One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.
“How many children do you have?”
A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store. But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.
Read the rest here: It’s Complicated
Oh, how I need to learn to practice the pause!
I’m getting better, but still react when I should reflect.
I need to do this EVERY time.
Lord, help my stubborn heart slow down and give me grace to yield and allow You to melt it, mold it and make it more like Your own! ~ ❤
One of the things grief is teaching me is that I too often walk through the world like an angry giant, stomping around without any care as to where my large footprints land and what they crush underneath. I am intent on pursuing MY agenda, MY “to do” list, getting to My appointment or paying for MY groceries and heaven help the one who gets in my way.
I don’t want to be like that.
I want to be like Jesus.
I want to be gentle.
A broken reed He will not break [off] And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish [He will not harm those who are weak and suffering]; He will faithfully bring forth justice.
Isaiah 42:3 AMP
Jesus rested securely in the truth that His Father was near, that His Father had things under control and that His Father would redeem and was redeeming every little thing.
He was not anxious about outcomes. He didn’t have to prove anything or fight for status or control. He was completely free.
When I lean into the truth that God is My Abba Father and that He will and is redeeming every little thing in my life as well, I am equally free.
I don’t have to step on someone else to step up. I don’t have to put out someone else’s light so mine shines brighter.
My position is secured by the blood of Jesus. My light is the love of Christ shed abroad in my heart.
It’s ALL a gift.
It’s all GRACE.
It’s my privilege to live gently, be kind and give freely what has been given to me.
I’ve come to believe that my wounds and the grace God has provided in my woundedness are not my personal possession.
God did not cause my pain, but He is redeeming it. He is molding me into a different person than I would have been if Dominic hadn’t run ahead to heaven. And that person has more compassion and grace and mercy and patience than the person I was before.
If I hide my wounds then I am hiding the hope He has hidden in my heart.
I won’t do that.
“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 4:14-16 MSG
Nobody escapes being wounded. We all ar wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not ‘How can we hide our wounds?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.
Jesus is God’s wounded healer: through his wounds we are healed. Jesus’suffering and death brought joy and life. His humiliation brought glory; his rejection brought a community of love. As followers of Jesus we can also allow our wounds to bring healing to others. ~ Henri Nouwen
Thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that he is our Father and the source of all mercy and comfort. For he gives us comfort in our trials so that we in turn may be able to give the same sort of strong sympathy to others in theirs. Indeed, experience shows that the more we share Christ’s suffering the more we are able to give of his encouragement. This means that if we experience trouble we can pass on to you comfort and spiritual help; for if we ourselves have been comforted we know how to encourage you to endure patiently the same sort of troubles that we have ourselves endured. We are quite confident that if you have to suffer troubles as we have done, then, like us, you will find the comfort and encouragement of God.
2 Corinthians 1:3-7 PHILLIPS
Sharing our wounds makes us vulnerable.
When we allow ourselves to become vulnerable, we invite others to do the same.
In this community of mutual vulnerability, healing is possible.
It didn’t take long after Dominic’s leaving for life to ramp up and obligations to pour in. We had two graduations and a wedding within two months of his funeral.
Then there were thank-you notes to write, dishes to return and every day chores necessary to manage a home and family.
No escaping what must be done.
It took me a little while to realize that if I was going to survive this lifelong journey I had to make some changes in how and when I responded to requests to do something, be somewhere or participate in outside events. Because no matter how worthy the request, there was only so much of me to go around and I was forced to spend nearly all my energy and time and effort on figuring out how this great wound was impacting me and my family.
I cannot overemphasize how much strength and energy is needed to do the work grief requires.
At first, turning down a request or asking someone to reschedule was relatively easy-the loss was fresh in their minds and they were gracious and understanding. As the weeks and months and now YEARS have passed, it is harder. Not always because they don’t understand but because I sometimes hold myself to an untenable standard that says I should be better by now. I should be able to do all that I could once do. I shouldn’t be so sensitive to the date on the calendar or the place we might meet for lunch or the rainy weather that brings my mood down.
But I’m not able to ignore all those things and sometimes I just can’t do what someone else would like me to be able to do.
So I keep repeating the mantra, “grace and space” to myself.
I need grace-from my own heart FOR my own heart– I must cut myself the slack I would be happy to extend to others.
I need grace from friends and family. I cannot help you understand exactly what it’s like to be me. You can never know all the ways I ache for the life I had before Dominic ran ahead to heaven. You could never imagine all the daily pinpricks my soul must suffer as I walk in this world and am reminded of what I’ve lost.
So you will have to take it on faith when I say, “I just can’t do that”.
I need space.
I need space between me and the noise of the world and the shouting urgency of “to do” lists and project deadlines. So much of the work I must do is silent, solitary work. It takes hours and hours of thinking, talking to God, reading Scripture, journaling and just being alone to sort this all out.
I’m not rejecting YOU-I’m trying to preserve ME.
It isn’t selfishness, it’s love for my family. I refuse to add to their burden by running myself into the ground. I won’t choose to make life harder for them by creating an unecessary crisis.
I don’t know when I might (or IF I might) return to the busy bee I once was. Right now I can’t even imagine it.
I think I will need grace and space for a very, very long time.
We ALL have bad days, fears, struggles and lonely moments. Sometimes we just need to know someone cares. Sometimes we just need a hug.
For those who are struggling today-here’s a hug.
For those who think they are unworthy of the breath they breathe and the space they occupy-here’s a hug.
For those who are afraid that today won’t be any better than yesterday or the day before-here’s a hug.
For those who have absolutely no idea how they will survive the next five minutes, much less the next five hours-here’s a hug.
You are NOT invisible. You are NOT worthless. You are NOT unloved.
The God of the universe loves you.
He sees you.
He’s waiting for you and longs to shower you with grace and mercy.
It’s oh, so hard to know what to do when you are watching a heart break.
You want to reach out and make it better, make the pain go away, make a difference. But it seems like nothing you can do will matter much in the face of such a huge loss.
While it’s true that you cannot “fix” the brokenness in a bereaved parent’s life, there are some very important and practical ways you can support them in their grief-especially as the weeks turn into months and then to years.
Read the rest here: Five Practical Ways to Support a Grieving Parent
You’d think that being on the other side of untimely or even painful comments would shape my conversation so that I am not the one blurting out hurtful or thoughtless words.
Sadly, that’s not the case.
While I am much more careful about what I say and how and when I say it, I still put my foot in it on a regular basis.
I talk instead of listen-rushing ahead to share MY pain instead of sitting silently while someone else shares theirs.
I make comparisons instead of extending boundless compassion.
I focus too much on the words and not enough on the wordless communication of facial expression and body language.
I try to “fix” the problem or person instead of simply being present.
I overwhelm a hurting heart with too much information. Even good information delivered from a firehose instead of a water fountain is unhelpful.
I interrupt, cut people off, turn away and shorten uncomfortable conversations.
I want to do better.
I want to be the safe space hurting hearts need.
I want to be full of grace and mercy and kindness.
I know I fall short, but I’m still learning.
I will be forever thankful that in the years just before Dominic ran ahead to heaven, I spent each morning lingering long over Scripture. I had just completed filling my fifth journal, copying entire chapters and making notes about what God revealed as I wrote and read.
Because if I had not been so thoroughly steeped in truth before it happened, I’m not sure I would have listened to it afterward.
I understand how hearts are hardened by tragedy.
It’s a wonder that any heart remains soft at all.
Only God’s amazing grace has kept me from turning away.
Only His steadfast love has kept me from leaving it all behind.
When I was in school it was popular to ask a teacher after a test: “Will you grade on a curve?” The hope was always that since it was unlikely anyone would get a perfect score, the brackets would be moved downward.
Very few of us like absolutes. We prefer to be judged one against another instead of against an unbendable standard.
It’s no different with morality.
If you asked me to judge myself on a scale from Hitler to Mother Teresa, I would definitely put myself closer to her rather to him.
As long I measure myself against other humans, I am comfortable saying I fall in the top 50 percent.
Trouble is, that’s not the standard.
The standard against which my actions and heart attitudes are measured is unchangeable and inflexible.
It is perfection itself-the holiness of a holy God.
And when I place myself next to that measuring rod, I am woefully short.
Jesus shocked His followers by telling them that unless their righteousness exceeded that of the Pharisees (considered the most upstanding and holy in that day) they would never enter the kingdom of God. He expounded on every aspect of the Ten Commandments by addressing not only outward conformity (which, in truth, was impossible) but also motive and intention.
By that standard, even my “good deeds” are inadequate because they are often done with a wrong heart attitude.
I give because I want someone to think I’m generous.
I volunteer because I am a people pleaser.
I work hard because I want a raise.
Paul wrote in Romans “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;” (Romans 3:23)
I can never “measure up” to the perfect standard of a perfect God. And while my flesh may be happy with “good enough” the holiness of God demands absolute perfection.
Truth is, I am a sinner-I miss the mark, I step outside the boundaries, I do what I shouldn’t do and don’t do what I should do.
Just like our first parents, I listen to my flesh and the evil one and question God’s goodness and His wisdom. I want to plot my own course, captain my own ship.
And also like our first parents, I find that I cannot do it.
I fall woefully short.
I am naked and ashamed, exposed in my sin and without hope for redemption by my own efforts .
In any other story, this would be the end-no hope, no second chances.
But God….
Two of the most beautiful words in the world!
God has not left me without hope.
He has not left me in my sin.
He has not abandoned me in my desperate state of alienation from my Creator.
He Himself has provided the Sacrifice,
the Perfect Lamb,
the propitiation for my sin.
thelifeididntchoose 