Widow Walk

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

Grieving the (W)Right Way

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One of my sweet friends had the following comment to my blog, Seasons of Soccer:  “Beautiful blog Liz! God works in such mysterious ways. Just when you think He is providing for you, He may actually be doing it for someone else!”

Now, I have not put this on to give myself praise.  (Though I do appreciate it, Diana.  More than you know.)

This really contains the message for how I have chosen to do all this grief work.

Within two hours of Keith’s death, quite literally 20 of our friends had come to the hospital to be with me.  More were there in spirit.

We had a prayer circle just before we left.  (BTW we included the patient advocate who had been assigned, a sweet German lady who reminded us to pray for the hospital staff because it is hard to lose a patient.  I have.)

As I was holding hands with so many close friends, God spoke to me in my spirit.

Let them in.  They need to grieve, too.

Well, for this Martha who was convinced she could handle the whole wide world, this was a revolutionary thought.  But, the word was strong enough that I gave it a try.  Couched in terms of doing it for someone else, I figured it was worth a shot.

The next day, I accepted everything that was brought to me.  Several of my friends even cleaned my house, something I never would have let be done before.  I must admit, it was not hard that day.  I was in shock.

But as the days progressed, I continued to let people do whatever they felt led to do.  Some gave us things–amazing things like a swing set, financial assistance, and secret sister presents.  Some did things for us–fixed computers, mowed the yard, took the boys places.  Some shared the pain with us–the first Memorial Day at Quantico, the first holidays, the first birthdays.  

God has been very evident in our grief through the outpouring from others.  Different people are called to assist at different times and in different degrees, some of them are things I have known I needed and some I had not even realized I needed.  

And in the midst of all this, we have grown closer to many, many people.  The common need, the lack of artifice and pretense in the sometimes raw nature of grief on my part and on theirs has broken down walls of pride–and not just in me.  People whom I have allowed to join us in the journey have been touched. 

And isn’t that what it’s all about?  Community built for the common good?  Sharing the tender places in our soul, without embarrassment?  Sharing all that we have and all that we are?

I have become just a vehicle, a means of blessing.  And that is blessing in and of itself!

Perhaps the way we have done this grief would not work for everyone, but boy, am I glad that I have done it this way!  

Thanks, Lord, for speaking to my soul in ways that I would understand.  Thanks for the tangible, visible ways you have helped me, and for the intangible way you have grown my community for Your glory.

Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.  If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God.   If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever.  Amen. — 1 Peter 4:10-12





A Happy Mother’s Day, Part II

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A second lesson from the Mother’s Day baskets:

I contacted the ladies to deliver the baskets.  I even sent a picture of the baskets, all scattered about my living room.

The overwhelming response from the moms was, “For me?  There’s one for me?”  They were incredulous that someone would care that much, put that much effort, into someone they do not know, and may never meet.

When they find out there is, then come the tears.

You see, as single moms, we get used to doing without.  There’s always another bill or another growing child who needs shoes.  It often is not as much fun to buy something for yourself, so we skip it, save the money and move on.

Aren’t we all like that?

We have this incredible gift in our loving Savior, and we sometimes look at it and say, “Is this for me?”

We see our unworthiness.  We have gotten used to doing without.  We fail to see the blessings ready to be heaped on us.

I have a secret to share.

We had a lady join the group recently, the week before the baskets came out, in fact.  She needed the comfort of a basket blessing from unknown friends.

I gave her mine.

I am not saying this was easy.  For this girl whose love language is gifts, it was a pinch.  I had been looking forward to the surprise.  I knew it was coming.  But mine did not come.

But it’s OK.  Really OK!

I got more out of delivering the baskets, of passing on a material blessing in favor of a spiritual one, than I thought would be possible.

And God taught me a bit more in the process, refined a few more rough edges.

And that’s what it’s all about.
 
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. – 1 Peter 1:6-7

A Happy Mother’s Day

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My love language is gifts.  (read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, www.5lovelanguages.com)

That means that the holidays and I continually do this great dance to see if my needs will feel met.  It’s just the way it is.  Not right or wrong, just reality.

When Keith was alive, we exchanged gifts at each holiday.  I was usually happy to give him hints, pick it out myself, or call some house project my “gift.”

But not for my birthday.  Then, I needed a surprise.

Since Keith’s death, God has continued to send me surprises.

Even for Mother’s Day…maybe especially for Mother’s Day.

We are on the eve of my fifth Mother’s Day without Keith and each year God has touched the heart of someone to bless me in an amazing way.

One year, a dear friend took me for a pedicure while her hubby and my boys cleaned out and washed my car.

One year, I looked out the window to find my sweet neighbors mulching my front beds.

One year, friends came over to make breakfast at my house.

One year, flowers arrived the Saturday before.

It is almost like Christmas morning when I was a kid, when I eagerly tripped down the stairs to see what Santa left me.  Wise Santa, my parents told me, always knew what I needed and of my list what would be the best gift.

This year, God had a gift planned as well.

My dear, sweet friends from a local MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers, www.mops.org) group felt led to make Mother’s Day baskets for our widows’ group.

When they asked me months ago whether they could do this project, I was touched.  When I saw baskets, I was flabbergasted.

These were not tokens.  The ladies went all-out in filling the baskets until each one was a rich, loving expression, mom-to-mom, of what a struggle it is, what a joy but a pain it is to be a mom.  They may not be single moms, but they got it, appreciated us.

When we picked them up, they overflowed the back of my car.  I cried.

But that was the beginning of the gift to me.

I got to have the joy of delivering these precious baskets to each of the ladies, to see their faces, feel their gratitude, wipe their tears.

God in action!  And, praise Him, I got to be part of it!

Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. – 1 John 3:18

What’s a Cross?

joyouschild Griefwork, Persevering through Pain, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk , ,

Recently my dear friend Judi asked me if I felt losing Keith was my cross to bear.

Here is the long and short of my answer…it’s not a cross, it’s a blessing.

About 4 weeks after Keith died, a dear friend who is a fellow widow called the place we are in “a privilege.”  Now, at that point in my journey, Keith had been gone just a bit of time and Christmas was around the corner.  I was not feeling privilege, I can tell you.

But I did remember; I did ponder those words.

For years.

I gotta be honest.  Some days stink.  It is really hard to be a single mom.  Some days, even now, I ache for Keith’s arms around me.

But, yes, I believe it.  It is privilege.

Joy in the journey.

God is there.  At night.  When I have tough decisions to make.  Raising the boys.  When hard stuff happens.  When good stuff happens.  When I am hurt.  When I am happy.  When I am scared.  When I am confident.

The boys have learned things about the provision of God, the sovereignty of God, the love of God that Keith and I could not have taught them together.  They know that they know that they know.  They have seen and tasted that the Lord is good.

I have gotten to see God work in the lives of people simply because He gave me this great need and the foresight to let them in to help.

I have gotten to cry with others on this journey, knowing what they are feeling.  And also to laugh with them.

I have grown and changed…a butterfly out of a cocoon, able now to go different places than I could go before.

I know my Lord better…closer…dearer.

And that changes my whole perspective.

I have always thought of the cross as a place of pain and suffering, and it certainly was that.

But…maybe…it was also a place of joy because Christ knew that through it, the redemption of the world would happen.  He could see beyond the moments to the big picture.

I don’t compare my suffering to that of Christ in any way, shape, or form.  That would be pure arrogance.

But the changes wrought in me…and I do mean wrought…have made a difference.  And in that I can glory.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.- Romans 8:18

Of Puzzle Pieces and Memories

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A few weeks before Keith died, our preacher, Mike, preached a sermon involving puzzle pieces and wholeness in the body of Christ.  It touched Keith deeply.  He set his puzzle piece on the makeshift desk he had on the main floor.  It was constantly in view during the last weeks of his life.

We buried that puzzle piece in the time capsule we created for him.

I have thought of that puzzle piece often over the past 4 1/2 years, nearly every time I find a stray piece around the house.  Keith still thought of himself as a viable piece of the body, even as an ill man, weak and at home.  And he was.

Even in death, my faithful husband was, and is, a piece of the puzzle.  There are still the fingerprints of his work at our church, and at his office.  And definitely here at home, in us.  I am a better mother, daughter, and child of God from having been married to this Godly man.

Since Keith’s passing I have often thought of my own contribution as a puzzle piece.  How do I “fit” now that he is not here?  My puzzle is jumbled and I can’t seem to find where the edges meet.

I don’t fit as a wife any more.
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.
I don’t fit in the couples’ gatherings any more.
Yet I am an important piece in the puzzle.
I don’t fit with the women talking about the husbands (or complaining about them).
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.
I don’t fit in at boy scout meetings or with the soccer coaches.
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.

When doing a large puzzle, if I have trouble finding where a piece goes, I try turning it, looking in a new section of the puzzle.  That is what I need to do with this new life.  I may not fit in the old places where the puzzle piece went, but I need to find new ones.

And the cool thing is that the Master of the Puzzle will give me insight as to where that is.

Here is the lesson I take from Keith’s life:  puzzle pieces have a purpose, they complete things.  If I neglect to add my piece to the puzzle, it is incomplete, not what it was intended to be.

I can’t help but think of my own contribution as a puzzle piece.  Can God’s fingerprints be seen as clearly on me?  I pray so!

I also think about the Puzzle Piece of Eternity, our Risen Lord.

By His death, we are healed.  By His stripes, we can forgo ours.  By His love, we have eternity waiting.  Praise Him for His indescribable gift!

The Audacity!

joyouschild Doing it on My Own, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk

Okay, so now I have decided to start a blog.  Part of my brain is thinking, “How arrogant of me!  I sit here and think that my words are worth recording for posterity and releasing to others!”

This morning, though, I read Matthew 5:12 in Eugene Peterson’s The Message:  “Let me tell you why you are here.  You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth.  If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness?  You’ve lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.”

We all have a God story — you do, I do, everyone does.  If we share these stories in whatever venue we have, we can make God shine a little brighter here on earth — encouraging fellow believers and maybe helping others make a choice for Christ.

So, in humility I will start sharing my God stories — how He is working in my life.  My prayer is that it will benefit someone — even if it is just me.

I am a widowed, homeschooling mom of 4 active boys, ages 13, 10, 6 1/2, and 4 1/2.  Welcome to my roller-coaster, God-infused world!