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Adventures in Limboland

18 Jan

I am living in Limboland – Purgatory, if you will, as it is just a little bit of Hell.  Limboland is that in between place – a pressed in place as the limbo bar is steadily dropping lower and lower.  My grief counselor described it as being forced through a funnel and she is right in that my circumstances have forced me from a wider plane – a place where options and choices once existed into a smaller place.  There are still choices but they have been greatly narrowed down and very few of the things I dreamed of for my life remain – or maybe the remnants of my dreams have been so warped that things like marriage and motherhood while technically still exist are barely recognizable as the dreams I once held.  My life is not a fairy tale.  It never was, but at one point in time, before the lenses of my rose colored glasses became scratched and cracked, the fairy tale still felt attainable.

 

img_0352But the limbo bar has lowered and I am left to bend and contort myself in an attempt to fit within the new shrunken boundaries of my life.

Standing before the bar – do I turn from the bar walking away and concede defeat in exhausted resignation or do I defiantly walk into it rebelliously refusing any attempt at attacking the challenge that lies before me?  Maybe I should twist and arch trying to negotiate a means beneath this bar that I once navigated with effort but a modicum of confidence.  But the bar has fallen so much lower now that I have no real confidence in my ability to contort myself beneath it and frankly, I wonder if I have the flexibility required to be successful and if I have the fortitude to deal with the humiliation of both a failure to try and/or a failure to succeed.

I once read to shut out the constantly churning thoughts; my minds futile attempt to either work out a new, happier ending, or at the very least to thoroughly examine every detail in order to contain it and be able to pack it away in a small box that gets shoved into a back corner of the closet – never to be reopened but too valuable, too costly, to discard.

Now I read to hide from the utter silence.  It is too difficult, or I simply have not learned the discipline of sitting silently before the Lord.  I’m impatient and it’s frustrating trying to hear that still small voice and instead nothing more than silence echoes back. Alexander Theroux once said, “Silence is the unbearable repartee.”  Can you relate?

So I’m imprisoned in Limboland although Purgatory is a more apt description in my estimation.  Trapped between what was, lingering in this silent spot waiting for my heart to heal sufficiently so that I’m prepared to move into whatever God has planned – no longer angry yet still wounded leaving me resistant to what comes next but simultaneously antsy at this inactivity.

Fernando Ortega sings a song, “I Will Wait For My Change”.  The chorus of that song goes:

“All the days of my struggle
I will wait for my change,
I will wait for my change to come.
Only do not hide Your face from me,
Don’t take Your hand away,
Don’t take Your hand away.
I will wait for my change to come.”

And this is where I find myself, waiting for my change to come, unable to see the Master’s face, trusting He will not take His hand away.  And fast on the heals of this refrain, an old Avalon song plays through my mind – the Master’s plea to me? – Avalon’s “Dreams I Dream For You”:

“You taste the tears
You’re lost in sorrow
You see your yesterdays
I see tomorrow

You see the darkness
I see the spark
You know your failures
But I know your heart

The dreams I dream for you
Are deeper than the ones you’re clinging to
More precious than the finest things you knew
And truer than the treasures you pursue

Let the old dreams die
Like stars that fade from view
Then take the cup I offer
And drink deeply of
The dreams I dream for you”

img_0351And I wait.  I wait for healing. It can’t be rushed.  It takes as long as it takes for the Holy Spirit to do His work in my heart – for my terror of God and His plans to subside – for my resistance to a future void of my most precious dreams to recede – for my heart to soften, for it to feel safe enough to tear down the protective walls I’ve built in an attempt (futile though it may have been) to guard my heart from any more excruciating pain.

We advise friends to wait on the Lord, to trust in the Lord as if doing either is a simple thing to accomplish – but the old man wars with the new man.  Intellectually we realize that yes, we do need to wait on the Lord, we need to trust in Him, but putting it into practice is no easy feat – it’s a life long battle played out in different arenas of our lives from the arena of work, to parenting, the lust of the flesh and the arena of pride.  The same battle plays out over and over demanding greater faith and more commitment with every consecutive battle.

My purgatory is not a punishment.  I sincerely believe that God intends this season between my past and my future as a time of rest, a respite from the storms I’ve weathered and a time of renewal before the next storm is unleashed in my life.  Believe me, I see the storm clouds on the horizon brewing and I’m not sure how much time I have before the next major storm in my life erupts.  But during this time of respite I am struggling to rest. It’s hard to shift gears from constant diligence to rest.  The mind has simply been conditioned to living on high alert and a new form of anxiety develops in the void left when the need for hyper awareness dissipates but you also know it’s just a matter of time before the winds whip up again and the storm is upon you with little or no warning.

How does one let down their guard in these kind of circumstances?  How does one quiet themselves?  I wish I had the answers.  Maybe, the truth I’ve yet to accept is that I’m dependent upon the Holy Spirit for that as well – that I’m dependent upon Him for every little thing.  He tells me to quiet myself and after metaphorically chasing my tail for far too long, I recognize that I can’t do it in own power and I break down and with humility ask God to help me to quiet myself.  Then I’m back to waiting until one day I randomly notice that I’ve gone completely still within.  It wouldn’t surprise me to find out this is exactly how it works as years ago I went through a very similar exercise in a battle over the power of fear in my life.  How hard these lessons are to learn!  How stubbornly defiant is the old man within, doggedly determined to tackle problems his way!  How ignorant, slow witted, or lackadaisical the new man is having to relearn the same process repeatedly!

So maybe that’s my answer and now I have to decide if I’m ready to begin that process. Again.  Am I ready to quit chasing my tail, to ask God to quiet my mind, my heart, my soul?  Have I reached that point where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I cannot do this for myself?  That only God can quiet the restlessness within?  The demand for answers? The need for justice?  The fear of what this “next” plan holds?  Am I resolved to pay the cost of discipleship regardless of price demanded?  Am I ready?  Will I ever be ready or simply too tired of this chronic emptiness to stand still any longer?  Am I waiting on God or is He waiting on me?  I don’t know the answers.  I just don’t know.

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Posted by on January 18, 2016 in Faith, Grief

 

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Grieving Mother Vilified

07 Jan

imageJob Being Scolded by his Wife, c. 1790, Francois-Andre Vincent

I recently read a blog post that contained a reference to Matthew 2:18b, “. . . Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.” It brought to mind another reference to a grieving mother in scripture. Specifically, Job 2:8-10 which says, “And he took a potsherd to scrape himself while he was sitting among the ashes. Then his wife said to him, “Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die!” But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?” In all this Job did not sin with his lips.”

One scripture reveals a frequently overlooked truth about grieving mothers. Grieving mothers do not want to be comforted – they want their children back! The second scripture seems to expect the reader to remember and consider that Job’s wife is also a grieving mother, because it certainly doesn’t come right out and say it.

“Curse God and Die”, words spoken by Job’s own wife, yet another villain in the book of Job. But is she really?

Search the commentaries and you will find that many believe that to be true.

The truth is, in today’s vernacular, her words are shocking and if we take them at face value, they are not what one would expect from an upright worshiper of God. Still the conclusions drawn by some commentaries go far beyond painting Job’s wife as an angry grieving mother. They assign her a role in this story that can only be based upon conjecture.

For example, Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary says of Job’s wife, “His wife was spared to him, to be a troubler and tempter to him.” Interesting conclusion but think about who spared Job’s wife. God initially gave Satan power over all Job owned and restrained him only from touching Job himself. So God did not save Job’s wife to play the role of Satan’s tormentor; Satan did. Satan can hope that Job’s wife develops the attitude and has the influence to undermine Job’s faith, but unless she was demon possessed, he has no power to make her play that role. Satan could have spared Job’s wife assuming what her response would be but he could not be certain because he was not created with the ability to know the hearts and minds of men. So, at best, Satan could make an educated guess at how Job’s wife would respond just as he did when he stood before God Himself boasting that Job, God’s paragon of integrity, would curse God if he should take away all of the people and things Job most loved.

The Pulpit Commentary seems to concur. Allow me to refresh your memory and remind you that Job’s wife did not encourage Job to curse God and die after the death of her ten children. Nope. As the Pulpit Commentary points out, “Job’s wife had said nothing when the other calamities had taken place” instead she had “refrained her tongue, and kept silence, though probably with some difficulty.” The commentary goes on to state that, “Now she can endure no longer. To see her husband so afflicted, and so patient under his afflictions, is more than she can bear.”

Well, that’s one conclusion. But whose to say that this woman simply struggled to stand helplessly by and watch her husband suffer fast on the heals of the loss of her children? Whose to say she isn’t terrified that she will lose him too and that living in anticipation of his death is much harder than inviting it because it gives her the illusion of control in a life that has become defined by chaos and suffering. It’s a, let’s just get it over with attitude, eliminating the anxiety she is fighting to control.

The Pulpit Commentary goes on to say, “Her mind is weak and ill regulated, and she suffers herself to become Satan’s ally and her husband’s worst enemy. It is noticeable that she urges her husband to do exactly that which Satan had suggested that he would do, and had evidently wished him to do, thus fighting on his side, and increasing her husband’s difficulties.” Ouch, that’s harsh!

Where’s the compassion? These commentaries seem to focus on Job’s suffering and ignore the very deep grief of a mother who has just lost every single one of her children. This woman carried those ten babies in her womb, fed them at her breast, and nurtured them as they grew. A mother of that day and age had very defined responsibilities. Raising and caring for her children and running her household defined the bulk of her identity and life’s purpose. Not only is it likely that she fears the death of her husband but the protection and security he provides as well. Unmarried women were extremely vulnerable in that age. This commentary seems to overlook the very real and reasonable fears and emotions Job’s wife was surely experiencing.

The Pulpit Commentary continues to support the conclusions they’ve drawn: “The only other mention of her (Job 19:17) implies that she was rather a hindrance than a help to Job. Curse God, and die; i.e.”renounce God, put all regard for him away from thee, even though he kill thee for so doing.” Job’s wife implies that “death is preferable to such a life as Job now leads and must expect to lead henceforward.”

Is the idea that Job’s wife might, in her grief, consider death preferable to life really that shocking? I’m thinking the people who wrote this commentary have no firsthand experience as bereaved parents. I know, from talking to a number of mothers in mourning that this is absolutely not an unusual concept for a grieving mother to draw.

But then comes Gill’s Exposition of the Entire Bible. Gill points out that “Job had but one wife, and very probably she is the same that after all this bore him ten children more; since we never read of her death, nor of his having any other wife, and might be a good woman for anything that appears to the contrary; and Job himself seems to intimate the same . . .”

Gill contends that Job’s wife was not blaming her husband for insisting on his integrity and justifying his behavior, nor was she wondering aloud how he could keep his integrity “among so many sore temptations and afflictions”. Gill further states that Job’s wife was neither rebuking him for his religion and continued practice of it nor was she mocking him or hating him for continuing to live according to his to his religious convictions as Gill points out that Michal did David. Instead Gill contends Job’s wife was “suggesting to him there was nothing in religion, and advising him to throw up the profession of it; for he might easily see, by his own case and circumstances, that God had no more regard to good men than to bad men, and therefore it was in vain to serve him . . . ”

Gill also points out that “curse God, and die: which is usually interpreted, curse God and then destroy thyself . . . or do this [curse God] in revenge for his hand upon thee . . . [even] though [cursing God would have the following result] thou diest”. Gill finds this interpretation unlikely concluding it is “too harsh and wicked to be said by one that had been trained up in a religious manner, and had been . . . the consort of so holy and good a man”.

Gill explains that the phrase curse God and die can also “be rendered, “bless God and die”; and may be understood either sarcastically, “such as “go on blessing God till thou diest; if thou hast not had enough . . . and see what will be the issue [result] of it; nothing but death;” or understood to mean “wilt thou still continue “blessing God and dying?”

“Her words could also have been offered sincerely, as advising him to humble himself before God, confess his sins, and “pray” unto him that he would take him out of this world, and free him from all his pains and sorrow . . . ” or may be interpreted, “bless God”: take thy farewell of him; bid adieu to him and all religion, and so die; for there is no good to be hoped for on the score of that [God or religion] here or hereafter . . .”

Hmmm, could Job’s heartbroken wife, who had likely lost every trace of naiveté about the fragility of life, simply been encouraging her husband to make sure he was right with God prior to his impending death? Could her statement have been so emphatic because she was afraid for the state of his soul if his circumstances indeed reflected Job’s standing before God, which was a common belief of the time?

Was Job’s rebuke of his wife heated or was he simply attempting to broaden his wife’s spiritual perspective?

The Bible tends to read as a narrative, yet we here in the West are accustomed to reading stories liberally sprinkled with adjectives designed to ensure the reader understand the emotion or context relevant to the story.

The Bible, however, doesn’t coddle the reader with adjectives, and therefore interpretation becomes more challenging. For example, Job 2:9 does not read, “Then his wife incredulously or angrily said to him, “Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die!” And how do we really know if the correct translation is “Curse God and die!” Instead of “Bless God and die!”?

Likewise, Job 2:10a doesn’t read, “But he” reasoned with, yelled at, strongly rebuked or patiently corrected “her,” “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?”

Was Job’s wife a villain as she is frequently portrayed? Overall, it’s not an important detail; unless you’re Job’s wife. But have you ever wondered why God left all those helpful adjectives out of his inspired Word? Could it be that He expects us to learn enough about the way people respond to grief in order to better discern the correct interpretation? Could it be that He wants us to take our time, meditate on His Word and ask Him to reveal those things if they could Help us to understand Him and His ways better? Could it be a bit of both?

As a bereaved mother, the manner in which Job’s wife is portrayed and understood is important to me. I hate it when others make judgments about how well or poorly I am traversing this passage through loss. We judge Job’s wife based on a few words with opposing meanings. We judge her because we are unaware that her words even have opposing interpretations. We jump to conclusions because the vast majority of people can’t begin to truly comprehend how a grieving mother thinks and at best can only imagine her thoughts and feelings. But in making these judgment her reputation and her integrity is either lauded or maligned which I believes bears consideration.

Still, the one very important detail that every commentary I consulted failed to address is that at the end of the book of Job, God had words of rebuke for Job’s friends, but not for his wife. Now that speaks to me! Maybe what the Bible doesn’t say can be as significant as what it does say.

The character and intention of Job’s wife may seem insignificant to many, but those who write commentaries seems to believe it important enough to explore. More importantly, 2 Timothy 3:16 proclaims that “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness;”. So, in my estimation, God felt the words of Job’s wife were indeed significant. God inspired the writer to record her words that the body of Christ might profit from them.

 
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Posted by on January 7, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief

 

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A Day in the Life . . .

23 Dec

It was a rough morning. I woke up and as has become my practice of late, rolled over hugging my pillow tight to my chest to offset the ache that is forever present in my heart. I lay there thinking, thinking, thinking. Torn between wanting to find a life for myself and simply wanting to melt into my mattress and quietly fade away.

A phone call from the speech therapist interrupted my musings. Therapy to learn how to control Gracen’s respiration is recommended. Apparently, speaking is far more complicated than the general public, myself included, realizes. As the therapist explained to me, we all control our respiration in order to make our speech smooth. When your breath is either limited or comes out in bursts, your speech is adversely affected. The inability to control respiration will likely result in incompressible speech necessitating the use of a communication device. We can start respiration therapy now or wait until the communication device arrives. I’d prefer to start now but it will depend on Gracen’s availability based upon next semester’s class schedule. Still, I ask probing, unanswerable questions about what we can expect vacillating back and forth in my mind between the bliss of ignorance and the power of knowledge. Can I afford not to know? I envy the days long past where that was not a question I need entertain because the future was simply unknowable – there was no prognosis – dread wasn’t my constant companion.

I drag myself from the comfort of my bed in order to get ready to have lunch with my best friend in Northwest Arkansas. I’m looking forward to seeing her, yet dragging at the same time. I’m constantly tired, morose and melancholy, even as I prepare for enjoyable activities.

I decide to call the funeral home to follow-up on the request to get my daughters’ fingerprints in order to have them made into a necklace for me and a keychain for David. I’d really like to have it for Christmas but decided to look into it far too late to have a reasonable expectation of seeing that happen. I called two weeks ago and never heard back. It’s hard to make calls like this and I’ve not been able to muster the motivation to call back before today.

So I place the call once again and am once again told that a Funeral Director will return my call. Today I get a quick call back informing me that they don’t take fingerprints unless the family requests them and of course, we had not requested them. Even if we had not been busy taking care of Gracen, I would never have thought to make such a request. And my heart is broken yet again. The tears flow freely as David tries to comfort me.

When will I learn not to hope? Everyone thinks hope is such a good thing, but it seems to be my nemesis – setting me up for repeated disappointment I can little afford to endure.

Why does God withhold such a small consolation from a grieving mother? What possible harm could come from being able to wrap my hands around the proof of my daughters existence and their importance in my life?

Do I dare call the funeral home the girls were initially transported to following the accident or am I simply setting myself up for yet another disappointment. I want to hope but am not sure I can endure hearing “No” once again. What to choose, ignorance or knowledge? Bliss or power? Hope or hope deferred?

Where there is hope, there is life, I’m told. Hope grows like a weed, in darkness and drought; tenaciously it grows. I know, I know if I call the funeral home in Anderson, Missouri, they will tell me that, no, they do not have the girls fingerprints and yet my broken heart wants so much for the miraculous to occur. Do I subject myself to more disappointment just to be absolutely sure that there is no hope for a positive response?

So following my lunch out, I send David and Gracen off to see the newest Hunger Games movie and crawl back in bed, pulling my pillow into my chest and curling into a self-protective fetal position instead of wrapping the Christmas gifts I need ready to transport come Wednesday. Not making a decision is in fact choosing to do nothing. By default, at least for now, a phone call won’t be made. And hours later I’m second guessing my decision to refrain from making a decision. At least if I’d called, all the disappointment would be confined to one days time. Well, that’s not strictly true as every day I face the disappointing loss of my daughters and the discouragement of progressive disease follows quickly on its heals.

I’ve learned to anticipate the next blow – it prepares my heart for the inevitable pain that follows much like a boxer who tightens his abs when he sees the next punch coming. It just hurts a little less when the blow lands. So I guess living in a state of hyper awareness is actually good for me. There’s the silver lining, the positive to negate the negative for the choose joy contingent. What’s one more hard day in a string of hard days? As it’s been said by some anonymous source, my track record for surviving bad days is 100% thus far, and that’s pretty good.

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Posted by on December 23, 2015 in Chronic Illness, Faith, Grief, Muscular Dystrophy

 

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Canine Nesting: The Circling Mind

14 Dec

dogcircling

(Written mid-March 2015)

I awoke again to thoughts circling my mind as I feebly try to wrap my heart and mind around all that has happened in the last 14, almost 15 months.

Have you ever seen a dog settle down to take a nap?  The dog picks his spot them circles and circles and circles before settling into place.  At the first noise or distraction the dog pops up investigates and then picks a new spot repeating the process.  Circle, circle, circle, settle.  That’s pretty much how my brain works – restless fidgeting – circling around and around in an attempt to wrap my arms around all the facts so that I can process them and finally be done with them.

But there is no resolution – there will be no resolution – and maybe that’s the hardest thing of all to come to terms with.

Which leaves me with this truth . . .

My problem is with God.   Not the impotent prosecutor.  Not the foolish judge.  Not the ignorant man-child who placed me in this situation.  No, my problem goes straight to the top.  To the highest authority in all the world.  My problem is with God, Himself.  And how do I feel about that?  Well, this picture captures my current relationship with God quite well:

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My hand extended before my body in the classic signal for “Stop!  Don’t come any closer!”  I haven’t walked away from Him, I simply cannot beckon Him closer.

I know God loves me, know He wants to comfort me, and know that I want His comfort and yet, right now, right now, His love just hurts.  His plans hurt.  His ways hurt.  His love for the lost hurts because He has allowed my children to die, He has allowed this pain, and will allow me to suffer again in order that my faith is refined and revealed, so that the lost will be saved, and that He will be glorified, all at the expense of my fragile, already broken heart.

It’s easier to mentally attack the humans involved than go rounds with the Lord Almighty. After all, God is always right.  His plans are always for my good and even the bad things He allows work for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purposes. There is no arguing your case or winning an argument with the Lord God Almighty, as Job discovered.

And so I fruitlessly continue the canine nesting ritual in my mind.  I continue shuffling through the events of that tragic day.  I continue circling round and round the behavior of the prosecutor, the judge, the man-child who swaggered into court.  All before turning my attention to the Lord in a conversation that goes something like this:

Me:  I’m mad at you. You hurt me.

God:  I know you’re hurt.  I know you’re angry.  I want to help you.  I want to comfort you.

Me:  Stay back!  You will just comfort me and then allow me to be hurt again.

God:  The hurt I allow leads to your ultimate healing.

Me:  I don’t want healed.  I just want my life back!

God:  There’s no going back.

Me:  I know that.  I hate that!  I don’t want to be here anymore but I can’t leave Gracen. She’s burdened by that knowledge.  She wants me and doesn’t want me at the same time. She loves me and resents me.  Only time and maturity will change that, but it hurts me to experience it and I’m afraid she might never quit resenting me – that we will never have a good mother/daughter relationship.

God:  She feels about you the way you feel about me.  You want me and don’t want me. You love me and resent my authority in your life.  Time and the Holy Spirit can and will fix the brokenness within you, but your terror of the personal cost of discipleship and spiritual healing wars with your anger over the direction my sovereign authority has taken in your life.  You want to feel my love and presence but at the same time you are terrified of me.

Me:  I don’t know what to do to change that.

God:  First, you can’t do it by yourself. You were never intended to.  But you do know what to do. You do know what steps to take.

Me:  Study Your Word and pray.

God: Yes, but your anger and hurt leads you to resist and you also know those things are not enough.  You know you can’t fix your problems with a formula.  You know that you have to allow the Holy Spirit to do His work within you and you know that doesn’t happen overnight.

Me:  I don’t know how to release the anger and hurt, especially knowing I will be hurt again.  I feel as if I am standing in the middle of a fast moving stream and the current is forcing me in a direction I don’t want to go.  I’m resisting yet I keep getting pushed forward.

God:  That fast moving stream is my will and I’m fully aware you don’t want to go where I’m taking you.

Me:  I really, really don’t want to go there.

God:  I’ll be with you.

Me:  That doesn’t make it hurt less.

God:  It does, it’s just that you no longer know what desperately alone feels like because I’ve been with you for so long.  To truly be alone feels much worse – you’ll have to trust me on that.

Me:  I still don’t know how to surrender my will to yours.  I still don’t know how to let go of the hurt and the anger.

God:  I’ll help you with that.  I’m already helping you with that.  It’s a deep wound.  Deep wounds take a long time to heal.  You just now found words to express what you are feeling.  It’s a step in the process.

Me:  The process sucks!

God:  Yep, fortunately, I have perfect patience.  You on the other hand, not so much!

Me:  A sense of humor?  Now you show a sense of humor?

God:  Hey, laughter is a good medicine, I designed it that way, and my timing is perfect.  You would have resented it if I had displayed it earlier . . .

(Feel free to call it my imagination, or call it God speaking with me.  Draw your own conclusions, but, I will say that things were revealed in my thoughts above that I was not consciously aware of prior to this time.)

Flash forward to December of 2015 and you will find that my hand is no longer extended before the Lord demanding that He stay back and give me space.  I have resigned myself to what I knew all along; that God alone can help me through this living nightmare.   We never stopped speaking, but there were things I refused to bring before Him.  There are still things I hold back.  I’m far from healed, far from OK even.  Over the last two years I have repeatedly asked the Lord, “What do you want from me?”  And instead of silence I hear a quiet, one word response.  “Rest.”

He’s not once reminded me of His sovereignty, as He did Job.  He’s never scoffed and told me to quit throwing a pity party.  He’s not demanded that I stop grieving and count my blessings.  He’s never once told me not to be afraid.  He just quietly encourages me to rest which I’ve found much harder to do than one would expect.  Resting requires more than slowing down and sleeping in.  This rest seems to include finding a way to be completely still before the Lord.  So the canine nesting ritual continues and I try to learn to rest.  But, even now, there is no condemnation from my Savior, for which I’m profoundly thankful.

 
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Posted by on December 14, 2015 in Faith, Grief

 

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Reflections on Grief: The Rubik’s Cube & Heart to Heart with C.S. Lewis

22 Oct

(Facebook Post 8/31/15)

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unknown (1)

– The Rubik’s Cube –

I wish I could wrap my arms around all these facts and feelings. Enclose them in one space and then squish them together into a small square and sit them on a shelf so that I was not consumed by them all the time. If I could form them into a Rubik’s Cube I could take down and turn and examine each fact, each feeling individually, line them up in order, make some kind of sense out of them, control them. But I can’t and it leaves me feeling so frustrated, so antsy. I imagine it feels like a meth addict tweaking. It’s so relentless; so, so, so, I don’t even know.

unknown (2) – Heart to Heart with C.S. Lewis –

I think I am struggling to voice what C.S. Lewis already said so very well in “A Grief Observed”. C.S. Lewis said some controversial things in that book. I guess because he was speaking of his own thoughts and feelings and comparing them to what he knew or thought he knew about God. Regardless, when a well-respected Christian says something we often embrace it without thought based on his reputation and standing alone. Yet if I say virtually the same thing, I feel as if eyebrows will go up and scripture will be quoted in order to correct my heretical thinking. Maybe my own inner eyebrow is rising, my own inner mind spouting well worn scriptures back to my heartbroken other half – my internal split personality alive and well and taking me to task.

So I’ve summarized, in my own words, some of Lewis’s quotes – it actually took me three summaries for the first quote alone. My thoughts are numbered and placed beneath the quote they reflect. Some of the summaries are things I’ve fleshed out in my own mind and was surprised to discover he had already said something very similar. Others are things I’ve not encountered and maybe never will, but I recognized the truth of them and put them in my own words as I understood them. All this is my attempt to fashion my own internal Rubic’s Cube of reason for my hearts unreasonable demand for control – for closure – for meaning and purpose – for peace.

“If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created. And it is a comfort to believe that she herself, in losing her chief or only natural happiness, has not lost a greater thing, that she may still hope to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” A comfort to the God-aimed, eternal spirit within her. But not to her motherhood. The specifically maternal happiness must be written off. Never, in any place or time, will she have her son on her knees, or bathe him, or tell him a story, or plan for his future, or see her grandchild.”

1. I can find comfort in the truth that my children fulfilled their God ordained purpose in life – no matter how short it was.

2. I can take comfort in the spiritual changes suffering will manifest.

3. I will not find maternal comfort – I must accept and understand I will never find comfort for my separation from my children. Never.

“I once read the sentence ‘I lay awake all night with a toothache, thinking about the toothache and about lying awake.’ That’s true to life. Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.”

4. An unanticipated truth about grief is that “I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.” I can’t say it any better than he did.

“For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?”

“But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?”

“How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.”

5. Grief is made up of phases that you go through repeatedly. You don’t work through one and advance to the next but instead maybe make a step forward and later find out you really didn’t take a step forward at all and begin again without any idea of how long the entire process will last.

“It doesn’t really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentist’s chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on.”

6. It doesn’t matter how well you yourself or others perceive you to be coping with your grief. It will continue until it’s done.

“Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead.”
“Do I hope that if feeling disguises itself as thought I shall feel less?

7. We might try to conquer the overload of feelings with thought, but that logical understanding will not prevent you from feeling the intense emotions grief generates. There is no way to avoid the feelings.

“Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he’s had his leg off is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has ‘got over it.’ But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.”

8. Grief changes you. You may heal from the searing pain, but in the end you will be forever changed. You cannot return to the person you were. You have been irrevocably altered in fundamental ways, if not outwardly apparent then inwardly scarred.

“Aren’t all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won’t accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”

9. We all wonder if the ways we try to cope with our grief are completely vain – that instead we will simply have to endure it.

“The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just that time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.”

“When you are happy, so happy you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be — or so it feels — welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence.”

10. When we desperately need God we often feel abandoned.

“Nothing will shake a man-or at any rate a man like me-out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover it himself.”

11. Introspective people fear that the only way they learn the lessons God wants to teach them is through suffering.

“Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand. Unless, of course, you can literally believe all that stuff about family reunions ‘on the further shore,’ pictured in entirely earthly terms. But that is all unscriptural, all out of bad hymns and lithographs. There’s not a word of it in the Bible. And it rings false. We know it couldn’t be like that. Reality never repeats. The exact same thing is never taken away and given back. How well the Spiritualists bait their hook! ‘Things on this side are not so different after all.’ There are cigars in Heaven. For that is what we should all like. The happy past restored.”

12. Those who grieve don’t want to hear about the consolation faith provides. In the midst of our heartache we find consolation non-existent, we simply want what was lost restored.

“. . . for the greater the love the greater the grief, and the stronger the faith the more savagely will Satan storm its fortress.”

13. Deep love results in deep grief. Great faith results in fierce attacks from Satan.

“And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness.”

“I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H. for their object. Now their target is gone. I keep on through habit fitting an arrow to the string, then I remember and have to lay the bow down.”

14. Grief feels like continuous waiting for what comes next. It leaves one on constantly alert, unable to relax, with endless, repetitive emptiness stretching before you.

“What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good’? Have they never even been to a dentist?”

15. God’s plans are for our eternal good and may be terribly painful in this earthly world in which we reside.

“Come, what do we gain by evasions? We are under the harrow and can’t escape. Reality, looked at steadily, is unbearable. And how or why did such a reality blossom (or fester) here and there into the terrible phenomenon called consciousness? Why did it produce things like us who can see it and, seeing it, recoil in loathing? Who (stranger still) want to see it and take pains to find it out, even when no need compels them and even though the sight of it makes an incurable ulcer in their hearts? People like H. herself, who would have truth at any price.”

16. The grieving often dig for every minute detail in regards to the events that surrounded the death of their loved one from the grisly details of how it happened to how people heard the news, responded and what they did as a result. We want to know it all regardless of how much it hurts.

“Bridge-players tell me there must be some money on the game ‘or else people won’t take it seriously’. Apparently it’s like that. Your bid – for God or no God, for a good God or the Cosmic Sadist, for eternal life or nonentity – will not be serious if nothing much is staked on it. And you will never discover how serious it was until the stakes are raised horribly high, until you find that you are playing not for counters or for sixpences but for every penny you have in the world.”

17. The loss of a close loved one elevates what you believe about God, heaven and hell to a level of supreme importance. Suddenly what others have told you is no longer good enough. You must determine for yourself what you believe.

“Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s no God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.”

18. We fear we might learn something about God we find unacceptable.

“An odd by-product of my loss is that I’m aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t. Some funk it altogether. R. has been avoiding me for a week. I like best the well brought-up young men, almost boys, who walk up to me as if I were a dentist, turn very red, get it over, and then edge away to the bar as quickly as they decently can. Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers.”

19. We are absolutely unprepared for the way others respond to us after the death of a loved one. Some people avoid you, some want to know all the details so they can either gossip about you or feel as if they are part of the inner circle. The grief-stricken make others uncomfortable.

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2015 in Books, Faith, Grief

 

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Gifts from God’s Hands

22 Oct

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Tuesday, I experienced one of these days. Four ladies, four dear friends, from our church in Kansas City appeared on my doorstep. They brought hugs and encouragement and blessed me as I was fully aware every minute that I was with them that their extravagant love for me (they actually spent six-plus hours on the road that day just to visit me) was also a reflection of Christ’s love for me. Not only are the people God places in my life a gift from Him to me for my good, but they are the literal hands and feet of Christ, inspired by Him to good works. These women and so many others have modeled and taught me so much about my Savior, about standing firm in life’s storms, about loving others, all while sharing laughter and tears and praying each other through life’s trials. Tuesday is a day I will always remember and cherish.

There is an old Contemporary Christian song called “Do They See Jesus in Me?” I can pay no higher compliment to these godly women than to tell them that yes, I see Jesus in you all. Thank you for loving on me and being tools in the Master’s hand for Him to love on me too. Vivian Boren, Wendy Campbell, Sharon Crabtree, and Vicki Phillips.

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2015 in Faith

 

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Down the Damascus Road, Again . . .

22 Oct
Down the Damascus Road, Again . . .

(Posted on Facebook 2/26/15)

I have found there are points in my life where I find myself completely unable to accept God’s obvious plan. Maybe you’ve found yourself in a similar situation? It’s what I refer to as my “Road to Damascus” experience. By that point in time I’m filled with frustration and anxiety and doing everything I can in my own power to change the circumstances I find myself in only to have God pull me up short and shine a painful, blindingly bright light of truth down, revealing that I am not just kicking against the pricks but actively working against His greater plan.

It’s hard to describe how it feels to know that the thing you least want to accept in your life is an irrefutable part of God’s plan. Oh, to be a two year old again so that the temper tantrum I want more than anything to throw, while not tolerated, is at least understood.

Harder still and completely beyond my human capabilities, is the ability to change the desperate desire of my heart, let alone make any attempt to surrender and embrace God’s unacceptable plan.

I firmly believe changing the heart and embracing God’s plan only happens at the point where a believer’s brokenness is met by the active work of the Holy Spirit in that believer’s life. Surrender definitely comes before embracing the plan.

In fact, embracing the plan may never actually happen and it may not even be something God expects from me — from any believer. Maybe all God really expects is for us to quit actively working against Him — not because we have the power to prevent His plan from unfolding but because the fight — the anger, fear, frustration, anxiety and bitterness exhausts and destroys us from within.

Maybe simple resignation, surrender to the inevitable, is a victory in and of itself. Maybe surrender, resigned or not, allows one the energy to take the next step, endure the next blow, and the next, until only the sorrow and quiet emptiness remains leaving room for the Savior to fill you from the cup of consolation and enabling the broken believer to receive the only remaining hope worth clinging to — an eternal future promised to stand in stark contrast to every aching moment the present reality reflects. Maybe that’s sufficient until the day we are made like Him.

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2015 in Faith, Grief

 

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Welcome to Paranoia!

22 Oct

(Originally published on Facebook 11/17/14)

Please take a moment and read this blog post from themighty.com, entitled, “A Letter to the Me Who Was Terrified of Our Diagnosis”, before reading any further.

http://themighty.com/2014/11/a-letter-to-the-me-who-was-terrified-of-our-diagnosis/

Oh yeah! I wish I had read this in the early years, when I knew something was wrong but most people (medical professionals included) thought I was simply a paranoid, over-protective mother.

I never could have written this to myself. The many comments that minimized Gracen and Katie’s symptoms from real concerns to simple clumsiness left me second guessing myself. Having lost one child, I was hyper-sensitive to every fear, but also hyper-sensitive to over-reaction. I knew I needed to guard against my over-protective nature, yet that left me consumed with self-doubt. I was not able to see clearly. I needed someone with a more distant perspective than I could manage to encourage me to aggressively pursue answers. It took me quite awhile to find that person.

In the meantime, I developed an advance/retreat strategy. Push, push, push for answers. Gain a bit of knowledge, a fraction of ground. Push for more information. Get shot down and become disheartened. Retreat. Bury my head in the sand. Shake off concerns – ignore fears, ignore fears ignore fears! Arggggg, can’t ignore fears anymore – push, push, push! Repeat!

That describes the early years. Every once in a while God would send a glimpse of encouragement. I remember taking Gracen to soccer practice one afternoon, frustrated that a doctor had once again downplayed my concerns, leaving me questioning. Wondering if I was seeing something that didn’t exist. I sat down next to another mother I didn’t really know as practice began. A few minutes after practice started she turned to me and said, “What’s wrong with your daughter?” And while I cringe at the insensitive way in which the question was phrased, at that moment I was thankful because she validated what I knew to be true deep down inside and gave me the courage to push some more.

There came a point in time when, due to the progressive nature of the girls’ disease, I no longer had to fight to have doctors acknowledge a problem existed. However, at this point I encountered an unexpected attitude from medical professionals. There is a school of thought within the medical community that promotes the idea that the root of the problem is irrelevant. Treating the symptoms is sufficient. Weary of the battle, worried about the future and afraid to look too closely into the future, I acquiesced.
Then one day, having to find yet another neurologist, I stumbled upon Dr. Phillps, a new pediatric neurologist (actually, I think she was the only “pediatric” neurologist) arrived in NW Arkansas. She was a tiny sprite of a thing with a warrior’s heart. After several appointments she turned to me one day and said, “I think we need to search for a diagnosis. You need to know if a condition leads to other medical issues so that we can watch for those and not be surprised by them.” So the hunt was on – and it took years.

Dr. Phillips eventually married another neurologist, and so Dr. Phillps became Dr. Mrs. Balmakund when her husband began working at the same clinic.
Dr. Mrs. Balmakund is the most humble and tenacious doctor I have ever met. She is always open to suggestions from others, medical or lay people. She loves her patients and their families and takes her knowledge and questions to monthly conference calls with a group of her peers and on the road to medical conferences where she questions other specialists, always seeking to find another patient presenting with similar symptoms or to find that one specialist who has knowledge of a condition she is unfamiliar with. She has no ego where kids are concerned. She willing sent us to other specialists and eventually one, who was unable to provide a diagnosis, did suggest two tests that might reveal a diagnosis. After jumping through a series of insurance hurdles, and fifteen years after Gracen’s symptoms presented, we finally had a diagnosis.

Yippee, right? Wrong! David and I found ourselves less than prepared to hear the prognosis revealed one Spring morning at her clinic. However, Dr. Balmakund did not abandon us but set us up with a neuro-psychologist to help us work through the emotions and fears and guide us in the best ways to inform all three of our daughters.

Dr. B, as she is affectionately known to many of her patients, has been there for us every step of the way – has gone above and beyond with hospital visits and follow up phone calls. She has been our ordained gift from God and we could not be more grateful.

In fact, God has been doubly good to us as Amy Grant used to sing. Dr. Mrs. Balmakund works in a practice of like-minded professionals who have supported and encouraged us in our most difficult and darkest moments. They have shared hard truths with love and have pushed us to seek outside help we likely would have made do without. We have needed them and have often not had to ask because they’ve simply stepped up and in before we knew exactly what we needed.

Drs. Karkos, Scott and Balmakund have often played the role this woman played for herself in my life – recognizing needs within me that I was not always aware of myself. They have ministered to our entire family, not just their patient. In that, they are truly remarkable and have blessed us beyond measure! They are among those I think of when I hear or think of Philippians 1:3, “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”

These women are but a small sampling of the men and women God has surrounded and supported us with. So very many people, some who’ve played a very limited role, appearing at just the right moment and some who’ve stood in the gap for us for a season, and many who have walked along side us for years – serving as the hands and feet of Christ – with a word of encouragement, extending a simple kindness, or doing the heavy lifting by praying us through so many concerns and challenges and downright dilemmas. Oh yes, I am grateful to God for His faithful provision.

Now, I think I should go back and read paragraph one!

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2015 in Chronic Illness, Faith, Grief, Links, Muscular Dystrophy

 

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Steel Magnolias: MaLynne’s Outburst

20 Oct

Thank God, and I don’t say that flippantly; Thank God for the women who can help you laugh in the darkest of circumstances.

Can I get a witness?

 
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Posted by on October 20, 2015 in Grief, Links, Movie Clips

 

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