thankfulness – Page 2 – thelifeididntchoose

To The Ones Who Walk With Me: Thank You <3

I have never lived alone.

When I married at twenty I moved from my parents’ home to living with my new husband.

Within seven years of marriage, we had been joined by four precious children.

So even though I’m an introvert and crave quiet solitude, I’ve had precious little of it until the last couple of years.

Alone is good for many things. It makes space to hear from God and to hear one’s own heart.

It can be a respite from the noise of our crazy, busy and LOUD world.

But alone is not the best way to walk the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

If I isolate myself from others in this frightful place, darkness can overtake me. My mind can embrace futility and hopelessness and convince my heart that there is no reason to push on.

There are songs that were never meant to be sung alone, valleys that were never meant to be walked alone. Grief is one of those valleys. And weeping is one of those songs.

~The North Face of God

Thankfully, I’ve not been alone on this journey.

I’ve had beautiful family and friends who refused to leave me. I’ve met amazing, brave bereaved parents who, even in their own grief, have lifted me up and spoken courage to my heart.

And God–even on the days when we haven’t been on speaking terms–has not abandoned me.

His faithful love endures forever. His promises will not fail. My name (just like Dominic’s!) is graven on His hands.

But He uses people to remind a heart of these promises and His love.

I will never be able to repay the people who have been “Jesus with skin on” to me!

They are a gift,

a treasure,

a precious ointment to a wounded heart.

❤

Songs in the Night

The months when I can sleep with windows open are my favorite.

I love fresh air and I love falling asleep to the sound of the breeze tinkling my wind chimes or the rain drip, drip, dripping on the leaves.

Last night I had been asleep for a few hours and woke to a sound I rarely hear after dark-a bird (probably one nesting in the tree outside my bedroom window) was singing her heart out. I listened for awhile, thinking that surely something had startled her awake and as soon as her eyes took in the night she’d hush her melody and go back to sleep.

But she just kept singing.

Chortling through chord after chord, note after note, trill after trill.

I fell back to sleep before she did.

And as I was drifting off, I was reminded of this verse:

I’m thankful for open windows, singing birds and daily reminders that I am not alone on this journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

Jesus is here.

He loves me.

He gives my heart songs in the night.

Any one can sing in the day. When the cup is full, one draws inspiration from it; when wealth rolls in abundance around them, any one can sing to the praise of a God who gives an abundant harvest. It is easy to sing when we can read the notes by daylight; but the skillful singer is the one who can sing when there is not a ray of light to read by—who sings from their heart, and not from a book that they can see, because they have no means of reading, except from that inward book of their living spirit, where notes of gratitude pour out in songs of praise. No one can create a song in the night by themselves; they may attempt it, but they will learn how difficult it is.

~C.H. Spurgeon

Gratitude and Grieving: Appreciating What I Have, Acknowledging What I Miss

Gratitude does not undo grief.

There, I said it.

Gratitude is important. It is (in my opinion) a necessary ingredient for a healthy and hope-filled and useful life. It is the key to any real happiness a heart might find on this broken road.

But it cannot fill up the empty place where Dominic used to be.

Grief does not preclude gratitude.

Although some broken hearts swear it does. They have convinced themselves that if they cannot have the one thing they really want, then nothing else matters.

That’s a lie as well.

Grief is hard. I am grieved because I no longer have the earthly companionship of one of my children. But I refuse to dishonor Dominic’s memory and the life he lived by holding onto grief so hard that I squeeze out the love and life that is still available.

I am grateful AND grief-filled.

I appreciate what I have:

Three amazing children here and one in heaven.
A husband who loves me and works hard to provide for me.
Family and friends who care about me and love me well.
Food.
Shelter.
A home where animals (wild and otherwise!) bring me great comfort and pleasure.
Strength and relatively good health.

I acknowledge what I have lost:

The earthly companionship of my son.
The family I once had-we are no longer an unbroken circle.
Secure confidence in the future.
Sense of who I am.
Unbridled joy.

These things are not mutually exclusive.

Dark and light add contrast. You need both to see the whole picture.

If you are struggling and believing either of the lies-that gratitude undoes grief OR that grief precludes gratitude-may I ask you to try something?

Make a list of BOTH.

Give your heart permission to appreciate what you have AND acknowledge what you’ve lost.

I truly believe that is the healing path.

❤

#thankful AND #broken

I wrote this post Thankful But Broken, in November, 2015-just barely 18 months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

If that’s how I felt THEN, it’s even more how I feel NOW.

Both the thankfulness and brokenness have burrowed deeper into my bones.

Losing the earthly companionship of a child I love has shattered my heart into so many fragments that I can’t find them, much less piece them back together.

But it has also made me oh, so aware of each day’s blessings and of each moment’s sacred holiness.

I can receive more freely because so much has been stolen. I appreciate what I have because I know what it is to long for what can never be again. I can both hold onto and let go of people and things and trust that in the end all shall be well. Because I know exactly what it feels like when all is most certainly NOT well.

The cracks in my heart make room for more love, more joy (muted though it is) and more thanksgiving than my whole heart could have ever held.

I am truly thankful. AND truly broken.

So my November exercise is to embrace BOTH.

My ‘Thankfulness Journal” has two lines for each day: “I am thankful for” and “I am broken over”. Like the Psalmist, I choose to breathe out my brokenness in lament and breathe in the promises of God in gratitude.

I am sad and shattered that this life is hard.

I am encouraged and comforted that God is good.

I can admit both and still be faith-filled.

Thankful for Support

My grandmother had two sisters who didn’t have any children.

They were often tapped as babysitters when someone in the family needed to leave their kids home for an extended period of time. And while my aunts meant well, and certainly were never hateful or cruel, there was a giant gap between what they THOUGHT they knew about children and what they ACTUALLY knew.

So many sentences began with, “If you were my child….” But I wasn’t. And the boundaries set between me and my parents had been hashed out through trial and error in real time in real life-not some hypothetical perfect world.

It’s like that in my grief journey as well.

There have been many well-meaning but woefully uninformed people who offered advice. Some of it was helpful but most of it was predicated on misinformation and lack of real-life experience.

The MOST helpful advice has come from fellow bereaved parents.

They share their hearts and their hopes, their failures and their victories, their fears and their faith. They don’t have to-they could simply focus on their own pain and refuse to offer aid.

But moms and dads a few steps ahead of me in the Valley turn back and hold out a hand and say, “This way. I’m right here with you. You can make it!”

And for that I am oh. so. thankful.

Thanks for Listening!

One year ago today I began sharing my grief journey publicly on this blog.

You can read that first post here.

It was (and still is) scary to expose my thoughts and feelings to a wider audience than just the pages of my personal journal.

I’m never certain that what is helpful for me is necessarily helpful for anyone else. But in writing it down I find that I am able to sort through things better than when I leave it bouncing around in my own head space.

I decided upfront that I would be as honest as possible about what I felt and how I was coping. I wasn’t sure if I would post only a few times or a lot, if it would turn into a day-by-day diary or a more sweeping revelation of deeper things.

I think it’s kind of been both at times.

And here we are, 366 days (it was a leap year) and 355 posts later and I’m still here and you’re still listening.

I don’t claim to have any special gifting or knowledge or ability. I am simply one mama whose love for both her child in heaven and her children still here demands that I speak out.

My heart is full of love and pain.

And my heart has been blessed beyond measure by those who read and share what I have written. I’ve met-in person and virtually-many bereaved parents who are helping me as I continue down this road.

I am so very thankful for each one.

I pray that for those who read these words and know the pain of burying a child, I am speaking things you may think or feel but are not willing or able to express.

And I pray that in hearing them spoken aloud, you are affirmed and encouraged that you. are. not. alone.

Dominic matters.

Your child matters.

It’s not only OK but absolutely necessary to admit that life after child loss is a struggle. It is also just fine to take your time working through the pain and sorrow and overwhelming changes child loss brings.

For those who read my posts and do not share this pain, I pray you gain insight into what bereaved parents feel and how burying a child changes EVERYTHING.

I hope you are better equipped to offer the ongoing support we need and crave. I hope you learn that this is not something we have chosen, it is something that happened to us.

And I pray that all of us will be more willing to extend grace, mercy and love to one another.

Words are not neutral.

They bring life or death.

They wound or heal.

May each of us be an instrument of healing for someone’s hurting heart.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: