Wednesday, September 28, 2011

A dark day

Job 3:20-26 "Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave? Why is life given to a man whose way is hidden, whom God has hedged in? For sighing comes to me instead of food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil."

I am struggling. I don't want to go on. I just want this pain to end. I want my life to end. I am so weak. I cry, but there is not even strength to make a sound. I can only cry from the depths of my soul, "Why has God done this to me?" I don't care anymore. I don't want my faith strengthened. I don't want to be a testimony to anyone else. I am doubting that there even is a God. I am doubting that heaven or eternity exists. What's the point? What was Matt's purpose? I don't understand. If there is a life of eternity, then I just want to enter into it now.

These are dark moments, moments I wonder if I will survive. I cannot help but question if this grief is a mortal wound because that is what it feels like. Yet my heart continues to beat and the daily demands of life continue to pull at me. I thought of the apostle Paul in Philippians 1:19-26 when he says, "for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me."

I need sufficient courage as Paul says. Dh and I need your continued prayers and the help of the Holy Spirit. I need to do as Proverbs 3:5 says and trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. So much easier said than done.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Saturday on the farm

It's so hard being here. The kids are doing the usual things like riding the four-wheeler and mini-bike. The older girls hunt for new kittens while the little boys search for frogs and toads. Army boy shoots off the BB gun and Miss T.T. rides bike. Yet while all that goes on, Dh and I walk around broken, shoulders shaking with sobs as we remember that the last time we were here, our son was alive. I look out at the quonset expecting him to have climbed it and see him sitting atop it as usual. I see the Bronco parked in the driveway and remember that he drove it just two months ago. I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop and note that his is not there next to mine. Dh walks the gravel road and remembers that Matt walked to town on the 4th. I know that life goes on, and I know that healing will come, but for now grief overwhelms in these moments.

I've heard that feeling of the loss of a loved one is similar to being an amputee. I never quite understood that analogy until now. There is an emptiness in my heart, a profound sadness such that I wonder it will ever be gone. A piece of my heart has been removed. I don't mean that God won't bring healing, but the loss of our teenager has left a scar that will forever remain. As the waves of grief come crashing in, I will cling to God's word. Psalm 30:5b “...weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

Friday, September 23, 2011


Today was our first trip back to ND without our whole family. The last time we went was 4th of July. Matt was still alive and little did we know that just 25 days later, he would die in a head-on collision. It was also the first time I didn't take a family photo. Something that I will forever regret not doing. The weather just didn't cooperate and the opportunity with the busyness of the holiday weekend and it's activities didn't present itself. If only I had persisted. And now the thought of taking a family photo with one of our children not in the picture is agonizing. I can't imagine ever smiling again for a family photo. I've never been good at hiding the things in my heart from showing on my face.

Thursday was hard, packing suitcases and preparing for the trip. I was doing alright until I counted the suitcases and came up one short. I had been dreading this trip because I know that the “firsts” of anything after the loss of a loved one is difficult. I just didn't imagine it would be this difficult.

This morning dawned all too soon and we started to load up the van. Tempers ignited and flew over the littlest, insignificant stuff. Another sure sign of grief rearing it's ugly head. Dh and I were having a hard time. I had posted on FB that we were leaving for the weekend and, while I know people truly only mean well, I just wanted to scream when I read the comments saying, “Have a good time.” Seriously? Have a good time? I wanted to reply, “WE'RE GRIEVING! I'm not going to have a good time!” It's a good thing I don't always say what's in my head. That's what blogging is for. :)

We typically leave between 9:00-9:30am when we're traveling to Grandma and Grandpa's, but this time it didn't happen. Amidst Dh and I breaking down crying intermittently and the stress of trying to get the last minute stuff loaded, it was 10:30am by the time we left the driveway. We set out and only got about 20 minutes into driving when I realized I had forgotten the tub of Matt's clothes. Never mind we had already broken down crying at least 3x's in those twenty minutes, either. I picked up my Tracfone to call my mom and only cried harder when I realized I hit Matt's number on the phone. Ugh. Why does this have to be so hard? Why?

No sooner had I hung up when another wave of grief slapped me in the face. I went to grab a pen from the van console and instead came upon Matt's McDonald's Moche Frappe punch card. Another ugh. The morning was already shot and it didn't appear it was going to get any better. We turned the van around and headed back home. I had told Dh that I thought the brakes on the van needed looking at, too, so we made a plan that he would take the van in while we ate lunch at home and got the tub of clothes.

We finished lunch, loaded the tub of clothes, and headed back out onto the road. It turned out the brakes on the van were fine. By now, I had had a good cry, thanks to the comforting shoulders of a dear neighbor. She just let me sob and didn't try to console me with vain words. It was good and one of these days, I will learn to ride the waves rather than get pulled under! I know, ultimately, that this “first” of traveling without Matt with us would have occurred no matter when we took the trip. Might as well get it over with. Next time, hopefully, will be a little better.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Coming undone

Music is so powerful. I firmly believe that it affects us more than we like to admit. I actually stay away from certain songs because they elicit such a strong emotional response. One such song is Held.

Held by Natalie Grant

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling
Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
If hope is born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our Savior
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held

The incredible identification with this song is just too painful right now. I heard it on the radio as I sat in the van waiting for Sweet Stuff's prescription. I knew I should have turned the station dial. This song isn't new to me. I've heard it before and actually didn't like it because it is just so heart wrenching. I don't want to identify with that kind of pain. Yet I do. I do now. As much as I don't want to. Yet I am reminded of truth. The truth of God's word.
Romans 8:17 Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.
2 Corinthians 1:5 For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.
Galatians 6:17 Finally, let no one cause me trouble, for I bear on my body the marks of Jesus.

I belong to Christ. I gave my life to Him many years ago in my early twenties. Then a few years after that, I began to study His word and discovered that because I am His, He will never let me go. I am His bond-servant. I belong to Him and because He put a new spirit in me, that same spirit will cause me to walk in His ways. (Now don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean I won't stumble or never sin again, or that I won't grieve or quench the Spirit.) But I know that He holds me. I have His promise, like the Natalie Grant song says. I am being held. And when I realize that truth, it makes me cry in gratitude.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Turning a corner

53 days. Though last Monday was horrible, I think it did some unseen work on the wound in my heart. I firmly believe, too, that having the abundant number of meals provided for us have helped me to grieve. I haven't had to worry about meal planning or preparation three times a day. I could focus on my grief in that I didn't have to try to shove it aside or ignore it or deal with it later because I was too busy trying to get a meal on the table. I know, without a doubt, that otherwise I would have done what I wanted to do, which was never get up again. I am much like an animal when wounded. I simply want to go hide in a corner and lick my wounds and snarl at anyone that comes near, even if they're only trying to help. On top of all that, I was clueless about how grief affected the immune system and several of us have been sick off and on since a week after the funeral. The meals have been tremendously helpful in more ways than one.

I have thought a lot about this wound that grief leaves. To me, it is much like a third-degree burn victim. The past seven weeks have been rife with intense, unspeakable, indescribable pain, as when one gets burned. But third-degree burns (called full-thickness burns) may have little or no pain or may feel numb at first because of nerve damage. I wonder if I didn't move to this stage almost immediately after the searing pain. Of course, that was after the initial shock wore off, too.

When pain is so intense, the body's coping mechanism is such that it shuts off. I'm fairly certain mine did. However, as with severe wounds, they must be cleaned and tended to. They must be seen by a physician and round-the-clock care given. Wounds this deep must be watched carefully for infection, dressings changed, and antibiotics given. I believe that every time I have allowed myself to cry, to write, to feel, have been times when the dressings were changed, when healing was fostered. You see, I don't think you can do anything to speed healing. I think you can promote healing by doing those things. But only the Great Physician brings healing, and usually it takes time.

The Lord has been so very gentle with us through our loss. He has changed my dressings, and when infection looked likely, He cleaned it out, though painful a process such it was. I never would have thought I would have survived, yet yesterday turned a corner. There is still a very, very long road ahead. The wound, in no way, is any less deep than it was before, but I think that healing has finally begun. There remains a profound, inexplicable sadness, but I trust that the LORD will do what He says. "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:3 NIV) He will be my rock, my fortress, my deliver, my God in whom I trust.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

What do I say?

I'm beginning to feel like a broken record. Seven weeks and one day...50 days. The roller coaster ride of grief still makes me nauseous and I still want off. Yet God has been faithful and continues to give grace and comfort. It's been a rough week with being sick. Drama boy's ear infection from two weeks ago didn't clear up and he also got a horrible case of hives yesterday. In addition, I have been battling a terrible sinus infection for over a week. On the up side, we continue to be lovingly supported by friends and family. Meals are still graciously being provided and are tremendously appreciated.

Dh is gone for the weekend at Men's Retreat. He called and is having a wonderful time. I'm happy for him, though last night here at home was B.A.D. Drama boy was up every 1 1/2hrs. I wasn't alone, however, and proved the adage that misery loves company. The girls and I had a sleepover with some BFF's. While it stunk that Drama boy was up all night, we still managed to have some wonderful girl time. In between tending to poor, miserable, sick Drama boy, we watched a really good chick flick.

My friend and I talked, laughed, and cried through the night. One thing I have really struggled with since Matt's death is how to answer the inevitable question, "How many kids do you have?" I know the answer is seven, but I am literal minded. Always have been. Probably not going to change. When I think of that question, I'm thinking, "No, I have six children. I had seven." Yet that's just not an acceptable response for me. And I have struggled with this in my head since the accident. I want to be prepared with an answer when someone asks me the inevitable. And thanks to my dear friend Amy, I finally came up last night with a response that I am satisfied with. "I am a mom of seven." Thanking God for His wisdom, that He should show it to me.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Falling apart

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 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." 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Josh Wilson - Before the Morning Lyrics

Do you wonder why you have to feel the things that hurt you,
if there's a God who loves you, where is He now?

Maybe, there are things you can't see and all those things are happening
to bring a better ending
some day, some how, you'll see, you'll see

Would dare you, would you dare to believe,
that you still have a reason to sing,
'cause the pain that you've been feeling,
can't compare to the joy that's coming

so hold on, you got to wait for the light
press on and just fight the good fight
because the pain that you've been feeling,
it's just the dark before the morning

My friend, you know how this all ends
and you know where you're going,
you just don't know how you get there
so say a prayer.
and hold on, cause there's good for those who love God,
life is not a snapshot, it might take a little time,
but you'll see the bigger picture

Would dare you, would you dare to believe,
that you still have a reason to sing,
'cause the pain that you've been feeling,
can't compare to the joy that's coming

so hold on, you got to wait for the light
press on and just fight the good fight
because the pain that you've been feeling,
it's just the dark before the morning
yeah, yeah,
before the morning,
yeah, yeah

Once you feel the weight of glory,
all your pain will fade to memory
once you feel the weight of glory,
all your pain will fade to memory
memory, memory, yeah

Would you dare, would you dare to believe,
that you still got a reason to sing,
'cause the pain that you've been feeling,
it can't compare to the joy that's coming

Would dare you, would you dare to believe,
that you still got a reason to sing,
'cause the pain that you've been feeling,
it can't compare to the joy that's coming

come on, you got to wait for the light
press on and just fight the good fight
because the pain that you've been feeling,
it's just the hurt before the healing
oh, the pain that you've been feeling,
it's just the dark before the morning
before the morning, yeah, yeah
before the morning

Monday was a horrendous day. I just couldn't get my bearings. The breakers came in, crashed over me, and I was sucked out to a sea of grief without warning. It was a tsunami of emotions. Only a few times in my life have I felt things were so bad that I wanted to die. This was one of them. The loss of my son was so overwhelming that I just simply wanted to die, to go be with him. I've been sick with a sinus infection the past couple of days and lost my voice and, though I was sobbing, I couldn't even make a noise. I cried out to God, "Why did you do this to me? Lord, why?" I lay there and wept soundlessly until falling asleep. When I woke, I felt as though I were dead already, that something inside my spirit had died. Yet in the recesses of my mind, I knew that a life of bitterness, turning from God, was not the answer. Not if I claimed to be a child of God. So what was I to do, I wondered? How do I live again? I didn't have an answer.

I went to bed Monday night taking a sleeping pill. Tuesday wasn't much better. Seeing the check clear online for the mortuary didn't help, and neither did receiving a bill from the fire department responding to the accident. We had also gotten the notice from AAA about towing the van from the scene of the accident. There was the Life Flight hospital statement and the bill from St. Mary's, too. So many reminders that my son is gone, my heart wounded indelibly.

I did manage, however, to play some worship and praise music on Tuesday, though I wasn't "in the mood" for it. It did help, and by supper time, I was ready to go to Bible study. I am continuing in a Precept study on the book of Genesis, part 4. It's titled, "Wrestling with God." Ya think??? I knew going would be a good thing, even if I was exhausted. I wasn't wrong. The message, even though the video was referring to Jacob and Esau, was applicable to me. It was about persevering, about not throwing away our birthright. It was God's word to me through the video, spoken by Kay Arthur, saying, "Don't drift away."  In fact, my exact thoughts as I lay on my bed Monday afternoon were the words, "I just want to walk away. I want to drift away." God knew. He is sovereign. He had a plan. I need to trust Him.

Hebrews 10: 35 
So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded.
36 You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. 37 For,
   “In just a little while,
   he who is coming will come
   and will not delay.”
 38 And,
   “But my righteous one will live by faith.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Answering the question "How are you doing?"

It's funny how you know even before you've rolled out of bed or opened your eyes in the morning, that it's going to be a ______ sort of day. I knew this morning was going to be a difficult day. Didn't know why, but just had that feeling in the pit of my stomach. I guess I was standing in the shoreline of grief before I even realized my feet were wet and that there was water up to my ankles.

The tide came in quickly and before breakfast was over, I was yelling at the children for reasons only I knew. I finally admitted to myself what it was. I was dreading going through Matt's clothes. Yet I knew it was necessary. Aunt Patty is going to make a quilt with his shirts. I know there will be healing when I see the finished quilt hanging on the wall. And the quicker it gets done, the sooner it'll feel, in a small way, that Matt is still here with us.

My yelling at the children was only my grief manifesting itself. Sad to say, it didn't get much better after breakfast, either. I went to get milk from our usual store. I hadn't been there since before the accident. Now, getting milk isn't that big of a deal usually, and we typically get milk every other day. But getting milk that often pretty much ensures you're going to get to know the cashiers. It's also something I did a lot with Matt. Especially last year when I would pick him up every day from school. We would stop and get milk on the way home and he would always carry it for me. Mary, the cashier, saw us frequently. Wouldn't ya know, Mary was at the store today when I stopped. I was so praying she wasn't going to be there.

I was barely keeping it together as it was when I pulled into the gas station, but by the time I made it to the check out, I was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse. All it took was Mary's question "You're all alone?" to throw me off the edge. I knew what she really meant was "Where's your sidekick, the one with the muscles?" Then her co-worker, also a familiar face, asked, "So are all the kids at school?" The dam broke and the tears water came pouring out. I told her the news and then said I was sorry for losing it and made my exit.

I had hoped by the time I returned home I would be able to pull it together, but that damn ocean current was too strong. I decided that maybe taking all of Matt's stuff off of the mantle, where it had been the last 5 1/2wks., might be easier than going through his clothes. Unfortunately, it turned out it wasn't. In fact, taking each item off and putting it in a box was the most painful thing yet. I kept thinking, "I shouldn't have to be doing this!", "I can't do this.", "I can't make it through the day.", "How am I going to survive?", "Is this all there is? Just a few things in a box?", "Is this all there is to show at the end of a person's life is stuff they leave behind?", and "Is there never any end to tears?"

I finally gave in to the overpowering waves of grief and sank onto the couch crying. I was so glad to have my mom there. She did what any wise person does when comforting the grief stricken...She rubbed my back and didn't say anything. :) Thankfully, the tide receded and I managed to get my footing. We finished up with the mantle and set about getting lunch ready. After lunch, I decided I was up to going through Matt's clothes. Ironically, it wasn't nearly as hard.

We finished up with the clothes and then went outside. Shortly thereafter, a neighbor stopped by with her grandkids. I usually look forward to visiting with the neighbors, but today wasn't a good day. She immediately asked me, "How are you doing?" Seriously, I just don't know how to answer that. How am I supposed to answer that? I will never fathom what an adequate response is. I know one thing for sure...I sure hope I never ask a grieving person "How are you doing?" It is far better, in my opinion, to ask instead, "Is this a bad day or a good day?" or "Is this a good moment or a bad one?"

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

First Day of School

Yesterday was a very difficult day. I couldn't help but think about today. Matt would have started his junior year of high school. The waves of grief once again came pounding in, knocking me over, pulling me out to sea. I finally managed to get my footing when I remembered that Matt was done with school, and he would only be all too happy about that. Especially given the fact that he would have had to repeat English, a class he hated. It still breaks my heart, but I must focus on eternity. It is the only thing that keeps me from drowning.

Another wave of grief came crashing in when Artsy girl told me about Mr. Monkey on Sunday. We had gotten home from church and she went up behind him and poked him, just being silly and fun. But it's something Matt always did to him. Mr. Monkey didn't know it was Artsy girl behind him and he turned around and said excitedly "Matt!", then looked confused and questioningly said, "Matt? Matt?" He then saw Artsy girl and started crying. It broke my heart to hear that, yet was comforting in knowing that he hasn't forgotten his big brother. I have asked the LORD to please, please give Mr. Monkey a memory of his big brother, that he would somehow remember him even when he's grown.

Mr. Monkey and Drama boy have finally started sleeping through the night again, too, as of two days ago. Drama boy also went to Urgent Care on Saturday for an ear infection. He has some med's and is doing much better. Dh and I also slept through the night last night and the night before. It's not the greatest sleep, but much better than it's been. I, at least, have been able to go without sleeping aids and fall back asleep when I do wake now.

On one hand, it's hard seeing normalcy return. It's hard moving on without my son, yet we know there really is no choice. Thankfully, blessedly, grief is but for a season. John 16:22 "So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy." (NIV)

Getting back to routine and normalcy includes school. So while public schools start today, our homeschool actually started two weeks ago. This is our third week into it and it has gone better than I expected. I had had school planning and assignments completely done by July, so it was a fairly smooth start. I'm not anticipating that to continue, however, as I know we will most assuredly be interrupted with the rising and falling tides of grief. It is to be expected. I will extend grace for myself, Dh, and the children. 

Today's schedule, in fact, will be thrown off with an eye appointment for Drama boy and a trip to pick up my mom. She'll be staying for a few days to help me go through Matt's clothes. We are going to pick out his shirts that his Aunt Patty is going to use to put into a wall quilt. It will be difficult, I know, but I am also anticipating some healing when the quilt is done.

Off to shower and prepare for the day. I have a major sore throat and headache. Going to keep expectations low for today and play the worship music non-stop. :)

Friday, September 2, 2011

Jeremiah 29:11

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.(KJV)

I have struggled with this verse for a very, very long time, until I read it today in the KJV. Then I looked up the word "expected" in the original Hebrew language. I should have known. :) The word is "tiqvah." It's a word I have studied before in the book of Ruth and is mentioned again Joshua when reading about Rahab. It means "from 6960; literally, a cord (as an attachment (compare 6961)); figuratively, expectancy:--expectation ((-ted)), hope, live, thing that I long for."

That cord, that tiqvah, is JESUS CHRIST. He is the goal/expected end of our life that God wants for us. Take it, grab hold of it, don't let it go. In fact, you don't even need to hold can simply tie it around your window as Rahab did when hiding the spies. And what I mean by that is this: accept Christ as your savior, and He will do the rest. He will hold you. He will carry you. He will enable you. He will walk with you. He is the hope we have. It is the only thing right now that enables me to get through this valley of sorrow that I am in. When this life (or your loved one's) is over, Christ is your cord - your life line. Do you realize that? Do you have that hope? Take the red thread that God is offering to you now.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

I can't...

So Artsy girl and Army boy are all better.....and now Drama boy is sick. Again. 3 1/2 wks. of this sickness. 3 1/2 wks. of no sleep. 34 days of carrying around in my heart a wound so deep, so immense, there are no words. There is no strength. The LORD has hemmed me in on every side. I don't understand and no matter how much I struggle, how much I wish, how much I plead and beg, no matter how many tears I cry, He will not let me off of this ride. How do I not sink into the depths of despair? How do I go on? The LORD does not give us more than we can handle, I know, but this sure in the heck feels like it. In fact, the farther out I get from the day of Matt's death, I almost think it's if that's possible.

I even read a blog this past week that actually said God does give us more than we can handle because that way we turn to Him and that way HE handles it, whatever "it" is. I completely disagree with that whole argument. To say that God gives us more than we can handle is to say that God is not a God of love then. But God simply does NOT set us up for failure. That is NOT his character. He is not a God who desires to crush us or have us defeated.

Isaiah 42:3 "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice;"
Romans 8:37 "No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us."

I am trying to cling to Isaiah 40:29-31, but all I can think is, "When? Lord, when?" This see-saw of emotion is inexplicable. Yet I am reminded of God's goodness daily. I saw it today when I opened a card from a gal in my Bible study group. She wrote, "...when my burdens grow greater then God pours out much more of His grace for me." How timely. Her return address label had a cardinal on it, too. I thought, "Hmmm. I wonder if Barb knew her label had a cardinal on it." You see, Barb is blind. And in the past few weeks, the cardinal has become a very special bird to us. Matt had drawn one several years ago when I had signed him up for an art class. He also went through a phase when he was younger where he was really into birds. He would still, even last year, sit at the dining room table and watch the birds outside. It's also the picture we chose to put on the front of the funeral program. And we have seen a cardinal every day since the funeral.

Then last night, I saw the goodness of the Lord again as I sat in the last session of our Beth Moore Daniel Bible study. The women around the table, whom I had only just met a few months ago, stood around me, placed their hands on me, and prayed for me. They cried with me and reminded me again that God loves me. We watched the DVD of the lesson after that and I was moved to tears again as, of all things, the topic Beth Moore was speaking on was death, the new heaven and the new earth, and God's final assurances to Daniel that are fitting assurances to us as well. One of the truths she stated was that "in God's drama, unparalleled distress can set the perfect stage for unparalleled deliverance." This particular truth spoke to me in such a powerful way that I can't even put adequate words to it.

God has shown us countless things throughout this last month. Things that He didn't have to show us. Yet, in His mercy and goodness, He did. We know why the van crossed into the other lane, we know our precious son was not alone or conscious after the accident happened, and we know that God does not take you to places where He also does not provide for you. He does not, has not, and will not abandon us. God's truth, thankfully, is not dependent on our feelings. I can't see the end from the beginning. I can't imagine the wound in my heart healing. I can't fathom an unknown amount of time passing by before seeing my son again. But while I can't...God can.