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Grief's Gifts

8/6/2017

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It has been six years since my Dad passed away…and it seems like yesterday. The night he died, my husband, Jonathan, and I ate dinner over at my parents’ house.  One of my Dad’s best friends was in town for a visit, and it was the last night before he was scheduled to leave. We visited and joked over dinner about many things…but especially about the fact that my Dad, a 68-year-old amputee with leukemia, had just booked a seven-day cowboy trail ride through the “wild west”.  Of course, this type of thing wouldn’t surprise anyone who knew my Dad! He was the ultimate optimist, and despite all the awful cards life dealt him, he always considered his glass half full.
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At 2:30 am, my dad’s friend called me and told me to come to the hospital right away.  He said that my Dad had had a heart attack…I asked him if he was ok.  I could tell by the choke in his voice that the answer was no. We arrived at the hospital too late.  He was already gone.  I stood screaming at the nurses to “Do something!  Don’t stop, please.”  Of course, those lovely people had already done all that they could.  I stood there frozen in disbelief.  After a few minutes, I stepped outside to call my brother and the only words I could manage were, “Matthew, Daddy’s gone.  I need you to come home now.” 

The next morning, the sun came up as usual, and I remember watching people drive by and thinking, “How can you be going about life like usual?  Don’t you know that everything has changed forever?” Some people say that the first days after they lose someone is a blur, but for me, those memories are crystal clear and I have to force them out of my mind.  I have to remember that those last images are not what I should hold onto.  I don’t want to remember my father’s death.  I want to remember his life. 
One of my favorite articles about grief says, “Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life.”

Going through the grief process is awful. It is gut-wrenching.  It is relentless at times. It has made me sick; but oddly enough, it has also given me some gifts:

                                     Grief has taught me that God’s timing is perfect.
I often wish that I had more time with my Dad at the end.  Time to say everything I had always wanted to say.  Time to ask him all my questions, hear all his stories and soak in every bit of who he was so that it could last me a lifetime without him.  I sometimes feel cheated because his passing was so quick.  A few days after he died, I asked Jonathan what the last thing I said to my Dad was…I was frantic about the fact that I couldn’t remember the last words we spoke to each other.  He said to me, “You told him that you loved him, and you kissed him on the head like you always did.”  See…even with more time, I would’ve told him the same exact same thing.  He already knew how I felt about him, and I knew how he felt about me.  Nothing else or different needed to be said. My dad had a type of Leukemia that would have eventually come back, and it would have been a long, hard passing.  The “extra time” I would have had with him would have been torture for him and for us.  God, in His kindness, took my father when he was feeling wonderful and enjoying life. God didn’t ask my dad to suffer any more than he already had. God also put a trusted friend in our home that night to support my mom and me until my brother could get home. I don’t understand why it was his time to go.  But in a situation that would have been painful no matter when it happened, God’s timing was gracious. It was kind.  It was perfect.

Beauty Somehow.


                        Grief has taught me that those who love us never truly leave.
I miss him.  Every single day.  I miss sharing the little things…like the way he’d gently hold my arm when we would walk through a parking lot.  I miss the way he whistled non-stop and sang off tune in the car.  I miss the smell of his cologne when I’d hug his neck.  I miss hearing him call me “Toots” or asking me if I needed gas money (even well after I was married and out of the house!).  Of course, I miss him on the “big” days…birthdays, Christmases, vacations, etc.  But most of all, I grieve that he’ll never know my girls and that they won’t know him.

But here’s the truth…in the middle of my grief, God constantly shows me that my Dad is still with me.  I see him every time I look at my brother’s hands.  I see him in my daughter when she tans to the same perfect shade of golden brown in the summer. In quiet moments, I can close my eyes and still hear his laugh and feel his hand on mine.  I am reminded that my daughters will “know” him because he helped to shape their momma.  He is with me in the moments when I am about to give up, reminding me that worrying about tomorrow is only draining me of today’s strength.  He is the little voice inside me that reminds me that I am blessed.  He reminds me that I am loved.  He reminds me that I am not alone.  Simply put…he is with me.  Always.  Just as my Heavenly Father has never left me, even in this valley of grief. 

Beauty somehow.

                             Grief has taught me to make the most of every moment.
Death may have cheated me of time, but grief has taught me to make the most of it. Grief can do strange things to you. An emotion that often rears its head for me is envy. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's there all the same. When I hear someone complaining about visiting their parents, it's all I can do not to shake them and say, "Don't you realize how lucky you are?”  It’s hard to watch Grandpas play with their grandkids at the park, or even to watch my own in-laws share special days with my girls in a way that my own parents will never get the chance.

You never get over a death.  You get through it, yes…and you'll probably get used to it, but you don't get over it. A piece of your life “puzzle” has been removed, and no matter how much you try to rearrange the other pieces, they never quite fit in the same way again. And maybe that's not necessarily an entirely bad thing. If our parents profoundly shaped us in life, then surely their deaths should shape us too…especially in how we live and love.
Soon after my dad died, we adopted our oldest daughter, Gracie, at birth and found out three months later that we were pregnant with our Millie (after eight years of praying for a family). There's nothing quite like the death of a parent followed quickly by motherhood to really make you examine how you spend your time with your children. His death has made me hyper aware that my time with them is short, and that I need to make the most of it.  The grief propels me to soak in each moment with my babies.  Hopefully it has made me a better mother than I would have otherwise been. Hopefully it has made me a better daughter to my mom and wife to my husband because I am more conscious that each day I have with them is a stolen moment.  The grief has made me appreciate life’s “mountain moments” more now because I've had to experience the valley early in life. Grief constantly reminds me that time is short and that I am called to love well.  I owe that to my Dad because he loved so well. 

Beauty somehow.

                                                                           Home
“Home” to me will always be 2418 Naples Drive in Schererville, IN.  It’s where I spent my first 18 years of life. That house holds all of my memories.  Like the Miranda Lambert song says, it’s the house that “built me”.  In my mind, home has always been that place…that neighborhood…It’s where we played kick the can during the summer. It’s where my heart was broken for the first time.  It’s where we hosted cast parties, football pasta nights, birthday parties and more.  When my parents moved from there, I felt like I was anchorless.  I felt like I no longer had a “home” to go back to anymore.
But now, Grief has reminded me of my true home.  Before my dad died, I always thought of heaven as that faraway place in the sky.  Angels dancing on clouds, streets of gold, cherubs buzzing about…you get the picture.  But when he passed, the realization that Heaven was real came over me quickly, and was one of the only things that gave me real hope in the first dark days.  My dad is truly “home” now. I have found comfort in the fact that after a hard life, my dad is healthy and whole again in heaven.  And that’s where he’ll be waiting for me.
 
Beauty Somehow.

Revelation 21:4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

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Jesus Give Me Rest

6/1/2017

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This past Sunday at church the sermon was all about the importance of finding rest. In theory, it sounds so easy.  Take time for yourself.  Recharge your batteries. Feed your soul. I see ideas for how to do this on Pinterest and shirts with quotes for sale on Facebook all of the time selling this same idea.  But in practice, resting is a really hard thing for me to do.
 
I don’t rest. I don’t even remember how to do it or what it should feel like. It feels weird to “be still” when there are always so many unfinished items on my “to do” list.  I can’t remember a time when I felt truly rested. We go on date nights occasionally, but we talk the whole time about what we need to accomplish the next day. When I hit my burn out point, I reach for a bag of Cheetos or binge watch a series on Netflix. I spend time numbly scrolling through my Facebook feed at night when I’m too tired to talk.  Basically, I check out.
 
The thing is, these things might bring temporary relief, but they don’t actually bring restoration.  They are a band aid.  We push ourselves to the point of physical and spiritual exhaustion and then we wonder why the things that used to work don’t revive us anymore.
 
We need to seek the things that will restore us long term.  If we don’t fill up our gas tank, then we will NEVER be able to get the things on our list done.  The baseball games, church and family commitments, dance recitals, and countless other things will always be there…but we won’t have the time and energy to be mentally present with our family while we do them.
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The Bible talks a lot about rest.

Matthew 11:28-30 says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Jeremiah 31:25 says “For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” Or there’s Psalm 46:10…“Be still, and know that I am God.” 

I don’t know how to be still anymore…and trusting God in that stillness is even harder.  But when we make time to do it, we do find peace. He promises that. For me, I find this in a long drive through the mountains or snuggling with my girls.  I find it in a dinner out with my wife when we actually talk about something other than Millie’s health or Gracie’s schedule or money worries.  I find it when I take the time to get in God’s word…and then actually trust what it says.  What brings you true restoration?

Relief is not a bad thing, but restoration is just so much better. 
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A "Momma's Heart"

5/11/2017

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My life was changed forever at 1:19 am on February 26, 2013.  I wasn't wearing a hospital gown and I wasn't experiencing labor pains...but Jonathan and I had just driven 22 hours straight (through an ice storm) to get to the hospital in time to see our precious Gracie make her grand arrival into the world.  We had waited eight long years for her, and the minute I saw her, I knew she was mine in every way possible. My tired heart...one that had been through so many trials and so much loss...finally had joy in it again. Not only because I had become a mother, but because I realized that I had not been left alone in the "infertility wilderness".  God had been using that time to mold and prepare my heart.  I know that every mom experiences unimaginable joy at the birth of their child.  But for me, becoming a mother didn't just bring joy...it was a healing experience for my marriage, for my family, and for my relationship with God.
 
For the first eight years of our marriage, I dreamt non-stop about being a mom.  Infertility can be all consuming. During this time, however, I didn't want to alienate myself from the world. I wanted to be able to share in my friends' joy as their families grew.  WANTING to do this didn't make it is easier to ACTUALLY do it, though. While I was pumping myself full of infertility drugs, I painted on a smile as I listened to friends talk about how they were planning and calculating their pregnancies to have the perfect "2 year age gap". A few weeks after I miscarried, I bought a baby shower gift for a friend.  I sat at the shower and happily played the baby games because I WAS truly joyful for her. But that didn't stop me from bawling so hard on the drive home that I had to pull over (and subsequently drive through Braums for an obscenely large chocolate shake).  I noticed every mom pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, every dad pushing his son on the swing at the park, and every preggo in line at Walmart.  And don't get me started on Facebook! It seemed like barely a day went by that there wasn't some cute young couple creatively announcing to the world that they were expecting....or even worse, complaining about their kids. 
 
We led worship in a different church every Sunday and shared our story, trying to encourage people to hold onto God in the waiting. I wanted to say that I trusted Him fully...but to be honest, I spent most of the time feeling so hurt that I lost sight of the healer.

I also felt guilt and shame when I was unable to conceive or carry to term. Then there were the questions...wow, the questions. "Why, God?! Why won't you grant this desire of my heart? Would I not be a good mom? Have I done something wrong?"  Or the nights when my husband could no longer find the words to console me, so he just held me as I cried, all the while reassuring me that he didn't blame me and that it wasn't my fault. 
 
When we entered into the adoption process, I admit that I did so kicking and screaming. I looked at it as a "last resort". It wasn't until Gracie arrived that my heart was forever changed. In every way possible, she was ours. For those of you who haven't adopted, it is impossible to explain that the moment you meet your child, God connects your hearts in the most perfect way. All of the longing and heartache of waiting is changed into a gratefulness that is unimaginable. To say that we felt like our family was complete after Gracie was born is an understatement. We honestly let go of needing to have a biological child because we had already received our miracle. So...of course....3 months after Gracie Kate was born, we found out that we were pregnant with Millie Anne.
 
Yep. Our girls our 10.5 months apart. Crazy town. 
 
From the moment I held Millie, God made two things very clear to me. 1) I was truly holding a winning lottery ticket. That "one in a million" baby. The one that doctors said would never arrive was lying on my chest, already proving to the world that she was a fighter. 2) By allowing me to carry, God showed me the complete opposite of what I thought He would through a pregnancy. He actually showed me that it was never about getting pregnant. Sure...I'm grateful I got to feel the kicks. I'm glad to have had an excuse to eat Taco Bueno and Hershey Kisses in mass quantities without being judged. My pregnancy made me realize that for eight years I had thought that God being faithful meant that God would allow me to get pregnant. It wasn't until I experienced both roads to becoming a mother that I can honestly say that the actual pregnancy just didn't matter. I had missed the whole point all along. I hadn't wanted/needed to be pregnant. I had wanted/needed to be a mother.
 
I'm a very stubborn person. God knows that, and in his kindness, he made me wait. He knew that I would need more time than most to shape and strengthen my "momma heart." Maybe that's why the road to our babies was so long.
 
He knew that my “momma heart” will one day have to be strong enough to look at Gracie and explain to her why she was placed for adoption...and try to show her how that placement was heaven crafted. He knew that I needed time to prepare for this spirited, strong-willed, whirling dervish of a princess. He knew that all of those years of waiting would create a love in me for her that is so big that she will never doubt how much she was longed for, cherished, prayed for and loved. 
 
 He knew that this “momma heart” would have to endure sitting in a doctor's office hearing that Millie, our miracle baby, was autistic and apraxic. He knew that the hours and hours of therapy and advocating would be exhausting and terrifying. He created in me a “momma's heart” that had already fought  a long time to even get that baby...and one that sure as heck wouldn't quit fighting for her.  He knew my “momma heart” would have to be strong enough to hold onto miracles and small victories in the face of great deficits.
 
I don't know your story or what God is doing in your life.  What I do know is that He is preparing your heart for a plan we can't see yet.  He may be working on your "momma heart" too, and making sure it will endure everything it has to for the child or children He is preparing to send you. And the love you will feel for them will be so much sweeter because a family wasn't always a "given" for people like us. 
 
God is still working on my “momma heart”, but I can finally see that the waiting was a gift.  I needed the time to become strong, because God was going to give me children with extraordinary circumstances. The waiting is hard, but I promise there is beauty in it somehow. In the words of the Fairy Godmother, "Even miracles take a little time" (sorry... I can't end without my beloved fairy tale life mantra!). 
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