Busted Heart (Hold on to me) - For King and Country

My latest favorite song...

The every day things

I think many people believe the "special" days are the hardest for those who grieve, the anniversaries, birth dates, holidays, etc. And while they most assuredly are difficult, it's the things in the normal, every day life that grief affects the most. As I worked around the house today doing chores and writing out bills, it was the setting of the table, the sorting of the laundry, and the planning of the menu that consistently reminded me that Matt is gone. The waves of grief have changed their tsunami-style approach to smaller, incessant rolling waves, the kind that eventually wear rock down or carve channels through the landscape. Though maybe not as initially destructive, they are just as powerful.

There are so many routine things that have changed since Matt died. I no longer fill out the entire 12 month calendar with each kids' week of dish duty. I don't assign chores in order from oldest to youngest like I used to. I don't use being too tired as an excuse anymore not to tuck them in at night, because I now know the reality that it may possibly be the last. I struggle with how to say certain things now. Things like when I'm referring to the kids, from the second-born to the fifth-born. I cannot say, "the oldest four", because it's NOT my oldest four. So how do I refer to them? I typically just say each of their names even though it takes longer. *sigh*

The past month has been incredibly difficult. I think because I've been fighting with God. Wrestling with Him because I do NOT want the death of my child, my teenager, to be a part of my story. I don't. Yet it's rather stupid, isn't it? Because I also fully know/understand that there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I can't change it. I can't make it go away. All I can do is cling to God. Cling to Him daily and trust that some day, it will be alright.

Streams in the Desert (devotional in part)
May 28
Cling to God in Faith
"I will not let thee go, except thou bless me ... and he blessed him there." (Gen. 32:26, 29).

Jacob got the victory and the blessing not by wrestling, but by clinging. His limb was out of joint and he could struggle no longer, but he would not let go. Unable to wrestle, he wound his arms around the neck of his mysterious antagonist and hung all his helpless weight upon him, until at last he conquered.

We will not get victory in prayer until we too cease our struggling, giving up our own will and throw our arms about our Father's neck in clinging faith.

What can puny human strength take by force out of the hand of Omnipotence? Can we wrest blessing by force from God? It is never the violence of wilfulness that prevails with God. It is the might of clinging faith, that gets the blessing and the victories. It is not when we press and urge our own will, but when humility and trust unite in saying, "Not my will, but Thine." We are strong with God only in the degree that self is conquered and is dead. Not by wrestling, but by clinging can we get the blessing. --J. R. Miller

 

Ten Months

Ten Months, Matt. Really? I can't help but wonder if this is the way it will always be, me counting months. And then months turning into years. I just want to pretend it never happened, that there was never an accident, and that you never died. But if I pretend that, then I'd have to deny you ever existed. And that simply isn't true. You did.

I just wish death didn't hurt so bad. The pain reverberates to my very marrow. I'm not saying that my child is the be all, end all of my existence, but the pain of losing him permeates to the very core of my being. As a Christian, I know that God is my all in all. There is no way I would get through this without my Father in Heaven, “the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121)

But this, again, is where I don't understand certain verses. Verses like 1Cor. 15:55 "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" Of course, I know that, ultimately, this verse is referring to the eternal victory Jesus Christ accomplished over death, but I'm thinking, “It stings all right.” If the victory has been won, then why do we still have to suffer the effects of death, the pain and hurt that separation from our loved one brings? (Don't answer that. I know the answer. Yet it doesn't change the fact that grieving and sorrow remain.)

Grieving is hard work. I never would have guessed that. Honestly. I had no clue what the grief-stricken went through. It is a struggle. It affects you, not only emotionally, but physically. It is a struggle to find the energy to do the most simple of tasks. It is a struggle to find the motivation to do anything. It is a constant battle with the mind and spirit, to stay focused on the eternal, rather than the temporal. It is a struggle to balance living in the “here and now” with the longing to be with Christ. (Phil. 1:23)

I've struggled this week with how to deal with my grief. I honestly wanted to run away. Which is, in a sense, what I did. :) We went to the farm. And instead of leaving today like planned, we are staying another couple of days. Unfortunately, Dh couldn't do that, as he has a paying job. (Thank God!) But you know what? Sometimes I think it's o.k. to run away. Just so long as you return.

 

Oh, God, You're so funny

So I cried out to the LORD yesterday and what do I find this morning? A blog post on my Google Reader from a gal whose blog I follow titled, "Sinking, Sinking, Saved!"


I know it's also no coincidence that I've now heard the verses "Be still and know that I am God" and "You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You" several times in the past two days.

I also came across Kay Arthur's book When the Hurt Runs Deep. It looks like it would be a good read and it's only $10, but I really wanted it in Kindle edition, but it costs about $2 more!!! Argh. I also saw it for only $6 in the used section, but again, I wanted an e-version. :( Guess I will keep checking our library. ;)

On another note, Dh and I ordered the stone bench last night for the "memorial mound" we have in the front yard in honor of Matt's memory. So very tough. People only order benches because they've lost a loved one. And that is what sucks. Anyway - it will be beautiful. Gray stone, semi-circular, beveled edges, and with the inscription, "LORD, You Never Let Go." We will hopefully have it before July 29. 

Lastly, we'll be packing tomorrow for a trip to Grandma's this weekend. (I really want to say "and Grandpa's.) *sigh* Missing Grandpa, too. Looking VERY forward to getting away. Love visiting the farm. Love not having any "responsibilities" for a few days. It's a chance for me to think without the usual daily distractions. I am planning on *hopefully!* finishing the rest of the condolence Thank You cards...and if I have any time left after that, I need to start work on school planning for next year. I sure hope my expectations aren't too high!!!

Drowning

Got sucked out to sea big time today. The waves of grief came crashing in like a tsunami and had me a whirlpool before I knew what hit me. I hate this. I think the fact that next Tuesday is the 29th and ten months since Matt died is hitting me hard. I thought to myself, "It's actually harder now than when he died because I still have to live. I could possibly have another 40 or so more years before dying myself." I was just so utterly discouraged. I found myself wondering, "Why, God? Why do we have to live on this earth like this?" Crying on a dear friend's "cyber" shoulders, I sent her an instant message saying, "Why, oh, why, couldn't we have all died suddenly with Matt???" I just want to leave. Why are days like this so difficult? Why does God seem so far away? Why is He silent? Why is everything so hard? Why are even the simple, mundane tasks of daily life, things like menu planning, grocery shopping, and laundry just too much, too exhausting, and too overwhelming? Why does everything take SO much energy?

I laid on my bed and, though crying, couldn't make a sound. Silent tears falling, throat aching, eyes puffy, swelling shut, and my body jerking from sobs, I gave up. I gave up trying to understand and I gave up trying to fight the stupid wave. I thought back to July 29th, to standing in the hallway at St. Mary's and reminded myself of the words that came unbidden out of my mouth as I sank to the floor, my peripheral vision growing dark as the blackness rushed in before I fainted. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

God, help me to continue to trust You in the days ahead. Give me Your strength. Help me to rely on You and not on my own understanding. May I keep eternity in sight. May I stay my eyes on You, Lord. (Is. 26:3 "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.")

A change in perspective

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

I struggle with certain Bible verses now. This one in particular. I can't help but question, "What about Matt's purpose? What about his hope and his future?" It was cut short. He died. What about that isn't harmful? My son died in a horrific car accident, thrown from the vehicle, though seat belted, colliding head on with a semi. These are just honest questions to a God whose plans I don't understand, questions from a grieving mother. 

I believe God is good. I know He is who He says He is, and I know circumstances do not dictate His character. But some verses I simply don't understand. The pain and suffering after the loss of a child is not, in the minds of grieving parents, a "light and momentary trouble." (2 Cor. 4:17)

I ask with the author of "Lament for a Son" the same question he does. "If creation took just six days, why does re-creation take so agonizingly long? If your conquest of primeval chaos went so quickly, why must your conquest of sin and death and suffering be so achingly slow?"

Thankfully, I don't have to understand. I take comfort in knowing that God is not offended by my questions or doubt. He is not threatened by my anger. I don't see the big picture, but God does. I once received a card with the saying, "You may not understand His purposes, but you can trust His promises." I am choosing to believe them. God says that He will never leave us nor forsake us. It says in John 3:16 "that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." Jesus says He has a place prepared for us, a room in His Father's house. So while I don't understand the unfolding of this life, why it has to involve the painful realities it does, I trust the One who holds the blueprints.

My son's death has changed my perspective about this life. Again, author Nicholas Wolterstorff sums it up well. He says, "Let me try again. All these things I recognize. I remember delighting in them - trees, art, house, music, pink morning sky, work well done, flowers, books. I still delight in them. I'm still grateful. But the zest is gone. The passion is cooled, the striving quieted, the longing stilled. My attachment is loosened. No longer do I set my heart on them. I can do without them. They don't matter. Instead of rowing, I float. The joy that comes my way I savor. But the seeking, the clutching, the aiming, is gone. I don't suppose anyone on the outside notices. I go through my paces. What the world gives, I still accept. But what it promises, I no longer reach for. I've become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it's not mine. I don't belong any more. When someone loved leaves home, home becomes mere house."

The death of a child loosens one's grip on earth. Things that used to be so important aren't any more. A re-prioritizing has taken place. Hearing has sharpened to the things of eternity. The lyrics of so many wonderful songs come to mind because so many of them speak truth. Tim and I have clung to many of these songs because they remind us that this is not where we belong. There is a better ending for those who believe in Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. God help us to remain faithful and patient while we wait for that ending.  

 

Ripples of grief

I hate what grief does. I never used to think twice about throwing papers away. I'm talking about the million and one scraps of paper your kids draw and color on. I always knew there'd be more the next day. Not to mention, with this many children, there's a TON of paper and drawings daily. It simply isn't feasible to keep every. single. little. piece. of artwork. But after losing a child, I now find myself thinking, "What if this is the last thing they ever draw? What if this is the last time I ever see his/her handwriting?" And I pause. I hesitate. The fear of losing another child is ever-present in the back of a bereaved parent's mind. And that sucks. And it's all Death's fault.