“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.
Read the rest here: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance
It is tempting to forget that there were three long days and nights between the crucifixion and the resurrection beause the way we observe this season rushes us past the pain to embrace the promise.
But it’s not hard for me to imagine how the disciples felt when they saw Jesus was dead. It was neither what they expected nor what they prayed for.
Read the rest here: Living Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection
“On the one hand Death is the triumph of Satan, the punishment of the Fall, and the last enemy. Christ shed tears at the grave of Lazarus and sweated blood in Gethsemane: the Life of Lives that was in Him detested this penal obscenity not less than we do, but more.
On the other hand, only he who loses his life will save it. We are baptized into the death of Christ, and it is the remedy for the Fall. Death is, in fact, what some modern people call “ambivalent.” It is Satan’s great weapon and also God’s great weapon: it is holy and unholy; our supreme disgrace and our only hope; the thing Christ came to conquer and the means by which He conquered.” C.S. Lewis, Miracles
Bury a child and suddenly the death of Christ becomes oh, so personal. The image of Mary at the foot of the cross is too hard to bear.
Read the rest here: Remember: Why Good Friday Matters as Much as Resurrection Sunday
Today is the day on the church calendar when we pause and reflect on the Last Supper, and the last words of Jesus to His disciples.
A year’s worth of sermons is contained in John 13-17 but this week I have been drawn to just one verse:
[Jesus said] “Now I am giving you a new command—love one another. Just as I have loved you, so you must love one another. This is how all men will know that you are my disciples, because you have such love for one another.” John 13:34 PHILLIPS
These days are especially difficult for me because Palm Sunday and Easter are markers on the road to remembering the worst days of my life. Dominic left us the Saturday before Palm Sunday and was buried the Monday after Resurrection Sunday.
I hate death.
We shouldn’t rush past it’s awfulness. If we do, we miss the glory of the finished work of Christ.
As we enter the week on the Christian calendar when most churches celebrate the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ, I am reminded that often we race past the road that lead to Calvary and linger at the empty tomb.
But to understand the beauty of forgiveness and the blessing of redemption, we MUST acknowledge the sorrow of sin and the burden of brokenness.
Read the rest here: Making Space for Brokenness at the Table of the LORD
God is not offended by my human frailty. He isn’t looking down from Heaven, shaking His head at my halting steps forward on this long, hard road.
He understands my fear, my sadness, my longing for wholeness.
But sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that.
I’m surrounded by messages that scream,
“You can do better!”
“Be all that you can be!”
“Try harder, practice more, do this, do that and you can attain your dreams!”
Even in Christian circles we tend to rank one another based on hours spent in Bible study, Sunday School lessons taught, singing in the choir, serving on committees, showing up at services.
That was the way of the Pharisees-impossible burdens piled high that crushed precious hearts so that they couldn’t imagine a Father in Heaven Who loved them.
That made Jesus angry.
They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden.
Matthew 23:4 NLT
He didn’t come to mock my limitations or make light of my struggles.
He came to Shepherd my heart past those very things to see His heart for who He created me to be.
He reaches out and reaches in. He sings love and courage and hope when I’m desperate to hear it.
For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty Savior. He will give you victory. He will rejoice over you with great gladness; he will love you and not accuse you.” Is that a joyous choir I hear? No, it is the Lord himself exulting over you in happy song. “I have gathered your wounded and taken away your reproach.
Zephaniah 3:17 TLB
Reality is this: I AM broken. I AM frail. I AM burdened by this life on earth. It is absolutely too heavy for me to carry. I will be crushed to dust beneath its weight.
But He offers to take that burden for which I was never made and replace it with the one perfectly fitted for my shoulders.
His yoke is easy.
His yoke is light.
And He is the One Who pulls alongside me to bear it.
Healing and curing are not the same thing.
Healing is a process that takes as long as it takes and may never be complete this side of eternity. It’s a folding in of the hard parts of my story, an acknowledgement of the way I am changed because of the wounds I’ve received. It involves scar tissue and sore spots and ongoing pain.
To be cured is to be free of the effects of disease or injury.
And there is no cure for child loss.
I will never be free of the effects of burying a child this side of Heaven.
I did not understand the difference until it was my heart bearing an incurable wound.
The thing about healing, as opposed to curing, is that it is relational. It takes time. It is inefficient, like a meandering river. Rarely does healing follow a straight or well-lit path. Rarely does it conform to our expectations or resolve in a timely manner. Walking with someone through grief or through the process of reconciliation requires patience, presence, and a willingness to wander, to take the scenic route.
~Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday
It really IS all about relationship.
Relationship first with the Living God through His Son, Jesus.
The ongoing life-giving ministry of His Spirit calls courage to me as I travel this Valley and sings hope to my heart when I cannot hear anything else.
He will not leave me in my distress.
He does not abandon me in my darkest hour.
But it is also about relationship with others.
Relationship with those willing to meander with me along this unlit and winding path. They are the ones who give me courage to carry on. They are the ones who lift me up when I am unable to lift myself and who lie down with me when even their best pep talk is not enough to get me off the floor.
They have listened to me tell and retell my story.
The first time I told it, I didn’t have a clue what to say or how to say it-what to leave in, what to leave out. How do you condense a life-sized earthquake to a novel, much less a few sentences?
But I find as I practice telling my story, it is healing.
Sometimes it’s as if I speak without my mind being engaged and listening, I have an “aha” moment-suddenly recognizing a new insight and another place that needs work or has received healing.
I’ve learned that there is no substitute for companionship on this journey.
My healing depends on the faithful Presence of my Shepherd
AND
the faithful presence of friends who refuse to leave even when it seems we are lost in the wilderness of grief together,
It’s really hard to wrap my mind around what exactly Dominic is doing now that he’s not here with me. Sometimes I try to create a narrative or a scene or a story line that gives me something to hold on to.
It’s not easy though.
So I absolutely understand why some parents think of their missing child as their “guardian angel”. But that just doesn’t correspond to what Scripture tells me about what happens after death.
I firmly believe that there is a heaven and that my son is there, in the presence of Jesus and the saints that have gone before.
We are confident, then, and would much prefer to leave our home in the body and come to our home with the Lord.
I Corinthians 5:8 CJB
He’s not an angel nor has he been assigned to look out for me down here with some kind of supernatural power to intervene and make things happen-either good or bad.
He is worshiping with other believers at the feet of Jesus, the Lamb slain before the foundation of the world.
And honestly, that brings me more comfort than the thought that he is watching me suffer his absence down here.
Dominic loved me-still loves me, I believe-and if he were aware of the deep pain his absence causes it would be torture for him.
But in the presence of Christ there is only joy.
You teach me the way of life. In your presence is total celebration. Beautiful things are always in your right hand.
Psalm 16:11 CEB
So he cannot know my pain.
It would break his heart.
It is great consolation in this journey to realize that he is beyond ALL pain and sorrow.
I am deeply thankful for that.
I’m a stickler for accurate theology.
While that might make for interesting and lively debate with fellow believers, force of habit limits my imagination when it comes to what I believe with certainty about Heaven.
So on the other side of sending my child ahead of me to live with Jesus, I find I wish I were more free to make up scenes of what he might be doing there. But I cannot, no matter how hard I try, create a movie-style narrative that includes him and the saints that have gone before.
And that leaves a gaping hole in addition to the unfillable abyss in my heart of where Dominic used to be.
I also do not believe my son sends me signs from heaven. I wrote about that here a few months ago. Although I do believe that God Himself can and does use the natural world to encourage my heart and give me hope.
And approaching the third anniversary of Dominic’s leaving, I need a little encouragement to hope.
So a few weeks ago I did something for myself that I probably should have done long before. I bought six beautiful sets of windchimes-different lengths, different tones-and hung them all around my house under the porch eaves where even the slightest breeze sets them swaying.
They help me remember what Jesus told Nicodemus, “The wind blows all around us as if it has a will of its own; we feel and hear it, but we do not understand where it has come from or where it will end up. Life in the Spirit is as if it were the wind of God.” ( John 3:8 VOICE)
They help me remember that God drew Dominic to Himself by His Spirit when he was a little boy in ways I can’t see or fully understand.
They help me remember that God was present and working on the day He called him Home.
They help me remember that God is working right now to hold my heart steady and help me rest firmly on His promise that we will be together one day for eternity.
God has not abandoned me.
Every tinkling sings hope to my heart.
It’s easy to justify bad behavior when I am hurting.
As the saying goes, “Hurt people, hurt people”.
But if I know Jesus, I don’t get a pass. I don’t get to act ugly or pretend I don’t know better or have His Spirit to help me BE better.
Sometimes I AM ugly. Sometimes I do act badly. I am ashamed that even though I am fully aware of my own desperate need for grace and mercy I sometimes withhold it from others.
I’m also ashamed that I can be judgmental and hateful and short-tempered and short-sighted. I can exclude others and run out of patience and choose to turn away when I should be tuning in.
And I’m really, really sorry.
I’m trying to lean more fully on the grace available to me through God’s Holy Spirit. I am trying to pause so that the first thing that springs to mind doesn’t always fly out of my mouth. I am learning to wait before returning phone calls, emails and text messages.
I try to take a walk when my heart is twisted ugly so that the ugly doesn’t spill out onto others and ruin THEIR day.
I don’t get to lay aside the calling to love because I’ve laid a child to rest.
I’m working hard to remember that.
thelifeididntchoose 