The power of validation and affirmation. We all know there are no perfect Christians – it’s inherent in our theology – so why do we try to wear masks of perfection?
Monthly Archives: October 2015
Reader Stories on Stillbirth
The New York Times printed a story about Stillbirth on Father’s Day this year. I saw the article on Facebook and responded, as did a great number of others, when they asked what advice you’d give to a family devastated by stillbirth. The Times published a compilation of reader responses on July 28th. This is a link (in red below) to that publication. Reading it may equip you to support and encourage someone you love one day.
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2015/health/stillbirth-reader-stories.html?_r=0
Smash Shack NWA
I need a Smash Shack in NW Arkansas . . . I guess there’s always the firing range. Although, there is just a certain appeal to pretending to be a hot-blooded Greek or Italian woman! Throwing a plate is so much more physical than squeezing a trigger. Just sayin’ . . .
The Judgement In Grief
(Facebook Post 7/5/15)
This is an interesting article (follow the link in red below) that I think everyone who grieves the loss of a close loved one can relate to:
http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/07/the-judgement-in-grief/
My comments related to the article:
I fear the judgment of others. I fear that if I struggle with any aspect of my relationship with Christ or my faith or if I am unable to turn every negative into a positive in the midst of my grief, that others will criticize me. And believe me, I have issues of faith I need to work through. It is what it is. I’m not a Kool-aid drinker, I’m a contender.
I fear others think I should be “over it” by now, moving forward, making plans for the future. That others have lost patience with my sorrow. That others believe that if I were really trusting God I would not fear the progression of Gracen’s disease or for her physical safety as she moves into the dorms this coming August.
I fear people believe I am seeking attention from my posts instead of the validation of feelings, the affirmation, I crave because I am weak and vulnerable and I need encouragement.
I fear isolation and yet I withdraw when I feel vulnerable. Church, unfortunately, is the place I feel most vulnerable. I fear disappointing fellow Christians. I fear there is an expectation for a fabulous testimony I can share now, some new ministry that rises from the ashes of my losses, or some vast wisdom to share when a year and a half down the road I’m still putting one foot in front of the other, still stunned by the ways in which life has changed.
Sometimes I do feel judged but I also realize that my perception has been blurred by the filter of grief and I know that a comment or a look that I perceive as criticism may be something else entirely.
My counselor tells me that some of the judgment I feel coming from others is likely self-condemnation. She says there is a duality at play in my mind. A part of me that is comfortable with my feelings and my methods of confronting them in light of God’s Word, but also another part of me that knows scripture and has high expectations for the perfect Christian response or maybe expects my emotions to be blunted by my faith. A battle between the heart and the mind if you will. There are definitely concepts my mind fully comprehends but my heart screams in defiance against.
I fear judgment and criticism real or perceived. I’m no super-saint and I fear I cannot handle either defending myself from criticism or even taking on a self-improvement program if I feel the criticism is merited. I’m just a broken woman striving to be what my remaining family needs and hold it together until the Holy Spirit heals the brokenness inside.
A Letter to the Friend of a ‘New Normal’ Grieving Mother
JULY 1, 2015 BY NATHALIE HIMMELRICH
http://stillstandingmag.com/2015/07/letter-friend-grieving-mother/
This article (Click on link in red above) is well worth the read for those who wish to understand the heart and mind of a grieving mother. It is definitely a struggle to merge the pre-loss woman I was with the post-loss woman I am and will always be, in spite of the fact that I’ve been down this road before.
I could have written most of this article myself. The one unmentioned battle is that of your faith and your reality. I fear my last post offended some of my Christian friends – the “choose joy” comment and “it’s ok, God’s in control” reference in particular.
I want people to understand there is a difference between joy and happiness and that the Bible tells me there is a season for everything, even grief. I’m not choosing to be unhappy, I am, however, grieving and that process may take longer than even I would like it to. And I too fully believe that God is in control but during this time of grieving it’s not particularly comforting because He was and always has been in control even when my son died within my womb and my daughters died at the side of the road and when two of my children were diagnosed with a progressive neuromuscular disease. None of those things have been or will ever be OK with me in this present world even if they are OK from an eternal perspective.
I am by far my own worst critic expecting some supernatural ability to cope with my changing reality as the perfect Christian would but I am also far more human than holy so forgive me if in my grief I have disappointed or hurt anyone as I struggle my way through all of this.
At this point in time I relate far better to Job’s lamenting his very birth than I do to the proverbs 31 woman who has no fear of the future and while I make recognize that I can count it all joy during this struggle because of the rewards that will later spring forth, I’m too tired to make the effort right now.
(Facebook Post 7/1/15)
Riser
I’m not always a riser, but that’s who I want to be for Gracen and David and I’m glad God is the ultimate Riser for me.
Check out these lyrics – not sure they are completely correct (picked them up off the internet and added my own corrections) so forgive me if I messed them up. I think they are pretty close anyway and don’t they reflect what we all aspire to be for those we love in their darkest hours? Beautiful song!
****************************************
Dierks Bentley – Riser
Lay your pretty head down on my shoulder
You don’t have to worry anymore
This old world is cold and getting colder
And I know how to lock and bolt the door
I’m strong enough to hold you through the winter
Mean enough to stare your demons down
The hard times put the shine into the diamond
I won’t let that keep us in the ground
I’m a riser
I’m a get up off the ground, don’t run and hider
Pushin’ comes to shovin’
Hey I’m a fighter
When darkness comes to town, I’m a lighter
A get out aliver, out of the fire
Survivor
If you we ain’t got no money I can make it
I ain’t afraid of working to the bone
When I don’t know what I’m doin’ and I can’t fake it
I’ll pray till Jesus rolls away the stone
And I’m a riser
I’m a get up off the ground, don’t run and hider
Pushin’ comes to shovin’
Hey I’m a fighter
When darkness comes to town, I’m a lighter
A get out aliver, of the fire, survivor
I’m a trier
I’m a get down low so I can lift you higher
An army couldn’t keep down my desire
Yeah
I’m a riser
I’m a get up off the ground, don’t run and hider
Hey pushin’ comes to shovin’
Baby I’m a fighter
When darkness comes to town, I’m a lighter
A get out aliver, of the fire, survivor
I’m a riser
I’m a riser
I’m a riser
Record my Misery
Record my misery . . . List my tears on your scroll. Psalm 56:8
Today marks a year and a half since Bethany and Katie were killed by the reckless actions of an unlicensed driver (a three-time offender by the age 19).
I wonder if Troy Robins, and the parents who failed to teach him to respect and obey the law, feel any responsibility at all? If Troy Robins feels any remorse for the destruction he’s wrought in our lives? I certainly haven’t received even a cursory apology.
I wonder if he suffers flashbacks from that day? Are his dreams filled with the hysterical sound of my voice as I discovered my daughters? Is he haunted by the image of Bethany’s broken neck, of Katie’s slashed forehead of the sound of Gracen wheezing as she struggled for breath with a collapsed lung? Does the image of the yellow plastic sheeting quickly draped over Bethany’s body remind him, like it does me, of the oversized trash bags my mother-in-law buys from the Boy Scouts annually. Can he imagine the message that image communicates to a Mother?
Do the sounds of sirens and flashing lights make him want to curl up in a ball and cover his ears to block out the sounds and sights? Do they make his heart race?
Does he wake up every morning dreading the day ahead and stay up late every night trying to stave off the dawning of the next day?
Does he find menial tasks, cleaning house, making meals, paying bills overwhelming like I do?
Does he have to respond to polite inquiries as to how he is doing? Does he feel like a bug under a microscope with everyone personally judging his actions based upon their own preconceived ideas?
Does he feel smug because he escaped prosecution for two felonies and paid less than $1,000 in fines while we paid tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills?
Does he feel guilty for stealing Gracen’s last days of independent mobility or prideful for his own lack of personal injuries? Is he still driving illegally today putting other law abiding citizens at risk?
Did the events of December 26, 2013, change him in any way, shape or form? They changed me. They haunt me. They traumatized me. They changed David and Gracen in tangible and intangible ways.
The images flash through my mind – sights and sounds from the roadside. Police, firefighters, paramedics, a neck brace, a backboard, the inside of the ambulance as it pulls away separating me from my sole surviving daughter.
Blue sky, bumpy ride, greeting and condolences from the charge nurse. WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER? IS SHE STILL ALIVE? Nurses, CT scan, chaplain. WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER? IS SHE STILL ALIVE? WHERE IS DAVID? WHERE IS O’RANE? HOW DO I REACH HIS FAMILY? WHERE ARE BETHANY AND KATIE? Doctors, nurses, prayer, stitches. Oversized scrubs.
Hospital waiting room. Bethany’s best friend and family. Our pastor, his wife, church friends, my in-laws. OH, NO, GRACEN IS ALONE! OH, GOD, WILL SHE DIE ALONE? Relief, Gracen is not alone. Family has arrived in Joplin.
Informing in-laws, family, Bethany’s boyfriend overseas . . . and Gracen – twice.
Chauffeured to Joplin cloaked in darkness. Squeezing David’s hand and whispering, “They knew they were loved.” Talking to my Dad. Emailing my three closest friends.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. Gracen still in surgery. The hush of the ICU. Gracen covered in bruises, stitches, staples, a neck collar, attached to a ventilator, an external fixator protruding from her leg, IV pushing fluids, antibiotics, pain killers, blood pressure cuff puffing up, tightening, releasing, chest tube, broken pieces of glass glistening in her hair, her life still in the balance. Beeps and blips, whooshing sounds. Pale skin, cold hands, no movement. David in a wheelchair, dry heaving. Alone with Gracen.
Family and friends coming and going day after day, night after night.
Media reports, pictures on TV, in print, phone calls, text messages, Facebook posts. . .
Pastor, funeral home director, decisions, caskets, flowers, music, Bible verses, pictures.
Following the ambulance to UAMS New Years Eve and into the wee hours of New Years Day. A quick stop at home. Sorting through debris left by the roadside, shattered electronics, cherished stuffed animals hugged close to my chest, inhaling Katie’s individual scent, never used or worn Christmas gifts.
Leaving Gracen behind, family and friends standing in line, hugs and tears, funeral, cemetery, dinner, long, dark drive back to Gracen.
Doctors, nurses, low lights, bright lights, anger, fear, pain, hallucinations. Latex allergy, surgery, more surgery, x-rays, oxygen, chest tube out, chest tube in, lost weight, bedpans, stitches and staples removed, leg immobilizer, wrist splint. Traumatic Brain Injury?
Meals, motel rooms, sharing daylight hours, trading nights between hospital and motel.
Bright blue sky, ambulance tail lights. Home. Gutted doorways, exposed foundation, hospital bed, belly shots, sponge baths, care aides, home health nurses, OT/PT, pressure sores and debridement.
Gracen passed out, incoherent, 911, firefighter, paramedics, ambulance, ER again.
Attorney calls, no charges filed, accident report, reconstruction report. No charges filed. Prosecutor’s re-election campaign. Legal research, uncommunicative, ineffective prosecutor. No charges filed. Coroner’s Inquest. Misdemeanor charges filed.
Hospital bills, doctors bills, bills from the radiologist, the ambulance companies, the life flight service – oh my word, $35,000 for the helicopter. Bills, bills, bills. Late notices. Calls from creditors, collection threats. Collection letters, collection calls. What happened to our once stellar credit rating? I don’t even want to know – to try restore our good name.
Crosses on the roadside, markers on graves. Court room. There he is, the man-child who killed our daughters. He, and his mother, immediately turn away. Why am I not surprised? A shocking not guilty plea. We have to come back to court again. A defiant guilty plea. A slap on the wrist days after Christmas a full year after the collision.
Constantly churning thoughts, injustice, politics. Beliefs and faith challenged, relationships stretched, strained, damaged. Hard truths, platitudes, admonitions. Lack of forgiveness? Vengeance or justice demanded? Pity party? Choose joy. Praise God. It will be OK. God is in control. Was not God in control that day? Am I supposed to feel that what happened was OK? Is the measure of my faith dependent upon my ability to embrace my daughter’s deaths? Is worship and counting this trial joy for the spiritual maturity it will develop suppose to blunt or even erase the pain?
Tension, anxiety, restlessness, pharmaceuticals. Relief?
Round and round and round we go – fear and fatigue, shock and resignation. Sorrow. Lost hopes, lost dreams, unfulfilled expectations. No graduations, engagements or weddings for Bethany and Katie. Lost grandchildren. Lost identity. Lost purpose. Lost future.
How are you? Fine (Freakin’ Insane Needing Extraction). How are things? Good (Going On Only Downward). Oh, yes, I’m fine, things are good. We have new floors, new doorways, new paint – empty bedrooms. How could we be anything but grateful?
What has Troy Robins lost? We’ve paid the price for his sins. Did it cost him anything other than a few measly dollars pulled from his parents pockets?
On and on the questions race as the images flash. So very tired. So very disappointed. So very broken. So very lost. Head pounding, heart flayed open longing to be validated instead of feeling criticized and being placated. Simultaneously thankful for God’s provision, for eyes unveiled to see His care amidst the destruction. Does anyone realize sorrow and gratitude are not mutually exclusive?
When I long to flee His presence (because His will supersedes my dreams and plans), the Psalmist reminds me there is no place I can go where He is not – a highly frustrating consolation. When I feel forsaken, red letters remind me of the comforter who quietly resides within – forever present – never alone. When Satan taunts and condemns, I feebly try to strap on the full armor of God.
Faith built in the past is the foundation upon which I huddle in a fetal position as the storm continues to rage upon me. I may be beaten and battered, broken, lost and even despairing, but there is a firm foundation beneath. While I no longer believe I will not suffer more hurt and loss in this life, I remain fully confident of the only hope I am truly promised – my eternal future with the Savior who paid for my sins.
While some may accuse me of throwing a first class pity party, I choose to believe that in sharing Christ’s sufferings I am glorying in Him (see Romans 8:17).
Do we not rehearse Christ’s sufferings every spring? Do you think Christ’s spiritual and emotional sufferings paled in comparison to His physical sufferings? Do we downplay or elevate the fact that Christ endured betrayal and abandonment by His friends and disciples for the joy set before Him? That He took our sin and shame upon Himself for our eternal good? Does your heart not break as you picture Him crying out in desperation and despair from the cross, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Is not Good Friday about counting the cost? Is it wrong for this broken mother to do the same?
(Facebook Post 6/26/15)
The Refiner’s Fire by Ewen Huffman
There was group of women in a Bible study group studying the book of Malachi. As they were studying chapter three, they came across verse three, which says: “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.”
This verse puzzled the women and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God. One of the women offered to find out about the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study.
That week this woman called up a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest to burn away all the impurities.
The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot – then she thought again about the verse, that he sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.
She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left even a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?” He smiled at her and answered, “Oh that’s easy, when I see my image in it.”
Chocolate Encouragement?
What is it about chocolate that makes a body feel better I asked myself as I unwrapped a Hershey’s Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate with Toffee & Almonds Nugget.
The answer: Nothing, it just distracts the mind from whatever ails you. The flavor explodes on your tongue and immediately your mind shifts from whatever drove you to the secret (or not so secret) chocolate stash to the flavor of said chocolate alone. It’s a double-edged sword – short term flavor distraction – long term weight gain.
I’ve just now decided, chocolate is to my generation what cutting is to the current generation. Now that’s an encouraging comparison, don’t you think?
(Facebook Post 5/27/15)
On Life Cut Short
Personal safety is largely an illusion we wrap ourselves in and are comforted by until the moment when it is either threatened or simply snatched from our feebly grasping hands. There is but one true form of personal safety and it pertains not to the body – only to the soul.
There are those who walk among us who know this truth far too well. Their hearts have been seared by this red hot truth and they are forever changed. They know firsthand that the multitude of verses about safety in the Bible are not promises of physical safety here on earth but instead refer to the absolute safety of the soul for those who have received the free gift of salvation and become sons and daughters of the king through adoption. This is the hope of the believer – this is their confidence – and this is their terror as well. The veil has been torn from their eyes and they see all too clearly that the ones they love most in this world are not promised to remain theirs for the duration of their time traveling this pilgrim pathway.
There are in fact scriptures we prefer not to look at too closely. Verses that reveal the sin we either prefer to pretend doesn’t exist or feel is impossible to gain victory over rank high on that list. But also there are those that simply reveal truths we fear.
Psalm 139:13-16 contains one such truth hidden amongst David’s proclamation of God’s omnipresence and omniscience. There it silently lies speaking both a comforting and yet disturbing truth to those with ears to hear.
The passage is a familiar one for the average Christian and is often quoted in defense of the sanctity of human life. It begins,
13 For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.14 I will give thanks to You,
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.15 My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;”
Then along comes verse 16 . . .
16 “Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.”
It’s a profound truth – an awesome truth – one we should fully embrace.
“. . . And in Your book were all written, The days that were ordained for me, When as yet there was not one of them”.
Verse 16 is one we should fully examine and meditate on; not simply breeze by as we strive to reach the end of the chapter. It’s far from insignificant; it holds vital truths of consequence to followers of Christ and lovers of the Lord God Almighty.
This passage tells us that every individual created by the hand of God was ordained a set number of days before they were ever born into this world.
According to dictionary.com the word ordain means “to invest with ministerial or sacerdotal functions; confer holy orders upon.” This definition holds a world of meaning to a Christian because it clearly states a truth we hold dear and also dovetails nicely with other scriptures related to sanctification and gifts for ministerial purposes.
When the Bible tells us that our days have been ordained it is telling us that our days have been numbered but it is also speaking of a broader truth. The scriptures are telling us that every single human being ever formed in the womb was appointed a sacred purpose – an assigned ministry (service for God) – every human being was, in fact, given holy orders.
Consider for a moment that every life was planned and assigned a holy purpose in light of 2 Peter 3:9.
“The Lord isn’t slow to do what he promised, as some people think. Rather, he is patient for your sake. He doesn’t want to destroy anyone but wants all people to have an opportunity to turn to him and change the way they think and act.” (GOD’S WORD Translation)
This verse tells us that in spite of our preordained life’s purpose, God patiently waits for us to accept or reject our holy orders and thereby fulfill our life’s ultimate purpose within the predetermined number of days appointed for our lives.
When a young father, a child, or even a middle-aged woman dies before the average lifespan has been fulfilled, it is not at all uncommon to hear their life referred to as one “cut short”. This, however, is a worldly concept, not a heavenly one. Every human life, regardless of its length of days, is lived to it’s fullest ordained measure. That can be both a painful and a comforting truth but as Dr. Adrian Rogers said, “It’s better to speak truth that hurts and then helps than falsehood that comforts and then kills.”
Bethany and Katie lived every minute, every second of life appointed for them. The moment God chose to create Bethany and Katie and lovingly and painstakingly planned every single detail of their individual and unique appearances and personalities, He also ordained the number of their days. Their lives were not cut short. They were fully realized and by God’s grace, they fulfilled His ultimate holy purpose within their appointed days.
Boxx Banter 