holds out a hand or a heart saying, “I have a boo boo.”
Believe me, I understand-so many of these wounds are incurable, they are uncomfortable to think about, hard to look at.
But often the only thing the hurting heart wants is acknowledgement, a moment of time, a face turned full into theirs, eye-to-eye and unafraid to remain alongside through the pain.
Just as a BandAid bears witness to the wound underneath, our compassionate presence can bear witness to the deeper wounds no one can see.
When we choose to lean in and love, to listen and learn, to walk with the wounded we give a great gift.
Words Matter
“Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” ~Jesus
Have you ever had a moment when words “slipped out” before you could stop them?
I have.
Standing amidst the wreckage of hasty speech I would do almost anything to stuff them back inside.
I like to pretend that I didn’t mean what I said. I like to imagine that the words don’t reflect what I really feel.
And in the wake of burying a child, I find that I am ill-prepared to keep my mouth shut. Words tumble out because my emotions are almost always close to the surface.
The truth is, a glass only spills what’s already inside and my mouth only spews what’s hiding in my heart.
I am trying hard to fill my heart with grace, love and mercy so that what comes out heals rather than hurts.
I’m not always successful-the heart is deep and my wound is great.
But being wounded myself, I long to be an instrument of healing and peace in this broken world.
Silence Doesn’t Serve Anyone Well
One of the reasons I write is to share my grief experience with others.
I realized when tossed into the ocean of sorrow that of all the things I had heard about or read about, surviving child loss was never mentioned.
Oh, someone might comment that so-and-so had LOST a child, but then the conversation quickly moved on to more comfortable topics.
But if we don’t talk about it, we can’t learn to live through it.
Silence doesn’t serve anyone well.
I agree with Mr. Rogers:
Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
― Fred Rogers
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. Remaining in the presence of great pain is uncomfortable.
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.
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 the people you lose are full of years and ready to go–that you get to say “good-bye” and all the important things have been said and done so 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.
We don’t want pity.
We aren’t looking for special accommodations that single us out and mark us as “needy”.
But we long for understanding and compassion and the opportunity to tell our stories.
No Substitute for TIME
Healing can’t be hurried.
Read the rest: No Rush
Orlando: Beyond the Headlines
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.
thelifeididntchoose 