Treasures in Heaven

Matthew 6:20 "But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal."

I have been ruminating for days on a blog post. And then I ran across this woman's blog. She pretty much wrote my post. I couldn't believe it. In fact, I almost checked the signature at the bottom of her post to make sure my name wasn't there. I had read the exact same New Year's post this gal refers to, and I, too, had the same exact thoughts. Only she beat me to the keyboard. 

http://momastery.com/blog/2012/01/02/everything/
 ***The following is an excerpt from the blog link above. This is not the post in it's entirety.***

A few days ago I read a New Year’s post written by one of my favorite writers, Kelle Hampton. If you’re like me, and you dabble in self pity and ennui daily, I’d bookmark Kelle this year. After I read her posts, I’m re-inspired and invigorated and awake for at least twenty minutes. She’s better than three Red Bulls and a kale smoothie.

Kelle wrote a wonderful list of what she’d learned in 2011 and I found myself nodding, yes, yes, yes along with her inspired words- as I always do. But then I got to one which read:  “Family is everything, everything, everything.”

And something forced me to pause and stop reading. Inside that pause I realized that after living through 2011, I don’t think that’s true.

2011 Lesson #1 – Family is not everything.

It can’t be. Because sometimes beloved sons die. And husbands leave. And daughters lose their minds for decades. And beloved babies are broken by broken men behind the wheel.  And fathers abuse and mothers neglect and sisters and brothers betray. And friends walk away.

Family cannot be everything, everything, everything. Because if it is, then everything can be taken away in the blink of an eye. Or maybe never offered at all.

If family is everything, everything, everything, then it follows that if my family was taken from me, I would have and be nothing. And because if family is everything, then I would need to parent my kids and love my parents and Sister and husband in a state of constant fear. And fear taints love. Fear makes the lover hyperventilate and the beloved suffocate. Fear makes love a cage.

Down past the terrified, ridiculous part of me that believes something terrible will happen if I acknowledge this- I know that family is not everything. It’s a lot. It’s a whole damn lot. If my family were taken from me, or never given to me in the first place, I would feel shattered. But I would still be something. I would still have something. I would still have the most important part of me, as a matter of fact.

And this is something I’ve learned only this year. At the start of 2011, I definitely would have told you that family is everything.

But a few weeks ago I sat with my friend Anna, who lost her Jack this year. She is suffering  through excruciating pain that I’m afraid might just morph and never ease. But listen- when I looked at Anna- I was not looking at a woman with nothing. And it wasn’t just because she has Tim and Margaret left on this side. What I mean is that I was in the presence of a woman who has the entire world in her hands.

Anna is a woman who has power to heal -herself and others. Because Anna has choices. She could curse God and die, and we would all understand. But she doesn’t. She’s alive. Anna’s decision to write, to stay open, to invite us in when she’s most vulnerable, to get out of bed each morning, to keep choosing hope and love and life and to face the horrifically painful truth instead of hiding – her determination that THERE WILL STILL BE JOY, DAMNIT – these choices are healing and awakening her family, friends and readers. A teeny, teeny bit at a time. And since the worst has already happened, Anna is a woman who, at the moment, is loving and living without fear. And that is something.

I know she’d trade all this in a hot second to get her Jack back. But the fact remains that she is still Anna. She is a new Anna. A very, very different Anna. 

 

 Matt's death has changed me forever. And I struggle daily with the choice to cling to my pain and sorrow or give it to God, to let Him bind up my wound, and to trust Him with my future. Tim and I went to a church service tonight at a friend's church and heard a very powerful, healing message. It was titled, "Deadly Wounds." In a nutshell, Satan would like nothing more than to deliver a deadly blow. That's his goal. The good news is that Christ comes to deliver life. God can and does heal. But let's not be naive. A wound leaves a scar. Jesus Christ had scars. And he wasn't ashamed to show them, either. I could go on, but honestly, you'd need to just listen to the sermon for yourself. :) 

Thinking of what Christ did for me, the scars he bears, are because of what He did for me, taking my sins upon the cross. Is it any wonder that I should bear some scars as well, since I belong to Him? Anyway - all this to say that it got me thinking of Scripture. I've seen some verses in a whole new light. Especially the one above, at the top of my post. "Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven..." I think I can honestly say now that I have a treasure in heaven. My son. Waiting for me. Something to think about.

A new year

Starting off a new year was much more difficult than I had anticipated. I really struggled with leaving 2011 behind. I felt like I was leaving Matt behind. It hurt so terribly thinking about a new year. And, of course, the whole world (or so it seemed) was only too happy, almost giddy, in fact, to bring in a new one. I wasn't happy, and I wasn't looking forward to a new one.

Dh and I kept going back and forth about our plans for New Year's Eve, too. Our family has traditionally hosted a New Year's Eve party at our house. This year, obviously, we weren't up to it. However, we didn't want to disappoint the rest of the kids, so we switched it up and ended up having a New Year's Eve Game Night at church. It was fun, though, to be sure, there were moments of grief. My heart hurt terribly when I saw Matt's best friends together, going off without him to play his favorite game, Halo. I certainly don't begrudge them their friendship or fun. It just hurts. It is what it is. *sigh* I am trying to remind myself in moments like those that Matt IS alive. He is alive in heaven. The hope of eternity for myself and trusting in God's character are what hold me firm.

It was a fun evening of games with a good turnout. The weather got a tad crazy even, and we ended up with a bit of everything; rain, thunder, lightening, and snow! The kids had a blast, however, throwing snowballs and then vowing to go back outside at exactly midnight, which they did.

We also took a difficult step and had our pictures taken. Dh and I couldn't bear to do a whole family photo, but we did individual pictures of the children as well as individual poses with each parent. We made it through and we got the proofs today. They turned out excellent, and I now know why we paid through the nose for them! :)

It's been a very emotional few days, but God has reminded me of many things. He continues to comfort us and speak His truths in our hearts. I am surviving...and trusting God to give me strength for the days (and year) to come.

A poem for myself

Christmas turned out harder than I had expected. As I tucked Mr. Monkey into bed, weeping, with a heart aching for my son, this is what evolved:

Give it to God

When your heart breaks
and there's no cure for the ache
Give it to God

When your tears come down
and threaten your soul to drown
Give it to God

When you despair of life
and your mind is full of strife
Give it to God

When you can't sleep
and your body lies in a heap
Give it to God

When the days are too long
and all you want is a song
Give it to God

When you need hope to have
but you see no rope to grab
Give it to God

When your faith tarries
and you need to be carried
Give it to God

When the time is right
there will be an end to the night
You fought the good fight and did not fall
because to Him you gave it all

Special things

I haven't had a moment to spare. I can't count how many times I have tried to sit down at the computer and blog! So many ups and downs on this roller coaster, yet I am finding that either I am getting used to them, or they aren't as high and low on this course of the track. I marvel still at how one can survive this kind of heartbreak and loss, yet am in awe of God's blessings and comfort. I can see progress, though I wonder if the profound sadness will always remain.

This week, I caught myself saying, "It's getting better" in response to the dreaded "How are you?" It's such a peculiar emotion, this grief mixed with healing, bitter mixed with sweet. I don't understand how they can co-exist, and it leaves me a bit perplexed.

Yesterday was Dh's birthday. It was also a GriefShare meeting night, but our group, however, had been invited to dinner by a "veteran" member of the group. He is a generous man who brings hope to the group with the assurance that, yes, joy will return. So we met last night at Lyle's house, a beautiful, beautiful home where he served us chicken kiev, wild rice, dinner rolls, and asparagus. And for dessert, there was peppermint ice cream!!! (I was then obliged to confess my peppermint addiction!) It was a wonderful evening of fellowship and, yes, even laughter.

On the down side, church, however, is still the one place that I find so very difficult to be. I realized it's because it is so much like home. So much of our time is/was invested in our church body and family. And church is where I see so many familiar families. It's that reminder, seeing them, that makes it so painful. It is hard, but I know I must do hard things. I tell myself that going to church isn't as hard as burying my son. I also know that it is for my good. I need to hear truth, and I need to keep myself in fellowship even if I don't feel like it.

I'm unable to sing worship songs yet, but I am trying to give myself grace. I am allowing myself to just soak truth in and let the music minister to me. Some day I will sing again, but, for now, I know it's o.k. not to, too.

It seems for every down turn on this ride, there's an upturn. God continually reminds me of His love for us. This afternoon, another dear friend unexpectedly stopped by with gifts for the kids and a beautiful cardinal ornament for me and Tim. What a blessing to visit, even if only for a short time.

These special gifts and visits are treasured. God is seeing us through, not only the holidays, but this season of sorrow. With a thankful heart...

Finding hope

Psalm 147:3 "He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds." 

I am finally starting to feel as if healing has begun. I can feel the binding over my wound. The pain at first, so intense, masked the physician's hand and camouflaged the bindings. I honestly wasn't so sure they were there. I wondered if, indeed, the Great Physician, had left me. When grief sweeps me out to sea, it takes every ounce of strength in my being to swim back to shore. At times, I have simply allowed myself to be carried on the waves, not even attempting to swim back. But I realized this past week that I was not made for the sea. I was not made to stay in grief. The Great Physician had, indeed, NOT left me. He has continued to speak to me and carefully, tenderly inspects and tends to my wound. He is so good.

This week, I found myself being able to give thanks again. I am thankful for the ministry of music that speaks the truths of His word, and I am so thankful for a pastor who preaches God's word. I am thankful for the sound of my children's laughter. I am thankful for Advent and the reminder that this season is about hope, the hope of Christ Jesus. I am thankful for those wonderful, dear sisters and brothers in Christ who allow God to work through them.  

On Monday afternoon, a dear friend and sister in Christ, gave me peppermint candy canes nestled in a special mug. And that evening, a dear neighbor and sister in Christ, delivered a beautiful blue poinsettia to our door, along with a plate of goodies. On Wednesday, another dear sister in Christ unexpectedly delivered an assortment of cookies and sweets. And today, an anonymous brother and/or sister in Christ sent us a very generous gift of money instructing us to "spoil" the kids with it. I am overwhelmed with God's goodness. He reassured me that hope is possible, and, indeed, certain. I just need to trust that He will do what He says He will do and remember His unconditional love for me.

Out to sea

It's been a difficult day. I just want this Christmas season to be over with. I'm sick of hearing cheerful voices and seeing happy(read that as "whole") families because all I am reminded of when I look at them is that one of my children is no longer on this earth, my family is not whole. The cheerful voices mock the continuing sorrow in my heart. The more time that passes by, the more I feel it's no longer "acceptable" to show the face of grief. I feel like people expect me to be happy, to be better. And I find myself putting on a mask, a plastic smile. I rely upon my standard answer of, "I'm functioning" when asked, "How are you?" because what I really suspect is that they really don't want to know any longer. Because this is the Christmas season. And we're all supposed to be joyful and merry. But I'm not. And I'm not a good faker or liar.

I started reading the book, God's Healing for Life's Losses tonight. I know already that it is going to be a very good read. The author opens the introduction of the book by saying, "JESUS PROMISES THAT LIFE WILL BE FILLED WITH LOSSES. I know. That's not exactly the promise you were hoping for. At least it's honest."

Kellemen continues the line of honesty on page five. "Let's be honest. Growth through grieving is an arduous journey, much like the journey of Much-Afraid, the lead character in Hannah Hurnard's dramatic allegory, Hinds' Feet on High Places.

    Tired of valley living, but terrified to trek the high places alone, Much-Afraid asks Shepherd for companions on her journey. Encouraged by his pledge that fellow travelers would soon join her, she starts alone, anticipating the arrival of her partners. When they appear, she's horrified. Shepherd introduces them.

     They are good teachers; indeed, I have few better. As for their names, I will tell you them in your own language, and later you will learn what they are called in their own tongue. "This," said he, motioning toward the first of the silent figures, "is named Sorrow. And the other is her twin sister, Suffering."

      Poor Much-Afraid! Her cheeks blanched and she trembled from head to toe.

     "I can't go with them," she gasped. "I can't! I can't! I can't! O my Lord Shepherd, why do you do this to me? How can I travel in their company? It is more than I can bear...Couldn't you have given me Joy and Peace to go with me, to strengthen and encourage me and help me on the difficult way? I never thought you would do this to me!" And she burst into tears.

     A strange look passed over Shepherd's face.

     "Joy and Peace. Are those the companions you would choose for yourself? You remember your promise, to accept the helpers that I would give, because you believed that I would choose the very best possible guides for you. Will you still trust me, Much-Afraid?"

 The author continues with, "Don't misunderstand. Fear of suffering is normal. Grief is necessary. Shepherd is not denying these authentic life responses. So just what is Shepherd saying? Trust me. Trust is vital because suffering is inevitable. How do we find hope when we're hurting? Through trust. Where do we find God's healing for life's losses? In Christ. With Christ."

I wept as I read the words of Much-Afraid. Those are the exact same words I have uttered to God. When grief sweeps me out to sea, as it did today, trust is hard. But not because God isn't trustworthy. While I may doubt my faithfulness, I am clinging to His. (1 Thessalonians 5:24)

Little things

Recovery is slow, but there are small improvements. Though tiny, they speak of big progress. Those who have walked this road know how significant these little things are. Things like finally dreaming again during sleep. I hadn't realized that the past four months, I hadn't been dreaming. My sleep was so poor, I never slept deeply enough to have R.E.M. sleep. Last Friday morning when I woke, I realized I had had a dream! Unfortunately, it was about Matt and I arguing, but still...it was a dream. Having dreams again is a huge improvement. Drama boy is pretty much sleeping through the night again, too. Mr. Monkey has improved as well, though he still wakes once a night. Little things, but in the right direction at least.

The waves of grief aren't quite as unrelenting, though they still catch me off guard in the strangest places. I don't like being caught off guard. For instance, I wish I would have been warned about the Christmas cards. We received our first one last week, and several others have followed. If it was just the cards, it would be o.k. But it's the letters that accompany them. After reading the second one, I realized very, very quickly that I cannot read them. It's just too painful, like having the bandages ripped off a wound that had just been bound.

This week has been a roller coaster of ups and downs. Monday, again, was a good, yet convicting GriefShare meeting. Tuesday, we said goodbye to Jessie, our 16 yr. old "inherited" Dachshund of nine years. We took Jessie in when my beloved friend Jean passed away nine years ago. It was a difficult good-bye because Jessie was my last "link" to Jean. Jessie was a good dog. She adjusted so well in coming into a house full of little children, a fat cat, and a Pekingese. She was very sweet, but had that stubborn Dachshund personality, without a doubt! Wednesday night was spent with Sweet Stuff at Urgent Care. She again has strep throat! Once more, we are in the love/hate relationship with antibiotics.

In addition to the emotional see-saw of the week, my back has been the worst I've ever experienced. I've had a few chiropractic appointments, taken some Ibuprofin, and gotten several massages. Thankfully, the combination of all three have helped. AND, Dh and I also ordered yet ANOTHER bed! I swore I would never order one, but we ordered a Sleep Number bed. It is due to arrive by Monday. I'm praying it'll arrive tomorrow and Dh can put it together on Saturday.

The joys of the week, and there were some, were having Artsy girl make and decorate gingerbread cookies, seeing the children play in the 5" of snow we got, watching them eating icicles, hearing their squeals of excitement as they decorated the pathetically small, fake Christmas tree in the living room, and listening to them plead for me to read them the advent story each night. I am learning to appreciate the little things, no matter how small.

And now it's Thursday evening. Another Friday tomorrow. Praying the waves of grief stay out to sea.