joy in the journey

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

In Praise of Girlfriends

joyouschild Faith Community, Praising God ,

You know who you are.

Or maybe you don’t…

You’re the one who complimented me on my children’s behavior on the day I felt like a failure as a mother.

You’re the one who called at dinner time nearly nightly to get the debrief of the day.

You’re the one who laughed with me about men and marriage and sex on the days I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity.

You’re the one who bought the flowers Keith would have bought for our anniversary.

You’re the one who thought to include us in your holiday gathering rather than let us be alone.

You’re the one who called from miles away to tell me you were holding me and the Lord was holding me.

You’re the one who saw to it my grass was mowed when I was overwhelmed with the kids and would have let it grow over the top of the house.

You’re the one who brought over a check on Christmas Day to cover expenses you had no idea I worried about.

You’re the one who watched my kids so I could have dinner with a friend without the constant clamor of “Hey, Mom, guess what…”

You’re the one who cleaned my bathroom on your hands and knees just as it was beginning to resemble one in a gas station.

You’re the one who prayed for me while you were getting ready for church Sunday mornings, figuring I was facing some challenges (I was).

You’re the one who checked in on me while I was driving long distances, and insisted I call when I got there.

You’re the one who cried with me at the cemetery on Memorial Day, and brought flowers for Keith’s grave.

You’re the one who took me for my first pedicure on Mother’s Day and sat laughing with me.

You’re the one who shared out of your bounty for the holidays to make sure I had something to open, too.

You’re the one who still called me with your prayer needs, realizing that I needed to take the focus off me and do things for God.

You’re the one who pulled up a tissue and sat down, chocolate in hand, to spend an hour with me.

You’re the one who listened when Jesus whispered in your ear that I needed you.

And for that I thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. – Proverbs 17:17

Groaning

joyouschild Faithwalk, Persevering through Pain , ,

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.– Romans 8:22-23

Even as I write this, a dear friend is in labor.  She is waiting, expectantly and anxiously, for Baby #3 to make his/her appearance.  Water broken, hard labor not started yet, she is in a holding pattern and has been since last evening.  Nothing to do but wait, watch, and pray.

I am there, too.  Certainly with this sweet sister, as all night I kept waking and dreaming of her, praying for her well being and that of my coming “niece” or “nephew.”

But also in my own life.

I wait, not too patiently at times, for the things of my life to work themselves out, to be born in me and my family.

I long to be the creature I was created to be–me, but different.  Not so sinful, more patient, more loving, more focused on God instead of me.

I want to see the bigger picture, know how to lead my family on the path God has laid out for us.  Sometimes I feel like I am right there, hiking along as I should be over the rough terrain; other times I feel lost in the weeds, tripping over little rocks.  I hasten to what I think is the right way to go, but forget to look where I am going, forget to take all the steps necessary to get there, forget to follow my Guide.

Other times, circumstances totally beyond my control have me laboring.  The world steps in, clouding my vision in the rainstorms of life.  Well-meaning people, and not-so-well-meaning, provide distraction and confusion.  I stumble, I fall.

But I get back up.

Like my sweet friend who cannot escape her labor pains right this minute, I cannot escape mine.  Nor would I want to.

I eagerly await the temporary prizes and successes here on earth…many that are quite meaningful for a season.

But even more, I look toward my forever-prize in eternity.

Labor is hard, but I know that with that first cry, the first look at that sweet little face, it will be all worth it for my dear sister.

With my first cry of hallelujah before my Lord, so will mine.

Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.- Philippians 3:14-15

Of Puzzle Pieces and Memories

joyouschild Faith Community, Joy in the Journey, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk , ,

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!