Today was R's day for surgery. Thankfully we were not dealt any surprises, and he seems to have come through the procedure well. I had no reason to doubt that things would go according to schedule, but my mind always has the "Grief" app running in the background and draining my battery. Thankfully, The Lord stepped in and shut that business down through the servant hands of so many dear friends and my beautiful, sweet pastor, all of whom were there for our family and have blessed us with meals, child care, prolific prayers, and great conversation.
It's hard to know exactly what to expect from here. Obviously there will be a recovery period from surgery and further information about the degree and severity of his cancer. Will he or won't he need to undergo radiation therapy? How will he feel from the lack of thyroid hormones in his system? Or will there be an overabundance of the hormones, and if so, what surprises will that bring? How will this affect his long term health and attitude? Will our relationship change? Will his relationship with our children change?
One thing I know will not change, and that is the fact that I love him and never leave his side. In fact, he probably wishes I would leave his side -- he detests being hovered over, which is one area in which I happen to specialize. In fact, I struggle with knowing how best to support him in a way that will touch his heart. I want to be able to take care of him and soothe him -- he wants to be left alone. He wants me to leave him at the hospital, visit once or twice, and pick him up when it's time to go home. I cannot handle that type of laissez faire policy. I want nothing more than to see him lean on me and let me in to what he is experiencing, and instead I feel like more of a spectator. I don't want to whine about this or complain. Put simply, it is difficult to find a balance between what he needs and what I feel.
We thank everyone for all of the prayers, love, and support you have shown our family. This is just the beginning, my friends. As I told R earlier, the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. This was just the first one in that journey. Praise God this journey has begun on a strong foot.
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Transformation: Becoming An "SP" Again
Wow. Here it is, already April, and life is moving so fast once again. Spring brings about recitals, team sports, and class programs if you have school-aged children. It also brings about much hustle and bustle for anyone involved in a church as you move from the reflective season of Lent into the shining glory of the empty tomb on Resurrection Morning. In my family, add to all this a slew of family birthdays and anniversaries. Tired yet? TOO BAD! Because now my life has spun back into action as a new wife. And not just any wife, the wife to an active duty soldier in the Army. One who is making a transcontinental move in, oh, about five days. In what took the ID card lady about 10 minutes to change in her omnipotent computer system, I went from being a "URW" (Unremarried Widow) to being a "SP" (spouse) again in a few keystrokes. What those keystrokes symbolize absolutely blows my mind.
It's crazy to think about where my life was six months ago, a year ago, five years ago, etc. R. and I recently married (see S4J and His Girl for some hysterical footage and on-the-go vlogging), and with the wedding/life planning process there came a lot of opportunity for reflection. I would be remiss if I glossed over all of this, so I need to document it now while it is still fresh in my mind, before my feeble brain is clogged with other details that need more immediate attention.
WEDDING PLANNING
This is, in the minds of some, like childbirth: something amazing to experience, painful while going through it, yet you only remember the good stuff about it, although you pray to the good Lord to never have to do it again and swear to pay off your children so that they elope when the time comes. Also, there is this misconception that there is an "appropriate" amount of time to be engaged or that it takes at least a year to plan an amazing, wonderful event. To quote John Pinette, "I say 'nay-nay'!" We were engaged for just shy of four months. In the first three weeks I was able to secure an amazing florist, our reception site which handled our food and beverages, a wedding cake, buy my dream gown, and order my invites and paper goods. I didn't exactly cut corners, but I also didn't want to break the bank. I did all that in three weeks being a single parent, albeit I don't work outside the home. Folks, it can be done.
I happened upon some really great vendors who are skilled at their craft. As the days dwindled down, both my groom and I were able to enjoy looking forward to our big day without having to put out fires and come up with lots of scatterbrained contingency plans last minute. Overall, I'd say we got what we wanted and the whole event was even better than we could have dreamed.
THE ROAD TO THE CHAPEL
As lovely as all this is, wedding planning for me was not just about procuring the perfect flowers, dress, or menu. Wedding planning was another step in the grief process. It was about really learning what it means to join with this person and become one. That is hard to do when it means completely cleaving yourself from the one you lost and can take time. There is no room for three people in a marriage. It was, for me, one of the most amazing, surreal days of my life.
I know this may sound really confusing to some of you. I will attempt to describe what was going on in my heart over those months, but I just don't know if I can do this justice or not. I promise not to be unduly dark or sarcastic (aww, maaaannn!), just telling it like it was for me and trying to put you in my brain as best I can.
If you are married, picture yourself back on your own wedding day, exuberant and brimming with love for this person you married. Think over some of the best days and worst days of your marriage. Think about the children you have had, or something over which you have both bonded. Think about some of the dreams and goals you have set for your lives together. Take one last look at your spouse now. Remember every minute detail that you can, because this will be the last look you ever get. Touch them, smell them, feel the warmth in their skin before it is gone. That's gonna have to last you a while. Now turn around and walk out the door. Once you leave, you can never go back -- it's a one-way ticket to your new life.
Now imagine you, your children, all of your things, and put them in a different state. Take your friends, your church, the things you see during your daily grind, and erase those from your daily landscape. Put a new, pleasant but unfamiliar environment outside your door. You can have as many pictures and artifacts of your spouse as you want. You can pretend to talk to them on the phone, set a place for them at the table, whatever you want, but you will never see them again. You still feel like a family waiting on someone to come home from a business trip, but that traveller's key will never turn in your door again. Do this day in and day out. Oh yeah, and keep your chin up while you're at it.
Let a few years pass. The feeling finally comes back to your body and your heart, slowly as if you are thawing from a hard freeze. The shock and pain has worn off, and you no longer feel as if you are waiting for missing link. You've developed a new sense of normal. Normal relative to you. You might look at the lives of others and wonder what it was ever like to be a traditional family. Ponder what effect your life events will have on your children as they grow up, fall in love, and decide whether or not they will marry. Scarier still, ponder what effect your own grief has had on your children and how much time and money they will have to spend in therapy! Now that you're pretty much done thawing out, you have a stark realization: you want to step away from the one you lost into the arms of another.
Maybe you will take that step, maybe you won't. For the sake of our narrative, let's say you do. How will you handle telling a love interest about the significantly ginormous, neon flashing sign on your head that says, "WIDOW" or "WIDOWER"? Will he/she ask about it? Will you tell? Will you say something before they have a chance to ask? Will they freak out about it? What about if you cry? Will they freak out about that? Will they accept the situation or not? How will you handle this with your children? Will you listen to advice from married friends? Family? Other single people? Other single parents? Your religion? What is appropriate and what isn't? Left or right? Up or down? Black, white, or nuanced shades of grey? I'm so glad you don't have anything else going in your life so you can devote all your time to figuring out these questions... oh wait a minute...!!!
Now do you guys understand why this blog is called, "One More Thing"?!? :)
Let's fastforward to your wedding day. You have taken innumerable careful steps leading up to this day. You've come a long way from still feeling like a spouse who's waiting on their other half to return to them to a completely separate, independent individual who is strong and evolved enough to know when they are ready to fall in love and bond with someone again. Thinking about a life and a future without your newly betrothed spouse is unimaginable, and you marvel at how lucky you are to have found this love and acceptance in this person. You have wonderful plans of raising children and growing old together when something begins to stir, almost like the beginnings of a sneeze deep inside your head, but this is in your heart. You think, "Wait a minute, this sounds familiar..."
What you've done is transformed: you have felt like this squishy, awkward caterpillar feeling its way around a garden, trying to find some sustenance upon which to survive. You gathered your strength, spun your cocoon, and emerged as a completely new creature -- beautiful, graceful, and free. You don't feel bound by such gravity any more. You are light and basking in the warm sun.
THE BOTTOM LINE(S)
It was one thing to decide I wanted to date again. It was another thing to actually go out and date people, socialize, put yourself in an emotionally vulnerable position. It was one thing to meet an amazing man that put a smile back into my heart. It was another thing to completely give it over to him and trust him not to break it after coming through so much. It was one thing to tell T. goodbye and soldier on these last 4 1/2 years, knowing we would high-five each other again in the presence of the Lord. It was another thing to allow myself to fall in love again and not worry about feeling as though I was betraying T. It was one thing to say "yes" to R. when he proposed and get excited about making wedding plans. It was another thing to look into R.'s sparkling, gentle blue eyes, say my vows to him, slip the ring on his finger, and become his wife. When I walked with my sweet Dad down the aisle, praise Jesus, I did not feel as though I was walking away from T. I felt like I was running full force toward R., and that right next to him was exactly where I belonged. Standing there looking at him, I wasn't aware of anyone else in the room with us -- all I could see was soft light coming in through stained glass windows and flickering on candles, framing his sweet, smiling face. As the kids clambered between us and and we had our nuptial smooch, I felt like I had something new, yet something I sort of had all along: our family.
I started noticing something the day I picked up my gown. Real love is not to be taken for granted. It is a rare and precious thing. I hear R.'s voice on the phone, or I say something to someone about "my husband," and I'm reminded of this. I pray that it's something I never forget. I also hope I never forget where I've been, the hopelessness and lonliness I felt, the awkwardness and feeling disconnected that set in sometimes. I wasn't completely pessimistic about my life, but it's hard to be truly happy in life when things just aren't right. I hope I never forget the kinds of advice not to give. I hope my friends and family will know someday how thankful I am that they didn't give up on me even when I was feeling fairly tormented at the time. I hope I haven't damaged my poor, sweet children, who I know are gifts from God that have given me purpose in life. (Embarassed? Yes, and I'll likely do it again. Damaged, hopefully not!)
NERVOUS NEWLYWED?!?
I'll be honest. This all seems too good to be true. Is that pessimistic or negative of me? Does it communicate a deep-seated distrust of God and therefore underdeveloped spirituality? Maybe, but quite frankly I'm not interested in a psycho-theological explanation here. I remember I was completely stressed out with breastfeeding with my second child because of dire complications I had with my first. Until we got past that point I was a stress bucket. After that it was smooth sailing. My neighbor/friend/consultant also did a great job to reassure me and restore some of my confidence.
I think this is where prayer will prove quite helpful for me. My nerves began to fray a little bit, admittedly, on our honeymoon. We were preparing to fly over to see some friends the following day before we came back home. Some of these friends are some of the most precious people I've had the privilege to know, having come alongside me and ministered to me through music, laughter, and friendship during losing T. After I got off the phone with one of my friends and started remembering all those tough times she loved me through, I nearly had an anxiety attack. What had I done?!? I went off and got married again!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Don't you know all this is going to happen again and you're going to be left with a twice-broken heart?
I just stuffed it and put it out of mind. We had a great time the last couple of days, came home, and started back into the daily grind. But the night before R. left to go home, I just couldn't hold it in any longer. I cried almost as hard that night as he just held me as I had the day T. died. I will admit: it almost makes me throw up spontaneously to think about R. dying and being gone. I have come through so much to be at this point in my life. My understanding of life and love is so much more profound than it was ten years ago. At the hotel I had looked at his shaving items there by the sink and heard him talking on the phone in the room and then envisioned it all gone, and I just wanted the earth to swallow me up.
I know I won't always be this panicky about him dying. God has proven to be faithful to God's word time and time again to me. I hate being worried at a time of renewal in my life, when so many great things are starting to happen for us. I hate that grief is like an ugly tattoo that is with you, whether or not anyone else can see it. But I do love him and can't imagine not being his "SP". What is most important to me is that he loves me as I am, crazy and worried and energized all at the same time. I just want to take each moment, with God's help, and cherish it -- with him, with our children, with each new step in life. I could waste away my days in tears of this thing I fear so much, or I could choose to take advantage of the time we have. I will not lose heart; I choose to be of good courage.
"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the LORD!" -- Psalm 27:13-14
It's crazy to think about where my life was six months ago, a year ago, five years ago, etc. R. and I recently married (see S4J and His Girl for some hysterical footage and on-the-go vlogging), and with the wedding/life planning process there came a lot of opportunity for reflection. I would be remiss if I glossed over all of this, so I need to document it now while it is still fresh in my mind, before my feeble brain is clogged with other details that need more immediate attention.
WEDDING PLANNING
This is, in the minds of some, like childbirth: something amazing to experience, painful while going through it, yet you only remember the good stuff about it, although you pray to the good Lord to never have to do it again and swear to pay off your children so that they elope when the time comes. Also, there is this misconception that there is an "appropriate" amount of time to be engaged or that it takes at least a year to plan an amazing, wonderful event. To quote John Pinette, "I say 'nay-nay'!" We were engaged for just shy of four months. In the first three weeks I was able to secure an amazing florist, our reception site which handled our food and beverages, a wedding cake, buy my dream gown, and order my invites and paper goods. I didn't exactly cut corners, but I also didn't want to break the bank. I did all that in three weeks being a single parent, albeit I don't work outside the home. Folks, it can be done.
I happened upon some really great vendors who are skilled at their craft. As the days dwindled down, both my groom and I were able to enjoy looking forward to our big day without having to put out fires and come up with lots of scatterbrained contingency plans last minute. Overall, I'd say we got what we wanted and the whole event was even better than we could have dreamed.
THE ROAD TO THE CHAPEL
As lovely as all this is, wedding planning for me was not just about procuring the perfect flowers, dress, or menu. Wedding planning was another step in the grief process. It was about really learning what it means to join with this person and become one. That is hard to do when it means completely cleaving yourself from the one you lost and can take time. There is no room for three people in a marriage. It was, for me, one of the most amazing, surreal days of my life.
I know this may sound really confusing to some of you. I will attempt to describe what was going on in my heart over those months, but I just don't know if I can do this justice or not. I promise not to be unduly dark or sarcastic (aww, maaaannn!), just telling it like it was for me and trying to put you in my brain as best I can.
If you are married, picture yourself back on your own wedding day, exuberant and brimming with love for this person you married. Think over some of the best days and worst days of your marriage. Think about the children you have had, or something over which you have both bonded. Think about some of the dreams and goals you have set for your lives together. Take one last look at your spouse now. Remember every minute detail that you can, because this will be the last look you ever get. Touch them, smell them, feel the warmth in their skin before it is gone. That's gonna have to last you a while. Now turn around and walk out the door. Once you leave, you can never go back -- it's a one-way ticket to your new life.
Now imagine you, your children, all of your things, and put them in a different state. Take your friends, your church, the things you see during your daily grind, and erase those from your daily landscape. Put a new, pleasant but unfamiliar environment outside your door. You can have as many pictures and artifacts of your spouse as you want. You can pretend to talk to them on the phone, set a place for them at the table, whatever you want, but you will never see them again. You still feel like a family waiting on someone to come home from a business trip, but that traveller's key will never turn in your door again. Do this day in and day out. Oh yeah, and keep your chin up while you're at it.
Let a few years pass. The feeling finally comes back to your body and your heart, slowly as if you are thawing from a hard freeze. The shock and pain has worn off, and you no longer feel as if you are waiting for missing link. You've developed a new sense of normal. Normal relative to you. You might look at the lives of others and wonder what it was ever like to be a traditional family. Ponder what effect your life events will have on your children as they grow up, fall in love, and decide whether or not they will marry. Scarier still, ponder what effect your own grief has had on your children and how much time and money they will have to spend in therapy! Now that you're pretty much done thawing out, you have a stark realization: you want to step away from the one you lost into the arms of another.
Maybe you will take that step, maybe you won't. For the sake of our narrative, let's say you do. How will you handle telling a love interest about the significantly ginormous, neon flashing sign on your head that says, "WIDOW" or "WIDOWER"? Will he/she ask about it? Will you tell? Will you say something before they have a chance to ask? Will they freak out about it? What about if you cry? Will they freak out about that? Will they accept the situation or not? How will you handle this with your children? Will you listen to advice from married friends? Family? Other single people? Other single parents? Your religion? What is appropriate and what isn't? Left or right? Up or down? Black, white, or nuanced shades of grey? I'm so glad you don't have anything else going in your life so you can devote all your time to figuring out these questions... oh wait a minute...!!!
Now do you guys understand why this blog is called, "One More Thing"?!? :)
Let's fastforward to your wedding day. You have taken innumerable careful steps leading up to this day. You've come a long way from still feeling like a spouse who's waiting on their other half to return to them to a completely separate, independent individual who is strong and evolved enough to know when they are ready to fall in love and bond with someone again. Thinking about a life and a future without your newly betrothed spouse is unimaginable, and you marvel at how lucky you are to have found this love and acceptance in this person. You have wonderful plans of raising children and growing old together when something begins to stir, almost like the beginnings of a sneeze deep inside your head, but this is in your heart. You think, "Wait a minute, this sounds familiar..."
What you've done is transformed: you have felt like this squishy, awkward caterpillar feeling its way around a garden, trying to find some sustenance upon which to survive. You gathered your strength, spun your cocoon, and emerged as a completely new creature -- beautiful, graceful, and free. You don't feel bound by such gravity any more. You are light and basking in the warm sun.
THE BOTTOM LINE(S)
It was one thing to decide I wanted to date again. It was another thing to actually go out and date people, socialize, put yourself in an emotionally vulnerable position. It was one thing to meet an amazing man that put a smile back into my heart. It was another thing to completely give it over to him and trust him not to break it after coming through so much. It was one thing to tell T. goodbye and soldier on these last 4 1/2 years, knowing we would high-five each other again in the presence of the Lord. It was another thing to allow myself to fall in love again and not worry about feeling as though I was betraying T. It was one thing to say "yes" to R. when he proposed and get excited about making wedding plans. It was another thing to look into R.'s sparkling, gentle blue eyes, say my vows to him, slip the ring on his finger, and become his wife. When I walked with my sweet Dad down the aisle, praise Jesus, I did not feel as though I was walking away from T. I felt like I was running full force toward R., and that right next to him was exactly where I belonged. Standing there looking at him, I wasn't aware of anyone else in the room with us -- all I could see was soft light coming in through stained glass windows and flickering on candles, framing his sweet, smiling face. As the kids clambered between us and and we had our nuptial smooch, I felt like I had something new, yet something I sort of had all along: our family.
I started noticing something the day I picked up my gown. Real love is not to be taken for granted. It is a rare and precious thing. I hear R.'s voice on the phone, or I say something to someone about "my husband," and I'm reminded of this. I pray that it's something I never forget. I also hope I never forget where I've been, the hopelessness and lonliness I felt, the awkwardness and feeling disconnected that set in sometimes. I wasn't completely pessimistic about my life, but it's hard to be truly happy in life when things just aren't right. I hope I never forget the kinds of advice not to give. I hope my friends and family will know someday how thankful I am that they didn't give up on me even when I was feeling fairly tormented at the time. I hope I haven't damaged my poor, sweet children, who I know are gifts from God that have given me purpose in life. (Embarassed? Yes, and I'll likely do it again. Damaged, hopefully not!)
NERVOUS NEWLYWED?!?
I'll be honest. This all seems too good to be true. Is that pessimistic or negative of me? Does it communicate a deep-seated distrust of God and therefore underdeveloped spirituality? Maybe, but quite frankly I'm not interested in a psycho-theological explanation here. I remember I was completely stressed out with breastfeeding with my second child because of dire complications I had with my first. Until we got past that point I was a stress bucket. After that it was smooth sailing. My neighbor/friend/consultant also did a great job to reassure me and restore some of my confidence.
I think this is where prayer will prove quite helpful for me. My nerves began to fray a little bit, admittedly, on our honeymoon. We were preparing to fly over to see some friends the following day before we came back home. Some of these friends are some of the most precious people I've had the privilege to know, having come alongside me and ministered to me through music, laughter, and friendship during losing T. After I got off the phone with one of my friends and started remembering all those tough times she loved me through, I nearly had an anxiety attack. What had I done?!? I went off and got married again!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Don't you know all this is going to happen again and you're going to be left with a twice-broken heart?
I just stuffed it and put it out of mind. We had a great time the last couple of days, came home, and started back into the daily grind. But the night before R. left to go home, I just couldn't hold it in any longer. I cried almost as hard that night as he just held me as I had the day T. died. I will admit: it almost makes me throw up spontaneously to think about R. dying and being gone. I have come through so much to be at this point in my life. My understanding of life and love is so much more profound than it was ten years ago. At the hotel I had looked at his shaving items there by the sink and heard him talking on the phone in the room and then envisioned it all gone, and I just wanted the earth to swallow me up.
I know I won't always be this panicky about him dying. God has proven to be faithful to God's word time and time again to me. I hate being worried at a time of renewal in my life, when so many great things are starting to happen for us. I hate that grief is like an ugly tattoo that is with you, whether or not anyone else can see it. But I do love him and can't imagine not being his "SP". What is most important to me is that he loves me as I am, crazy and worried and energized all at the same time. I just want to take each moment, with God's help, and cherish it -- with him, with our children, with each new step in life. I could waste away my days in tears of this thing I fear so much, or I could choose to take advantage of the time we have. I will not lose heart; I choose to be of good courage.
"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the LORD!" -- Psalm 27:13-14
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Beauty Will Rise
I have just deleted the blog I had intended to publish today, but strangely enough I think the title needs to stay.
I have been awash in emotion today. I awoke to yet another day of rare, pristine fall weather that I have not experienced in this part of the country in a number of years. I rose from slumber feeling at peace, happy, fulfilled, purposeful. Then I came into my office and sat down to listen to my latest download, Steven Curtis Chapman's, "Beauty Will Rise," which is the griefwork put to music of the Chapman family after the loss of their sweet little five year-old Maria over a year ago. When I heard the words to some of the songs, I immediately felt a pang of identifying with the bittersweet sentiments of intense loss and a holy grief, one that is observed by many people but privately lamented and deeply mourned. And then the panicky, sick feeling as the events at FT Hood unfolded this afternoon. The scrambling for information, contact with loved ones, waiting, uncertainty, and the undeniable stench of death.
I was so struck in many ways by the Steven Curtis Chapman CD that I was moved to devote an entire post to it; as luck would have it, I got busy and had to walk away from the post, saving it for completion at the end of my day hours later. How would I know what events would end up ruling the day and taking priority in my mind?
As of this post, the latest numbers and information is staggering: 13 dead, at least 30 wounded. The shooter's smiling face has been plastered all over news channels, and the assumptions and foregone conclusions are swirling like a Kansas twister across the networks. No matter what finally emerges as fact or fiction, this entire event is beyond sickening in more ways than one.
Being a creature with selfish tendencies, I internalized today's events in such a different way than most. I was immediately rushed back to November 29 and 30, 2005. I felt the numbness again in my arms and legs that I had felt upon hearing about T's motorcycle accident, driving past the wrecker loading up the demolished bike, the ambulance in the bay, the swath of trauma personnel hovering around him in the ER, the thwocking of the medivac rotors as they waited to rush him off to a trauma center in Shreveport, the waiting in uncomfortable waiting rooms for a shred of information, wondering what shape he would be in when I finally got to see him, wondering if he would be in the hospital for a month or if he was going to die. Then I remember hearing my Casualty Assistance Officer's voice on the phone, going through the steps of making final arrangements that seemed so surreal. This is really happening? To me? To him? What?!? But he was getting ready to deploy -- this sort of thing doesn't happen until the guys are deployed. He was only coming home from work, we had just gotten off the phone -- are you sure you got this right? What am I supposed to do now?
How many new widows are there at FT Hood tonight? How many people saw a soldier in a Class A's show up at their door with a commander or a chaplain? How many people now know what a Casualty Assistance Officer is going to help them do over the next couple of weeks? How many parents are finding out that there will be one less table setting at Thanksgiving three weeks from today? How many kids get to celebrate Christmas next month without their parent? How many babies are going to be born into a single parent family?
I don't even have to be up at Scott & White trauma center to feel the tension pulsating from the hearts of these families, waiting on pins and needles to hear news, any news at all about whether their soldier will make it or whether they have been shoved through Door #2 without their permission, a door which locks after you pass the threshold and has no doorknob on the other side. It's a one way ticket to a life you never thought would be yours.
The fact of the matter is this: tomorrow is not promised. Not for me, T., Maria Chapman, or any of the soldiers who died today. Not for you or your loved ones. I've said many times that, as military spouses, we brace ourselves for the possibility that our loved one may not come home to us alive from a deployment. We do not prepare ourselves for something like what happened today, or like what happened to me. And why not? Who knows. Any number of reasons I guess.
I can only hope and pray that these new Gold Star families will draw close to one another and to God as they grieve and struggle in the days, weeks, months, and even years to come. And I hope that we can all give them a wide berth to do so and to unconditionally love them through this process. I hope that they will find the tiny pieces of grace and hope in the ashes of their lives and use them to weave a new tapestry, one that will blend together their past love and the new life toward which they will have to move, just as even I daily move toward my new reality. The title song on Steven Curtis Chapman's new album is about this exact topic -- how beauty can rise from these tragic, astoundingly painful situations. It is a lifeline to cling to when you are sinking, just praying that what you're going through won't swallow you alive. If you can hold onto the idea that God will redeem this pain and use it to God's glory, then just maybe something beautiful can emerge that you would have never thought possible as you were going through it at the time.
I wanted to embed this song from YouTube but it doesn't want to cooperate. To be blessed by this song, I implore you to download the album or listen to it here. Even in the midst of absolute pain and grief, I truly believe that beauty will rise.
+ May the Holy Spirit encamp around the ones who are hurting tonight and give them rest and peace for the difficult days to come. Amen.
I have been awash in emotion today. I awoke to yet another day of rare, pristine fall weather that I have not experienced in this part of the country in a number of years. I rose from slumber feeling at peace, happy, fulfilled, purposeful. Then I came into my office and sat down to listen to my latest download, Steven Curtis Chapman's, "Beauty Will Rise," which is the griefwork put to music of the Chapman family after the loss of their sweet little five year-old Maria over a year ago. When I heard the words to some of the songs, I immediately felt a pang of identifying with the bittersweet sentiments of intense loss and a holy grief, one that is observed by many people but privately lamented and deeply mourned. And then the panicky, sick feeling as the events at FT Hood unfolded this afternoon. The scrambling for information, contact with loved ones, waiting, uncertainty, and the undeniable stench of death.
I was so struck in many ways by the Steven Curtis Chapman CD that I was moved to devote an entire post to it; as luck would have it, I got busy and had to walk away from the post, saving it for completion at the end of my day hours later. How would I know what events would end up ruling the day and taking priority in my mind?
As of this post, the latest numbers and information is staggering: 13 dead, at least 30 wounded. The shooter's smiling face has been plastered all over news channels, and the assumptions and foregone conclusions are swirling like a Kansas twister across the networks. No matter what finally emerges as fact or fiction, this entire event is beyond sickening in more ways than one.
Being a creature with selfish tendencies, I internalized today's events in such a different way than most. I was immediately rushed back to November 29 and 30, 2005. I felt the numbness again in my arms and legs that I had felt upon hearing about T's motorcycle accident, driving past the wrecker loading up the demolished bike, the ambulance in the bay, the swath of trauma personnel hovering around him in the ER, the thwocking of the medivac rotors as they waited to rush him off to a trauma center in Shreveport, the waiting in uncomfortable waiting rooms for a shred of information, wondering what shape he would be in when I finally got to see him, wondering if he would be in the hospital for a month or if he was going to die. Then I remember hearing my Casualty Assistance Officer's voice on the phone, going through the steps of making final arrangements that seemed so surreal. This is really happening? To me? To him? What?!? But he was getting ready to deploy -- this sort of thing doesn't happen until the guys are deployed. He was only coming home from work, we had just gotten off the phone -- are you sure you got this right? What am I supposed to do now?
How many new widows are there at FT Hood tonight? How many people saw a soldier in a Class A's show up at their door with a commander or a chaplain? How many people now know what a Casualty Assistance Officer is going to help them do over the next couple of weeks? How many parents are finding out that there will be one less table setting at Thanksgiving three weeks from today? How many kids get to celebrate Christmas next month without their parent? How many babies are going to be born into a single parent family?
I don't even have to be up at Scott & White trauma center to feel the tension pulsating from the hearts of these families, waiting on pins and needles to hear news, any news at all about whether their soldier will make it or whether they have been shoved through Door #2 without their permission, a door which locks after you pass the threshold and has no doorknob on the other side. It's a one way ticket to a life you never thought would be yours.
The fact of the matter is this: tomorrow is not promised. Not for me, T., Maria Chapman, or any of the soldiers who died today. Not for you or your loved ones. I've said many times that, as military spouses, we brace ourselves for the possibility that our loved one may not come home to us alive from a deployment. We do not prepare ourselves for something like what happened today, or like what happened to me. And why not? Who knows. Any number of reasons I guess.
I can only hope and pray that these new Gold Star families will draw close to one another and to God as they grieve and struggle in the days, weeks, months, and even years to come. And I hope that we can all give them a wide berth to do so and to unconditionally love them through this process. I hope that they will find the tiny pieces of grace and hope in the ashes of their lives and use them to weave a new tapestry, one that will blend together their past love and the new life toward which they will have to move, just as even I daily move toward my new reality. The title song on Steven Curtis Chapman's new album is about this exact topic -- how beauty can rise from these tragic, astoundingly painful situations. It is a lifeline to cling to when you are sinking, just praying that what you're going through won't swallow you alive. If you can hold onto the idea that God will redeem this pain and use it to God's glory, then just maybe something beautiful can emerge that you would have never thought possible as you were going through it at the time.
I wanted to embed this song from YouTube but it doesn't want to cooperate. To be blessed by this song, I implore you to download the album or listen to it here. Even in the midst of absolute pain and grief, I truly believe that beauty will rise.
+ May the Holy Spirit encamp around the ones who are hurting tonight and give them rest and peace for the difficult days to come. Amen.
Friday, September 11, 2009
9/11 Remembered
Life stood still eight years ago at almost this very precise moment at which I'm typing to you. I remember sitting there in my classroom with a husband who had just left days prior to go to the National Training Center (NTC) in California, thinking about today being his birthday, and then the harsh reality of the news of the day. I was terrified that his unit would deploy immediately to Afghanistan from NTC and not even get to come home first. I wasn't ready to face the fact that I could lose him. And yet, look what so many others had already lost.
For so many of us, 9/11 is simply part of our American history. We have passionate feelings about the events of the day and those that followed. But for so many others, their lives were ripped apart. To try and understand the loss felt by the husbands and wives, children, the unborn, the moms, dads, and siblings, and other lives touched by those we lost that day is futile. The best we can hope to do is grieve alongside them and shed tears "on behalf of a grateful nation."
We didn't just lose people in the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We lost people in the soft, plowed fields of Pennsylvania, where our forefathers likely trod as they fought bitterly for our independence from England. We lost people in the labrynthine Pentagon as well, some of our brilliant military and civilian thinkers who have dedicated their lives and careers to the job of defending our country. We had a huge gash ripped out of the rich, colorful tapestry of America. Rather than trying to repair the gash and pretend it never happened, thankfully we have all gathered 'round it to look at its hallowed, jagged beauty to remind ourselves of each person borne into the arms of God that day. Their lives hold meaning to this day and will not be forgotten.
I cannot hear this song without weeping. Like coming across a precious memento of a loved one lost, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning" so poignantly captures the sweet sorrow of those days spent huddled around the television, watching the news crawl across the bottom of the screen for breaking news. It gives me permission to cry with its gentle melody and simple words. At the beginning of the song I feel simply rotten, but by the end there is hope, an important point that we all miss each day. Faith is great, hope is wonderful, but we must love. Unconditionally. And intentionally. As Christians, Jesus commands us to do this. If you are not Christian, showing love to another person is simply treating another human being with the same respect and dignity you expect to be shown. How different our world would be if we humbled ourselves to truly love one another.
Soak in 9/11. Remember. Allow yourself to take that walk back in time. And keep moving forward in love.
For so many of us, 9/11 is simply part of our American history. We have passionate feelings about the events of the day and those that followed. But for so many others, their lives were ripped apart. To try and understand the loss felt by the husbands and wives, children, the unborn, the moms, dads, and siblings, and other lives touched by those we lost that day is futile. The best we can hope to do is grieve alongside them and shed tears "on behalf of a grateful nation."
We didn't just lose people in the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We lost people in the soft, plowed fields of Pennsylvania, where our forefathers likely trod as they fought bitterly for our independence from England. We lost people in the labrynthine Pentagon as well, some of our brilliant military and civilian thinkers who have dedicated their lives and careers to the job of defending our country. We had a huge gash ripped out of the rich, colorful tapestry of America. Rather than trying to repair the gash and pretend it never happened, thankfully we have all gathered 'round it to look at its hallowed, jagged beauty to remind ourselves of each person borne into the arms of God that day. Their lives hold meaning to this day and will not be forgotten.
I cannot hear this song without weeping. Like coming across a precious memento of a loved one lost, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning" so poignantly captures the sweet sorrow of those days spent huddled around the television, watching the news crawl across the bottom of the screen for breaking news. It gives me permission to cry with its gentle melody and simple words. At the beginning of the song I feel simply rotten, but by the end there is hope, an important point that we all miss each day. Faith is great, hope is wonderful, but we must love. Unconditionally. And intentionally. As Christians, Jesus commands us to do this. If you are not Christian, showing love to another person is simply treating another human being with the same respect and dignity you expect to be shown. How different our world would be if we humbled ourselves to truly love one another.
Soak in 9/11. Remember. Allow yourself to take that walk back in time. And keep moving forward in love.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Labor(ious) Day
I just don't know what's up my skirt some days. This is usually when Sing4Joy asks me if I'm PMSing and I bite her head off, stomp my feet, gnash my teeth, and holler in my most indignant tone, "I'm not PMSing!?!?!"
I've been sorting through, like, almost a thousand unread blogs from bloglines and sadly gave in to the fact that, even though I bear a striking resemblance to Wonder Woman, I am no superhero and cleared out my bloglines. However, I read something over at Gretchen's place about some of the issues she's been going through, and in my heart I wanted to say, "Yes! I know that feeling so well! Is that what that is?" Her image of teetering on the edge of the precipice of depression, wondering which direction she's headed, strikes a chord in my heart. While I've never been diagnosed with depression, I'm positive that I'm the kind of person that goes through emotional seasons. Once I catch on to the changing of the seasons in my heart, I get a little anxious; I am completely unsettled and relatively agitated until I can get my bearings again. Call it fear of the unknown, avoidance, PMS, or lack of sleep. It's unnerving either way.
I've been on a war path with my kids. Can't really explain why, but I've been so uptight about ridiculosities (Is that a word? If not, then it is now.) I believe reasonable people call this "the small stuff." I have been stern with myself about personal habits that have crept in and taken root in a temple of which I have worked hard to take better care. Things that have been my passion still are extremely important to me, but I can't seem to take the first step to getting them done. To top it all off, I've been really emotional and have even caught myself being short with R.
This time of year naturally turns my mind toward tragedy. Is that a little dramatic of me? Of course -- have you met me?!? T.'s birthday would've been this Friday, and he passed away four years ago this November. These are not necessarily days I dread all year, but as the weather turns from face-of-the-sun hot to mildly-sweaty hot (a.k.a. fall in the south), I believe my subconscious becomes aware of a season of grief, of timelines, of my current circumstances, complex and beautiful as they are.
I often find myself wondering these days: Have I always been this way? Why am I so wound up about certain things? It would be such relief to be able to brush these things off and look at the bigger picture, and many times I am able to do that. Other days it just seems so impossible. Why is it that Li'l G gets on my last nerve to the point that I need to walk out of the room? Why can't Bud listen to me and follow simple directions like "don't eat that mud" or "stop climbing on the handrail of the escalator"? Why can't I see these beautiful babies that God placed in my arms and be kinder and gentler toward them? Why am I constantly so exasperated with others whose opinions are different from mine? Why can't I be more of a team player? and so on...
I have had two friends in the last ten days become widows. One woman was a determined, dedicated caregiver to her ill husband for years who was able to watch his passing with the knowledge that his days were coming to an end. Another woman had her husband snatched from her loving grasp almost as quickly as mine. How distinctly I remember the feeling of, "What just happened here," the feeling of looking at my non-breathing husband and wondering what I was going to do. I was reminded on Sunday of the passage in psalms that God takes care of widows and orphans and puts the smack down on any evildoers that come their way. I know without doubt that is true. That doesn't diminish the circumstances but certainly made me feel like I had someone on my side to take care of me.
I wanted so desperately to pick up the phone and talk to someone. I needed an ear to chew on. I wanted to ask someone, "Is it just me, or is it normal to feel like you don't think you can handle one more day of messes in the bathroom, mowing the lawn, a dirty house, and not having a helpmate to help shoulder the load?!?" Then I realized that almost every phone number on the contacts list of my phone was that of a person who was married. And while many married individuals do, indeed, end up doing more than their fair share of the parenting/cooking/cleaning/etc., and spouses of deployed soldiers get an intense snapshot of that life, it's just not quite the same. And in my mind, R. has little to do with this because he didn't put me in this situation in life, and he's not my ticket out of single parenthood.
I know many of you would love to hear that this is when I put the kids to bed early and curled up with my Bible. It's not a bad idea, but that's not what I did. I've exhausted my concordances with references about widows and comfort and so on. I needed to put children to bed and wind down for the night. Bud ends up talking to me about how he doesn't want to go to heaven because he will miss us and our house. I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about going just yet, but that heaven is a really wonderful place that we'd all like to be at some point. Then his line of questioning goes toward old people and dying, boo-boos that don't get better, and the inevitable "I miss my Daddy" tearjerker. We've had these conversations before, and as the kids get older, they can understand more and thus the conversations become more detailed. And while many people might pooh-pooh tonight's display as tears of exhaustion at bedtime (which some of them truly were), seeing the pain on his face as he put his chunky hand to his face and cried just cracked my concrete heart into powdery bits. Our tears mingled on our wet, sticky cheeks as we just sat there and let it flow.
Bud has to take family pictures to school tomorrow. Joy of joys! What a fun time of explaining our family situation when you're the only four year-old in the room who does not have a dad in the picture. I'm so thankful that the kids are not ashamed of this and explain it quite matter-of-factly to anyone who asks. They also have a clear understanding of how R. fits into the picture and how that is growing and changing. I was proud of him, though. When I asked him which picture of our family he wanted to bring, he said he wanted on with R. I asked if he wanted one of our family with T. or one with just the three of us to take as well. He said he wanted to take one with R. and and one with T. but not one of the three of us. What does that say about how he sees our family? I'm not entirely sure, but I feel good about how he feels about how our family will hopefully look in the future.
Maybe I just needed that good cry. Maybe I've got a hormonal thing going on (extremely likely -- apologies to my male readers). I don't think I have a season of sadness up ahead. I definitely feel the inclination to slow down these days and heed the call of the Spirit to look upward and inward. I am the sort of person who must be intentional about not moving and going constantly; it goes against every fiber of my being, but I know that I must do it. I want to enjoy my children at this fleeting time in their lives. I want to savor the fading of the heat and humidity from the air. I want to relish in the sound of a deep, familiar voice on the other end of the line that makes my heart smile even when the rest of my day has stressed me out and brought me down. There are too many lovely, precious blessings in my life and in the world to appreciate to allow something else to tug at my heart and throw me for a loop. Where ever this post finds you in your day, I hope it finds you feeling positive and hopeful. If not, go ahead and get the funk out of your system. There are better days ahead -- I'm sure of it.
I've been sorting through, like, almost a thousand unread blogs from bloglines and sadly gave in to the fact that, even though I bear a striking resemblance to Wonder Woman, I am no superhero and cleared out my bloglines. However, I read something over at Gretchen's place about some of the issues she's been going through, and in my heart I wanted to say, "Yes! I know that feeling so well! Is that what that is?" Her image of teetering on the edge of the precipice of depression, wondering which direction she's headed, strikes a chord in my heart. While I've never been diagnosed with depression, I'm positive that I'm the kind of person that goes through emotional seasons. Once I catch on to the changing of the seasons in my heart, I get a little anxious; I am completely unsettled and relatively agitated until I can get my bearings again. Call it fear of the unknown, avoidance, PMS, or lack of sleep. It's unnerving either way.
I've been on a war path with my kids. Can't really explain why, but I've been so uptight about ridiculosities (Is that a word? If not, then it is now.) I believe reasonable people call this "the small stuff." I have been stern with myself about personal habits that have crept in and taken root in a temple of which I have worked hard to take better care. Things that have been my passion still are extremely important to me, but I can't seem to take the first step to getting them done. To top it all off, I've been really emotional and have even caught myself being short with R.
This time of year naturally turns my mind toward tragedy. Is that a little dramatic of me? Of course -- have you met me?!? T.'s birthday would've been this Friday, and he passed away four years ago this November. These are not necessarily days I dread all year, but as the weather turns from face-of-the-sun hot to mildly-sweaty hot (a.k.a. fall in the south), I believe my subconscious becomes aware of a season of grief, of timelines, of my current circumstances, complex and beautiful as they are.
I often find myself wondering these days: Have I always been this way? Why am I so wound up about certain things? It would be such relief to be able to brush these things off and look at the bigger picture, and many times I am able to do that. Other days it just seems so impossible. Why is it that Li'l G gets on my last nerve to the point that I need to walk out of the room? Why can't Bud listen to me and follow simple directions like "don't eat that mud" or "stop climbing on the handrail of the escalator"? Why can't I see these beautiful babies that God placed in my arms and be kinder and gentler toward them? Why am I constantly so exasperated with others whose opinions are different from mine? Why can't I be more of a team player? and so on...
I have had two friends in the last ten days become widows. One woman was a determined, dedicated caregiver to her ill husband for years who was able to watch his passing with the knowledge that his days were coming to an end. Another woman had her husband snatched from her loving grasp almost as quickly as mine. How distinctly I remember the feeling of, "What just happened here," the feeling of looking at my non-breathing husband and wondering what I was going to do. I was reminded on Sunday of the passage in psalms that God takes care of widows and orphans and puts the smack down on any evildoers that come their way. I know without doubt that is true. That doesn't diminish the circumstances but certainly made me feel like I had someone on my side to take care of me.
I wanted so desperately to pick up the phone and talk to someone. I needed an ear to chew on. I wanted to ask someone, "Is it just me, or is it normal to feel like you don't think you can handle one more day of messes in the bathroom, mowing the lawn, a dirty house, and not having a helpmate to help shoulder the load?!?" Then I realized that almost every phone number on the contacts list of my phone was that of a person who was married. And while many married individuals do, indeed, end up doing more than their fair share of the parenting/cooking/cleaning/etc., and spouses of deployed soldiers get an intense snapshot of that life, it's just not quite the same. And in my mind, R. has little to do with this because he didn't put me in this situation in life, and he's not my ticket out of single parenthood.
I know many of you would love to hear that this is when I put the kids to bed early and curled up with my Bible. It's not a bad idea, but that's not what I did. I've exhausted my concordances with references about widows and comfort and so on. I needed to put children to bed and wind down for the night. Bud ends up talking to me about how he doesn't want to go to heaven because he will miss us and our house. I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about going just yet, but that heaven is a really wonderful place that we'd all like to be at some point. Then his line of questioning goes toward old people and dying, boo-boos that don't get better, and the inevitable "I miss my Daddy" tearjerker. We've had these conversations before, and as the kids get older, they can understand more and thus the conversations become more detailed. And while many people might pooh-pooh tonight's display as tears of exhaustion at bedtime (which some of them truly were), seeing the pain on his face as he put his chunky hand to his face and cried just cracked my concrete heart into powdery bits. Our tears mingled on our wet, sticky cheeks as we just sat there and let it flow.
Bud has to take family pictures to school tomorrow. Joy of joys! What a fun time of explaining our family situation when you're the only four year-old in the room who does not have a dad in the picture. I'm so thankful that the kids are not ashamed of this and explain it quite matter-of-factly to anyone who asks. They also have a clear understanding of how R. fits into the picture and how that is growing and changing. I was proud of him, though. When I asked him which picture of our family he wanted to bring, he said he wanted on with R. I asked if he wanted one of our family with T. or one with just the three of us to take as well. He said he wanted to take one with R. and and one with T. but not one of the three of us. What does that say about how he sees our family? I'm not entirely sure, but I feel good about how he feels about how our family will hopefully look in the future.
Maybe I just needed that good cry. Maybe I've got a hormonal thing going on (extremely likely -- apologies to my male readers). I don't think I have a season of sadness up ahead. I definitely feel the inclination to slow down these days and heed the call of the Spirit to look upward and inward. I am the sort of person who must be intentional about not moving and going constantly; it goes against every fiber of my being, but I know that I must do it. I want to enjoy my children at this fleeting time in their lives. I want to savor the fading of the heat and humidity from the air. I want to relish in the sound of a deep, familiar voice on the other end of the line that makes my heart smile even when the rest of my day has stressed me out and brought me down. There are too many lovely, precious blessings in my life and in the world to appreciate to allow something else to tug at my heart and throw me for a loop. Where ever this post finds you in your day, I hope it finds you feeling positive and hopeful. If not, go ahead and get the funk out of your system. There are better days ahead -- I'm sure of it.
Friday, June 12, 2009
C.S. Lewis: Narnia? Not Quite...
Let me lay the ground work; then, we'll get to the comments about C.S. Lewis...
"A Grief Observed," by C.S. Lewis. I had heard about this book and wanted to read it for some time but had forgotten about it. Having lost a spouse, I am able to relate on some level to those who have also gone through this type of loss, but I'm constantly trying to find a way to express thoughts, glimpses, wrestlings with God that I have experienced to those who have not had to go through this. This book gives a voice to those of us who have been down this road but can't quite put a finger on how to describe it. If you have been through the death of a spouse, please read this book. If you are married, please read this book. C.S. Lewis, like myself, had to do some serious restructuring of how he perceived death, marriage, eternal life, Heaven, God, and so forth. For us, we had to go through our grief as we navigated these murky spiritual waters. Do yourself a favor now and really take a hard look at how you answer some of these questions:
1) What is the role of death in a marriage?
2) Regardless of what my religion tells me, do I expect to be reunited with my spouse and/or loved ones?
3) Where, geographically, is Heaven?
4) What type of awareness does one have after death?
5) Do relationships continue on after death?
6) What is the point of enduring pain?
Most of the people I know who read my blog (if they haven't given up on me yet! haha!) will have a Bible verse for each of these answers. I encourage you here: put away the Bible. Step away from the reliable comfort of the Word and go into a graduate level application without your notes. Close your eyes, and picture your spouse gone. Their smell, gone. Their snoring, gone. Their companionship, gone. The heat of their body pressed against you as you sleep at night, gone. And not deployed, either. Gone. Imagine forgetting the sound of their voice. Imagine wondering if the way you remember him/her is really the way he/she was at all. All of these factors, and many more that we cannot perceive ahead of time, weigh heavily on a person's heart and affects the answers to those questions. The type of relationship you have with God prior to an event like this significantly affects how you navigate grief and loss, but the experience itself gets equal billing in the decision making process of someone left in the wake of their absent mate.
Clive Staples Lewis (yes, that's what C.S. stands for) apparently never intended to publish these four journals, now chapters, that he penned after the death of his wife. Writing being his mode of expression, he worked out his grief ponderings on paper and left us a gift therein. What you witness is a man desperately in love, desperately lost, wrestling with himself, God, and the "grief process." His words are tender, raw, scathing, sorrowful, hopeful, realistic, searching, disturbing -- he is real about what he is experiencing. You will not find theology in this book. There are no fictional allegories about Aslan, no floral writing about "glory to God" or "let it be Thy will." Instead, you will take a peek into the mind of a one who has had part of him amputated and realizes he must somehow survive.
From the first paragraph of Chapter One, Lewis hits the nail on the head: "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness... At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed." Chapter Two is not for the faint of heart. Here is where he gets to the dirty work of wrestling with God, reality, and eternity. He speaks at length about one's faith being like a rope and the level of trust we assign to our beliefs. Sure, we trust a rope to keep a box tied shut. There is no stress on its fibers. However, "suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it?" (p. 23) He also muses over how our beliefs and our faith is like a delicate house of cards that, however carefully constructed, is easily demolished. He comes around in Chapter Four to a beautiful change in perspective about his house of cards, demonstrating that this type of spiritual questioning and challenging is necessary to prune our spiritual bushes in order to stimulate healthy growth.
One of the most profound observations he made was regarding death and marriage. For many of us, we see these two concepts in perhaps one of two ways:
1) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies. When the second partner dies, the relationship continues, almost as if it had been paused in the meantime. We're reunited, walking hand in hand for eternity; or,
2) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies, at which time we are free to search for a partner and remarry. Wash; rinse; repeat. Reunification in heaven, maybe yes, maybe no.
In other words, we see death as either a cosmic pause in our relationship, or the finite end to it. Lewis believes that "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. It follows marriage as normally as marriage follows courtship or as autumn follows summer. It is not a truncation of the process but one of its phases; not the interruption of the dance, but the next figure." (p. 50) I felt as if someone had taken my hands out of cuffs the minute I read that. How freeing! For me, this makes marriage possible -- I don't have to fear death as being the unknown or the end. It is part of the process, the natural cycle of life and love, put into place by Life and Love Himself. It certainly does not remove pain, as pain is part of the natural experience of living as much as happiness or love. For some reason, it helps to make sense of pain to me.
I know this post may seem a little academic, and in a way, I would feel guilty reviewing C.S. Lewis and not paying closer attention to some of his details. I think this book was a great starting point for me, both personally and "professionally." Personally, I'm always in search of connecting with others who "get it." Professionally, I'm not a professional anything, besides maybe a speculator, but this is a great tool to hand to others who have not had this experience firsthand. It is a great tool for those going through a similar circumstance. Rather than preaching to people about what the Bible says about death, no more tears in Heaven, God will be your husband, and all the other ridiculous crap people have thrown my way, however well-intentioned it was at the time, I would rather hand this book to them and encourage them to see it as a conversation with a real person, looking realistically and practically at life, death, and love through a holy lens.
So I've embarked on this journey of trying to gird my brains with information this summer. Information that will hopefully be a resource as I attempt to piece together a care giving ministry at my church. When my pastor initially discussed this with me, I was surprisingly excited about the task at hand. My normal reaction would be one of, "Oh, no, not me. I'm not qualified/ordained/organized/"holy" enough..." So many times I would be tempted to back out of leading such an effort, but this time I met his gaze with some enthusiasm. It's an area of ministry that I would have never picked out to be involved with, much less coordinate or lead others' efforts. So hopefully that's a seed of God-planted affirmation.
My second reaction was, "Uh oh. I am really not qualified." I graduated from an informal, two year training of "average joes" who want to step up their involvement in their church and congregation. I am not any sort of professional counselor, pastor, etc. When my pastor left in late January, I saw a need to pick up a neglected ministry and fulfill a need. I began visiting with and taking communion to the sick and immobile people who cannot make it to church anymore, and I have received enough positive feedback to know that my efforts are appreciated. However, this should not and cannot be a pastor-centered ministry. There are too many people, both in our congregation and the world at-large, who need this type of one-on-one ministry. It's called care giving. My favorite way of putting it: ministry of presence. A ministry of presence is something that we're all qualified and called to do as believers. My job will be to gather a dedicated group of volunteers and connect them with those in need of this intentional fellowship.
So it occurs to me that the only experience I have is that of being literally plopped into people's homes and apartments, praying that God would be amongst our fellowship and keep me from doing or saying anything stupid. If I am to serve as a servant leader, I need to have some resources. Essentially, I need some tools in my belt. Out of all the books I have chosen to read, this is the one I have finished first:
"A Grief Observed," by C.S. Lewis. I had heard about this book and wanted to read it for some time but had forgotten about it. Having lost a spouse, I am able to relate on some level to those who have also gone through this type of loss, but I'm constantly trying to find a way to express thoughts, glimpses, wrestlings with God that I have experienced to those who have not had to go through this. This book gives a voice to those of us who have been down this road but can't quite put a finger on how to describe it. If you have been through the death of a spouse, please read this book. If you are married, please read this book. C.S. Lewis, like myself, had to do some serious restructuring of how he perceived death, marriage, eternal life, Heaven, God, and so forth. For us, we had to go through our grief as we navigated these murky spiritual waters. Do yourself a favor now and really take a hard look at how you answer some of these questions:1) What is the role of death in a marriage?
2) Regardless of what my religion tells me, do I expect to be reunited with my spouse and/or loved ones?
3) Where, geographically, is Heaven?
4) What type of awareness does one have after death?
5) Do relationships continue on after death?
6) What is the point of enduring pain?
Most of the people I know who read my blog (if they haven't given up on me yet! haha!) will have a Bible verse for each of these answers. I encourage you here: put away the Bible. Step away from the reliable comfort of the Word and go into a graduate level application without your notes. Close your eyes, and picture your spouse gone. Their smell, gone. Their snoring, gone. Their companionship, gone. The heat of their body pressed against you as you sleep at night, gone. And not deployed, either. Gone. Imagine forgetting the sound of their voice. Imagine wondering if the way you remember him/her is really the way he/she was at all. All of these factors, and many more that we cannot perceive ahead of time, weigh heavily on a person's heart and affects the answers to those questions. The type of relationship you have with God prior to an event like this significantly affects how you navigate grief and loss, but the experience itself gets equal billing in the decision making process of someone left in the wake of their absent mate.
Clive Staples Lewis (yes, that's what C.S. stands for) apparently never intended to publish these four journals, now chapters, that he penned after the death of his wife. Writing being his mode of expression, he worked out his grief ponderings on paper and left us a gift therein. What you witness is a man desperately in love, desperately lost, wrestling with himself, God, and the "grief process." His words are tender, raw, scathing, sorrowful, hopeful, realistic, searching, disturbing -- he is real about what he is experiencing. You will not find theology in this book. There are no fictional allegories about Aslan, no floral writing about "glory to God" or "let it be Thy will." Instead, you will take a peek into the mind of a one who has had part of him amputated and realizes he must somehow survive.
From the first paragraph of Chapter One, Lewis hits the nail on the head: "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness... At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed." Chapter Two is not for the faint of heart. Here is where he gets to the dirty work of wrestling with God, reality, and eternity. He speaks at length about one's faith being like a rope and the level of trust we assign to our beliefs. Sure, we trust a rope to keep a box tied shut. There is no stress on its fibers. However, "suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it?" (p. 23) He also muses over how our beliefs and our faith is like a delicate house of cards that, however carefully constructed, is easily demolished. He comes around in Chapter Four to a beautiful change in perspective about his house of cards, demonstrating that this type of spiritual questioning and challenging is necessary to prune our spiritual bushes in order to stimulate healthy growth.
One of the most profound observations he made was regarding death and marriage. For many of us, we see these two concepts in perhaps one of two ways:
1) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies. When the second partner dies, the relationship continues, almost as if it had been paused in the meantime. We're reunited, walking hand in hand for eternity; or,
2) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies, at which time we are free to search for a partner and remarry. Wash; rinse; repeat. Reunification in heaven, maybe yes, maybe no.
In other words, we see death as either a cosmic pause in our relationship, or the finite end to it. Lewis believes that "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. It follows marriage as normally as marriage follows courtship or as autumn follows summer. It is not a truncation of the process but one of its phases; not the interruption of the dance, but the next figure." (p. 50) I felt as if someone had taken my hands out of cuffs the minute I read that. How freeing! For me, this makes marriage possible -- I don't have to fear death as being the unknown or the end. It is part of the process, the natural cycle of life and love, put into place by Life and Love Himself. It certainly does not remove pain, as pain is part of the natural experience of living as much as happiness or love. For some reason, it helps to make sense of pain to me.
I know this post may seem a little academic, and in a way, I would feel guilty reviewing C.S. Lewis and not paying closer attention to some of his details. I think this book was a great starting point for me, both personally and "professionally." Personally, I'm always in search of connecting with others who "get it." Professionally, I'm not a professional anything, besides maybe a speculator, but this is a great tool to hand to others who have not had this experience firsthand. It is a great tool for those going through a similar circumstance. Rather than preaching to people about what the Bible says about death, no more tears in Heaven, God will be your husband, and all the other ridiculous crap people have thrown my way, however well-intentioned it was at the time, I would rather hand this book to them and encourage them to see it as a conversation with a real person, looking realistically and practically at life, death, and love through a holy lens.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Class of 2021
It's hard to fathom, as you look at your squirming, bewildered newborn, that they will not always be tiny and helpless. Making a connection between this little stocking-capped person who can curl up in the crook of your arm and the lanky teenager smelling up your house isn't one easily made. And while my children are still quite young, the ways in which they have grown both delight and depress me. Simply put, they are growing up, and there's nothing I can do about it.Case and point: Kindergarten graduation. Seriously, who came up with this? Someone who exacts emotional revenge on parents of five- and six-year olds, that's who. Is the growth chart on the bathroom wall not enough of a reminder that this precious, chubby person would rather watch High School Musical than Backyardigans, which WAS her favorite show until she left the soft, sweet cocoon of preschool? Do you just enjoy watching me in pain?!?
All drama aside, Li'l G did, in fact, graduate from Kindergarten today. Given the recent events in my family, as you can read from the previous post, my emotions have been maintaining the red-line area for a couple of weeks, so I was determined to keep it together for Li'l G's sake if for no other reason. This was actually quite simple to do, as I was shooting her daggers with my eyes since she and the little girl sitting next to her were giggling and pushing for the majority of the occasion. But, as per usual, I was struck by several precious moments during graduation that pressed through the floodgates and tore me up good.
After each student had walked the stage and received his or her awards and diploma, all of the Kindergarteners gathered on the stage to sing their sweet, innocent version of that song that says, "The world is a rainbow, made of many colors..." This song puts into simple language, that even they can understand, the concept of living in harmony with people who are different from us. What a profound Kindergarten concept with which we adults continue to struggle! What I saw on their faces: joy, opportunity, promise. I wanted to cherish that space in time for each of them, a time when children genuinely care about the well-being of every student in their class, a time when they know that, if only for that eight hour span of time at school, the adults in their lives love them and want to help them succeed. I watched each child walk across that stage, and I wondered what they would look like at high school graduation, if they made it that far. I watched the kids I knew well from Li'l G's class and cried because I was so stinkin' proud of each of them. These precious little people.
At the end of the gala event, yet another sadistic person had put together a slide show, a poignant compilation of pictures and song that captured each class and showcased the kids doing what they do in Kindergarten. Of course, the only dry eyes in the room belonged to Bud, who was begging to go home by this point in the show. All the while, I was literally willing myself not to cry. As the lights lifted and children were dismissed to accompany their parents back to their respective classrooms is when the bomb dropped on my house.
Li'l G was upset. She was crying, had apparently been crying for several minutes during the slide show. At first, I assumed that the events of the day had caught up with her and she realized she would miss her friends and teachers during the summer. (Keep in mind this is the child who weeps over sad books, cartoons and movies like, "Velveteen Rabbit," and, "Little One.") I asked her why she was so sad and was mentally preparing the salve for her little breaking heart when she said, "I'm sad because I miss Daddy."
Of course, this same thought had been playing in my head during all of graduation. We have reached the beginning of many milestones in life that will come and go without the presence of T. by her side to cheer her on and be her Number One fan. It's a day I have dreaded since November 30, 2005. The mother in me grieves for my children that they will experience their loss over and over again every time something like this comes up. As wonderful as today was, there was no denying its bittersweet aftertaste. The Christian in me reasons back at Grief, reminding me that death has been conquered by the Risen Christ and that the connection between T. and his children is still there and remains forever, albeit behind a gossamer-thin veil that is just opaque enough to always leave room for them to doubt his eternal love of them and how proud he will always be of who they are. In the end, we just sat there, Li'l G and I, and had a good, ugly cry, the world of happy mommies, daddies, and grandparents swirling around us, completely oblivious about the little girl with the broken heart huddled with her mother who could do nothing but quietly cry with her.
What Li'l G and I experienced together was only part of what occupied my thoughts. After I thought of what a loss it was for T. not to see his children grow up, blossom, and move through life, I thought what an opportunity this would've been for R. to have been here today. If we are ever going to transition to being a blended family, R. will have to be there for these milestones. What I have learned thus far, and will no doubt be doing graduate-level research on this summer, is that the transition time of learning how to blend a family makes the milestones less bittersweet. R.'s presence, be it simply in our lives or physically being there, is tangible evidence of the cycle of life, continuing to grow and change into a new person or a new situation. R. brings continuity to a life that has felt like the pause button was pushed almost four years ago. His presence does not erase the pain; rather, it demonstrates that it can be survived and that life, most assuredly, goes on.
The date today is June 2, 2009. I've got 12 more years of living and loving to prepare for Li'l G's next big step into the world. Congratulations, Little Lady. I'm so proud of you.
"I thank my God every time I remember you... he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." -- Philippians 1:4, 6
Monday, December 15, 2008
Holiday Hope
"There is a past which is gone forever, but there is a future which is still our own." -- F.W. Robertson
I just have to take a moment to gloat a little. Today is my rockin'-est day of December yet. Got kids off to school this morning, had my hot coffee in hand. We woke up to a day that was already 30 degrees colder than predicted. Seriously, I think our high temperature yesterday was 79 or 80 degrees! Who needs Hawai'i for Christmas when you could take a gamble on Texas?!? At any rate, I got home, put on all my uber-cold weather gear, wrapped my pipes, pulled all of the old, mostly dead plants out of my garden and built a fire in the fireplace. Even as I sit here with my steaming cup of homemade apple cider, I can hear the crackle of the dry pecan wood over the Amy Grant Christmas CD playing. The high temperature for the day was 39 degrees, around 0730 this morning. Temperatures have been dropping slightly all morning, and you can just tell that the thick, grey clouds overhead are pregnant with moisture. What I wouldn't give for some snow!
Speaking of which, this winter storm charging across the midwest reminds me of our first Christmas at FT Riley, Kansas. This Texas felt as if surely Christ were hovering above the horizon, threatening to return -- it was just ungodly cold and snowy for what seemed like years (really just four solid months -- but still!).
I digress. Christmas cards got sent last week. Three out of four PLMA papers have been typed, proofread, and submitted as of today, the original deadline. I've got chili simmering in the crockpot, and I just finished making cookie dough so that the kids can help me bake and decorate ourcheap economical Christmas gifts for teachers. I've got all but one last Christmas gift bought and paid for, but I still have wrapping left to do.
Either way, I'm unusually chipper for this time of year. What's up, GGG? Did you put a little Captain Morgan's in that "apple" cider? This just isn't like you! No duh -- I've even surprised myself! Hahaha...
I've actually been mulling over this post now since 10 DEC. I was in the kitchen over at the sink, and looked up long enough to read the quote on my "Home Sweet Home In Family, In Nation, In God" calendar. The quote I fell upon, posted up above, really struck a chord with me, and I wanted to pay that forward to you, The Readership.
We won't even get into all of the problems in the world. I started a short list in my last post that couldn't even cover the tip of the iceberg. When I read this quote, however, I didn't think about anyone else's problems. I selfishly thought of my own. Of course, my thoughts naturally jumped right to losing T. As anyone who specifically loses a spouse, you grieve not just the loss of your mate, and hopefully best friend as was my case, but you also grieve the loss of your future together -- you grieve raising your children together, rediscovering your romance once the nest is empty, seeing each other through health scares and taking care of each other as you prepare to look Homeward. You grieve the loss of children you will never give birth to. For me, I also grieved the loss of the military lifestyle and watching my husband work diligently to earn rank and change jobs and grow as a father. You grieve the loss of being grandparents together. Am I making my point? There are just so many things you can't even think of until you're a little down the road and they smack like big juicy bugs on the windshield of your life. Then you just look at it, crestfallen, and think, "Crap." I'm sure that people who lose children grieve the loss of seeing them grow up, find careers, fall in love and marry, and watching them blossom into the adults you always prayed they would be. I cannot know for sure since that has not been a part of my life. Either way, memories are bittersweet and can cause as much anguish as they do laughter and nostalgic smiles. All you have is the past -- you no longer have a future with this person.
Then my thoughts jumped to my extended family situation. Maybe many of you have been in this position. My grandparents are having issues associated with growing older and reaching a different, difficult stage in life that affects everyone who knows and loves them. There is a lot of musing about how quickly things have changed, how things used to be, and what on earth the future will look like. The grief process has likely begun for some in my family who live far away and see the changes more starkly because they cannot be around to see the gradual progression of life. For them, I think an entire chapter is over and another begun, not necessarily one that is pleasant but rather is part of the natural course of human life. For those of us who live locally, we see the pages turning one or two at a time, but to others who live further away it might seem like reading the first few pages of the chapter and then skipping fifty pages to the next chapter. For all of us, it makes us realize how blessed our past has been with these two precious people and how we long to return to those days when we were all younger, vital, and thriving. But the fact remains that we can't regress to the past.
No matter if you grieve the loss of a loved one, if you have lost your job, if you have fallen out of love with your spouse or you are awaiting news from the doctor regarding your health, there is a past which we all might look back on and realize that it slipped right by us. This can be oppressive at the holidays. No wonder suicide statistics are higher at this time of year. We all need to allow ourselves to take time -- time for rest, time to eat well, time to reflect and pray, time to cry or be angry. These are things that are necessary, not only to keep us sane, but even to keep our bodies healthy. However, it's easy to get stuck there and bog down. We've got to allow ourselves that time of addressing our burdens, a time of healing, and a time of moving forward.
C'mon, GGG, what about Jeremiah 29:11? Don't you know that's the perfect verse here?? Yeah, whatever. That verse used to give me fits. "Oh, really? God has a future and a hope for me? Mmm, yeah, he's got a jacked up way of showing that." As terrible as that sounds, I needed to get to that dark place, the bottom of the pit of despair before I could not look any lower -- I could only look Upward. Only then could I really appreciate how God could act in my life and come to treasure Jeremiah 29:11.
As I wallowed in my muck for a little while, I recalled something I had heard Thelma Wells of Women of Faith fame talk about at an old conference. She gave a personal testimony about a long string of hardships she and her family had endured through the years, and she turned it around with Lamentations 3:22-23:
"22Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. 23 They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." (NKJV)
Or better yet, read how The Message paraphrases vv. 22-24:
"God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left."
After I claimed that as a promise, then Jeremiah 29:11 was less of a bitter pill to swallow. There was, indeed, a future ahead of me, a future I could pursue and take hold of, own for myself. If I already knew God to be consistent and faithful, why would he not uphold this promise, too? I had to come to terms with the fact that the future and hope I had originally envisioned was gone, but that didn't mean that there was not another, completely different, completely wonderful future ahead of me.
The past is just that, and we can't live there. We can dust it off and revisit it, but there is a future ahead of us. It may not look like we planned, but there is a tomorrow. That future waits for us to get up, get moving, and claim it with God's help. That is my Christmas gift to you -- to encourage you to move forward, one small step at a time.
I just have to take a moment to gloat a little. Today is my rockin'-est day of December yet. Got kids off to school this morning, had my hot coffee in hand. We woke up to a day that was already 30 degrees colder than predicted. Seriously, I think our high temperature yesterday was 79 or 80 degrees! Who needs Hawai'i for Christmas when you could take a gamble on Texas?!? At any rate, I got home, put on all my uber-cold weather gear, wrapped my pipes, pulled all of the old, mostly dead plants out of my garden and built a fire in the fireplace. Even as I sit here with my steaming cup of homemade apple cider, I can hear the crackle of the dry pecan wood over the Amy Grant Christmas CD playing. The high temperature for the day was 39 degrees, around 0730 this morning. Temperatures have been dropping slightly all morning, and you can just tell that the thick, grey clouds overhead are pregnant with moisture. What I wouldn't give for some snow!
Speaking of which, this winter storm charging across the midwest reminds me of our first Christmas at FT Riley, Kansas. This Texas felt as if surely Christ were hovering above the horizon, threatening to return -- it was just ungodly cold and snowy for what seemed like years (really just four solid months -- but still!).
I digress. Christmas cards got sent last week. Three out of four PLMA papers have been typed, proofread, and submitted as of today, the original deadline. I've got chili simmering in the crockpot, and I just finished making cookie dough so that the kids can help me bake and decorate our
Either way, I'm unusually chipper for this time of year. What's up, GGG? Did you put a little Captain Morgan's in that "apple" cider? This just isn't like you! No duh -- I've even surprised myself! Hahaha...
I've actually been mulling over this post now since 10 DEC. I was in the kitchen over at the sink, and looked up long enough to read the quote on my "Home Sweet Home In Family, In Nation, In God" calendar. The quote I fell upon, posted up above, really struck a chord with me, and I wanted to pay that forward to you, The Readership.
We won't even get into all of the problems in the world. I started a short list in my last post that couldn't even cover the tip of the iceberg. When I read this quote, however, I didn't think about anyone else's problems. I selfishly thought of my own. Of course, my thoughts naturally jumped right to losing T. As anyone who specifically loses a spouse, you grieve not just the loss of your mate, and hopefully best friend as was my case, but you also grieve the loss of your future together -- you grieve raising your children together, rediscovering your romance once the nest is empty, seeing each other through health scares and taking care of each other as you prepare to look Homeward. You grieve the loss of children you will never give birth to. For me, I also grieved the loss of the military lifestyle and watching my husband work diligently to earn rank and change jobs and grow as a father. You grieve the loss of being grandparents together. Am I making my point? There are just so many things you can't even think of until you're a little down the road and they smack like big juicy bugs on the windshield of your life. Then you just look at it, crestfallen, and think, "Crap." I'm sure that people who lose children grieve the loss of seeing them grow up, find careers, fall in love and marry, and watching them blossom into the adults you always prayed they would be. I cannot know for sure since that has not been a part of my life. Either way, memories are bittersweet and can cause as much anguish as they do laughter and nostalgic smiles. All you have is the past -- you no longer have a future with this person.
Then my thoughts jumped to my extended family situation. Maybe many of you have been in this position. My grandparents are having issues associated with growing older and reaching a different, difficult stage in life that affects everyone who knows and loves them. There is a lot of musing about how quickly things have changed, how things used to be, and what on earth the future will look like. The grief process has likely begun for some in my family who live far away and see the changes more starkly because they cannot be around to see the gradual progression of life. For them, I think an entire chapter is over and another begun, not necessarily one that is pleasant but rather is part of the natural course of human life. For those of us who live locally, we see the pages turning one or two at a time, but to others who live further away it might seem like reading the first few pages of the chapter and then skipping fifty pages to the next chapter. For all of us, it makes us realize how blessed our past has been with these two precious people and how we long to return to those days when we were all younger, vital, and thriving. But the fact remains that we can't regress to the past.
No matter if you grieve the loss of a loved one, if you have lost your job, if you have fallen out of love with your spouse or you are awaiting news from the doctor regarding your health, there is a past which we all might look back on and realize that it slipped right by us. This can be oppressive at the holidays. No wonder suicide statistics are higher at this time of year. We all need to allow ourselves to take time -- time for rest, time to eat well, time to reflect and pray, time to cry or be angry. These are things that are necessary, not only to keep us sane, but even to keep our bodies healthy. However, it's easy to get stuck there and bog down. We've got to allow ourselves that time of addressing our burdens, a time of healing, and a time of moving forward.
C'mon, GGG, what about Jeremiah 29:11? Don't you know that's the perfect verse here?? Yeah, whatever. That verse used to give me fits. "Oh, really? God has a future and a hope for me? Mmm, yeah, he's got a jacked up way of showing that." As terrible as that sounds, I needed to get to that dark place, the bottom of the pit of despair before I could not look any lower -- I could only look Upward. Only then could I really appreciate how God could act in my life and come to treasure Jeremiah 29:11.
As I wallowed in my muck for a little while, I recalled something I had heard Thelma Wells of Women of Faith fame talk about at an old conference. She gave a personal testimony about a long string of hardships she and her family had endured through the years, and she turned it around with Lamentations 3:22-23:
"22Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. 23 They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." (NKJV)
Or better yet, read how The Message paraphrases vv. 22-24:
"God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left."
After I claimed that as a promise, then Jeremiah 29:11 was less of a bitter pill to swallow. There was, indeed, a future ahead of me, a future I could pursue and take hold of, own for myself. If I already knew God to be consistent and faithful, why would he not uphold this promise, too? I had to come to terms with the fact that the future and hope I had originally envisioned was gone, but that didn't mean that there was not another, completely different, completely wonderful future ahead of me.
The past is just that, and we can't live there. We can dust it off and revisit it, but there is a future ahead of us. It may not look like we planned, but there is a tomorrow. That future waits for us to get up, get moving, and claim it with God's help. That is my Christmas gift to you -- to encourage you to move forward, one small step at a time.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Quick Reflection
"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." -- II Corinthians 4:18
This is the Bible verse on my desk calendar for November 30. This is a date that is etched on my heart forever. For me, it is my 9/11. That is T.'s birthdate into heaven. Really, I struggle with that day and the day before, which is when he had the accident on the motorcycle, but that's a completely different blog. This verse really captures my view of what happened that day in the surgical ICU in LSU Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana, and it's something I need to remind myself of more often.
I didn't blog anything on November 30, not because I was avoiding it or dreading it or planning some uber-emotional tribute. We were out at the cemetery laying a wreath that day, with the cold, damp late fall wind whipping our hair around, musing about how long it had been, how fast the time has gone and yet how it has seemed to go so slowly at the same time. I'm learning that, as Heath Ledger's widow has lamented, the longer T. is gone, the more I miss him. Strangely enough, it hasn't kept me from embarking on a deep, sweet love with R., which is God's working in and of itself. In fact, when R. showed up for the holidays, I could just feel every muscle in my body relax and my blood pressure go down. It was so comforting to see the continuity in my life that he brings and how he allows me to both go on loving T. but yet move forward with my life with him. As stressed out and emotional as I get, I know that all my complexities can be exhausting, but he loves me through it and comes back for more.
But back to Shreveport, 2005. I didn't have the extensive mental Scripture file that some of my friends have, but I knew this verse. I couldn't have told you the book, chapter, or verse, but I understood this truth in my heart. When I realized that T. was gone, not breathing, not going to open his eyes any more, not going to sit up and complain about having to eat spaghetti one more time, or fight back to good health, my thinking had to shift immediately from temporal to eternal. To consider the temporal without T. was to want to reach into his chest and pump his heart with my own bare hands to make it work again. I could not dwell on this because I would have begged for death myself. Instead, I know that God had already planted the seed of eternity in my heart -- I instantly had to look beyond where I was, standing over the body that no longer contained the soul and let him go. I actually had to tell him this, that he needed to go. In looking back, he was already gone and I would realize this when piecing together details after my brain was functioning somewhat normally later on. But for me, I had to put him into that eternal context to keep from caving in on myself.
Flashing forward to Advent 2008, I reconnected with a college buddy last night on FaceBook who had not heard of T.'s passing, and it obviously came as a real shock to him. I remember telling my friend Marily about this last year, and she was completely speechless as well. And even just last week, HisGirl was watching Super Nanny and was just floored by the episode involving a widow with a two year-old and a five month-old, which is almost exactly the ages Li'l G and Bud were when T. died. It was a real eye opener for her on what our reality is like, especially with such little ones in the picture. What's amazing to me is that I have come through any of this, and now this feels normal, if such a bland, descriptionless word could ever be used in this context. I have no idea how I have made it this long, and still have no idea how any single day in the future will transpire. All I know is this: having an eternal perspective has everything to do with it.
Consider this: Our economy is as fragile as a glass Christmas ornament. Terrorism is a constant threat. People die every day in tragic ways, and more still are diagnosed with terminal illnesses. Millions of people in our own country sleep under blankets of cardboard in sub-freezing temperatures. Children starve and are abused. In my own life, I have certain ideas on how I'd like things to play out, but there are no guarantees. To live with our focus on the temporal is overwhelming, at least to me. Even the wonderful glimpses we get of beauty and love are not enough to get me by. To live with an eye on the eternal is where I draw my strength and my hope. It helps me to get past all of the pain and hurt in the world, in my own life, and to keep walking toward the One I know to be faithful, the One constant in a world filled with variables. "How do I know this?" I have been asked countless times. To be honest, you can read your Bible or not; I don't really care about that. All I can say is that God has been there for me, revealed to me in real and tangible ways that honestly speaks louder to me than Scripture. Hang me up to dry if you want. I read my Bible as often as I can and revel in its words, but there is absolutely nothing like experiencing, really experiencing, the peace which passeth all understanding in real life. There is nothing like knowing that the same God which brought his people out of Egypt and cared for them in the wilderness for 40 years is caring for me in the midst of my wilderness. There is nothing like knowing that the same God who bodily resurrected my Jesus has my sweet T. in his care right now and has made him whole, healed his broken heart and body, and is guiding the kids and me all at the same time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've not read any passage of Scripture that says he will take away our pain if we just pray or come to him. What God does promise is that he will never leave or forsake us. He is there if we keep our eyes on the eternal and don't let the temporal distract us.
As I prepare in my home and in my heart for the birth of Jesus, I think of Him in a tempral perspective, and it brings a lump to my throat. This precious, soft, sweet child is our sacrificial Lamb. Those tiny little fingers and toes will end up bearing Jesus' physical weight and the spiritual weight of our sins on the cross someday. How sad! How tragic! But in an eternal perspective, it inspires awe. This baby boy, through the love and nurture of his earthly parents, grows up and maintains His obedience to the Father. The story begins with the stirrings in the womb, continues through the labor pains, infancy, toddlerhood, life as the son of a carpenter, radical ministry that ends with His death on the cross, and is still continuing at the right hand of the Father. Why wouldn't we want to focus on the eternal in this picture?
This may sound crazy and hair-brained, and I'll give you that, but it has everything to do with how I understand my world, how my perspective has changed and continues to do so. I have got my eyes fixed like a laser past the end of my temporal existence to one that is eternal. It gives me hope and strength to march on with purpose in situations where I cannot comprehend uncertainty, grief, suffering, or even evil in the world. And even as I try my hardest to speak light and life and live what I believe, I still pray constantly, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"
May that also be our prayer as we journey toward Christmas and, ultimately, Resurrection Day!
This is the Bible verse on my desk calendar for November 30. This is a date that is etched on my heart forever. For me, it is my 9/11. That is T.'s birthdate into heaven. Really, I struggle with that day and the day before, which is when he had the accident on the motorcycle, but that's a completely different blog. This verse really captures my view of what happened that day in the surgical ICU in LSU Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana, and it's something I need to remind myself of more often.
I didn't blog anything on November 30, not because I was avoiding it or dreading it or planning some uber-emotional tribute. We were out at the cemetery laying a wreath that day, with the cold, damp late fall wind whipping our hair around, musing about how long it had been, how fast the time has gone and yet how it has seemed to go so slowly at the same time. I'm learning that, as Heath Ledger's widow has lamented, the longer T. is gone, the more I miss him. Strangely enough, it hasn't kept me from embarking on a deep, sweet love with R., which is God's working in and of itself. In fact, when R. showed up for the holidays, I could just feel every muscle in my body relax and my blood pressure go down. It was so comforting to see the continuity in my life that he brings and how he allows me to both go on loving T. but yet move forward with my life with him. As stressed out and emotional as I get, I know that all my complexities can be exhausting, but he loves me through it and comes back for more.
But back to Shreveport, 2005. I didn't have the extensive mental Scripture file that some of my friends have, but I knew this verse. I couldn't have told you the book, chapter, or verse, but I understood this truth in my heart. When I realized that T. was gone, not breathing, not going to open his eyes any more, not going to sit up and complain about having to eat spaghetti one more time, or fight back to good health, my thinking had to shift immediately from temporal to eternal. To consider the temporal without T. was to want to reach into his chest and pump his heart with my own bare hands to make it work again. I could not dwell on this because I would have begged for death myself. Instead, I know that God had already planted the seed of eternity in my heart -- I instantly had to look beyond where I was, standing over the body that no longer contained the soul and let him go. I actually had to tell him this, that he needed to go. In looking back, he was already gone and I would realize this when piecing together details after my brain was functioning somewhat normally later on. But for me, I had to put him into that eternal context to keep from caving in on myself.
Flashing forward to Advent 2008, I reconnected with a college buddy last night on FaceBook who had not heard of T.'s passing, and it obviously came as a real shock to him. I remember telling my friend Marily about this last year, and she was completely speechless as well. And even just last week, HisGirl was watching Super Nanny and was just floored by the episode involving a widow with a two year-old and a five month-old, which is almost exactly the ages Li'l G and Bud were when T. died. It was a real eye opener for her on what our reality is like, especially with such little ones in the picture. What's amazing to me is that I have come through any of this, and now this feels normal, if such a bland, descriptionless word could ever be used in this context. I have no idea how I have made it this long, and still have no idea how any single day in the future will transpire. All I know is this: having an eternal perspective has everything to do with it.
Consider this: Our economy is as fragile as a glass Christmas ornament. Terrorism is a constant threat. People die every day in tragic ways, and more still are diagnosed with terminal illnesses. Millions of people in our own country sleep under blankets of cardboard in sub-freezing temperatures. Children starve and are abused. In my own life, I have certain ideas on how I'd like things to play out, but there are no guarantees. To live with our focus on the temporal is overwhelming, at least to me. Even the wonderful glimpses we get of beauty and love are not enough to get me by. To live with an eye on the eternal is where I draw my strength and my hope. It helps me to get past all of the pain and hurt in the world, in my own life, and to keep walking toward the One I know to be faithful, the One constant in a world filled with variables. "How do I know this?" I have been asked countless times. To be honest, you can read your Bible or not; I don't really care about that. All I can say is that God has been there for me, revealed to me in real and tangible ways that honestly speaks louder to me than Scripture. Hang me up to dry if you want. I read my Bible as often as I can and revel in its words, but there is absolutely nothing like experiencing, really experiencing, the peace which passeth all understanding in real life. There is nothing like knowing that the same God which brought his people out of Egypt and cared for them in the wilderness for 40 years is caring for me in the midst of my wilderness. There is nothing like knowing that the same God who bodily resurrected my Jesus has my sweet T. in his care right now and has made him whole, healed his broken heart and body, and is guiding the kids and me all at the same time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've not read any passage of Scripture that says he will take away our pain if we just pray or come to him. What God does promise is that he will never leave or forsake us. He is there if we keep our eyes on the eternal and don't let the temporal distract us.
As I prepare in my home and in my heart for the birth of Jesus, I think of Him in a tempral perspective, and it brings a lump to my throat. This precious, soft, sweet child is our sacrificial Lamb. Those tiny little fingers and toes will end up bearing Jesus' physical weight and the spiritual weight of our sins on the cross someday. How sad! How tragic! But in an eternal perspective, it inspires awe. This baby boy, through the love and nurture of his earthly parents, grows up and maintains His obedience to the Father. The story begins with the stirrings in the womb, continues through the labor pains, infancy, toddlerhood, life as the son of a carpenter, radical ministry that ends with His death on the cross, and is still continuing at the right hand of the Father. Why wouldn't we want to focus on the eternal in this picture?
This may sound crazy and hair-brained, and I'll give you that, but it has everything to do with how I understand my world, how my perspective has changed and continues to do so. I have got my eyes fixed like a laser past the end of my temporal existence to one that is eternal. It gives me hope and strength to march on with purpose in situations where I cannot comprehend uncertainty, grief, suffering, or even evil in the world. And even as I try my hardest to speak light and life and live what I believe, I still pray constantly, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"
May that also be our prayer as we journey toward Christmas and, ultimately, Resurrection Day!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Christmas Thoughts
I've got so many things on my plate right now this minute that I shouldn't even be posting, but this song has really touched my heart this season.
I promise to be up and posting soon... Enjoy this song -- it really speaks my heart...
I promise to be up and posting soon... Enjoy this song -- it really speaks my heart...
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Week(s) In Review
"A cheerful heart is a good medicine." -- Proverbs 17:22
I just realized today, as I was catching up on all of my Bloglines feeds, that I have been relatively "offline" for almost two weeks now. It seems like a lot longer than that! Not only have I not posted in that long, I also have read very few posts of others. My apologies for being such a slacker!
If your house is anything like mine right now, it's a real mixture of excitement and exhaustion, long grocery lists, recitals, exponential amounts of laundry and cleaning to do, and a potentially sick child as of bedtime tonight. In the midst of this, I'm trying to keep my chin up and soldier on, but my knees are already starting to feel a little weak. Between PMSing this week and celebrating T's third birthday in heaven, I know that God is going to have his hands full listening to my prayers for the next week or so!
In light of all that has gone on in the last two weeks, and all that will undoubtedly transpire over the next one, I thought I'd take this point by point and try to find God's fingerprint in all this mess...
Recitals: Li'l G has had two of these in the last ten days, one of which went for about two hours and ended around 8:30 P.M. on a school night. Ugh!! The one today was so, well, weird. Let me just say that the recital itself went well and was thankfully only 20 minutes long. But when we were warming up and rehearsing her "piece," her debut of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," she just mentally shut down. Couldn't even remember the song. Partly she was distracted by Bud watching "Pinky Dinky Doo" in the background, but I suspect now that she wasn't feeling very well. It really made me panic -- she was about to perform this song by herself and she couldn't remember even half of the song that she's practiced almost flawlessly since August! Somehow she pulled it off and did a really good job, but you could tell by looking at her face during the recital something just wasn't right. Then she tossed her cookies tonight after dinner. GREAT! TMI, I know, but I'm a mom so I have no qualms discussing childhood ailments. Now I feel like a total dragon mom for hounding my kid to get out there and do her best when all she probably wanted to do was lay down and croak because she had a low grade fever and wanted to sleep. Where is God in this? In the sweet little face of my beautiful baby girl. She is such a fighter and wants desperately for me to be proud of her. One more recital after Thanksgiving and then we get a month-long break, thank God!
Parish Lay Ministry Academy: I attended my last class session last weekend, and literally wanted to throw a tantrum and refuse to leave when the day was over! This two-year program has been such an amazing experience; it has literally changed my life. I can honestly say that, while I'm so incredibly grateful for this experience, it's made my life extremely difficult in many ways. First of all, there is the time when you have to complete reading assignments, papers, and projects. The kids have certainly watched their fair share of movies or played unsupervised in the backyard (gated and locked, though -- I promise!), and many family members have come through to hang out with them as I spend full-length days in class. Even though these have been serious sacrifices for me, the real difficulties have been internal. While I have had to read some borderline-heretical material, God gave me a clear understanding of what was false teaching and what wasn't and why that was so. I have had to excavate some serious familial demons, assess my own spiritual understandings, and measure that up against society's yardstick. The real problem I'm having is that I have come to some stark, clear understandings about myself and how I believe based on things I have learned. In and of itself, this is not the problem; rather, the problem is how to interact in the world, quite honestly. There are certain perspectives out there, popular and seemingly Biblically based, that I just cannot endorse anymore. Combine my strong conviction with my personality and that should pretty much explain my conundrum in a nutshell. I've also come to the conclusion that I need to pursue seminary. Every possible avenue I've looked into has turned into a dead-end so far, so I'm taking at least the first half of next year to digest what I've learned, get back into shape, volunteer at Li'l G's school, and see what unfolds. I want to savor this time of my children being young and still wanting to be around me. I just have this nagging feeling that my days are numbered the way they stand right now, and I want to enjoy each of those days and cherish them. Where is God in all this? Oh man, he's ALL up in my grill. I feel like Martin Luther walking through that field dodging lightning bolts. The problem is, I'm still unclear on where any of this is leading. So I'm putting the ball back in God's court. And waiting. Again...
Church stuff: Good.grief. You can't even BEGIN to know how much stress this has brought to my life over the last couple of months, much less the last two weeks. Some days I don't know whether to thank God that he put me in the position where I am or to curse the day I decided I needed to be involved. I can say this: I'm learning a LOT about people, both in general and specific ones. In my church in particular, I'm having such a weird experience. To my knowledge, I think I'm the first charter member child who has ended up serving on our church council, which is kinda cool, but is also very eye-opening. I have even asked my praise band cohorts, "Have things always been this way?!? If so, was I just blind to it because I was a kid and didn't notice?!?" Where is God in this big, hairy tangle? Good question! No, seriously, I know he's there. This whole season at my church is like a fire that was raging hot and engulfed with flames at one point and has now been reduced to a pile of ashes. If you poke around in the thick mound of ashes, you will still find a handful of red, glowing embers, and given the right conditions, that fire can be ignited again. Because I'm an emotional person to whom it comes more naturally to react and take things personally, I get all wound around the axle about the drama going on and even want to wash my hands of the whole thing sometimes, but I'm really learning that a handful of people respect my opinions, so I try to be clear and deliberate about what I say. I'm also learning the power of saying nothing. (I know, I know, stop the presses! haha!!) But as I have learned from Exodus 14:14, the battle does not belong to me; however, I am really trying hard to discern what role God would have me take in the next steps we take as a congregation. It's definitely a labor of love for me.
Thanksgiving/Gathering With Family: Who else's Thanksgiving gathering this week will put the "fun" back in "dysfunctional"?!? There is so much strife floating around in my family that at one point today I was actually having chest pains. Once again I was asking, "Have things always been this way?!? Or was I just too young to have noticed that the adults aren't playing nicely together?!?" R. is coming this year and will help us with some of the food prep. I always love schlepping him around with me at these kinds of things. His perspective is unbiased and fresh when it comes to assessing the social atmosphere at these gatherings, and I really appreciate his insights. To be honest with you, I'm desperate for this to be a relaxed, joyous occasion. I want the food to be scrumptious, the weather to be chilly, the home in which we're gathering to be cozy, and the laughter to be contagious. What I absolutely, down-to-my-core cannot handle is eyes rolling, back-biting conversations in hallways and corners, or just crankiness in general. With the third anniversary of T's accident and death just two days later, I am striving with all my might to reclaim Thanksgiving as the happy, comforting gathering that it was when I was a kid, both for my children and for my own sanity. Family drama needs to take a vacation, for crying out loud. Where, oh where is God in this picture? Going straight up my spine and into my heart, keeping me upright with a smile on my face to get me through this holiday. I'm counting on it 200%.
Advent/Christmas: It's been hard for me to have the emotional energy left for this holiday over the last couple of years, and for longer than that I've been so righteously pissed at what our society has made of this holiday. However, this year I have decided to take this holiday captive, too. I'm going as overboard as I can possibly go and still have a dollar left to my name. I'm trying to participate in as many opportunities to provide gifts or support as I can. I am trying to make the house festive and exciting for the kids. I'm trying to wrap my heart around the miracle of Jesus' birth, who He truly is, and how to apply this in my life. I want the kids to have a magical, memorable holiday, while also seeing that not everyone has warm, soft PJs and toys. I want them to be able to connect the soft, sweet baby in the manger to the grown man on the cross at some point. Advent is a season of preparation, sometimes somber anticipation, but always a time of remembrance that God is faithful and fulfills his promises, including his promise to send the Messiah because of his love for us, even when we don't always love him back.
To be honest with you, I haven't been very cheerful lately, which is why I chose the opening verse. And in catching up on some of my blogs, I can tell I'm not the only one. It's a hard time of year for more people than we realize. Case in point, my cousin's sister was just taken off life support recently and died. She had sustained a Christopher Reeve-type injury earlier in the year. It caught us all by surprise. Then a woman in the local community died from a stroke quite suddenly. She had taught music and been involved in a jillion things for over 60 years, and even played piano at my church when I was growing up. Last but not least, Li'l G reported to me on Friday that one of her friends' father was sent to jail last week. This little boy is just adorable but can be a behavior problem. I've written about him before; for some reason, he just touches my heart. Now he gets to go through the holidays with this burden. At the age of five. My heart just aches for all of these families for whom Thanksgiving will feel like a hollow experience -- been there, done that. Yet I know that "there are still good times to be had," just as Shelby told Miss Clairie in "Steel Magnolias." If we really look, get down on our hands and knees sometimes and scrutinize, we can see God at work in all these situations. When I can identify that, it makes it easier for me to find hope, to see even one positive thing, and that uplifts my heart more than kind words or inspiring songs. That, indeed, is good medicine.
I just realized today, as I was catching up on all of my Bloglines feeds, that I have been relatively "offline" for almost two weeks now. It seems like a lot longer than that! Not only have I not posted in that long, I also have read very few posts of others. My apologies for being such a slacker!
If your house is anything like mine right now, it's a real mixture of excitement and exhaustion, long grocery lists, recitals, exponential amounts of laundry and cleaning to do, and a potentially sick child as of bedtime tonight. In the midst of this, I'm trying to keep my chin up and soldier on, but my knees are already starting to feel a little weak. Between PMSing this week and celebrating T's third birthday in heaven, I know that God is going to have his hands full listening to my prayers for the next week or so!
In light of all that has gone on in the last two weeks, and all that will undoubtedly transpire over the next one, I thought I'd take this point by point and try to find God's fingerprint in all this mess...
Recitals: Li'l G has had two of these in the last ten days, one of which went for about two hours and ended around 8:30 P.M. on a school night. Ugh!! The one today was so, well, weird. Let me just say that the recital itself went well and was thankfully only 20 minutes long. But when we were warming up and rehearsing her "piece," her debut of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," she just mentally shut down. Couldn't even remember the song. Partly she was distracted by Bud watching "Pinky Dinky Doo" in the background, but I suspect now that she wasn't feeling very well. It really made me panic -- she was about to perform this song by herself and she couldn't remember even half of the song that she's practiced almost flawlessly since August! Somehow she pulled it off and did a really good job, but you could tell by looking at her face during the recital something just wasn't right. Then she tossed her cookies tonight after dinner. GREAT! TMI, I know, but I'm a mom so I have no qualms discussing childhood ailments. Now I feel like a total dragon mom for hounding my kid to get out there and do her best when all she probably wanted to do was lay down and croak because she had a low grade fever and wanted to sleep. Where is God in this? In the sweet little face of my beautiful baby girl. She is such a fighter and wants desperately for me to be proud of her. One more recital after Thanksgiving and then we get a month-long break, thank God!
Parish Lay Ministry Academy: I attended my last class session last weekend, and literally wanted to throw a tantrum and refuse to leave when the day was over! This two-year program has been such an amazing experience; it has literally changed my life. I can honestly say that, while I'm so incredibly grateful for this experience, it's made my life extremely difficult in many ways. First of all, there is the time when you have to complete reading assignments, papers, and projects. The kids have certainly watched their fair share of movies or played unsupervised in the backyard (gated and locked, though -- I promise!), and many family members have come through to hang out with them as I spend full-length days in class. Even though these have been serious sacrifices for me, the real difficulties have been internal. While I have had to read some borderline-heretical material, God gave me a clear understanding of what was false teaching and what wasn't and why that was so. I have had to excavate some serious familial demons, assess my own spiritual understandings, and measure that up against society's yardstick. The real problem I'm having is that I have come to some stark, clear understandings about myself and how I believe based on things I have learned. In and of itself, this is not the problem; rather, the problem is how to interact in the world, quite honestly. There are certain perspectives out there, popular and seemingly Biblically based, that I just cannot endorse anymore. Combine my strong conviction with my personality and that should pretty much explain my conundrum in a nutshell. I've also come to the conclusion that I need to pursue seminary. Every possible avenue I've looked into has turned into a dead-end so far, so I'm taking at least the first half of next year to digest what I've learned, get back into shape, volunteer at Li'l G's school, and see what unfolds. I want to savor this time of my children being young and still wanting to be around me. I just have this nagging feeling that my days are numbered the way they stand right now, and I want to enjoy each of those days and cherish them. Where is God in all this? Oh man, he's ALL up in my grill. I feel like Martin Luther walking through that field dodging lightning bolts. The problem is, I'm still unclear on where any of this is leading. So I'm putting the ball back in God's court. And waiting. Again...
Church stuff: Good.grief. You can't even BEGIN to know how much stress this has brought to my life over the last couple of months, much less the last two weeks. Some days I don't know whether to thank God that he put me in the position where I am or to curse the day I decided I needed to be involved. I can say this: I'm learning a LOT about people, both in general and specific ones. In my church in particular, I'm having such a weird experience. To my knowledge, I think I'm the first charter member child who has ended up serving on our church council, which is kinda cool, but is also very eye-opening. I have even asked my praise band cohorts, "Have things always been this way?!? If so, was I just blind to it because I was a kid and didn't notice?!?" Where is God in this big, hairy tangle? Good question! No, seriously, I know he's there. This whole season at my church is like a fire that was raging hot and engulfed with flames at one point and has now been reduced to a pile of ashes. If you poke around in the thick mound of ashes, you will still find a handful of red, glowing embers, and given the right conditions, that fire can be ignited again. Because I'm an emotional person to whom it comes more naturally to react and take things personally, I get all wound around the axle about the drama going on and even want to wash my hands of the whole thing sometimes, but I'm really learning that a handful of people respect my opinions, so I try to be clear and deliberate about what I say. I'm also learning the power of saying nothing. (I know, I know, stop the presses! haha!!) But as I have learned from Exodus 14:14, the battle does not belong to me; however, I am really trying hard to discern what role God would have me take in the next steps we take as a congregation. It's definitely a labor of love for me.
Thanksgiving/Gathering With Family: Who else's Thanksgiving gathering this week will put the "fun" back in "dysfunctional"?!? There is so much strife floating around in my family that at one point today I was actually having chest pains. Once again I was asking, "Have things always been this way?!? Or was I just too young to have noticed that the adults aren't playing nicely together?!?" R. is coming this year and will help us with some of the food prep. I always love schlepping him around with me at these kinds of things. His perspective is unbiased and fresh when it comes to assessing the social atmosphere at these gatherings, and I really appreciate his insights. To be honest with you, I'm desperate for this to be a relaxed, joyous occasion. I want the food to be scrumptious, the weather to be chilly, the home in which we're gathering to be cozy, and the laughter to be contagious. What I absolutely, down-to-my-core cannot handle is eyes rolling, back-biting conversations in hallways and corners, or just crankiness in general. With the third anniversary of T's accident and death just two days later, I am striving with all my might to reclaim Thanksgiving as the happy, comforting gathering that it was when I was a kid, both for my children and for my own sanity. Family drama needs to take a vacation, for crying out loud. Where, oh where is God in this picture? Going straight up my spine and into my heart, keeping me upright with a smile on my face to get me through this holiday. I'm counting on it 200%.
Advent/Christmas: It's been hard for me to have the emotional energy left for this holiday over the last couple of years, and for longer than that I've been so righteously pissed at what our society has made of this holiday. However, this year I have decided to take this holiday captive, too. I'm going as overboard as I can possibly go and still have a dollar left to my name. I'm trying to participate in as many opportunities to provide gifts or support as I can. I am trying to make the house festive and exciting for the kids. I'm trying to wrap my heart around the miracle of Jesus' birth, who He truly is, and how to apply this in my life. I want the kids to have a magical, memorable holiday, while also seeing that not everyone has warm, soft PJs and toys. I want them to be able to connect the soft, sweet baby in the manger to the grown man on the cross at some point. Advent is a season of preparation, sometimes somber anticipation, but always a time of remembrance that God is faithful and fulfills his promises, including his promise to send the Messiah because of his love for us, even when we don't always love him back.
To be honest with you, I haven't been very cheerful lately, which is why I chose the opening verse. And in catching up on some of my blogs, I can tell I'm not the only one. It's a hard time of year for more people than we realize. Case in point, my cousin's sister was just taken off life support recently and died. She had sustained a Christopher Reeve-type injury earlier in the year. It caught us all by surprise. Then a woman in the local community died from a stroke quite suddenly. She had taught music and been involved in a jillion things for over 60 years, and even played piano at my church when I was growing up. Last but not least, Li'l G reported to me on Friday that one of her friends' father was sent to jail last week. This little boy is just adorable but can be a behavior problem. I've written about him before; for some reason, he just touches my heart. Now he gets to go through the holidays with this burden. At the age of five. My heart just aches for all of these families for whom Thanksgiving will feel like a hollow experience -- been there, done that. Yet I know that "there are still good times to be had," just as Shelby told Miss Clairie in "Steel Magnolias." If we really look, get down on our hands and knees sometimes and scrutinize, we can see God at work in all these situations. When I can identify that, it makes it easier for me to find hope, to see even one positive thing, and that uplifts my heart more than kind words or inspiring songs. That, indeed, is good medicine.
Friday, October 24, 2008
For Cryin' Out Loud
What is it about the power of the tear? Crying is the outward expression of such a huge range of emotions. Newborns cry as a means of survival. Many people cry when in either physical or emotional pain or distress. A toddler who has wandered away from his mother cries tears of panic, frightened at being alone. Bud cries big crocodile tears in protest of going to time out. Li'l G cries from embarassment and shamefulness when she is called on doing something that she knew was wrong. I cried tears of joy when these two crazies popped out of my ginormous belly. T. cried tears of disbelief that he had become a father. I cried tears of frustration yesterday because my lack of time spent at the gym is starting to show when I go to Pilates. And the kids and I cry tears of anguish, weeping bitterly for the daddy that they can't see but are told loves them even now as he stays in heaven with Jesus. Tears are so powerful.
It's been an odd week for me emotionally. I personally have not spent much time crying, unless you want to count the huge lump in my throat at Pilates yesterday, but that was just me being frustrated with my lack of gym time and knowing that I should and could be handling my stress better. At any rate, I understand very well the blessed release of allowing yourself to cry. When I observe others crying, it doesn't necessarily make me uncomfortable. I generally think that, rather than attempt to console someone and end up saying something completely insensitive to their situation, they should be allowed to cry it out. Better to cry than to bottle it up.
I was touched today watching a little girl cry at Li'l G's school. I met Li'l G up at school with a special lunch and sat with her and her classmates at the big tables. A table full of Kindergarteners talking and eating simultaneously is NOT for the weak-stomached! S4J would've had a stroke envisioning all levels of unsanitariness (???) of this lunchtime experience, but I was rolling with it, enjoying watching these kids in their element. I felt like I was watching an episode of, "Kids Say The Darndest Things," with Bill Cosby. It was great.
I visited with Li'l G and the kids sitting around us, as they all dug into their ice cream first and talked with their mouths full. As I looked up and down the table, trying to remember all their names, I noticed one little girl sitting at the far end, reserved for kids who need "help focusing on eating their lunch." I know this little girl has issues with behavior but seems to be a good kid. She cried, at times hysterically, throughout the entire 30-minute lunch period. What was she crying about? What set her off? She sat curled up in her chair for a good amount of time, looking back over her shoulder towards the window with a thousand-meter stare on her face, eyes shiny, nose swollen and red. Then, at one point, she turned around and put her hands up to her ears, almost as if she was trying to drown out the noise in the room. I just had to wonder: what is it in a five year-old's life that would prompt an emotional reaction of this intensity that lasts for this long? Having been a teacher, I immediately had a long list of possible factors, and my heart just broke for her.
It was odd. As I watched her sit there crying, it was as if I could envision her at 12, 15, 23. The look on her face spoke of years of intense emotion of some sort. At the tender age of five, she chooses to express herself in a fit of tears and acting out during centers. How will she choose to "get it out" at 12? 15? 23? I'd love to think that she will be raised in a God-fearing, Christ-proclaiming home, or at least have family members who will pray for her throughout her lifetime. I just wish I had had the words, and the legal ability, to tell this troubled little girl that, no matter how bad it gets and how mad or frustrated or lonely she feels, there is a real God who loves her no matter what choices she makes in life and no matter what terrible things people may have to say to her. Her life is no accident, and she is not alone in this world. Or to quit crying about not getting to sit by her best friend and eat her dang PBJ already! (just kidding...)
Our schools, offices, hospitals, Wal-Marts, churches, and grocery stores are full of people who are still that small, hurting child inside. Who will dry their tears? Who will care when they've reached their breaking point? Who will encourage them to ask God to help them forgive? Who will live out the Gospel for them in a way that doesn't turn it right back into law, setting them up for expectations that no one but Jesus can meet? My friends, we are all called to do this. This is a huge responsibility, right?!? Absolutely. Are we capable of doing this? Absolutely not. This is just where we've got to let the Comforter do his thing through us. For me, if I can just remember to pray for this little girl every time I drive past the school, I feel like I've at least done something. I try to speak to each of the kids in the class, remember their names, smile, joke around with them, and encourage them whenever I help out up at the school. I may not be kicking in the door of her home and rescuing her from some dramatic situation, but I can be the one happy face she sees in a day. Even that counts.
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