I think it was somewhere around two months from Dominic’s departure when my heart realized life was moving forward whether I granted permission or not.
Not only folks on the fringes and the “bigger world out there” but close by-in my own family, my own circle of intimate friends-people were making plans, having birthdays, going places and doing things.
I wanted to scream.
Read the rest here: Child Loss: Finding Courage to Face the Future
After the flurry of activity surrounding the funeral, our house was so, so quiet.
Even with the five of us still here, it felt empty.
Because Dominic was gone, gone, gone and he was not coming back.
And the silence pounded into my head and heart until it became a scream:
How do I DO this?
Read the rest here: How Do I DO This? The Question Every Bereaved Parent Longs to Ask
I walk the half-mile stretch down and back on my driveway at least four or five times a day.
In the winter I follow the sun.
In the summer I follow the shade.
The path I choose to take either adds to or subtracts from my ability to make the trek in relative comfort.
Read the rest here: Sun & Shade: Picking My Path
I am not sticking my head in the sand.
My family has regular discussions about current events and while I don’t watch televised news, I read widely each day about what’s going on in the world.
Even still, a steady diet of nothing but dire reports is anything but good for a heart.
So each day I try to focus on some happy moments as well.
Let me share a few with you.
This past week I’ve gotten a good bit of outdoor work done, sweated tons and walked farther and longer than usual.
Our weather turned from rainy and excessively humid to sunny and actually pretty dry (for Alabama!).
My chickens are laying well and our little local produce man had watermelons and peaches.
This afternoon I’ll hop in my not-very-big above ground pool and cool off between chores while Frodo the goat watches me.
Black-eyed Susans are blooming by my mailbox.
I had lunch with a friend.
And I had a video chat with four other amazing bereaved mamas.
Finding at least one thing each day for which to be thankful helps my heart hold onto hope.
I make a conscious effort to breathe in beauty and enjoy those moments.
When I was fresh on this journey it was hard to receive anything as “good”. Everything was filtered through the lens of loss. So I understand if you think this is a futile exercise.
But eventually I was able to see more than my son’s absence and feel more than pain and sorrow.
Life is still life and there are still beautiful moments. Sunlight through the trees, a baby’s laugh, friends and family around the table, flowers, furry friends, a favorite meal, or the perfect cup of coffee are all things I enjoy. They don’t take away the sorrow of missing my son but they are worth celebrating.
I’m learning to hang onto them with both hands and to cherish them as a gift.
Think about it.
What made you smile this week?
Wanna share?
I first shared this post several years ago when I realized that the best thing anyone could say to me was: “I’m sorry for your pain. I’m listening. I’m not going anywhere.”
At the time it was mainly about my experience with child loss.
Now I know it’s really the best thing for any heart whenever its hurting or afraid or feeling alone.
❤
Watching someone you love in pain is very, very hard.
And it’s natural that people want to say something or do something to try to ease the burden.
They might offer a story illustrating that it “could be worse” or rush past an expression of sorrow by changing the subject or even compliment me on “how well I am doing”.
But none of those things makes me feel better.
Read the rest here: Sweet Words
It’s been years (decades?) since I watched much, if any, commercial television.
I do get those annoying pop-up ads from time to time when I visit websites and, of course, Facebook loves to “suggest” products I “need” in my timeline.
But I’m really not exposed to a lot of advertising or images that scream, “You are not enough!”.
Even so, that’s often the way I feel.
Somehow I’ve swallowed the lie that the only way I can be worthy of love and even breath is to be “all that I can be”-whatever THAT means. I need to have the right exercise regimen, the cleanest home, the healthiest food, a morning quiet time with my Bible and praise music, the perfect filing system for all the random papers I have stuffed in boxes, a tidy closet, and a day filled with meaningful activity that produces either income or social change.
All this time stuck at home has served to point out the many ways I fall short of those standards.
We’ve lived in this house for twenty-two years which is the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere. It’s filled to the brim with memories and stuff and dusty corners where the furniture hasn’t been moved since we got here.
The kids were six through twelve the day we bought the place.
There’s been a lot of activity and growing within these walls and frankly, you can tell.
I need to paint but the idea of wiping off the last little marks of Dominic and his siblings made when they were all here and happy is overwhelming. I need to rearrange the things in what was once his room and make it more useful for when the kids come home to visit but that means I have to go through some drawers and stuff that haven’t been touched since he touched them and I’m not ready.
That’s just two of probably one hundred (literally!) things I could or should do.
What I’ve been doing instead is living through what I call my Season of Sorrow which runs from March through the end of May every year-all the “lasts” (last time I saw him, last time I hugged him) and all the “firsts” (the day he left for Heaven, his funeral) and ends with his birthday on May twenty-eighth.
I’ve learned that I’m no good at starting projects this time of year.
I’m doomed to leave them unfinished which becomes its own kind of condemnation.
But I still feel like I SHOULD be doing them.
I need to be gentle on myself.
That list of things to do is always going to be long. If I worked every day, all day for the rest of my life there would be things left unfinished.
I need to remember that how I loved and who I loved is the measure that really counts.
❤
I originally shared this post a couple of years ago when I was delightfully surprised by a row of beautiful sunflowers one morning just when I needed them most.
It was the beginning of a long, hot and very stressful summer.
Many of us are feeling the same way about this one.
When I ran across this reflection, I decided to share it again. I hope it makes your heart smile.
❤ Melanie
I love, love, love sunflowers!
Always have.
I love their bright aspect that brings a smile to my face no matter what mood I’m in or what trial I’m facing. Their happy, heavy heads declare that today is a day to shine!
Read the rest here: Sunflowers Sing Praise
I remember struggling mightily to get four young children to church Sunday mornings.
At the time we attended a larger church that had a couple of parking lots-one near and one not-so-near the entrance.
Of course, I was never early enough to park very close to the doors so had to shepherd all four (while carrying the youngest in his car seat) across a small lane, up a hill and finally to the foyer.
What a blessed relief when some kind person opened that door for me as we approached!
It wasn’t much in the whole scheme of things.
It didn’t relieve my aching arms of the load I carried.
But it said, “I see you. I want to do the little bit I can to encourage you.”
I have never forgotten those days.
Opening the door taught me that sometimes the smallest act of kindness is the difference between a heart giving up or hanging on.
I’ve had a lot of people “hold the door” for me on this journey of child loss.
Most of them have not walked in my shoes but they could see my soul was worn and I needed encouragement.
For that I will be eternally grateful.
❤
It’s hard to wait.
It’s harder to rest patiently for something you desperately want .
That’s why children shake the presents under the Christmas tree and grown-ups dip into their savings.
It’s also why we so often doubt that God has things under control.
When circumstances require sacrifice I want the Lord to step in and fix them. I want my omnipotent God to use a little of that power to make my life more bearable. And when He doesn’t, I’m more likely to call His character into question than to doubt my own motives.
Psalm 27 helps turn my heart back to truth:
13 [What, what would have become of me] had I not believed that I would see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living!
14 Wait and hope for and expect the Lord; be brave and of good courage and let your heart be stout and enduring. Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord.
Psalm 27:13-14 AMPC
Other versions render the first part of verse 13 like this: “I would have fainted” or “I would have lost heart” or “I would have despaired”.
Hope is a powerful thing.
Often it’s the thread a heart holds onto when everything else falls away.
And while I am absolutely looking forward to God’s ultimate victorious remaking of this world into the perfect and beautiful place He always intended it to be, I am also confident He will continue to work in me and through me to redeem parts of it even here, even now.
Lots of hearts are impatient with our current situation.
Life has been upended. Retirement accounts depleted. Jobs disappeared. School closings and no big graduations. Plans made for months wiped out by government decree. We are stuck at home eating from pantries and refrigerators full of things that may be nutritious but which don’t quite fulfill our appetites.
It’s frustrating.
I know it’s scary right now. I realize that it might look to some as if God has taken a step back or is not paying attention at all. But that’s simply not true. He is still in control. His plans cannot be thwarted. This is NOT the end.
When we stop expecting God to move, we stop listening to His voice, paying attention to His direction and following His Word.
What I’ve got to do is wait.
Not wait in defeat but wait in expectation!
Because I know my God IS moving I can look toward the future with confident assurance that He is going to work all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purposes (Romans 8:28)
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Endurance IS the victory!
Sometimes it’s only a matter of standing my ground, declaring the truth and refusing to give way to the enemy of my soul. I am undefeated as long as I hold fast to the hope I have in Christ Jesus.
Fear can only make a home in my heart if I allow it. Faith is the bulwark against that invasion.
Restlessness and impatience change nothing except our peace and joy. Peace does not dwell in outward things, but in the heart prepared to wait trustfully and quietly on him who has all things safely in his hands.
Elisabeth Elliot
QUESTIONS:
PRAYER:
Father God,
These are frightening times.
They are unprecedented times for a world used to flying here and there, running out to the store or a restaurant whenever we want to, having freedom to come and go as we please. Now we are being asked to stay in with the families we created but don’t always get along with. We are told that the things we touch-door handles, cans of food on store shelves, random things everywhere -may be sources of danger.
An invisible enemy is stalking us and we feel defenseless. And yet we are not defenseless because You are still on the Throne.
You are still in control.
Nothing is going to happen to me today that You can’t handle. Help me hold onto the promise that in sickness and in health, You are with me. In times of plenty and times of scarcity, You are with me. You have not abandoned me.
Make my heart stout and steadfast. Don’t let me faint. Help me wait patiently and expectantly for You in the midst of this mess.
Be my strength, be my bravery.
Amen
When suffering is time-limited it is often more easily endured.
If I know six weeks of intensive though painful physical therapy will help me regain strength and use of a limb or joint, I can power through.
If restricting calories for a month helps me fit into that dress for a special event, I’m more likely to sacrifice for a short time so the pictures look good.
But if you tell me I’ll hobble around for the rest of my life because there’s nothing to be done about my bad back or crooked joints or you want me to change how I eat for good-well, that’s gonna take more strength than I have on my own.
When I realized-probably sometime near the end of the first year-that the sorrow and missing and pain of burying my son was going to be a burden I carried to my own grave, it was absolutely, utterly soul-crushing.
That’s why Habakkuk’s words resonate with my heart:
6 I heard and my [whole inner self] trembled; my lips quivered at the sound. Rottenness enters into my bones and under me [down to my feet]; I tremble. I will wait quietly for the day of trouble and distress when there shall come up against [my] people him who is about to invade and oppress them.
17 Though the fig tree does not blossom and there is no fruit on the vines, [though] the product of the olive fails and the fields yield no food, though the flock is cut off from the fold and there are no cattle in the stalls,
18 Yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the [victorious] God of my salvation!
19 The Lord God is my Strength, my personal bravery, and my invincible army; He makes my feet like hinds’ feet and will make me to walk [not to stand still in terror, but to walk] and make [spiritual] progress upon my high places [of trouble, suffering, or responsibility]!
Habakkuk 3:16-19 AMP
Habakkuk was a prophet in Israel just before the Babylonians came and wiped out the nation. He knew what was coming and asked God to spare them.
God said no.
No miraculous rescue coming, no divine intervention to prevent destruction, no manna raining down from heaven to stave off starvation.
Israel is going to suffer.
And Habakkuk, though righteous, will suffer too.
Habakkuk is not immediately infused with courage and fearlessness: “I heard [what the Lord had to say] and I trembled…” Habakkuk isn’t only afraid, he’s terrified (“rottenness enters my bones”) !!
He’s out of things to do, convinced he must simply wait for whatever is headed his way.
So he sits down and waits.
And in the quiet stillness of waiting, his heart turns to truth.
Even though he will suffer, even though everything he depends on for physical safety may be stripped away, even though destruction and devastation is coming, he begins to meditate on the faithful enduring character of the LORD.
And he rejoices!
Nothing has changed except his focus.
Instead of concentrating on circumstances he is contemplating his Creator.
I admit I focus all too often on circumstances but sometimes it’s practically impossible not to.
Remember the disciples in the boat with Jesus? A storm blew up and was tossing them back and forth all while Jesus slept soundly.
Fear really wasn’t a disproportionate response to a very real and present danger.
When the wind and the waves are high around me, and I realize how powerless I am to do anything about them, fear easily overtakes my heart.
But the disciples were not alone. The One who could calm the storm was in their midst.
The One who can calm MY storm is here with ME.
Jesus rebuked the wind and the waves and the disciples finished their journey in safety.
God did not save Israel (or Habakkuk) from the Babylonians.
The Lord did not miraculously preserve Dominic’s life and He may not miraculously (or otherwise) save me or my family from the fallout of Covid19.
But whether He intervenes or does not, I know He sees me.
I know He loves me.
I know He longs to comfort me and strengthen me.
He IS my “personal bravery and invincible army”.
QUESTIONS:
PRAYER:
Lord,
If I’m honest (and there’s no reason not to be since You already know my heart!), I want to be rescued. I do not want to live through whatever this stupid virus is going to do to my community, my country, the world. I don’t like the thought of weeks of uncertainty, forced isolation, reduced or nonexistent paychecks, figuring out how to keep kids that should be in school occupied and learning.
I hate this!
When I read the headlines or listen to the news, it feeds my fears.
Help me to be like Habakkuk and appropriate the strength You provide so that I will not only endure, but will thrive! Speak courage to my heart when I would falter. Make me stalwart in the face of fear. Teach me to trust You when I would doubt Your lovingkindness.
Be my personal bravery.
Amen
He [Christ] said not, ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be trevailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased,’ but He said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.’
Julian of Norwich
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