There’s a lot of wisdom in this little poem.
Let the words sink in.
If you are having a hard day or hard week or even a hard month, don’t give up.
Learn to rest, not quit. ❤
Tag: restoration
Hidden Manna
I’ve thought often of what good, if any, can come from child loss.
I do not think for one minute that God “took” my son to teach me a lesson or to mold me in some way.
But I do believe with my whole heart that God can USE this circumstance to conform me more closely to the image of Christ Jesus.
Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.
God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.
Romans 8: 26-30 MSG
I also cling firmly to the conviction that there are things I can learn, truths I can understand and depths of love and grace I can fathom that are not available to hearts who have not walked the road of sorrow and trod the path of grief.
There are things I know because I have been forced to travel the Valley of the Shadow of Death that those who are spared will never know.
I truly believe this is some of the “hidden manna” Jesus promises to those who persevere under trial, who resist the lies and lure of the evil one and who persist in holding onto hope in spite of all evidence that screams, “Let go!”
Let everyone who can hear, listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches: Everyone who is victorious shall eat of the hidden manna, the secret nourishment from heaven; and I will give to each a white stone, and on the stone will be engraved a new name that no one else knows except the one receiving it.
Revelation 2:17 TLB
My testimony is not flashy. But it doesn’t have to be.
You won’t find me doing a victory lap around a defeated foe.
Instead I cling tenaciously to the truth that God’s faithful love endures forever and that death is no longer the last word.
I swallow every bit of strength the Spirit offers me.
Resurrection, redemption and resurrection are coming.
And I wait, in hope, and with assurance that my story does not end in ashes.
❤
The resurrection of Jesus was a hidden event. Jesus didn’t rise from the grave to baffle his opponents, to make a victory statement, or to prove to those who crucified him that he was right after all. Jesus rose as a sign to those who had loved him and followed him that God’s divine love is stronger than death. To the women and men who had committed themselves to him, he revealed that his mission had been fulfilled. To those who shared in his ministry, he gave the sacred task to call all people into the new life with him.
The world didn’t take notice. Only those whom he called by name, with whom he broke bread, and to whom he spoke words of peace were aware of what happened. Still, it was this hidden event that freed humanity from the shackles of death.
~Henri Nouwen
Share this:
The Danger of Rushing to Serve After Loss
There are all kinds of doubts that creep in and take up residence in a mind after child loss.
Most of them have to do with the child that ran ahead to heaven.
But many are also about me: “What should I be doing? Where should I go from here?”
For those of us active in church ministries, we wonder, “When do I return to service?”
There can be a lot of pressure to “get back in the saddle” if you fill a large role in a particular ministry.
No one ever wants to find a replacement for an effective Sunday School teacher, youth worker or hospitality hostess. It’s hard when you have months of warning and nearly impossible when the vacancy opens up suddenly and unexpectedly.
But does the difficulty in finding my replacement mean that the burden is on me to keep serving, even when I am utterly broken, empty and unable to do so?
I don’t think so.
I’ve learned many things through child loss and one of them is this: the world still turns and things still get done in spite of the absence of any single person.
God invites us to join in the work He is doing in the world. It is HIS work, not mine. And He will absolutely assure that it gets done. If I am unavailable to fill a position, then He will raise up another to fill it.
Jesus said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
His yoke is easy, His burden light.
We are never to serve out of a place of exhaustion, weariness, emptiness.
Grief certainly exhausts us, wears us down and depletes our resources.
Take a season-as long a season as necessary-to allow the Holy Spirit to minister grace, mercy and love to your broken heart. That is the calling of Christ on our lives. To listen and follow our Shepherd-our Gentle Shepherd-who promises to bind up our wounds and tend our shattered souls.
People who have not suffered the death of a child will not understand. But it won’t be the first time you’ve been misunderstood if you’ve ministered for more than a minute.
Don’t let others’ expectations or your own fear of failure keep you from hearing the call of your loving Father to come to Him, to lean on Him, to rest in His arms as He sings over you.
There will be a day for ministry again.
I promise.
Share this:
It’s My Story and I’ll Cry If I Want To
I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.
That kind of bothers me.
I don’t know if I’m just not as sad or if I’ve just used up most of my tears.
I think it’s a bit of both.
I DO still cry. And I try hard to remember that I do not need to be ashamed of my tears. I don’t need to apologize for them-even if they make some folks uncomfortable.
Because, gee whiz(!), if YOU are uncomfortable watching me cry, how uncomfortable do you think I am that I risk crying in public?
Weeping is NOT something which Christians are not supposed to do or to feel. Hot tears sliding down our cheeks, salty in the corner of our lips, is not a wrong thing to feel as part of our experience of life. It is only when the final enemy is destroyed and the last victory is won that all tears are to be wiped away. Until then we are meant to weep with those who weep, as well as to rejoice with those who rejoice … It is God who will wipe away all tears.
~Edith Schaeffer, Affliction
Sometimes I wish I could cry more. I wish I could still get the release that sobs secured early on in this journey.
Now the aching sorrow seeps deep into my bones and settles in the marrow only to be freed when my body joins Dominic’s in the ground.
The truth is, I still hurt.
The tears are always near the surface but I can’t always let them flow.
I need to cry.
I need to bear witness to this ongoing grief and give vent to the deep pain that my heart carries every. single. day.
I find it remarkable that even though Jesus himself mourned with tears, many within the Christian community set their jaw in opposition to this practice of ‘godly mourning and weeping.’ In our culture, we seem to have lost the significant practice of mourning and weeping. This lack has taken a toll on us physically, emotionally, and spiritually … Waiting and weeping go hand-in-hand.
~Jan Frank, A Graceful Waiting
I’m waiting for the day my tears will be redeemed. Waiting for the restoration of what the enemy has stolen. Waiting for faith to become sight.
Trusting.
Holding on.
Offering my tears as testimony to both my sorrow and my hope.
God not only knows your tears, but He records them and retains them? Why? So that one day He may transform them into gems of joy and glory. No tears are ever wasted when you follow Him.
~Warren Wiersbe, With the Word
Share this:
Busy Doesn’t Fix Grief
I don’t know if this is the way of other mama’s hearts but mine always accuses me when I try to take it easy.
Maybe it’s a lifetime of a too long list of chores and a too short day in which to do them, but I’m uncomfortable sitting down, doing nothing.
If I try to take a minute, my mind races until my hand reaches for a piece of paper and begins to jot down things I need to do.
Shoot-even as I fall asleep I’m usually planning what my day will look like tomorrow!
As I’ve written before, it is tempting to fill every minute trying to avoid the pain and sorrow of missing Dominic.
But it’s not a healthy way to deal with grief.
And moving ever closer to the anniversary of the date Dom met Jesus, the temptation grows stronger and stronger.
Just. stay. busy.
Just. don’t. think.
What I NEED is solitude and space. What I NEED is freedom to cry (or not!). What I NEED is less doing and more being. What I NEED is to face my feelings, process my feelings, journal my feelings, pray through my feelings and to do the hard work grief requires.
What I NEED is to treat myself the way I would treat one of my children in distress.
I NEED tender loving care.
But it’s just. so. very. hard.
Share this:
Repost: The Inestimable Value of Rest
Have you ever been on a long car trip and looked anxiously for the “Rest Area Ahead” sign?
If you have, you know the wonderfully restorative power of even a few moments to get out of the car, stretch your legs, smell fresh air and change your point of view.
Sometimes it’s tempting to pass by without stopping because you can save a few minutes. But it’s always worth taking time to rest. It makes it easier to keep going.
It’s not the same as just doing nothing.
Sitting still doesn’t guarantee that the mind remains quiet or the spirit settled.
I know, because sometimes I’ve been forced to stay perched in a chair like a toddler in time out and it was not restful.
Read the rest here: The Inestimable Value of Rest
Share this:
Receiving Rest
It’s hard sometimes to admit that I’ve reached the end of my physical strength.
I’m much more adept at finding the edges of my emotional limits. I’m even half-way good at understanding that my brain just isn’t what it used to be.
But giving up on getting up? That feels like defeat to me.
But it’s not.
I am a fragile human being and just like all human beings have limits. My body can only take so much. If I push too far past the boundary of exhaustion it will take more than rest to bring it back to working order.
So today, after six weeks of stress, mental strain and travel, I’m resting.
Not just sitting down for a few minutes between chores but curling up with a book and glass of tea and not moving all day.
At least that’s my plan.
We’ll see how it goes.
I really need to rest.
I hope I can.
Share this:
Grief Groups and Echo Chambers
I belong to several online bereaved parents’ groups and they are truly a lifeline in so many ways.
I can speak my mind there without fear of rejection or correction or of hurting my non-bereaved friends and family. I learn from other parents farther along in this journey how they cope with birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and every day grief triggers.
Sadly, there are new members added daily. New parents are forced to join this “club” where the dues are higher than anyone would willingly pay.
I am horrified by how quickly the numbers jump week-to-week and month-to-month.
And usually the parent (when they are ready) will share a bit about the child that has run ahead and the circumstances of his or her death. It’s an important part of learning to live with this pain-learning to speak your story.
But when too many of the seasoned parents are silent and my newsfeed explodes with stories of newly bereaved parents, my heart can easily be ovewhelmed by the desperation, sadness and utter despair that swamps a parent’s heart when they first find out their child is not coming home again.
Then the sites turn into echo chambers where sadness calls to sadness, circles back around and calls again. Despair is everywhere and there appears no way forward.
Bitterness weaves a black thread through post after post after post:
No one understands,
everyone has abandoned me,
I am unloved, alone and hopeless.
That’s precisely how I felt in those early months and it is an appropriate response to the awful devastation of out-of-order death.
But if I’m to survive this life I didn’t choose, then I’ve got to also have a healthy dose of hope.
So I limit my exposure to the echo chamber from time to time, especially if I’m feeling weak and vulnerable. I might take a week’s break to let my heart recover a bit and then go back with fresh vigor, ready to participate, encourage others and be encouraged.
Life after child loss is a marathon, not a sprint.
I have to pace myself if I’m going to make it to the finish line.
Sometimes that means taking a break and sitting on the sidelines.
Share this:
Repost: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance
“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
Share this:
Longer Than Three Days: Waiting for Resurrection
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
thelifeididntchoose 