I am thankful for Brene Brown.
She has helped me put words to my feelings, helped me see a way forward when I felt there was none and helped me own my story even though it is hard.
I keep her quotes around to encourage my heart and remind me that I am brave.
This is one of my favorites:
I had no idea that the last time I spoke with Dominic would be the LAST time I spoke with him.
How could I?
He wasn’t hanging on to life by a thread, threatened with a deadly disease nor involved in risky behavior. So I wasn’t weighing my words like I might have if the last time I saw him was in a hospital bed or after springing him from rehab.
No, it was just another casual evening “check in”, another random exchange that ended with, “See you tomorrow. Love you.”
Except tomorrow never came for Dominic even though it surely came for me–with claws and fangs and growling horror.
For some bereaved parents the last words they exchanged with their missing child were awful. They may have been angry or dismissive. They may have been distracted and forgot to say, “I love you.”
And even for us whose words were kind, there is this nagging sense that if we had only known (but how could we?) we would have said something profound, something that would be worth hanging onto if they were hanging onto anything in those last moments before breath left their bodies.
But I honestly believe that our children-in the Presence of Jesus-are not reciting anything that happened before they reached their beautiful eternal Home.
ALL of my mistakes and sins were nailed to the cross.
That is why there is therefore NO condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. I know it doesn’t take away the feelings of condemnation or guilt, but if Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient (and it IS) then my feelings are lying.
My relationship with Dominic was filled with love, laughter, affirmation and acceptance.
He knew that then and he knows that now.
I have to remind my heart of the facts until it can hear and embrace them.
And when it forgets, I remind it again.
Although I have observed Lent off and on for many, many years, it’s different for me now in a profound way.
Some of you may know that Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday and buried the Monday after Resurrection Sunday, 2014.
Each year since then I’ve felt like I had to endure two sets of “anniversaries” because his death date and burial date are not only days of the month but also marked by moveable church celebrations.
It has been very, very hard.
As the sun rises earlier each morning in spring, the weather turns brighter and the flowers bloom, my heart grows heavier and heavier. I want to crawl in a hole and wait for the time to slide by-as if not noticing will make a difference.
But I can’t.
Life must be lived, not only endured.
So I am choosing this year to try to guide my heart gently through this hard season with purposeful action that forces me to engage with God’s Word, with God’s people and with God Himself.
I think that leaning into Lent-giving up some things, grabbing onto others-is a good way to do that.
I’m not certain what I’ll give up-as one gal commented on my wall, “I’ve already given up a child, I don’t have anything else to give”. I will probably try to find a less-than-profitable habit to lay aside for these 40 days.
I do know what I am grabbing onto. I am going to write 40 notes in 40 days (the idea came from this link: Love Notes)
I am also going to be more faithful to write in my paper journal instead of only on my blog.
My goal is that I will emerge from these days free of some bad habits and bound my some new, better ones.
Will you join me?
My grandmother used to make beautiful quilts out of cast off scraps friends would bring her by the bagful.
She never shopped in a quilting store with color-coordinated bolts of fabric lined up like watercolors against the wall. She didn’t purchase a kit with pre-cut squares or fancy appliques.
She took whatever she had and made it work. Even the ugly scraps were made beautiful when placed “just so’. Bits that others found too small to be useful were melded together by her skillful hand into lovely gifts that continue to bless me and others.
She never wasted anything.
God doesn’t waste anything either.
When I consider the stories of Moses, Joseph and David I can see how all the events in their early lives shaped them in preparation for the work He had for them later on. Hardship, blessings, training and waiting were molded together by His skillful hands into precisely the vessel needed to carry the Good News to that generation.
As a young mother, I dreamed of many things God might do in and through me and my family. I thought I could envision the quilt He was making-the arrangement and the colors. I never imagined so many dark patches would be part of the pattern.
I don’t like this chapter of my life in many ways. But it is a chapter God is writing and will use to mold me into what He wants me to be.
I don’t expect that I will know this side of heaven what He is making from the bits and pieces, but He has promised it will be a masterpiece.
So I want to be pliable-even though it is painful.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].
Ephesians 2:10 AMP
It’s nice to get flowers or chocolate or balloons or cards that say, “I love you”.
But true love can’t be bought.
True love is marked by sacrifice, ongoing support, genuine compassion and willingness to do whatever it takes to “be there” for another person.
It means standing with someone even when walking beside them includes bearing the unbearable.
So I have a radical suggestion for this Valentine’s Day-instead of lining the pockets of America’s merchandising gurus-take a moment to write a note to someone who has truly loved you.
Tell them how their love has changed your life.
How their patience gives you space to grow.
How their kindness sings hope to your heart.
How their refusal to envy, boast or brag allows you to rejoice in their blessings without feeling left out or less than.
How their humility and gentleness invites you to share the deepest things, certain your secrets are safe.
How their refusal to keep a tally of the ways you’ve disappointed them grants freedom to try again.
How their trust and hope shine light in your life and give your heart something to hold onto.
How their enduring love gives you a glimpse of heaven.
Let the ones who love you well know that what they do makes a difference.
Every. Single. Day.
I first wrote about this a few months back when I was pondering the FACT that no matter how wonderful the moment, how beautiful the gift, how marvelous the fellowship of family or friends, I am simply unable to feel the same overflowing abundant joy I once experienced.
Since then, I’ve been thinking about the great heroes of Scripture and studying their stories in detail.
I may be wrong, but I haven’t found one whose life did not contain pain.
It appears that sorrow and suffering in this world is one of the chief tools God uses to help the hearts of His people long for the world for which we are made-the eternal city whose Builder is God:
It was by faith that Abraham obeyed the summons to go out to a place which he would eventually possess, and he set out in complete ignorance of his destination. It was faith that kept him journeying like a foreigner through the land of promise, with no more home than the tents which he shared with Isaac and Jacob, co-heirs with him of the promise. For Abraham’s eyes were looking forward to that city with solid foundations of which God himself is both architect and builder.
Hebrews 11: 8-10 PHILLIPS
Some point to lack of abundant joy as proof of a weak faith.
I counter that obedience, in spite of the lack of abundant joy is proof of rock-solid faith.
Walking on in spite of my empty bucket means that I am trusting God to fill it even when I can’t see how.
Here’s the original post: There’s a Hole in My Bucket
I can see her all the way down the aisle-even if she doesn’t say a word, I know.
I know.
She‘s carrying a burden wrapped in love and buried deep inside. Someone she poured life into is no longer here. The missing and the daily sorrow is etched on her face even as she smiles.
What to do? What to do?
Making a decision without her better half to help her is overwhelming. She wants to cry but holds back the tears because, “What would people think?”
So I go up to her and tell her what I think: “Would you like some help?”
That opens the floodgates.
“I’m looking for hairbands-something to match my white hair. I have so little left-losing it because of stress, you know. “
Silence while I help her look.
“My husband passed three months ago. We were married 60 years. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
I tell her about Dominic-brief version-so she knows that I understand.
“He’s not suffering anymore and I guess I should be better. But I just miss him!”
I take her hand and look into her beautiful eyes-eyes that are full of love and compassion and sorrow-and tell her that she will miss him as long as she lives. That’s how we’re made.
Great love means great grief. A shared lifetime can’t be severed by death. We carry that sorrow because our hearts still carry the love.
And I tell her that no one has the right to rush her along. Her wounded heart is a witness to love. It’s a tribute to her husband and the life they shared. It’s testimony to the power of God in her that she can bear the wound and still remain.
We prayed, and hugged and both went away refreshed.
Walking wounded has made me much more aware that God places people in my path who are wounded too.
I want to be the person that stops, no matter what. I want to be who God created me in Christ Jesus to be. I want to walk in the good works He has laid out for me ahead of time.
It’s a way of redeeming this sorrow and weaving something beautiful from my tears.
God has made us what we are. In Christ Jesus, God made us new people so that we would do good works. God had planned in advance those good works for us. He had planned for us to live our lives doing them.
Ephesians 2:10 ICV
I can’t help it.
I think too much. I wonder too often. I work too hard to make sense of things.
And the thing that is puzzling me right now is why people pull away from those experiencing deep and lasting pain.
Read the rest here: the cost of compassion
(A psalm by David.)
Listen, Lord, as I pray! You are faithful and honest and will answer my prayer.
~Psalm 143:1 CEV
There are days when I am not interested in a deep dive into Scripture or a lengthy conversation with myself or anyone else about faith.
Days when I’m too tired to try to tease out the meat from the fat or the subtle from the obvious.
On those days I hang on to HOPE by remembering some basic truths:
In my own power I am lost, but God promises not to abandon me to my own resources.
He made me, He called me and He keeps me.
He hears my cry for mercy. He collects my tears. He turns His face toward my suffering and doesn’t look away.
When my heart is overwhelmed, He is my Rock, my Refuge and my Very Present Help in time of trouble.
He will not abandon me.
If you’ve followed the blog for awhile you’ve noticed that I rarely use this space to comment on current events unless they intersect with my experience of child loss.
So I have pretty much stayed away from our crazy political scene during this presidential election cycle because why add another voice to the screaming chorus when no one is listening anyway?
But as we make our way to the inauguration and I see heightened animosity, ugly speech and cruel separation of previous friendships, I realize that my experience is relevant right here, right now.
Until you wake up one morning to find out that your child whom you love, whom you raised and whom you were absolutely certain would bury YOU is gone, you have the luxury of assuming whatever bridges you burn can be rebuilt someday.
You may feel pretty confident that in a few days or months or years you will have the opportunity to pick up the pieces and reinvest in the relationship. You might justify your arrogance and impudence and violent speech that pushes others away by standing on principles, waving the banner of your just cause or simply being adament that YOUR viewpoint is the absolutely only correct one.
I’m a firm believer in social justice, political action, correct theology, and strong opinions.
If you’ve been around me for more than five minutes, you know this.
But I believe even more firmly that nothing gives me the right to be hateful, to be dismissive, to act superior or to cruelly treat another human being.
I am also a believer that whatever happens in Washington is only part of what makes the world.
Laws have consequences.
Policies have impact.
Politicians make decisions that make life better or worse for millions of people. BUT-how I treat the people I come in contact with every day also matters.
You can call me a coward or tell me I’m “selling out” but I am convinced that I can champion a cause without condemning a friend. I know I can disagree without being disagreeable.
If my goal is to sway opinion, what hope do I have of that if I am blasting holes in the fabric of relationship?
Each one of us is making the world-day by day, decision by decision, interaction by interaction.
We are burning bridges or building relationships.
Today–just for a single day–let’s all be kind.
Let’s not bash others with our team banner, our polical banner or the banner of our favorite cause.
Let’s just love one another and offer a smile instead of a smirk- a hand up instead of a put down.
We might find we like that world a whole lot better than the one we are currently making.
thelifeididntchoose 