Grief can be isolating.
It separates me as one who knows loss by experience from those who have only looked on from the outside.
It opens a chasm between me and people who aren’t aware that life can be changed in a single instant.
And I can feel like no one sees me, no one cares about me and no one notices my pain.
Sometimes it even feels like God has forgotten me-that He isn’t listening, that He doesn’t care.
Read the rest here: He Knows My Name
If, as a believer in Christ, I abide in Him and am filled with His limitless love, why do I portion it out in such a miserly fashion?
I often act as though it were MY personal treasure house and that to give love freely diminishes my supply.
What foolishness!
God’s love is eternal and bottomless and as a conduit of that love He invites me to lavish love on others without fear of running out.
What does God’s love look like. It has hands to help others, it has feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.
~Augustine
Love is never wasted!
I want to love without limits and without fear, trusting God with my heart because He is the One Who fills it.
No days are easy when you are this side of child loss.
There is the constant burden of sorrow and pain bearing down on my heart and mind 24/7. Then there are the little (and not so little!) everyday bumps along the road of life.
But sometimes it’s not a bump, but a mountain that looms large. Or it may be a sinkhole that opens up and swallows days and weeks before you even realize how much time has passed since you last drew a calm breath.
These past weeks have been like that.
From the night my mother was lifeflighted to the hospital until today, we spent a week and a half in hospital plus these past few days at home trying to get her stable, better and transitioned to a new regimen that will hopefully keep her reasonably well.
While every medical professional gave great care, the majority of responsibility is falling on my dad and myself. And it’s a huge adjustment for everyone. No more in and out to the field on the tractor. No more quick trips into town-at 2 litres of oxygen per hour it will take one portable tank just for the round trip.
Doctor appointments need to be carefully scheduled and routed to minimize time away from home where there is an unlimited supply of oxygen.
I am learning that elder care is a huge challenge-one I thought I knew (in principle, though not by experience).
I was dreadfully wrong.
Just like child loss, until a single call or event takes your world from “I’m in control” to “I have lost all control”, it’s impossible to understand.
There is so much to keep track of, to manage, to watch for, and to do that I honestly feel like my head is about to pop off.
Add random phone calls, doctor appointments, home health visits and (oh yes!) Hurricane Irma-well, you get the picture.
So here’s to all my fellow sandwich generation peers.
And here’s a special shout-out to the ones whose broken hearts already limp along because they are missing a child they love and are now caring for ailing parents as well.
May we all reach out to the only One Who can strengthen us for this journey.
May we speak courage to one another.
May we extend grace to ourselves because no matter how hard we try to pretend otherwise, we are human.
I’ve probaby heard the question a half-dozen times in the past three weeks as doctors or nurses were checking my mom’s mental function during her hospital stay: What year is it?
And every single time-even though I know full well that it is 2017-the answer makes me suck in my breath. Because, really, how has the world kept turning since Dominic left us?
How, how, how can it be nearly three and a half years since I talked to him, hugged him, heard his voice?
But it is.
And the further we get from that point in time when the world as I knew it came crashing down, the harder it is for people around me to remember that I continue to carry this load.
I’ve gotten stronger. I’ve developed ways to work around the grief most days and in most situations.
Still, I find daily tasks more challenging than before. Sadness sneaks up on me and tears leak from my eyes. Anxiety stalks my heart and sometimes catches it.
I get tired-so, so tired-because there is just no reserve.
I wish I could press the “pause” button and give myself a little break.
But time (and life!) marches on.
I’ve been away from home for eleven days now. For a homebody, that feels like forever.
Most of those days I’ve been surrounded by unfamiliar people and lots and lots of noise.
But in the midst of all that activity and sound, there has remained a quiet spot deep in my spirit that holds space for Dominic.
No matter how frantic, how deafening or how crowded things get, his absence is the loudest silence I hear.
I was unprepared for the many traveling companions grief brought with it. I knew to expect sadness and despair–but what about anxiety and guilt?
I had no idea how large a space guilt would soon occupy in my thoughts and heart-guilt over what I did or didn’t do when Dominic was still with us, guilt over what I do or don’t do now.
I can do nothing to change what happened in years past.
There is no magic time machine that will allow me to go back and linger long over his jokes or cling harder when he hugged me.
But I can choose to approach today in a way that frees me of foolish guilt and unnecessary regrets.
I can’t do everything but I can do something.
I can love big and brave and refuse to waste the days I have with the people that mean the most to me.
I hate to admit it but I not only like to prioritize tasks I often prioritize people.
I divide them into two columns “Matters” and “Doesn’t Matter” and give different weight and time and effort to each one depending on which side of the paper they are listed.
While that’s just fine for inanimate objects or household chores, it’s just plain wrong for relationships and people.
Because when I’m approaching another human being bearing the likeness of the God Who made him or her, I don’t get to decide how valuable they are.
That’s already been decided by Jesus Christ.
So my responsibility is to do precisely that task I have been sent to do at that moment-whether it is offering a smile, taking a meal, lending a helping hand or writing a note or making a phone call to encourage a tired heart.
Because it ALL matters.
We of the conservative right rail against political correctness.
We chafe at the constraints imposed from government, media and society that make us feel strangled when we share our faith, our opinion and our life values.
“Free speech!” we cry.
Yet the church has its own form of political correctness that often silences and isolates the very ones we should be serving.
It comes in the form of quick Scriptural replies to heart cries of “Where is God?” (“He’s right here beside you, faithful and good.”)
“Why did this happen?” (“All things work together for good for those that love the Lord.”)
“I don’t think I can take it anymore!” (“I can do all things through Christ.” Or “We are more than conquerors through Jesus.”)
Where is the compassion in that?
I firmly believe that:
All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness,
2 Timothy 3:16
Yet, wisdom isn’t only knowing WHAT to say, it’s also discerning WHEN to say it.
Sunday School answers only serve to widen the gap between hurting hearts and the hallelujah crowd.
What wounded hearts need first is understanding, not correction. They need to know that church is a safe place to speak the pain they carry. They need to be welcomed into a community of grace and mercy where healing can begin.
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.
Read the rest here: Strong or Weak? How Labels Harm the Hurting
It’s interesting how God gives a similar message to many in His family around the same time. My friend and fellow bereaved mom, Kathleen Duncan posted just yesterday Dear Momma Who’s Feeling Not Enough. She had no idea that I had this post lined up over a week ago for today. So maybe we should all take a moment to realize that we ARE enough-just us. Because of Christ, we ARE enough. ❤
It has taken me decades to internalize the message that I don’t have anything to prove.
It has taken many, many heartbreaking moments to realize that no matter how hard I try to please everyone and met each expectation held over my head, I will fail.
It has taken diets and restrictive clothing and false faces painted on with make up to understand that my body is not the best representation of who I really am.
It has taken years of self-talk to rub out the negativity stamped on the inside of my brain and behind my eyelids.
I am just now (at 53 years old!) learning to lean into my identity in Christ and turn my back on the false identity the world and the enemy of my soul wants me to embrace.
But the truth is that IF Christ took it ALL to the cross (and I believe He did), then there’s nothing left to prove.
And if there is nothing left to prove then I am truly free.
I’m free to eat and drink to the glory of God instead of eating and drinking to craft my body into a shrine of perfection and youth.
I’m free of people pleasing and set free to please God (even when it doesn’t please people).
I’m free of trying to impress the neighbors and free to impart the good news of the Gospel-no strings attached.
I am free to be the me I was created to be.
thelifeididntchoose 