Griefwork

Iceberg Emotions

joyouschild Faithwalk, Griefwork, The Storms of Life, Trusting the Father

The other day we went downtown to visit the National Archives.  We saw the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  Very moving.

I cried, unashamedly.

My boys think I am silly, especially when I cry in public.  They thought so that day.  Even the friends we were with did not totally understand the depth of the emotions I was feeling.

Neither did I.  It just hit me–the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this document coming to be.  The hours of intense living that went into the whole idea of freedom.  The greatness of a God who allowed a little upstart group of people to have Providence.

The guard told me that lots of people cry.  He said, “It’s your declaration.  It’s your country.”

Amen!

I feel that way about my grief journey.

I feel that way about my life journey.

The American Indian proverb says, “Never criticize a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.” (I looked it up to make sure I got the wording right.)

I still cry over Keith.  Not every day.  Not in predictable places and at predictable times.  I may always cry at those unpredictable times.

It’s my declaration.  It’s my grief.

It’s not that I am ignoring the grieving.  I have waded in with both arms open and have embraced it.  It is just a long, involved process.  Like learning to walk again…or run…after an amputation.

It’s not that I am weak.  I just have these tears God gave me, this pain God gave me.  I am not wallowing in it.  Embracing is not wallowing…at least it doesn’t have to be.  I am exploring, testing, growing, changing — all because of this pain.  And I thank God that He loves me enough to give me this chance to refine off some hard edges and become even more His child.

We all have stuff we are going through…we are all on a journey.  Mine just happens to be a grief journey.  But we are all being refined in the fire.

We just have to allow ourselves to be refined.  And that sometimes is the hardest part of the journey of all.

Another old saying says, “God loves us just the way we are, but too much to let us stay that way.”

Praise be to God!

Even for the Refiner’s fire…especially for it!

For you, O God, tested us; You refined us like silver.  You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs.  You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but You brought us to a place of abundance. – Psalm 66:10-12

Thanks for the Memories

joyouschild Doing it on My Own, Griefwork, Trusting the Father ,

We sold our first house to friends.  It is in the neighborhood over from us.

Today I dropped Matthew off there for a birthday party.

Even after 6 1/2 years, it is still a tiny bit odd to be in the house.

It is not that it is still home — it truly isn’t.  It’s just that it was home.

We brought 2 babies home from the hospital to there.  Three learned to walk there.  We celebrated our 10-year anniversary there.  It is flooded with memories, even though the colors are not the same and the furniture is in different places (just as it should be).

And somehow that makes me…just a little sad.

I drove away and off to run errands…missing Keith.

My memories of there are ALL with him.  We bought the house together and worked on it together.  It was the first either of us owned.

I am a creature of habit, I know I am.  I would make a good blind person, as I never move my furniture.  When I think of repainting, it is not to change the color but to touch up what was already there.

I think that makes my grief just a little harder at times.  I want to fall back and cling to the past.  I fight the rut.

But God loves me enough to kick me in my complacency on a regular basis.  He is there to pick me up after He does, but He does not let me wallow, He does not let me dwell.

My dear friend and fellow widow Theresa puts it in terms of the rear view mirror.  We all have one in our cars because it is important to know what is going on behind you.  We have to be able to move from in front of the fire engine or know when to stop for the police car.  But we cannot spend too much time looking behind.  If we do, we will inevitably get in an accident.  The focus of our lives has to be in front — where we are going, not where we have been.

I finished my errands and headed back home — the dream house we built a year and a half before Keith died.  More good memories.  But not all these memories involve Keith.  I have lived twice as long in this house without him as I lived with him.

Oh, the evidence of him is still all around.  The man painted 17 — yes, 17 — colors of paint here for me.  We still refer to “Daddy’s closet” and “Dad’s dresser.”  But there are things here he never did see — including one currently-barking dog, and another currently-whining dog.

But somehow, after all the living here, the memories with and without Keith all have a place and are…just right.  We miss him here, but feel close to him here as well.

I’ll tell you a secret.  The day we closed on this house, my big, strong, Marine husband cried.  He felt so blessed by God to have this home, and so thankful to my mom for providing for us even after her death so that we could.

I am still blessed – to live here, to have been provided for equally well in death by Keith, to be able to continue to homeschool my boys…to live among the memories, and to have the freedom to create new ones.

I guess the suddenness of the onslaught of memories got me at the old house, and I started looking a little too much into my rear view mirror.  Now, I am back on track, glancing in it periodically, but firmly looking forward as I travel forward in my life…blessed…so, so blessed.

You hem me in behind and before, and You lay Your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. – Psalm 139:5-6

Stoned or Walled In?

joyouschild Griefwork, The Storms of Life, Trusting the Father , , ,

The Lord tears down the house of the proud, but he sets the widow’s boundary stones in place. – Proverbs 15:25

I read this verse earlier this week and it struck me.  I thank God every day that He maintains my boundary stones.

Today it happened again.  This verse became real as God upheld my boundary stone…in the form of my wall.

This morning I stepped out of my bedroom and felt water on the carpet.

Living in the house I do–with the people and animals I do–I bent down to smell the floor and make sure it was really water.  (It was.)

Then I realized we could be facing quite a conundrum here.  Especially since I had just been spending time in prayer with God discussing the schedule for the next few days and how tight it would be.

God is forever setting my boundary stones in place as far as my time. 

That’s because I really, really, really need it.

I have once again over-committed our family, which inevitably leads to stress and confusion.

When I get these checks from God it simply makes me prioritize my life better.  He is looking out for me, and keeps my boundaries in place by the way He pushes me to move at times.

So…blessing number one:  the water was simply overflow from the drip pan on the A/C in the attic.  My neighbor Jeff was home this morning and snaked it for me and cleared out the clog.  He also told me to dump in some bleach to clean out the gunk in there.  Easy for me to do.  

Blessing number two:  looking at the complicated nature of our schedule, my oldest graciously decided to not attend the lock-in at church tonight so that my stress level is down–no fussing, no complaining, totally gracious.  He continues to surprise me with his maturity!  What a blessing he is!

Blessing number three:  even in this, I did not lose control, stress out, or fuss at anyone (too much)–real progress for me.  (My children were so impressed they gave me a round of applause.)

My boundary stones are in place!  God acted, changed me, refined me some, and it wasn’t even too painful.

Praise God for His indescribable gift!


Gifts of Mercy(Me)

joyouschild Griefwork, Joy in the Journey ,

I don’t know how they do it, but the guys who write for MercyMe must be looking into my life.

If you are unfamiliar with this Christian band, they have beautiful, soulful lyrics which have touched me deeply on this journey.

When Keith died, we did a slide show for the funeral.  The sweet friend who compiled it used two MercyMe songs in the background.  These two songs epitomize the way I feel about not only Keith’s graduation to Glory but also how I feel about being left here.  We think about Heaven and talk about Heaven, but now half of me (often I think the better half of me) is there experiencing it.  It takes a lot of the mystery and inevitable fear of the journey not yet taken away from that place for me…and for the boys.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ywDqzvKvvI (Homesick)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_lrrq_opng ( I Can Only Imagine)

As I continued on this journey of widowhood and single parenthood, another MercyMe song deeply touched me.  In the busy-ness of my life, I found little time to just be…to be a daughter of the King, blessed and highly favored.  The words of this song I have played nearly weekly since it came out to recapture my lost self, my inner beauty, and my joy at being who I am in Christ.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vh7-RSPuAA (Beautiful)

This is not a journey for the faint-at-heart, but it is a journey that, by the awesome and all-encompassing grace of our Lord, is very do-able.  I cling to the good that has happened in my life–the joys that have been brought to us by the fact that we have had the opportunity to be cradled in the lap of the Lord and washed by His healing hands as we journey this road.  To Him be the glory.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8HgAVenbUU (Bring the Rain)

And even today, may we never fail to help others find the joy we have found.  May we help them on their own journeys as well so that they can experience His healing touch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xzaivDbu9c  (The Hurt and the Healer)

Amen and amen!

I am a Four-Eyed Freak

joyouschild Griefwork, Widow Walk , ,

Now I don’t just have two eyes, Mom…I have FOUR!  I can see even better!

Ah, the perspective of a child!

Matthew had just gotten his first pair of glasses and this momma was worried.  How would he adjust to them?  Would he feel…different?

I needn’t have worried.  He did feel different…and he was…glad.

When I found out we had lost Keith, the first words out of my mouth were, quite literally, “I’m a widow.”

The reality of that did not hit me at that moment.  Well, maybe on some levels.  But not as fully as it later did.

Now, nearly five years later, I can truly tell you that I am…glad.

I know that sounds odd.  How can having your heart ripped out, your life ripped apart, be something that makes you glad?

Ah, my friends, therein lies the mystery of God.

Today a dear friend of mine prayed for me as we were ending a play date…”Lord, help her to feel You as her Husband, first and foremost, above all others, all she needs.”

Mostly I feel that–feel God as my Husband.  Mostly I count my blessings more than my stresses, my joys more than my sorrows.

If you know me, you know me to be a glass-is-half-full kinda gal.

Thank God I am!

But it is a choice, one I have to make on a daily basis, sometimes a minute-by-minute basis.

Like my sweet Matthew, I choose to look at my lot in life as a gift and not a stress, a way to help me see better…

To see my Lord!

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthians 2:17-18

Smack Between the Eyes

joyouschild Griefwork, Trusting the Father, Widow Walk ,

Not everyone is going to do a job the same as everyone else.  I got that reminder big-time this past week.

I was watching someone work.  She does things much differently than I do.  Not incorrectly, but certainly differently.

As I was watching, another friend came up and commented on how he appreciated what she does.

I gotta say it.  Inwardly, I snorted.  Self-righteous little piglet that I am.

Then I got to thinking.

How often on this journey of grief have people snorted at me!

Stop homeschooling – you need more time to yourself!

Not dating yet?

You gotta take care of that right away!

You should…_________!  (fill in the blank)

With prayerful consideration, I am doing things the way I feel I should be.  Well-meaning though others may be, sometimes they cross the line, in my opinion.

I don’t think they mean to hurt me or doubt my abilities…but sometimes that is just how it comes across.

Here comes the 2×4…I have done the same thing.

Shame on me!

Forgive me, Lord, for not trusting that You have given people certain jobs and certain circumstances to have their unique flair put into the work.  Forgive me, Lord, for looking down my nose at them.  Help me extend to them the grace that I expect to be extended to me.

And…forgive me, friend, for doubting you and not accepting your way of doing things.

I always thank my God for you because of his grace given you in Christ Jesus. For in Him you have been enriched in every way—with all kinds of speech and with all knowledge — God thus confirming our testimony about Christ among you. – 1 Corinthians 1:4-5

Waste Not, Want Not

joyouschild Griefwork, Persevering through Pain, The Power of the Witness, The Storms of Life , ,

How many of us have heard that old analogy?  Waste not, want not.

I know my mom used to quote it to me regularly in relation to the food on my plate.

But do we think of this analogy in relation to our spiritual life…to our pain and sorrow?

When Keith died there was, obviously, pain — pain galore.  Deep, abiding pain, that put a pall on everything for a time.

But God is not a God of waste.  In His economy, it is ALL for good, it is ALL usable, it is ALL glorious.

Waste not, want not.

You only have to look at the way the world works together to see that this is true.

Forest fires cause destruction, but also allow for elements to be added to the soil, and for the undergrowth to see the light of day.

Should it be any wonder to us that our grief is the same?

In the greater community, I am able to be an example, a light, a hand to reach out to another — if I take up the challenge that is before me.  I am able to use the lessons learned to show my children, my friends, and others around me the power and awesomeness of our Lord.

Waste not, want not.

Also implied in this statement is that if we waste what we have been given, we will be wanting.

If I had curled in a corner when Keith died and stayed there, I would have missed so much along the way.

Closer relationships, including with God Himself.  Revival in our hearts and in our church.  Beauty out of the ashes.  All precious, precious gifts!

And so, for as much as it hurts, I would not have traded this journey for the world.  Even if I could have Keith back.

Waste not, want not.

Amen and amen! 

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. – Romans 8:28

Applying Lessons Learned, or God Uses Tape

joyouschild Griefwork, Trusting the Father, Widow Walk , ,

One of Keith’s favorite stories about me goes as follows:

I was home visiting my family.  On the day I was leaving, Mom and I decided to go shopping.  We got to the mall and as we got out of the car, I heard a telltale hissing sound from my right rear tire.  After examination, we determined that the hissing was coming right from the tire stem.

My first reaction:  I prayed.  Surely God could handle this tire.  Then, rather than go to a service station, I searched around in the stuff in my car and pulled out a roll of cellophane tape.  I wrapped that cellophane tape around the tire stem and headed into the mall with Mom.  Problem solved.

 We then went on with our shopping trip, coming out every hour or so to check on the tire.  It was holding fast; no hiss.

After we finished shopping, I took Mom back home, kissed her goodbye and hopped in my car.  After another quick prayer, I was off on the 6-hour drive back to my apartment.

The first time I shared this story with Keith, he stared at me, open-mouthed, with that look that only a man can give a woman–that whatever-possessed-you-to-think-that-was-a-good-idea look.  (By the way, I now sometimes see that look from our oldest man cub…outstanding.)

My response?  What?  I prayed.

For those of you in suspense, I did make it home without a hitch and never had a problem with that tire again.

And for me, that is the point.

God had it.  I prayed and trusted, and He came through.

Now, do I recommend tape (of any sort) as a replacement for good car care?  Not at all.  Do I recommend putting the Lord on the spot to take care of our silly moves when we should have made a better choice?  No way.

But, to me, this event was a precursor to how I need to live my life.  Sometimes I gotta just pray and go.

I have had a lot of pray-and-go moments in this grief journey.

I do not always make the wisest choice.  I do not always think things through as I should. But often my choice is this:  be paralyzed by fear, to the detriment of everybody, or make a choice, pray, and go.

Because He has always, always, always been there, even in something small like tape on a tire, I have the courage to pray and go.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.– Romans 8:28

Just "Do" It

joyouschild Griefwork, Widow Walk ,

When my best friend Susan calls, I often tell her I can’t talk because we are “doing” school.  She gets it.  She “does” school at her house, too.

In the vernacular of my homeschooling friends, that means we are “having” school…learning something.  This can mean a variety of things to homeschoolers (we all “do” school a little differently), but bottom line, it means it’s learning time, and we need to focus on the learning.

At our house, we also “do” grief.  I don’t mean that we sit formally and talk about our loss.  Well, sometimes we do.  But more often than not, there’s nothing “formal” about the way we “do” grief.

In fact, it’s similar to the way we “do” school.

It’s different day-to-day, person-to-person (even within our own house).  But if we are “doing” it right, I believe learning occurs.

Sometimes that learning is a new or renewed skill.  I hadn’t “done” the bills here for many years.  I have had to relearn how to “do” them.

I never mowed grass before 4 years ago, either.  But now I have learned to “do” that, and even to teach my oldest.  Now Alex “does” the grass.

Sometimes the work I “do” is what I call “noodle work.”  I have learned to know me better:  my strengths and weaknesses; what I want from life; who I am apart from Keith.

Sometimes the work I “do” is heart work:  learning to accept God as Father, Husband, Confidant, Trusted Companion.  Learning to let go and let God, and to see and accept that He’s got it, and me, all the time.  Learning to trust His word as true and relevant to every part of my life:  grief, love, parenting, friendships, relationships, everything.

I have heard people talk about what they don’t “do”:   
I don’t “do” windows.
I don’t “do” drama.
Even…I don’t “do” grief.

I haven’t had a choice.  What was my alternative?

So, I “do” my grief work.  I sit often with a cup of coffee and a Bible and learn my Lord and His ways.  I slog through the new things I learn to do physically.  I find ways to complete me apart from Keith.

And whenever I have finished the next lesson of grief work, I am glad I “did.”

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. — Hebrews 12:1B-2

Lego Land Mines

joyouschild Griefwork, Persevering through Pain, Raising Kids Alone , ,

I have four sons.  That means I have 4 x 1,000,000 Legos in my house.

They are everywhere.  I have a real bone to pick with the Lego people who package up 5 little plastic men with some other random pieces of plastic and charge me $50 for it!  In order to get the precious figures, we add another hundred Legos to the house.  Over and over again.  Each birthday, Christmas, and mad money day.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are hours of fun and creativity in those little pieces of plastic.  Even the big ones still play with them, and it is often a common ground with the little ones, something they can all play where the big ones aren’t too bored (unlike Candy Land).

But there is a down side to Legos.  They are excruciatingly painful when you step on them.

Of course, they are all supposed to be picked up before the boys go to bed.  I try to do a sweep myself as well so that when I come down for my quiet time, I don’t impale myself on one.  But it occasionally still happens.  And boy, does it hurt!

Grief is like that.

Like the Legos on the floor of my house, I occasionally trip on my grief and have the searing pain of the loss all over again.  All I can do is sit there and wrap my arms around myself for a minute until the pain passes.

I have been through many of my “firsts,”  I am not even talking about the firsts you know you will have–first Christmas, first birthday, first Easter, etc.  There are a lot more firsts you never think of until you step on them–first time mowing the lawn, first tax season, first car repair, first trip to the ER, first call to poison control (I have made three since Keith died–yep, three).

The pesky Legos of the firsts also have another flavor, wrapped in the candy wrapper of the good things in life, the ones I really wish I could share with Keith–first baptism, first lost tooth, first words read, first vacation, first soccer goal–on and on.  And there are more on the horizon–first time driving a car, first girlfriend, first graduation, first wedding, first grandchild…

You never realize how many firsts there are in life until you face them alone, trying to respond to them as two people would.

But here’s the cool thing.  There is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother, who is there for all my firsts, all those moments when the pain is so excruciating I think I will never walk again.  Just like I comfort my little guys when they happen to step on a piece of plastic, Jesus comforts me each time I step on a first.  He is there, there, there!

And He always will be.  That’s a promise.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain…  – Revelation 21:4a