Day Seventeen of Kathleen Duncan’s June 1-30 challenge.
The prompt: Write a Haiku (Seventeen Syllables)
It was an interesting challenge to distill a message to just 17 syllables.
I have long believed that each life is also a song.
This is mine:
I am a song bird.
I sing love, grace, mercy, peace-
I learned the hard way.
From the world’s perspective there are only two potential responses to trials-better or bitter.
I can either use the struggle to strengthen my resolve to take charge of my life or I can give up and give in, wallowing in self pity.
If I embrace popular culture as my guide, the best outcome I can hope for is that I grow as a result of sorrow, pain, conflict, tragedy and hardship.
But Scripture tells me that there is a third option: I can choose brokenness.
I can choose to submit my heart and my life to God and His purpose.
I can lie prostrate, unprotected, impotent and trust that the One Who made me will ultimately remake these shattered pieces of what’s left of my life into a masterpiece, declaring His faithfulness and goodness.
“But enduring deep pain and unchangeable circumstances requires continued commitment to face the fork in the road over and over, and to choose well each time.”
It is A Daily Struggle
April 17, 2014
Father, I have received through Your hand a most grievous wound-part of my heart has been ripped from my chest and I will limp through life forever changed, forever broken.
My beautiful, fearless, strong son has been struck down in his youth. I am dismayed that my body will continue to live when my spirit is crushed.
How can death and life inhabit the same frame?
How can I attend to the externals of commonplace things when all I want to do is hurry through to the eternal home You have prepared for me?
Oh Jesus! Hold my baby! I know that You were with him and I know that you love him. I know (I have to know-or I couldn’t breathe) that you love me!
What a steep price to pay for a tender heart-fill me up with grace, mercy and love. Make our circle stronger and more resiliant.
Help me to love, to be love, to show love, to give love, to eat,sleep, drink love.
“Here I am, LORD, and the children You have given me-make us as signs and symbols to Your people, for the glory of Your Name.” ~Isaiah 8:18
If I believe that only Your Word and the people You have made are eternal, then I must order the rest of the life You give me to align with that truth.
Take this mother’s heart and make this pain count for something.
“A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come, but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of the joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” ~John 16:21-22
Lord, I choose to believe that this pain will produce the life You have ordained and that joy will be the ultimate outcome.
April 30, 2016
I continue to carry both death and life in my body and my heart.
Death reminds me of the cost of sin, of the price of redemption and of how fragile and temporary our earthly existence. It makes me uncomfortable here-is a constant thorn in my flesh.
I cannot lay it aside or ignore it.
The undeniable presence of death contrasts sharply with the equally undeniable life of Christ sustaining me.
I have been asked how I can believe in what I cannot see or touch. How I can trust a God Who allowed such pain in my life.
It is true that I can’t see God, I can’t prove His existence.
But the fact that I’m still holding onto hope gives testimony to the life of Christ in me.
This is in keeping with my own eager desire and persistent expectation and hope, that I shall not disgrace myself nor be put to shame in anything; but that with the utmost freedom of speech and unfailing courage, now as always heretofore, Christ (the Messiah) will be magnified and get glory and praise in this body of mine and be boldly exalted in my person, whether through (by) life or through (by) death.
For me to live is Christ [His life in me], and to die is gain [the gain of the glory of eternity].
Philippians 1:20-21 AMP
It’s not a cozy, warm-yourself-up fire in my safe fireplace.
It’s a raging, too-hot-to-survive inferno, blazing away and uncontrollable.
Losing my son is refining me, burning off the excess, drawing out the inner woman.
April 14, 2014
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. IN ALL THIS YOU GREATLY REJOICE, THOUGH NOW FOR A LITTLE WHILE YOU MAY HAVE HAD TO SUFFER GRIEF IN ALL KINDS OF TRIALS, –These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”
1 Peter 1:3-9 NIV
My heart is broken open wide, Father.
Fill it with love, compassion, grace, peace, hope and mercy-but never seal it shut-let what You fill it with spill out
“These three remain-faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.”
April 29, 2016
I’m still in the fire.
I don’t know if I am used to the heat or if it has burned down to a cooler flame but it is more bearable to be here.
God has answered my whispered prayer:
He has filled and is filling my heart.
He has not allowed grief to make it hard.
“But we all suffer. For we all prize and love; and in this present existence of ours, prizing and loving yield suffering. Love in our world is suffering love. Some do not suffer much, though, for they do not love much. Suffering is for the loving. This, said Jesus, is the command of the Holy One: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” In commanding us to love, God invites us to suffer.”
― Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son
April 13, 2014: The Morning After
Everyone is home-everyone except Dominic. Quiet now that there’s just us. How did I even manage to close my eyes last night? How are we going to face another day? How are we going to face all the days to come?
This is the song that came first to mind even as I sat crying in disbelief:
“Alleluia! Alleluia! For the Lord God Almighty reigns!”
You can watch it here: Agnus Dei by Michael W. Smith
And they sang a new song, saying:
“You are worthy to take the scroll
and to open its seals,
because you were slain,
and with your blood you purchased for God
persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.
You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God,
and they will reign on the earth.”
Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they were saying:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
and honor and glory and praise!”
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”
The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Revelation 5:9-14 NIV
Either it is true and everything will be well-or it is not true and nothing will be well.
IT IS TRUE.
HE IS TRUE.
God is on His throne.
“Melanie”-clad in black. Covered in sorrow but trusting in God.
“He who sows in tears shall reap in joy.” Psalm 126:5
April 29, 2016
Today I still cling to those verses, still hold those promises close to my heart.
Some mornings I wake and cannot wrap my mind around the fact that my son is gone.
Sunrise finds me crying out to God, begging Him to make it untrue, to turn back the clock and miraculously restore my life before loss.
It is still hard and I still struggle.
But I believe,
I believe,
I believe.
I’ve kept a spiritual journal for decades. Every now and then I like to gather the pages, look back and reflect.
My journaling intensified after Dominic’s accident.
Writing out my thoughts, questions, pain and sorrow was one way to process the grief. I copied quotes and scripture. I prayed prayers and screamed, “WHY???”. I tried to document the moments when I felt God close and when I felt He was far away.
As I filled each notebook, I added the dates it covered and tucked it away. I wasn’t sure when I would be able to look at those painful pages again.
A couple months ago I brought the pile of journals and set them by my chair. A couple weeks after that, I started reading them.
Some of the entries are still too painful to read.
Some of the events too personal to share.
But over the next few days I’m going to offer a peek into the first hard days after loss.
The days when breathing is a chore, when it still seems like a bad dream, when part of my heart was certain Dominic would walk through the door once again even after I had seen his body lowered into the ground.
My prayer in sharing is this: that those who read know that God did not abandon me in despair; that it is possible to survive the seemingly unbearable loss of a child; that God does not despise our honest lament; and that when the enemy comes in like a flood, the Lord shall lift up a standard against him (Isaiah 59:19).
April 12, 2014 (The day of the accident)
The LORD gives and the LORD takes away: Blessed be the Name of the LORD. May my soul find rest in Thee alone. May my eyes look only to Thy Face. May my heart’s peace be the Prince of Peace. “Dominic”-belonging to God-You gave him to me and he is Yours once again. Marana Tha-Come quickly, Lord Jesus!
Growing up digesting Disney fairy tales can warp your sense of reality.
There are no unblemished princes or perfect princesses out there. The bad guys don’t always get what they deserve and the good guys don’t always win.
At least not here on earth.
I want the scales to balance, I want the last chapter to wrap up all the loose ends and expose all the secrets. I want to know what happened and why-oh, to know WHY!
But that’s not how it is. I live a messy life with untidy edges.
So do most people.
The Bible doesn’t gloss over the hard places of life. God’s Word doesn’t hide the faults of God’s heroes. His Spirit directed the men who penned the holy pages to tell it all-the good, the bad AND the ugly.
I think sometimes in our desire to demonstrate the power of Christ in our lives we want to tie things up into a perfect package.
I know I do-I want desperately to be able to say that I can see the good in Dominic’s death. I long to be able to point to a finished monument of redeemed pain and restored joy.
But I’m compelled to tell it like it is.
And it is just plain HARD.
But God uses the broken things of this life to display His glory.
Because then there is NO DOUBT as to the Source of strength. He leaves no room for boasting.
He declares His power and faithful love by taking those of us who are weak and stumbling and leading us home, redeemed and victorious.
For look at your own calling as Christians, my brothers. You don’t see among you many of the wise (according to this world’s judgment) nor many of the ruling class, nor many from the noblest families. But God has chosen what the world calls foolish to shame the wise; he has chosen what the world calls weak to shame the strong. He has chosen things of little strength and small repute, yes and even things which have no real existence to explode the pretensions of the things that are—that no man may boast in the presence of God. Yet from this same God you have received your standing in Jesus Christ, and he has become for us the true wisdom, a matter, in practice, of being made righteous and holy, in fact, of being redeemed. And this makes us see the truth of scripture: ‘He who glories, let him glory in the Lord.
I Corinthians 1:26-31 PHILLIPS
I despise the platitude plastered across social media memes: “Hard times either make you bitter or better”.
It makes it sound so simple.
As if all I have to do is make a single choice between two equally available paths.
Enduring deep pain and unchangeable circumstances requires continued commitment to face the fork in the road over and over, and to choose well each time.
Every day I am forced to confront my heart’s tendency to turn inward and embrace loneliness and isolation in an attempt to protect myself from further and perhaps greater pain.
Each moment I have to choose whether I will lean into despair or hold onto hope.
And I just don’t agree that there are only two possible outcomes of a life that endures hardship or grief.
Bitterness is certainly an option.
If I allow myself to rehearse the reasons why my son should not have died, why my family doesn’t deserve this grief, why my life is so much harder than it should be–then the case for bitterness grows strong and becomes attractive. I can pack my briefcase full of evidence and pull it out at every opportunity when confronted with yet another “happy moment” splashed on Facebook.
Bitterness is always a temptation, and I must refuse it everyday.
But “better” implies that I lacked something that I have now gained.
Better diminishes my grief and gives the impression that I’d do it all over again because my painful experience has wrought amazing results.
Losing my son, regardless of what I have learned, is not the same as sticking to a diet or working up to a marathon run or getting a master’s degree.
The subtle danger in declaring myself “better” is that I can decide I’m a measuring rod for others to judge their grief journey. Or I can become like the reformed smoker who forgets how many tries it took to quit or how hard it was to finally stop smoking and instead mocks those who are still struggling.
I am not “better”.
I am broken.
I am bankrupt of any illusion that I am the captain of my ship. I understand by very, very painful experience that there are no earthly guarantees life will turn out according to plan. I embrace with both hands the notion that the most precious gift is people we love and no matter how long we have with them, it will never be enough.
I can’t claim a final victory of faith over doubt, of good out of bad, of lessons learned from effort expended.
Instead I extend my empty hands and hurting heart to be filled with grace and mercy.
I choose love and refuse hate.
I continue to engage this broken world from my broken perspective and offer compassion and understanding to those who are broken too.
Blessed [be] the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassions, and God of all encouragement; who encourages us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to encourage those who are in any tribulation whatever, through the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged of God.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4 DARBY
If you’ve ever had major surgery you know that the outside looks whole way before the inside is healed.
That’s how it is with grief–those of us who have lost a child appear to be strong–we have to be, because life doesn’t stop.
Not even for burying a child.
No matter how tightly I strap on my armor, grief sends arrows through the tiniest unprotected chink and pierces my heart.
There is no defense against the sound, the smell, the wayward memory that sends me back in time to when Dominic was alive and with me. And once there, to drag myself forward to today—where he is neither—is torture.
Sometimes the process can be a matter of seconds, the only evidence a blank stare or a single tear. Other times the memories and the forceful return to the here and now unleashes a flood from my eyes and ends my usefulness for that day.
Either way, it’s exhausting.
I think that might be one of the most surprising aspects of grief for me. When it strikes hard (as it still does sometimes) it robs me of energy and the desire to do anything.
I am a “get-it-done” kind of person. But there’s no way to get grief “done”. It works itself out in its own time and in its own way.
I can position my mind and my heart to heal by focusing on the promises of God in Scripture. But I cannot hurry along the healing.
And healing, when it comes, will always be incomplete this side of heaven.
Please don’t mistake the fact that I can stand straight and look strong as proof that I am recovered.
I am often frightened and sometimes I want to hide.
But vulnerable and wounded, I remain until God calls me home.
“In His feathers He shall deliver you and under His wings you shall have refuge; His truth shall surround you as a supply of armor.”
Psalm 91:4
It’s been said that everything this side of hell is the grace of God.
But burying my child doesn’t feel like grace, it feels like punishment.
Or abandonment.
Or forgetfulness.
I cannot add my voice to the modern Christian chorus of “Everything happens for a reason”.
Is this my tree, set in the midst of my garden? The one about which God says, “Trust Me”?
I am tempted to argue, tempted to try to frame the meaning of my test in terms my human heart can understand.
“God must not love me.”
“He must be hiding something.”
I am faced with the same question that mocked my first mother, “Did God really say?”
And, like Eve, I am tempted to give in to the fear that draws my soul to doubt the wisdom and goodness of God.
Why would He bring me to this place where I am forced to walk obediently in trust and without light?
But these are whispers of the enemy of my soul, luring me away from the only Source of hope and comfort that there is.
And he is skilled at turning my feelings against the truth.
I am powerless to fight the serpent in my own strength, too weak to answer what seem like reasonable questions.
So I throw myself on the mercy of Him Who made me, of Him Who brought me to this point of testing.
In my weakness I rest in His strength.
and finally He said to me, “My grace is enough to cover and sustain you. My power is made perfect in weakness.” So ask me about my thorn, inquire about my weaknesses, and I will gladly go on and on—I would rather stake my claim in these and have the power of the Anointed One at home within me.
2 Corinthians 12:9 VOICE
thelifeididntchoose 