My husband, though he isn't an affectionate person by nature and didn't grow up in an overly affectionate household, isn't one to hold his feelings back. He's not a "man up," "keep a stiff upper lip" kind of guy. He doesn't subscribe to the "men don't cry" theory. And I thank God for that because I need someone who is real, who is honest, about their feelings. He's shown our kids that it's o.k. to cry, especially for our boys. He models a biblical example of grief. Grief that expresses emotion. Grief that allows tears and accommodates real expression of feelings.
Father's Day is tough for him just as Mother's Day is tough for me. It's a day when we rejoice in the children we still have, yet grieve for the one who isn't here with us. It's not easy navigating holidays because they typically incorporate celebration. But grief complicates things. It's always an unwelcome visitor to the party. My husband and I have fought for joy, fought to keep hope on these special days. We don't want the death of our son to harden our hearts.
Instead, we look for hope. We grieve with hope. I wrote more on this on the Grieving With Hope Facebook page. (You are invited to "like" the page, as well.) Hope is always there. It's what we crave. (Just as the lyrics read to For King and Country's song, "Crave.") I am thankful for a man who knows the truth, the truth that fathers do weep. Fathers do grieve. And more importantly, we have a heavenly Father who weeps with us, who grieves with us, who gives us hope, who is our hope.
And speaking of fathers, I was all too happy to run across this post today: http://wearethatfamily.com/2015/06/fathers-are-not-idiots/. Whether your Father's Day contains sorrow or not, may it hold gratefulness for our fathers, those here and those we wait to rejoin in eternity, and gratefulness for the privilege of being a father, to those here and to those we wait to rejoin in eternity.
It's the 29th and exactly three and one half years since losing our 16yo. son in a car accident. I wonder if I will ever stop counting months and years. My heart continues to ache, though most days the ache is barely noticeable. But days like this? The ache wells up, pulses strong. I force my thoughts to think truth, take them captive to Christ. Today, I think I will throw eggs.
The past week has been a tug of war between thankfulness and grief. I never thought I'd be "that" parent, the one who causes awkward moments in conversation because of an answer to the innocent question, "How many children do you have?" For the most part, however, I've learned to gloss over the introductions, doing my best to alleviate and avoid their uncomfortableness. I say it fast, moving quickly so they don't have a chance to "poor me" me. I forget sometimes how shocking it is for others who don't know our story, and I feel compelled to "smooth" the rough spot. I never thought I'd be explaining how old my oldest child would be.
The struggle with grief continues, though it's course has changed dramatically since it began. The wild roller coaster ride with its steep plummets and sharp turns has evened out. As my grief mom friend Jackie says, "The highs aren't as high, and the lows aren't as low." For that, I am thankful. My biggest struggle lately, surprisingly, has not been bitterness, but jealousy. Yes. Jealousy. I wasn't really aware it was jealousy I was feeling until I read fellow Christian blogger, Kara Tippetts' post. (I'm sorry, I don't have a link to her complete post. I believe her blog address moved, changing some post links.) Kara wrote that she has been asked many times if she struggles with feeling angry about having terminal cancer, and her "answer is typically the same- Jason and I have fought to be broken instead of bitter and angry. ... No one has ever asked me if I'm jealous." (from Kara's FB post)
With each milestone that Matt's friends experience in their lives, I fight against jealousy. While I am truly, sincerely happy for them, I grieve because Matt's not here, because we don't get to experience these milestones with our son. For every wedding I've attended since losing Matt, I've had to brace myself or look away when I see the groom and his mother. I have to intentionally squelch any thoughts or imaginings of "I wonder" or "What if." For every graduation, for every date or girlfriend, for every moment a mom friend talks about her teenage son, jealousy raises it's ugly head. I never thought it would be this hard.
Yet, for every hard, there is grace. Abundant grace. All-sufficient grace. There is the hope of something that "far outweighs" every pain of this world. (2 Cor. 4:17) There is an anticipation for a day when there will never again be sorrow, sin, or jealousy. I know that when jealousy raises it's head, I need only to do one thing: Put my head upon His shoulders, the only One who understands and knows all. I lean hard on Him and find the grace I so desperately need.
I read this blog post Tuesday night and much of it struck a familiar chord with me. Though this woman's circumstances are entirely different from mine, I realized we are both living with one foot in this world and one in
the world to come. It's just not an easy place to be, honestly. But she identified what I have been missing. Determination. Determination to figure out how to live this life well without my son.
Frankly, I've been coasting. Life is flat. I want what I can't have. My son. A life without sorrow. Joy untainted by grief. But that's not possible. So what do I do?
I give thanks. I remember, as Psalm 13:6 says, that "He has been good to me." I focus on the hope that remains. I remember that sorrow will be a part of this life, but that the life to come will never be touched by grief, death, tears, or pain. (Rev.21:4) I focus on what I do have. I cling to the LORD and remember what He did for me. I remember that He, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross. (Heb.12:2) Because He did, I can.
I am thankful that Christ was honest with us. He said that "in this world, you will have trouble." He said that death and sin is a part of this world. But. But He also said to "...take heart! I have overcome the world." He told us "these things, so that in me you may have peace."(John 16:33) The apostle Paul encourages further with these words: "But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Cor. 15:7)
One can not get through this world believing in anything but Christ. It is not health, wealth, or a good attitude that pulls one through. It is not one's strength, one's will, or even one's positive thinking that gets one through. It is believing in Jesus Christ, taking Him at His word and living by faith in Him. It is doing His will, being obedient to His Word. It is trusting Him when doubt, fear, and lies are shrieking along with the pain of your loss.
I had lost sight of hope lately because I had also stopped giving thanks. I took my eyes off of Christ and had fallen into Satan's trap. I couldn't see a way out, but once again, the words of Ann Voskamp spoke truth.
Giving thanks throws a shovelful of dirt into the pit, and every shovelful thrown in is a step out of the pit. I'm still in the pit, but I'm throwing thanks by the shovelfuls as quickly as I can. I am determined because of Him. Because of Him, I am able. Because of His strength, His will, and His Word. Thank you, Jesus.
