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Category Archives: Grief

Still Gone

19 Apr


“It doesn’t matter how much I heal or how much emotional processing I go through or how much I pray or go to therapy, whatever, he’s still gone.” Said the young man whose older brother died eight years ago. 

I can relate to those words on so many levels. They’re pretty straightforward, but I’ve found myself meditating on them. In some corner of my mind I recognize there is a nuance that is not so straightforward but is profoundly important. 

And here it is hiding within these three words, “. . . he’s still gone.”

“He’s still gone.” 

I have spent the last three years processing my emotions in the aftermath of the collision that killed two of my daughters. Those losses piggybacked onto the loss of my son almost 25 years ago. And then they were interwoven with the knowledge that my 21 year old daughter, my only surviving child, was born with a rare genetic degenerative neuromuscular disease. Believe me when I say that I’ve processed emotions. 

Relentlessly. 

I’ve prayed. Prayers of anger and despair. Questing prayers. Begging entreaties. Oh yes, I’ve prayed.

I’ve even tried trauma therapy and grief counseling.

I’ve tried finding meaning in some global purpose. Painted on a positive outlook. Whatever.

And they’re still gone.

Do we somehow, unconsciously assume that emotional processing, therapy, and prayer will change that unacceptable truth? Do we think it will fill the gaping holes left in our hearts when our children die? Do we think that grieving will make the loss of our loved ones okay in time? 

And maybe that’s why “they’re still gone” echoes so hollowly through my heart and mind. Maybe I am living with the unrealistic expectation that at some point “they’re still gone” won’t hurt anymore. Is that the goal of grieving?

What expectation should I have? What will healing look like? Feel like? Is it even possible? And maybe that’s why his words, “he’s still gone” communicate a straightforward fact but if you really let them sink into your soul they communicate so much more. Resignation, sorrow, despair, and feelings far to deep to articulate. 

He’s still gone.

She’s still gone.

They’re still gone.

And maybe that’s why I’m stuck. Why I can’t move forward or get better – whatever it is that society expects of me.

No matter what I do, my personal reality is that they’re still gone. Until the end of my days they will be missing from me. Maybe there are some wounds that sink so deep into an individual that they can never be healed this side of heaven. And unless I make peace with the immeasurable worth of an eternal future (not just acknowledge it-not just understand it-not just hope for it) and even if I do make peace with eternity, the wounds I have sustained will never fully heal. They will always hurt because they’re still gone. 

Never will I be whole again. 

Never will it stop hurting. 

Never will I be okay with their absence. 

Still gone.

Still gone.

Still gone.

It echoes and echoes and echoes through me. Those words hold an unquantifiable depth of meaning and they leave my heart torn and bleeding.

Still gone.

 
11 Comments

Posted by on April 19, 2017 in Grief

 

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What Bereaved Parents and Those Who Care for Them Need to Know

20 Mar

“It gets worse before it gets better.”

Those were the words the pastor offered to a newly bereaved couple whose daughter had died unexpectedly.

And you should know that he is right.

Bereaved parents are stunned when four months, six month, nine months down the road they find their grief remains overwhelmingly raw.

The shock has worn off.

Their hearts have been flayed open and the wound is still bleeding.

It doesn’t help that those outside the loss community expect healing to be happening when the magnitude of the loss is still seeping into the soul.

The depth of loss has not been fully realized when the funeral is over. No, in the weeks and months and years ahead bereaved parents are confronted with the realization that they didn’t just lose their child but that they lost the hope, dreams and expectations they held for that child as well. They lost their child’s future, but they also lost their own future expectations (marriages and grand babies, to name a few) and they grieve for both what their child will never experience and what they themselves will miss out on.

Frequently, bereaved parents squelch their grief as they try to remain strong for their surviving children. They can’t fall apart because they are so desperately needed by those too young to understand or to express their grief in healthy ways. That’s one reason why the average length of time it takes for parents to work through the grief process averages five years or more – the longest bereavement period of any loss known to man.

My daughter’s grief counselor told her that many teens don’t grieve over lost siblings for four or five years. They experience delayed grief which I think results from trying to be strong for their parents.

The entire home is in upheaval. The sense of security that was taken for granted has been exposed for the fallacy that it is. Gone is the naïveté that we can protect those we love from harm. It’s a frightening experience.

It’s truly terrifying.

And parents and siblings are often left dealing with problems that arise in the wake of the death. Financial pressure, legal issues, spiritual, emotional and health problems assault the family. Marriages and family relationships quake in the aftermath.

While the outside world expects healing to begin, bereaved families are often sorting through compounding problems. They are reeling from the fallout and haven’t really begun the healing process.

Grieving parents and the outside world need to know and understand that grieving the loss of a son or daughter – regardless of their age – is the most devastating and destructive loss experience. Both the bereaved and those who care for them need to anticipate and make accommodations for a long and drawn out grieving process, because it definitely gets exponentially worse before it gets better.

For those who care about the bereaved, grieve with those who grieve. Let go of the expected length of bereavement. Don’t reduce grief to a simple bid for sympathy or pity. And be ever aware that for the grief-stricken feeling bad feels bad, but feeling better feels bad too. It’s a psychological hurdle grieving families frequently face. There is a battle raging within the hearts and minds of loss parents. What they know to be true doesn’t “feel” true and they struggle to reconcile the conflicting messages received from the heart and mind. The solution is not as simple as mind over matter.

People often ask me what to say or do for someone who is grieving. So many times I’ve heard others advise just be present and listen. Both those things are helpful but not necessarily healing. In my experience validating feelings is the single most healing thing you can provide the bereaved.

Grief, for a bereaved parent can be likened to a pressure sore, more commonly known as a bedsore. Pressure sores develop when an individual stays in one position for too long. Unlike other wounds, a pressure sore grows deeper instead of spreading wider. They can be deceptively dangerous because they rapidly eat through layers of flesh below the affected skin to the tendons and the bones beneath if not treated promptly. Treatment involves the painful scraping away of the dead tissue to reach the healthy tissue below. Ointments is applied, the wound is packed and covered and daily cleaning is required to prevent the wound from getting deeper.

Likewise, grief gets worse and deeper when exposed to the pressure of society to project a positive outlook or to work through their grief in the timeframe others deem appropriate. Shaming and silencing the bereaved for failing to heal, wallowing in grief, or throwing a pity party deepens the wound by invalidating the lost loved one’s worth. Venting the negative feelings helps to clear away the infection but refusing to validate those feelings is tantamount to leaving the wound exposed to the dirt and debris floating in the air. The wound gets worse and healing takes longer as the grief-stricken seek the understanding of others.

Validation is the antibiotic ointment applied to promote healing. The presence of “safe friends” (those who don’t criticize or try to fix the broken) is the packing and covering which provides a barrier between the open wound and the influences of the outside world. Frequent validation and affirmation keep the emotional wound clean providing an environment that encourages healing. The bad must be flushed out before the good can replace it.

Unfinished grief occurs when we slap a bandaid on without cleaning and disinfecting the wound. The wound may no longer be visible to the outside world but is quietly festering beneath the bandaid that it covers.

For the bereaved, be gentle and patient with yourself. You’ve been deeply wounded and deep wounds heal slowly. As the old song says, “The road is long with many a winding curve.” Grief isn’t supposed to feel good.

It gets worse before it gets better; but it can and does get better as the grieving struggle their way through the intimately painful thoughts and emotions that arise after the death of a loved one. That’s not to say it will never hurt again at some point down the road. Instead it means the bereaved will no longer be consumed by and actively working through their loss.

 
124 Comments

Posted by on March 20, 2017 in Grief

 

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Fears of a Loss Parent

14 Mar
Fears of a Loss Parent

This is my contribution to The Mighty. Maybe you should share your story too!

Fears of a Loss Parent – themighty.com

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2017 in Grief

 

Just Because . . .

25 Feb
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Bethany Joy Boxx 11/02/93 – 12/26/13

 

 

I recently saw a number of posts on a closed bereaved parent’s Facebook page that began with those two simple words, “Just because”. A picture or a series of pictures would be posted along with a short synopsis of the child’s life and personality.

It’s a roll call of sorts.

And it’s beautiful.

Why?

Because . . .

 

 

Bereaved parents lose the opportunity to post new pictures and brag upon challenges met, goals accomplished, and the hand of God at work in the lives of their deceased children.

The world demands bereaved parents forget, let go, or move forward but our dead children are just as much a part of our present reality in their absence as our surviving children are. Their absence is a tangible presence in our homes just like the college student living in a dorm room or a married child making their own home. The only difference is intense sorrow knowing they will never walk through your door again instead of the peace of mind that comes from knowing that your child is alive and well.

The absence of a child shapes family members just like the presence of a child does.

So, I am extending the offer to the bereaved to post a picture and tell the story of your loved one, be it a parent, child, sibling, friend or mentor. For grief is love bestowed upon an absent recipient and we are told, “They will know we are Christians by our love.”

We, Believers, claim every life is worthy—sacred—be it the born or unborn. Should not we value just as highly the deceased as we do the living?

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Katelyn Marie Boxx 10/19/97 – 12/26/13

Just because . . .

Every life . . .

Anticipated,

Longed for,

Unwanted,

Unappreciated,

Born,

Unborn,

Living,

and . . .

Deceased. . .

Carries an eternal legacy.

So post a picture (as a Facebook comment wherever this post is shared since I haven’t figured out how to add a picture to WordPress post comments), celebrate a life, demonstrate your unending love, respect, and devotion

just because . . .

Every

Single

Solitary

Life

Matters. . .

To God, the creator of life, and to the grief-stricken loved ones left behind.

We were created for eternity more than we were created for this world. The legacy left lives on. Death is not the final chapter—it’s the introduction—the prologue to a loved one’s living legacy. That legacy is an epic novel and it’s only just begun!

 
6 Comments

Posted by on February 25, 2017 in Grief

 

Hope for the Hurting

17 Feb

In the book of Lamentations, Jeremiah the prophet says . . .

21 This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. 22 It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. 23 They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. 24 The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him. 25 The Lord is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him. 26 It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.

32 But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies. 33 For he doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men. ~ Lamentations 3:21-26, 32-33 (American Standard Version)

Please, please, please, don’t rush by verse 33! In fact, below are several different translations of this verse. Meditate upon it. We do not love and serve a cruel a God! We love and serve a righteous and loving God! Look for the nuance, the subtle differences in translations below: 

For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone. (NIV)
For he does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow. (NLT)
For He does not enjoy bringing affliction or suffering on mankind. (HCSB)
For he does not deliberately hurt or grieve human beings. (ISV)
For he is not predisposed to bring affliction or suffering to the children of men. (NHEB)
For he does not afflict nor grieve the sons of men from his heart. (JB)
For he hath not willingly afflicted, nor cast off the children of men. (DRB)
For He hath not afflicted with His heart, Nor doth He grieve the sons of men.(YLT)

These translations speak to the character and integrity of God Almighty. They are in direct contradiction to the allegations leveled against God and His Word in the world today. 

God is not predisposed to willingly, or deliberately, hurt human beings. He does not enjoy bringing affliction, sorrow, pain or suffering to mankind. Neither does He cause grief nor cast off anyone from a heart filled with evil or cruelty.

Understanding those truths are so important to the grieving because the why question always begs to be answered and rarely is. The very foundation of a Christian’s faith is built upon the character, integrity, and power of God. And that power, oh, it trips us up! Because God didn’t intervene—and He could have. He could have but He didn’t protect the body of the deceased. He allowed the incomprehensible—the inconsolable to happen. But as Paul Harvey famously requested day after day on his radio broadcast, tune in for the rest of the story.

Before you vilify God when death comes calling consider Isaiah 57:1-2 in the Amplified version,

The righteous man perishes [at the hand of evil], and no one takes it to heart;
Faithful and devout men are taken away, while no one understands
That the righteous person is taken away [to be spared] from disaster and evil.
He enters into peace [through death];
They rest in their beds (graves),
Each one who walked uprightly [following God’s will, living with integrity].

And while our hearts stubbornly refuse to be comforted, the truth remains—there is a measure of consolation in understanding that your loved one has been spared future disaster and evil. There is consolation in knowing they are at peace, that Heaven is their home and reunion awaits.

But . . .

Hear this well!

Heaven and reunion are far off concepts for the parents, siblings and other individuals with a close, personal relationship with the deceased following the funeral when living with loss becomes a daily journey through the valley of shadow of death. The heart wants what the heart wants and the heart wants their loved one resurrected now!

There is a time to lament—to mourn and in Biblical days sackcloth and ashes were an outward manifestation of the inward heart. Consolation and comforting thoughts can never completely mitigate the anguish of loss.

Messages and reminders of hope feel oddly hollow in the face of life-long separation from your loved one. However, messages that reinforce the inherent and incalculable worth of the deceased, the great depth of loss for the grieving, and acknowledge that their lives have been changed in significant ways forevermore are well received.

Don’t rush past the hurt to extend hope. The grieving need to fully process and struggle through their pain and consistent validation and affirmation are the best gifts you can bring to the bereaved.

I know, hope, hope, hope. We have to have hope! But while the bereaved believer may feel hopeless it’s not true. It’s not reality because hope lies within the believer. It’s not something we have to strive to generate. Hope resides inside the heart and soul because the Holy Spirit is always at work.

Be sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit. Let Him nudge you to remind the bereaved of future hope when the time is right. In the meantime, and by that I mean months, and depending upon the intimacy of the relationship, years—years—plural people!—the bereaved will be desperate to have the value of the deceased and the natural sorrow that follows validated.

When you rush to extend hope, when you try to point out the positive, you inadvertently dismiss the worth and importance of the one lost—and that is entirely unacceptable to the bereaved. And the general response in such circumstances is to dig in their heals and refuse to be consoled and frankly, struggle longer and deeper in their grief, as they feel offended and righteously justified in mourning the great depth of their loss.

Hope can be friend or foe.

Hope inspires anticipation and patience, but it also frequently results in disappointment.

The bereaved are already residing in the land of sadness and sorrow as their hopes have been crushed. And therefore, it can feel absolutely incomprehensible that anyone would encourage those living with deferred hope to invest their hurting hearts in more hope. In fact, I dare say, that the bereaved would enjoy playing whack-a-mole with hope. Great satisfaction would be derived from whacking the crap out of the mole of hope every time he dared stick his head above ground.

Three years have passed and my hopes these days are invested in eternal things. My hopes of Heaven and all it promises won’t be deferred, of that I’m convinced. But it’s taken me a long time to make peace with hope. After the funeral, in the long days of suffering after friends and family had returned to the normalcy of their intact lives, validation was more valuable to me than hope. That was true for a very long time. 

I’ve turned a corner. Thank God I’ve turned a corner in my grief, but it was a hard-fought and time intensive battle. Time may not heal but it does allow the Holy Spirit to perform His meticulous work in the heart of a bereaved believer. We must always yield the right of way to the Holy Spirit. God is the Great Physician. We merely serve as His hands and feet.

 
8 Comments

Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Faith, Grief

 

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Love, Love, Love!

13 Feb

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Since my girls were small we’ve always made a point of giving gifts for Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t raised that way. It’s something I coerced David into, although it wasn’t difficult. I knew that when girls don’t feel loved by their fathers they tend to seek out love from other sources. More often than not their unmet need for love would be taken advantage of by a boyfriend and they would likely exchange love for sex. I didn’t want that for my daughters and having two daughters with ARSACS, a progressive neuromuscular disease, I feared my girls might seek love from the wrong people.

Gifting at Valentine’s Day was just one small way for David to demonstrate his fatherly love for his daughters. So at Valentine’s Day, a small gift and candy normally appeared for Bethany, Gracen, and Katie. Over the years David added in a card with his gifts. Inside he would write a special message for each one of his girls. He’d tell them why he was proud of them individually, what he enjoyed about them or enjoyed doing with them and he’d usually offer some encouragement before signing his name and expressing his love in writing.

beecherheart

We have several of those cards lying around and for me, they are a treasure in the aftermath of the car accident that took Bethany and Katie from us. David and I made more than our share of mistakes parenting our daughters, but those cards, a coffee mug, a small stuffed bear, candles, etc., all testify to the truth that each one was uniquely loved.

The night of that tragic accident David and I were driven from the hospital we were treated at to the hospital Gracen was taken to by helicopter. I remember sitting in the back seat of my in-law’s car in the dark, holding tightly to David’s hand and whispering to him, “They knew they were loved.” Knowing they were loved was second in importance only to knowing where my daughters would spend eternity.

They were loved.

They had no doubt that they were loved.

They are still loved, and always will be until we are reunited in Heaven above, and there they will be loved eternally.

In the meantime, it’s time to start planning a Valentine’s Day surprise and personal card for Gracen as Valentine’s Day will be upon us before we know it.

Neither death nor disability will ever dim the love we have for each of our daughters. We rest confidently in the knowledge that what Satan means for evil God allows for good. And David and I know we are loved too, by each other, by our children, and by our Heavenly Father.

Long ago the LORD said to Israel: “I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself. ~ Jeremiah 31:3

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 13, 2017 in Faith, Grief

 

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How not to say the wrong thing – LA Times

09 Feb

Everyone has encountered those moments when they desperately want to comfort or encourage another individual only to find themselves at a loss for words or blurting out something that unintentionally hurts. 

Please check out the teaser below and follow the link to read this informative article that might just cure your foot in mouth disease! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


When Susan had breast cancer , we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan’s colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn’t feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague’s response? “This isn’t just about you.”

Source: How not to say the wrong thing – LA Times

 
2 Comments

Posted by on February 9, 2017 in Chronic Illness, Grief

 

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Can Three Years Have Passed?

06 Feb

Three years ago January 4, I buried two of my three beautiful daughters. The day before the funeral my sister-in-law, Sandy, took me shopping for widows weeds. What an appropriate name for the clothes you never wanted to grace your closet! And David and I prepared to leave our sole surviving child in a hospital three plus hours from home to celebrate the lives of our oldest and youngest daughters. Not our oldest child, no, he’d been buried twenty some years by that time.

And one remained.

Just one.

We arrived at the motel late that night after having driven in the dark for many hours. We were tired . . . worried . . . and broken. The motel sat less than a mile from our home, but I couldn’t stomach spending the night there without any of my children. And family was staying at our home already and I just wanted to be alone with my husband. We hadn’t spent many nights together since the accident.

That night, as we lay together in that unfamiliar room we talked about our girls, our fears for tomorrow, the difficulty of leaving Gracen behind, and the concern over her missing the memorial service.

I was nervous about the service the next day. The news coverage left me fearful that cameras and strangers might greet me in my worst moments. What lay before me was a small-talk nightmare. And so David and I agreed to spilt a pill prescribed for each of us at the ER. I can’t even tell you what it was. A sedative—an anti-anxiety medication? I don’t know. We just knew it was supposed to help. I didn’t want to miss the memorial service because I was too tired to pay attention, but I didn’t want to be filled with anxiety either.

So on the day we buried our daughters, we split a pill and swallowed it down before we left the motel. And then we stepped outside, took the elevator down to the lobby, and found family gathered there. We had no idea they were staying in the same place we were. After hugs and stilted conversation David and I left for the church . . . left to do what no parent ever dreams of doing.

img_2437And later that day we would turn our backs and leave the bodies of our children in that cold cemetery. We would drive away – abandoning them there in order to do the next thing. Had it not been for Gracen I think I would have curled up on that cold mounded dirt and cried out my misery until spent. There I’d sleep until I joined my children on the other side of the veil. Instead, I did the next thing and the next thing and the next thing and that’s all I’ve been doing ever since.

Maybe that’s all life was meant to be. One long line of doing the next thing . . .

until you are no more.

Yes, three years have passed and all I do is the next thing.

Believe me, that’s a victory.

 
18 Comments

Posted by on February 6, 2017 in Grief

 

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Brokenness & Withdrawal 

30 Jan

godhealsThrough withdrawal, I’ve encountered a few unforeseen consequences. Not drug withdrawal but personal withdrawal.

Not long ago I received a letter from a relative asking if they had inadvertently offended me. To say I was stunned doesn’t adequately express my level of shock. And more recently still, a good friend told me that she feared I was uncomfortable in her presence and had therefore withdrawn. This woman is one I count among my best friends and my relative is someone I feel very close to as well. It hurt me to know that my withdrawal from public life had left them wondering about how I felt about them personally. In my desire to escape, I hurt them inadvertently.

After the accident, I found very little privacy in which to process my grief over Bethany and Katie’s deaths and the drastic change in health and mobility Gracen suffered due to the same accident. Family and friends came and went, and we were oh so thankful for their presence and the support they offered each one of us.

Yet it was also a hectic time and sleep deprivation was a common occurrence. Upon Gracen’s release from UAMS, caring for her was challenging, to say the least. There were medications to keep track of and belly shots to give. She was initially confined to a hospital bed and when she was transferred to any other location two people were required in order to control her right leg which was encased in an immobilizer for the first three months following her knee surgery. We were also working around a broken wrist, cracked pelvis, and so on . . .

Our home might well have had a revolving door as there were OTs and PTs, doctors and home health nurses coming in and out on a regular basis. Eventually, we acquired the assistance of two care aides. They were lifesavers for us. They helped us bathe and dress Gracen, work on her therapy, transfer her from place to place get her out of the house and just generally kept me sane. Isabelle and Julie, Merilee, Kelly, Candice, Katie, and Kimberly kept us afloat along with Drs. Balmakund, Karkos, Scott, Weeden, Renard, and Friesen.

It was helpful.

It was exhausting.

And time marched on. . .

We learned to transport Gracen in a car & mastered wheelchair usage in a variety of settings. We managed sponge baths and tub showers, walker practice, and clothes changes. Everything took longer and was more difficult than it had been before, and that was just on a physical level.

brokenwomanAnd time marched on . . .

For everyone else.

But I . . .

was broken . . .

shattered really.

All of a sudden I looked around and a year and a half had flown by and I was still trying to learn how to manage daily life effectively or efficiently or . . . at all.

Not only that but it was time to switch gears and prepare to send Gracen to college.

I was terrified to let her go.

I was afraid to keep her home.

I was still reeling and all of the sudden others started pushing me to move forward and not to worry after all God is in control.

Life had been so busy, one task leading to the next, that I failed to do a lot of grieving just trying to keep my head above water. And while others were ready for me to move on, I was just getting started.

I looked up and found myself profoundly shocked by the way the world had moved on—by how I was supposed to move on—and I knew—I knew that no one understood me . . .

kintsugiheartNo one understood my daily existence because it wasn’t like anyone else’s. And yet, there were expectations. . .

Weighty . . .

burdensome expectations that I was not prepared, let alone equipped to manage.

So I withdrew. . .

It was a purely self-protective move.

I dropped out of life.

I huddled up inside my home and wrote my way through my frustrations, hurt, and grief.

Alone.

But in so doing, my silence left others to draw their own conclusions, and for that, I’m truly sorry.

kintsugidefinitionWithdrawal was about me . . .

Not because of anyone in particular.

Withdrawal was about cultural, societal, and even spiritual expectations.

It was about protecting myself so God could begin the process of Kintsugi in my heart.

It was about me.

It’s still about me.

 
16 Comments

Posted by on January 30, 2017 in Faith, Grief

 

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Created for . . .

23 Jan

strandeddanipettreyIf you’ve read my blog posts in the past you probably know that I love to read. When I was a child it seemed as if my parents took us to the library once a week. I have a few distinct memories of the Swanson Library in Omaha, Nebraska. From my child-sized view, it was a huge library filled with a treasure trove of books and resources. It stood as a playground in my mind. I remember the hallways and the room where movies were shown, the book drop bin outside in front of the library, the long counter where books were stamped for checkout and I have a very clear image of standing in front of a bookcase filled to the brim with fictional escapes to dreamlike places and lives. The library is a very vivid image of my childhood.

I’m an avid reader. One the genres I enjoy reading is Christian fiction. The authors have expanded my understanding of scripture and taught me lessons that have stayed tucked in the forefront of my mind because of the story wound around the theological message.

One such book touched my heart as the parent of a stillborn child. I’d long ago laid down the question of why realizing there would never be an answer good enough to satisfy my grieving heart this side of Heaven. But there is a second why question that had never been answered satisfactorily that has lingered in the recesses of my mind for almost 25 years. That question is why create Cole at all just to have him die before he lived outside of my womb?

In the last year, I happened upon the best answer I’ve ever encountered in a book called “Stranded” by Dani Pettrey. In the course of the storyline, one character asks another why God would create his son just to let him die. The character responds that his son wasn’t born to die, he was born for eternity. That one sentence just grabbed me and it hasn’t let go.

As I have pondered this explanation, the conclusion drawn has expanded in scope in my mind. You see, every creature created by God Almighty, not just the miscarried, stillborn, aborted, or baby who dies shortly after birth, but every single human being ever created was not created for this world alone. Every single one was created for eternity. We were all created for a forever relationship with God.

To use the old dot and line analogy, our lives here on earth can be represented by the dot, and eternity is represented by the line. It looks like this:

.______________________________________________________________

That word picture doesn’t always help me to grasp the concept of eternity. But, if I’m standing on a hilltop or the top of a mountain looking down at the valley below and beyond, it feels more real. In that case, the place I stand is the dot and the line is as far as the eye can see stretching out before me . . . and beyond. That idea blows my mind.

eternalperspectiveIn comparison, our earthly lives are barely a blip on the radar of our eternal future. This is why the scriptures can so boldly proclaim that our suffering in this world is nothing more than a light and momentary affliction.

“But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord, a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” ~ 2 Peter 3:8

When we think about the suffering of Christ, the suffering of the Father while Christ was abused, spit on, whipped, and had nails pounded into his wrists and feet, we often think the time of Christ’s suffering was short. His absence from the disciples and His other followers a mere three days (prior to His ascension), yet from a heavenly perspective, Christ’s one full day of suffering in equivalent to 1000 years. If every year is equated to a thousand years then God the Father awaited the resurrection of His beloved son for 3,000 years. And Christ’s lifetime (living life as a human as opposed to deity alone) lasted 365 individual days times 33 years of life or 12,045 days. When you multiply that by 1000 years Christ lived the equivalent of 12,045,000 years separated from His Father, and has lived far more separated from all of His creation. I don’t know about you, but that’s a sobering thought for me.

We were created for eternity. It’s our free-will choice where we will spend those eternal days. A failure to make a decision is, in fact, a decision. Allow me to plead with you to make a wise choice. When you consider that a mere 33 years is equivalent to 12,045 days, that’s a lot of time spent in your eternal home. But 12,045 days will feel like 12,045,000 years when spent in hell as opposed to Heaven.

Yes, I believe in Hell. The Bible writes very vividly about it. It’s not the fun party place we like to believe it to be. It is a place of endless torment, isolation, sorrow and fear. Yet, we all have a choice. No one need go there.

No one.

Everyone spends eternity somewhere.

Where will you spend it?

 

*Photo credit goes to Karen Blankenship. Pictured is Matthew Sanders.

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2017 in Faith, Grief

 

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