3 years ago today

Three years ago today, we somehow lived through the worst day of our lives, the day our son died. There is still, three years later, a feeling of disbelief. At particular moments, there is still a part of me that wants to curl up in the fetal position and die. It was such a "normal" morning July 29, 2011. It began with no hint of the silent tsunami that was about to hit, shattering our world, our lives, our hearts into a billion broken pieces. It is so very true that life changes in an instant. But until it happens to you, you remain blissfully ignorant of the reality of it.

As the anniversary date of Matt's death drew closer and closer, I found myself struggling more and more, feeling myself slipping in the miry clay of grief. I couldn't get a foothold. But God, who is El Roi, the God who sees (everything!), saw my weakness, my hurt, my pain. And He answered me through Ann Voskamp's weekend post. Right at the end of her post, just before I was about to click on the "X" to exit the browser page, I read the last paragraph.

Hey soul? Come close here-- It's going to be okay...
That Mount Everest you're climbing today? God is greater.
Those obstacles you're facing right now? God is greater.
This storm you're weathering through? God is greater.
Today, just hold on to these three words, your refrain for the climbing, the overcoming, the pressing through wind: God. is. Greater.
#PreachingGospeltoMyself —Ann Voskamp 




God is greater. God is greater than my grief. He is greater than anything this world throws at us. He is greater than our doubts, greater than our biggest fear. He is greater than all of it. Greater is He who is in us than he who is in the world. This is the refrain I have kept on repeat as we approached today.



Because He is greater, we can do great things. Great things like this:

Grief is a cancer

It's the 25th. Matt's younger sister's birthday is today. And I'm struggling to focus. I couldn't sleep last night and finally made it to bed at 1:30am, only to be woken at 5am by a coughing child who needed a nebulizer treatment. Birthday party plans are bursting at the seam, and the cake is finished. (It's family tradition to make our own cut up cakes, though we've gotten quite competitive with ourselves the last several years! It's fun to see how our skill level has increased from the earlier years.)

The battle to "take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ" is strenuous. When I think back to three years ago, I don't remember this day at all. Instead, what I remember vividly is the 28th. The 28th is the day I took Matt's sister out for a birthday lunch with her best friend. And what stands forever etched in my memory is that that is the last day our lives were untouched by the cancer of grief.

Grief is a cancer. Once discovered, daily life becomes a continual battle to kill it. Life becomes consumed by it. It takes every ounce of one's strength to fight it. It is relentless and cares about nothing but destroying the one it attacks.

But thanks be to GOD, there is an effective treatment for the cancer of grief. It is God's word, God's strength, and God's perspective. The truth of God's word concerning death and disease is the "pill" we take to fight this cancer. Grief leaves one exhausted, but leaning hard on God one finds the strength to get through, to make it to the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Choosing to see the affliction of grief through His eyes is the course of treatment most effective for fighting off the relentless killer of joy. God's perspective on our sorrow and loss is the key to overcoming this cancer. It is fought with hope and thankfulness. Joy is preserved through thanksgiving and the cancer of grief is rendered powerless by it.

As we approach the 29th, I am thankful that there is a plan in place for commemorating it. I don't have to wallow in self-pity or focus on what we have lost or will never have on this side of heaven. I am thankful for the many who have come alongside us in our battle against grief. I am thankful for the outpouring of generosity for Matt's Gofundme 3 Year Remembrance Event. (A new goal has been set, and I hope you'll check it out!)

I am thankful for a God who knows what I am going through, who walks beside me through it, and who gives me the strength and hope to fight this cancer of grief. I live with grief, but greater is He who is in me, than he who is in the world.

Matt's 3 year remembrance event - Day 4

It is day 4 of the GoFundMe campaign and, thus far, $760 has been raised. Words truly fail to express how much this means to us. Truth be told, my faith was small. When I set up the fund, I wanted to leave the dollar amount blank, but the field was required, and it wouldn't let me leave it empty. I thought about putting $500 for the goal and, honestly, I didn't think it would even come close to reaching that. But I felt God whispering to me, "Do the impossible. Trust Me." So I stepped off the ledge of fear and doubt and typed $1000 in the goal amount field. And already, on day 4, God has amazed me. Oh, Me, of little faith.

http://www.gofundme.com/mattc3

In 11 days, we will be marking the three year anniversary of our son's death. (July 29th) We want to observe the date by "paying it forward." Matt was brilliant when it came to computers. He especially liked to troubleshoot and repair computer issues. To pay it forward, we'd like to raise money that will be used on July 29th to pay a computer repair bill for a random customer(s) at a yet undecided local computer business. Matt would be 19yrs. old now, and we have no doubt that, were he here, he'd be working at a computer business in town. No gift is too small, and your act of kindness is tremendously appreciated. If you would like to honor his memory with us, please click on the link above.


*Just a special note about the photo I used. I took it the night before Matt's BPA club state competition. He ended up placing 1st in PC Troubleshooting and Repair and 5th in Java Programming.

To all who have donated: THANK YOU! Thank you for allowing God to use you to strengthen my faith and to honor our son's memory. We continue to grieve, but we do not grieve as those who have no hope.

Matt's 3 year remembrance event

In exactly two weeks, we will be marking the three year anniversary of our son's death. (July 29th) We want to observe the date by "paying it forward." Matt was brilliant when it came to computers. He especially liked to troubleshoot and repair computer issues. To pay it forward, we'd like to raise money that will be used on July 29th to pay a computer repair bill for a random customer(s) at a yet undecided local computer business. Matt would be 19yrs. old now, and we have no doubt that, were he here, he'd be working at a computer business in town. No gift is too small, and your act of kindness is tremendously appreciated. If you would like to honor his memory with us, please click on the link below.


http://www.gofundme.com/mattc3

*Just a special note about the photo I used. I took it the night before Matt's BPA club state competition. He ended up placing 1st in PC Troubleshooting and Repair and 5th in Java Programming.

Hope in God

So, this battle's been going on in my head for several weeks (months?) now. My faith in God is sure and certain, but my confidence is not. I know, and firmly believe without a doubt, that God can and does heal. But. But sometimes He chooses not to. Like the man who sought out Jesus for healing of his demon-possessed son, I have said, "...But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”(Mark 9:22b) And therein lies my problem. But.

Because of that but, my prayers have been weak, a jumbled mess of supplication. I know God can heal, but I doubt He will. The result is prayers that are ineffective and confused, overshadowed by a fatalistic attitude. I didn't use to be this way, but after reading a book I picked up last week titled, A Grace Disguised, I was convicted. For several weeks, I knew God was speaking to me. He knew the battle raging in my head, the torrent of thoughts swirling constantly the past few months.

You see, He heals some people. He does. But not everyone. Some of us, instead, plan a funeral, pick out a casket, and design a headstone. People do die. Cemeteries are full of deceased bodies. All the faith in the world can't save a loved one if God decides otherwise. It's a battle of "God can" vs. "But will He?" This struggle lately made my hope scatter like dandelion fluff. But reading A Grace Disguised challenged me. Mr. Sittser reminded me that, though tragedy is not always one's choice, one's response to it is. We each have a choice about what we're going to do with our grief when faced with it. I have a choice about how I will live out my life as a bereaved mother. Will I allow my son's death to change me for the better or will I allow bitterness, despair, and cynicism to dominate the rest of my life?

What I realized through reading A Grace Disguised was that my problem wasn't a lack of faith. It was refusing to submit to God's sovereignty. I wasn't happy with God's decision, that Matt's life ended far, far too early than I (We) would have liked. I was caught up in the "now" of earth (and it's temporary losses) and had lost my hope of eternity.

Yet, the God of hope (Rom.15:13) is tenacious. He is faithful, never leaving us nor forsaking us. God has surely witnessed my struggle, heard my doubts, and patiently waited for me to come to Him with it all. His response was overwhelming to me. Every email devotion I opened, every web page I stumbled across, and every blog I read had the same message: Trust Me. Wait. Hope.

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I have grief and most likely always will. But. But I also have hope.

With love, from Aunt Patty

Dear Matt,
Your Aunt Patty finished the blanket she made out of your shirts and gave it to us this past weekend. Seeing your clothes again after almost 3 years, well, there are no words. Just a deep, deep longing to see you again, to hear your voice, to watch you walk across a room.

Every square I look at flashes a memory across my mind. I remember each and every one of those shirts. I remember the five summers you spent at FCA camp. I remember how you enjoyed the Moondogs' games, and how you loved Trout Lake Camp. I remember Sundays in church, you sitting behind us running the sound board. I remember the back of those shirts, you sitting at the computer programming or playing Minecraft.

Memories are in those shirts. They are just small snapshots of your life, flash photographs in fabric. And I, though heartbroken because seeing them reminds me, once again, of our great loss, am grateful to God for giving us these pictures, these memories. We are blessed that your aunt is so talented and loves you so, that she shares our sorrow and our joy.

With love, from Aunt Patty...and all of us.
Love, Mom