Thanksgiving

Sunday night we attended a Thanksgiving dinner at our church, fellowshipping with our church family, our brothers and sisters in Christ. Honestly, I don't even remember Thanksgiving last year. Dh tells me we were there, but all I remember is standing in the hallway visiting with another grieving mother who had experienced the recent loss of her adult son.

The past week, week and a half has been very difficult. I was impatient, short-tempered, and snarly. I apologized to the kids yesterday for my behavior after I finally admitted what my problem was. I had spent the last week and a half trying to ignore Thanksgiving coming up, trying to ignore the fact that Matt isn't here. Stupid, huh? As usual, when the pain is too great, instead of crying and giving in to the feelings, I worked extra hard at stuffing my grief, falsely thinking there was a shut off switch somewhere. But, as Dr. Phil would ask, “How's that working for ya?” It's not. It didn't. It exploded like projectile vomit the entire week all over my children.

I dread Thanksgiving now. It's not like Christmas. Christmas is all about the birth of Jesus. A Savior has been born. I rejoice in that. There's nothing sorrowful about Christmas. Thanksgiving, however, is all about, well, giving thanks. How easy it is to give thanks for stuff and for the people in our lives when circumstances are good. It's easy to give thanks for the blessings God has given. It's easy to be thankful when your heart is not heavy with grief. Don't get me wrong, I am thankful. I do acknowledge the abundant blessings the LORD has given me. There is joy to be found. I'm just trying to figure out what to do with Thanksgiving now, how to give thanks in all things when our loss is ever before us. I need to know how to reconcile joy with grief.

What I find most difficult are songs. That, and seeing Matt's two best friends sitting together during church. Seeing them without him and hearing certain lyrics are painful reminders of our loss. I still don't sing in church. My heart drops with heaviness when I hear song lyrics about being in Heaven or standing before God. It's one thing to sing about imagining Heaven and quite another to be cognizant of the fact that your child is there.

We decided to leave for Thanksgiving this year. For only about the third time in 19 years, we will not be having Thanksgiving at our house. I am all too happy about it, also. I just did not want to be at our dining room table this year. Some of the tension I was experiencing included that, of all things.

So here we are on the road. I finally have the chance to gather my thoughts and write without interruptions. As I was finishing the last minute packing before we got on the road, the radio playing in the bedroom, I heard Matt Redmond's song, “Lord, You Never Let Go” come on. I, of course, had been thinking about my Matt when the song came on. I knew it was a “God nod,” a perfect reminder from the LORD that Matt isn't so far away after all and that God knew my heartache at that moment.

I am so thankful God is faithful. He continues to minister to us and walk with us through this valley. He continues to provide comfort and encouragement in this season of sorrow. While I'm not necessarily looking forward to Thanksging, I rest in knowing that God is with me and goes before us. I heard a Chris Tomlin song a few days ago that has been particularly encouraging as we head into the holidays. It's titled, “God of Angel Armies."

What for?

I have another blog, but I find it very, very difficult to post anything. Everything just seems so trivial now. My life is colored by grief. How can it not be? My son was here for 16 years. He was standing here in the kitchen making his lunch just before 7:30am on the morning of July 29, but gone forever (this side of Heaven, anyway) just an hour and half later. A GriefShare video mentions not letting grief become your identity. It's such a slippery slope, however. I've been climbing and falling a lot lately on that slope. I've been wrestling with trying to discern the difference between losing a child as my identity with it defining me. We have things in our lives that have shaped us and made us who we are. Those things define us. Then there are things that are inherent like being female or having a particular type of personality or temperament. Those things are our identity. Additionally, when you birth a child and become a mother it's a fine line between letting motherhood become your identity and having it define you.

Thankfully, the LORD is our anchor. He is the tether on that slippery slope that keeps us from falling. Thankfully, God never lets go! Thankfully, truth prevails. Thankfully, God shows us how to deal with our sorrow, our burdens, our trials in His Word. I went to a Desiring God conference on Thursday titled, "The Works of God: God's Good Design in Disability." I felt drawn to attend, for one thing, because Nancy Guthrie was one of the scheduled speakers. She and her husband David are the hosts of the GriefShare videos that I watch weekly. Secondly, I believe that grief is very much like a disability. Losing a child is like losing a part of yourself, like losing a limb. In my opinion, the words "grief" and "disability" can often be used synonymously. I knew this conference was for me.

Going to a conference on disabilities isn't something one tends to gush over. The auditorium wasn't sold out or jam-packed with attendees. I mean, really, who wants to go to a conference that doesn't give you warm fuzzies or that reveals the tough questions and doubts you have regarding the hardships and trials in your life? In fact, one of the speakers remarked that it could really be called the "uncomfortable" conference because there is nothing comfortable about disability.

So while it wasn't a "breath of fresh air" type of conference, it was a deep, abiding assurance that God is there. He knows. He cares. His grace is sufficient for every single second. It was, as John Piper stated, a reminder to look beyond the causality of disability and focus on the sovereignty of God. Krista Horning, another speaker, gave an incredibly moving testimony. She spoke with the title "How I live with Disability" by reminding us that disability lies, but God tells the truth. It was a powerful message that will be available on the internet in a few days when Desiring God puts up the link for the conference on their website.

I am still processing the conference information, re-reading my notes, and seeking God for wisdom in figuring out this thing called grief and how to walk through this season of sorrow, trying to learn what 2 Corinthians 6:10 means when it says we can be "sorrowful yet always rejoicing..." I believe there is comfort in knowing there is a sovereign God who has a plan, who sees meaning and purpose in suffering, and who can make beauty from ashes. (Isaiah 61:3)

One of the conference speakers pointed out that although God asks questions, He doesn't ask them in order to get an answer. After all, God is all-knowing. God asks questions to reveal the heart. He also doesn't always give an answer to our questions,either, because He is the answer. I wonder if God hears me crying "I need You now" instead of my question "What for?" and "Why?"


 

I want my life back

Having a public blog is risky not only in terms of privacy, but in terms of vulnerability. I debated for more than a week about posting this particular entry. For whatever reason, I don't like it. I'm not comfortable with it. I don't like revealing this part of me. But this is real. This is grief. And it is what it is. Last week was a struggle, revisiting anger. Yet I knew I was doing exactly what the GriefShare daily email (Day 76) said. I was putting all my energy into my anger to avoid a torrent of tears.  I wrote the following paragraph when I was angry.

I want my life back. The one before my son died. I want my health back. I don't want this new "normal." I hate that word. Normal. There's nothing normal about the death of your child. I'm mad and I'm sick of being in pain all day every day. I'm ticked off because I can count on one hand how many times I've had a decent night's sleep in the past 15 months. I'm sick of having to push memories of Matt out of my mind in order to function and "carry on" with life. I'm angry that I can't look at his pictures because it's too painful. I'm angry that hardly anyone talks about my son or shares a memory of him with us. I'm angry that the rest of my children have to grow up without their brother. I'm angry that yet another month has gone by. I hate that my son is a part of my past. I hate that there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Grief really, really sucks and being angry is a really crummy place to be.

Anger takes a lot of energy. Energy isn't something I have an abundance of, however. The moments (or days) in which my grief and sorrow are transposed with anger are hard days. I mentally beat upon God's chest, falling back into asking why, but eventually collapsing into His arms in tears and exhaustion. The very person I direct my anger at is also the only person who can bring me comfort, healing, and truth. "Whom have I in heaven but you?"(Psalm 73:25) Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?(Psalm 139:7) I don't (and never will this side of Heaven) understand God's ways. BUT. But thanks be to God, I don't have to. Because GOD is GOD. He is good. He is love. He is righteous. He is just. He is who He says He is. I will trust in Him and lean not on my own understanding.

"Trust in the LORD with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding."

(Prov. 3:5) 

 

I didn't see that one coming

Got knocked over by a wave of grief last week. Wasn't pretty. I was just standing there looking at the beautiful sky one instant and the next I'm picking myself up, coughing and spitting out sea water. This grief thing still sucks. It may be easier to function and carry on with routine, but an undercurrent can pull your feet out from under you without warning at any given second. There is simply no rhyme or reason and no preparing for those moments.

David, our exchange student, came home from school last week and announced that he would like to go through the graduation ceremony for the seniors. Wham. Tidal wave. Woman down.

While he doesn't officially get a diploma from the high school, he can participate in the ceremony, order a cap and gown, and buy a class ring if he so desires. I got the wind knocked right out of me. I so didn't see that one coming. We had been told before even getting the approval to host an exchange student that they wouldn't be allowed to graduate here in the U.S., so it never occured to us that he would want to participate.

And now I am utterly torn. One part of me can't fathom going through the whole graduation thing because it's supposed to be my son doing all these things this year. It's supposed to be Matt. But it's not. And it never will be. It's the ugly, horrible reality. Another part of me, however, can't imagine not being there for David. He has become like a son to us in just these few short weeks. I don't want him to be all alone as he experiences the thrill of such a memorable American custom. I want to be there for him, to show him our support and share in his excitement. Oh, God, how do I do this? How do I get through this?

I think I know the answer, though. It's by leaning hard on God, doing the tough things, but always, always remembering that this world is not our home. This is not where we belong. And most importantly, remembering that my son IS alive. He is alive in Heaven where, someday, we will be reunited.  

“Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Martha, do you believe this?” 
(John 11:26)

I am, in many ways, much like Martha. Always doing, always thinking that the things of this world are so important. Always looking at what others are or aren't doing. But the truth is, staying focused on Jesus is really the only way I'm ever going to get through this. It's the only way I will find the perseverence, the strength, and the faith to continue until I am finally home. Home in Heaven where God intended all along. Home where His plan is finally fulfilled, completed and perfect.

 

Mark Schultz--Anita Renfroe concert

I had the opportunity to attend a Mark Schultz--Anita Renfroe concert last night, and it was great. I was bummed when I realized I forgot my camera, but then thought, "Hey. They're Christians. I'll see them in Heaven and talk to them forever." Seriously. I thought that. It's just one way the death of my child has changed my thinking. It's not always a bad thing to change your thinking! Do what you gotta do here, but keep it on eternity, baby. Remember, this is not where we belong.

I think it's somewhat similar to a runner's mentality. Their mind is always focused on the goal. The route they run matters, but their feet are always headed toward the finish line. I have no idea why I used a runner's analogy, either, because I do not run. Ever. In fact, I avoid anything that could possibly result in perspiration. But it works. Run with it. (Sorry. Couldn't resist the pun.)

I'm working at finding purpose and not running aimlessly. I'm realizing that the course I run matters. It is all about getting to the finish line, but the race you run before you get there matters. Since Matt died, I've been wondering what's the point and what does it matter? The LORD's been showing me that it does matter. If you don't stay focused on the goal, you'll run off course. God wants us to finish the race and finish it well. If you don't run well, the finish isn't satisfying. Who doesn't want to be satisfied????

I'm keeping my eyes on the goal, but learning to look at the path ahead of me, watching out for hazards along the way. I'm remembering that, while the goal is what I'm aiming for, the race from start to finish has some redeeming qualities as well. But only if I look for them. Only if I turn my head every so often and look for the beauty along the way. I want to get to the end and be satisfied.

"...Run in such a way as to get the prize...do not run 

like a man running aimlessly; ...do not fight like a man beating the air."

(1Cor.9:24,26)

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

(2 Tim. 4:7)

When Will My Life Not Suck?

I'm reading the book by Ramon Presson titled, "When Will My Life Not Suck?" with the subtitle "Authentic Hope for the Disillusioned." I am only on the introduction and already blown away! I mentioned the book in a previous post and was sweetly surprised and blessed when a generous and thoughtful friend asked if she could get it for me. I have no doubt the LORD has some things to say to me through this book.

I guess you could say I've been in a "funk" lately. As if grief doesn't mess with you enough, I also know that the physical pain from this herniated disk contributes to my thought processes and frame of mind. And not in a good way, I might add.

While reading page two of the introduction to Presson's book, I nodded in agreement with several paragraphs. If the introduction is any indication of how the rest of the book is going to be, it's going to be great. The author is funny, candid, and profound, as well as God-centered.

I identify with Presson when he says:

"But life often feels more like a roller-coaster ride--slow climbs, sudden falls, jerky turns, and someone else in control of the whole brain-jarring romp. When my life feels like a roller-coaster ride, I want to get off. I want to know, along with countless others, when is this going to be over? When will my life not suck? 
But it is into the very middle of our twisting, turning, roller-coaster lives that God comes. It is into the ecstasies and agonies of our story that the Bible speaks. The apostle Paul said that if we only have hope for this life, with no legitimate hope of heaven, we are to be exceedingly pitied. But I believe that the converse is also true--if the only hope we have is the afterlife, then we get close to Camus's assertion that the only question man must concern himself with is whether or not to commit suicide. If the only meaning and purpose is to be found through the portal of death, then why even bother with life?"

Wow. How did he know the debate going on in my head for the past several weeks??? For sure, the loss of a loved one leaves you with more questions than answers. Having additional physical pain factored into the equation of grief has left me questioning more along the line of Camus' assertion...and coming up likewise with the wrong answer. 


I know enough of God's truth to know that He isn't all about our happiness. But He doesn't take pleasure in seeing us miserable, either. He's all about our holiness. He desires, as His Word says, that we have an abundant life, a life that transforms more and more into His image. Satan would like nothing more than to see a believer reflect poorly of God. If he can't get us to doubt God or believe lies, then he will aim next at crippling us, seeking to make us powerless and ineffective.

I almost fell for it, too. Only God spoke. On page two. When will my life not suck? I don't know, but the author has already pounded a stake in the ground with an arrow pointing in the right direction. I'm following the way to hope, taking comfort in knowing there are others who've made it through.

Streams in the Desert Devotional poems

The following poem is from the Oct. 6 entry. Such a good reminder to remember Christ when tempted by grief in thinking you're alone in suffering.

"Before you" He trod all the path of woe,
He took the sharp thrusts with His head bent low.
He knew deepest sorrow and pain and grief,
He knew long endurance without relief,
He took all the bitter from death's deep cup,
He kept not a blood-drop but gave all up.
"Before you" and for you, He won the fight
To bring you to glory and realms of light.
--L.S.P.


This one is from the Oct. 7 entry. Another good reminder when grief weary that there is hope, there is an end.


"Hold on, my heart, in thy believing--
The steadfast only wins the crown;
He who, when stormy winds are heaving,
Parts with its anchor, shall go down;
But he who Jesus holds through all,
Shall stand, though Heaven and earth should fall.

"Hold out! There comes an end to sorrow;
Hope from the dust shall conquering rise;
The storm foretells a summer's morrow;
The Cross points on to Paradise;
The Father reigneth! cease all doubt;
Hold on, my heart, hold on, hold out."