
This past week has been brutal in many ways.
Some of us are fearful. Some of us are hopeful. Some of us just want it all to go away.
For me, it’s yet another reminder that We are Not Home Yet.

This past week has been brutal in many ways.
Some of us are fearful. Some of us are hopeful. Some of us just want it all to go away.
For me, it’s yet another reminder that We are Not Home Yet.
In this journey of loss I have been blessed and wounded by words.
I have been encouraged and disheartened by stray comments. I’ve been thrown a lifeline and pushed under the raging waves of grief by friends, family and acquaintances who often had no clue they were doing either.
Our words matter.
Our tongues have the power of life and death.
Whoever first wrote “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me” was either in denial or lived a very sheltered life.
Please, for the love of love, think before you speak.
Choose to listen before you lob a response bomb across whatever divides your heart from another. Count to ten if you have to, take a deep breath, read and re-read your words before you press “post”.
And, if all else fails remember: if you don’t have something nice to say, maybe it’s better not to say anything at all.
The one you think is invincible may be on the edge of crumbling. The one you think is strong may be hanging by a thread.
We all make mistakes in all kinds of ways, but the man who can claim that he never says the wrong thing can consider himself perfect, for if he can control his tongue he can control every other part of his personality! Men control the movements of a large animal like the horse with a tiny bit placed in its mouth. Ships too, for all their size and the momentum they have with a strong wind behind them, are controlled by a very small rudder according to the course chosen by the helmsman. The human tongue is physically small, but what tremendous effects it can boast of! A whole forest can be set ablaze by a tiny spark of fire, and the tongue is as dangerous as any fire, with vast potentialities for evil. It can poison the whole body, it can make the whole of life a blazing hell.
James 2-6 PHILLIPS
Every person on this planet bears the image of the God who made him or her. You can’t disrespect the person without also disrespecting the Lord.

We all have one you know.
A story.
Many of us think ours isn’t important because it feels so small. We can’t imagine our truth blazoned across a headline.
Your story matters.
Who you are and how you got there is worthy of repeating. You never know if your story will be the key to unlock someone else’s prison.

Some heart is begging to know that they are not alone.
Some soul waits breathless to hear that what they are hiding is OK to share.
Someone, somewhere needs you to unlock the vault of memory and invite them to do the same.
Speak your truth.
Tell your story.
You own it.

Another mama who carries the burden of child loss posted a music video on her Facebook wall and it melted me.
Because when you wake every day to the reality that your beloved child is out of reach you begin to wonder sometimes if there is a sorrow so deep it can never be healed.
So I listened-over and over-as David Crowder sang truth to my soul: “Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal.”

You don’t have to lose a child to feel overwhelmed with the burdens of this life.
You don’t have to look death in the face to feel death in your bones.
I wish I knew how to embed videos in my posts, but I don’t so here’s the link: Crowder “Come As You Are”
Listen and let hope fill your soul.
This life is hard. No denying the truth. But hold on.
What we see is not all there is.
Come as You Are
Come out of sadness from wherever you’ve been
Come broken-hearted, let rescue begin
Come find your mercy, oh sinner come kneel
Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t healSo Lay down your burdens, lay down your shame
All who are broken, lift up your face
Oh wanderer come home, you’re not too far
So lay down your hurt, lay down your heart
Come as you areThere’s hope for the hopeless and all those who’ve strayed
Come sit at the table, come taste the grace
There’s rest for the weary, rest that endures
Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t cure.

I began this blog almost a year and a half into my grief journey.

At first I wasn’t fully committed to writing on a regular basis.
I certainly never thought I’d write every day.
But this month marks a milestone: From November 1, 2015 to today I have posted at least once a day. Not every post original-some reposts of my blog or links to other blogs.
But I’ve shown up.
And it has been helpful to me, even if it hasn’t helped anyone else.
I had been journaling since the day I got the news but was too raw and too hurt to share my thoughts with anyone but God.
Goodness, I’d been journaling for almost 20 years and never expected to share any of it with anyone. It was my way of working through hard emotions, recording insights and venting things that wouldn’t be helpful for others to hear.
But here I am-letting so much of it out to the world.
Every time I press “post” I still tremble. Am I saying something helpful? Hurtful? Foolish? Wise? I never know until I get some feedback.
I appreciate everyone who has commented on or “liked” or shared a post.
It gives me courage to carry on.
My only ambition for this effort is that I remain authentic, faithful and honest about the journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
I want to finish well. I want to make Dominic proud.
It is my way of redeeming the pain.
Thank you for joining me in the journey.

Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.
He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.
I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”, and hung up the phone in tears.
He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.
He sent me flowers.

They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.
Our family observes a rule: Don’t part in the heat of anger.
We may not be over our pain and the reason for the dispute may be legitimate, but NOTHING trumps relationship.
I am so very thankful for that rule. Because one burden I don’t have to carry is that I might have left Dominic wondering if everything was OK between us.
It was.
So I say to you:
I pray every time I hear a siren that the person they are going to rescue will be alright. I pray that the family that loves that person will get another chance. I pray that the call that’s made is, “Come to the hospital to see me” and not “Come to the morgue”.
But you never know-you have NO guarantee that the last time you see or speak to someone you care about won’t be the LAST time.
And then you cannot undo the horror of regret that they might have left this world wondering if you loved them.
“I love you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to stay angry with you. Please forgive me.”
Say it loud, say it often, say it NOW.
A close family member is facing a difficult, scary and extensive surgery.
It’s one more reminder that we live in a broken world.
The victory Christ gained is real. But we do not yet have the full benefit of all its fruit.
We still face death.
We still bear pain.
We still long for that day when ALL will be made right.
Until then, we Live Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection.
I continue to be amazed at the resiliency of my surviving children.
They have shouldered the burden of loss so bravely and well.
But it is hard.
And everyone needs help to carry on.
As midterms approach, I was reminded that surviving siblings often exhibit signs they need help that may go unnoticed by those around them.
So I wanted to post this again-it has been shared thousands of times and seems to be helpful: The Forgotten Ones: Grieving Siblings
Labels and categories can be helpful. When cruising the grocery aisles I’m thankful for the signs that point the way to “vegetables” or “baking needs”.
But labels can be harmful when applied to people.

Thankfully public discussion rarely includes some of the ugly words I heard growing up.
And that’s a good thing.
It means we are free to talk about the things that really matter without having to clear the hurdle of offense.
This trend has yet to take hold in wider circles when speaking about or speaking to bereaved parents and other hurting people.
From the outside looking in, we tend to classify struggling hearts as either “strong” or “weak”. We apply standards based on our own experience and background to determine whether or not a particular soul is “handling it well” or “crumbling under the stress”.
The problem with labels for hurting people is that it puts extra pressure on them and lets those around them off the hook.

You probably mean it as a compliment when you say, “You are so strong”.
But I know it’s not true-I’ve gotten very good at holding it together in public and at saying all the right things when I meet folks on the street.
I can look you in the eye, recite answers to the question of , “How are you doing?” by focusing on the current status of my surviving adult children. What you probably won’t notice among the well-rehearsed lines is I never share my heart-I never tell you how I FEEL.
If I opened that vault there’s no telling what might spill out.
You walk away confirmed in your opinion that I am doing well, that I no longer need any active encouragement or ongoing prayer. I’m off the “ministry list” because I am past the point of crisis and doing just fine.
Or you may see me at a vulnerable moment and think, “She’s weak” or “She’s really struggling”.
I AM weak and I DO struggle.
If you are tired of hearing about the ongoing struggle, how tired do you imagine I am living it?
If you wish I would “get over it”-how much more do you think I wish it never happened?
You may give up because it’s too much trouble to keep reaching out. You may tuck me in the basket of lost causes because you think I’m not committed to keep trying.
It’s easy to draw a line in the sand and decide that you will go thus far and no farther in extending help or encouragement or grace because you CAN walk away.
But I am not a lost cause.
Each day Jesus meets me in my weakness and brokenness and gives me the strength I need to carry on.
And He often does this through people-people who choose to walk alongside and not label me or my journey. People who are committed to continue even when they are tired of helping carry the burden and sick of hearing my story.
Grace–abundant grace-given and received is what makes life livable.
Love, not labels is what I need.
It’s what everyone needs.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.
~children’s rhyme
Shattered beyond repair-that certainly describes my broken heart in the first days, weeks and months after Dominic’s leaving.
I felt like Humpty Dumpty.

The pieces were too small to find, much less glue back together in anything resembling wholeness.
And the essence of the “old me”-the person that existed before loss-was spilled onto the ground, leaking strength and life and joy into the dry earth.
Humpty Dumpty had no hope-the king’s men and horses were powerless to breathe life into the lifeless bits and pieces that were left.
But I don’t have to depend on the king’s men or the king’s horses.
I have access to the King Himself.
I am not separated by a veil from the Mercy Seat.
I can come boldly before the Throne of Grace and pile my broken life on the Altar of Hope.
Now that we know what we have—Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God—let’s not let it slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help.
Hebrews 4:16 MSG
The One Who made me can remake me.
He IS remaking me.
I have no illusions that the cracks won’t show.
But I am trusting that my new fragility will make me both more grace-filled and more grace dependent.
