Healing the Whole Heart

We suffered a trauma three years ago. As I've shared before, my daughter got burned and we had to spend a month in the hospital while she had surgeries, and then another bit at a rehab clinic, and then months at home with therapy and ongoing appointments. A year after the accident, we returned to the hospital for another surgery. With a 3-week-old baby. There aren't a lot of people who understand what it's like to sit in those lonely dark hours at the hospital, waiting for news, waiting for cries for help. Helpless yourself to do much of anything to fix it all.
I think I've talked about it enough that it isn't a huge open wound anymore. I've thought about it and prayed it through and worked through a thousand things. But it's still unfolding. I don't even know if whole healing is possible after seeing your child catch fire and suffer in the hospital. But I'm in a place now where it doesn't kill me inside to talk about the things that happened. What I've been thinking about lately is how healing has to take place on multiple planes and in multiple ways before it's complete. I think it's a lot like any form of grief. We need the time and distance to start to see it clearly. But I think, often those who are trying to help a hurting person, fail to see all of the levels that the pain has touched. We surround a suffering person with all of their physical needs. we rush in and bring meals, offer words of encouragement, clean their house, pay their bills, etc. And that's good. It's needed. It's the simplest and easiest way to be useful in a situation where we're usually helpless.
But the needs don't end there. Even when the fire is put out, and things return to a "new normal", the needs keep coming.
When we lost our baby, it took a year to recover. A full out year of crying almost every day, of putting away baby toys and clothes that wouldn't be used, of watching the friends who had babies at the time mine was supposed to be there. Of wondering why me, why God, why this baby. It doesn't just go away. It didn't go away when I got pregnant with the next child, either. My nights were filled with anxiety and dread about what might happen. But most people figured I was OK since the new baby was on the way.
With the burn injury, I've felt like the majority of people have been waiting for the completeness and hoping that it's all over. For most of them, it actually is. They prayed me through the surgeries. They brought the meals. They helped in every way they could. And now the daughter is just as normal as she's ever going to be, and the family has settled in and does the normal things. But recovery on a physical level does not equal full recovery. There are questions. There are ongoing problems. There are fears and doubts that never got addressed in the panic and craze. And when you go home from the hospital, you just... sit in it. It swirls around you like a muddy pool and it's hard to swim away or pull yourself out.
I held on to Jesus as my anchor, but my soul was deeply entangled in the misery of guilt and suffering and the crushing weight of expectations and loneliness. Is there a way to fix this for someone? Probably not. The healing I needed was really only available through Christ. God knows all of the questions and doubts that even I didn't know. He was the answer to the questions I didn't know I had. He is the Healer of the hurts we hold inside. He sees our inner heart, the places that we can't share with anyone. And slowly, over time, those places are healing. I would not call them whole yet. But healing.
The reason I'm saying all of this is that there will probably be a time when you or someone you love is suffering through the pit of despair. There has been or will be a day when you struggle helplessly to figure out how to fix something that you can't fix. And what I want people to know is that we are whole beings. When an injury on a physical level happens, it affects our mind, emotions, and spirit just as much as it affects our body. So when you go to offer help, look for ways you can help in those other areas as well, not just with the physical needs. Just be careful what you say about God during that time, because you wouldn't want to misrepresent him. Your words can do much more harm than good when someone is suffering. 
Some of the ways that God began to heal me seem so small, but they weren't at the time. They were everything. I hope if you continue reading, you'll be able to at least see why I can have faith in Him and choose to follow Him, but also hopefully it will inspire you to bring support to someone who's suffering (or encourage you if you're in that place).

Songs - God determined the playlist of my life during that time. I can't even count the songs that pulled me away from the situation and gave me perspective, that spoke to my heart and told me God was still there. That answered questions I was facing. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but God. Music heals in ways regular words can't.
Books - There wasn't a lot of time to read, but my dad told me about one book called "An Honest Look at a Mysterious Journey" and for whatever reason, it healed some part of me. It isn't about burn injuries. It's about suffering and how a man looked to God through it, and all of the doubts he battled. The other book a friend gave me (without telling me her own life story, which I later found out) was called Rivers in the Desert and it's a devotional. It was perfect for the time at the hospital and the busy days afterwards.
Presence - There were a lot of visitors at the hospital. I couldn't list them all, but my dad came and sat with us during surgery. He had been in the hospital a lot as a child, and he'd said at his dad's funeral that when he was a kid, the hospital wasn't scary when his dad was there. My best friend and my brother and mother-in-law also made sure to be there during surgery times. Someone to wait with is good. Someone who knows you really well, who doesn't need to be entertained or have explanations, who will just sit... that's ministry to the soul. My husband's brothers and their wives showed up the first night we were there. We didn't know what was coming, but having them there was the perfect encouragement after a long, long day. Another time, a friend from about two hours away called and told me she was going to be in Iowa City that day. She brought toys and games for JJ, but what meant the most was that she was there. She was one of our good friends in college. And her reason for coming to Iowa City was us. One of the stories that still brings me to tears is how my cousins, who live in Pennsylvania and don't have resources to travel, sent their friend in Iowa City to see us. She came and brought a gift on behalf of my cousins. Another friend in Texas offered to drop everything (six kids) and come to be with me. Wow. She didn't need to come for me to feel loved.
Words - So many cards and emails came to encourage us. I ate the words from the caringbridge site. They kept me going. A mysterious healing happened for me three nights in a row, when I'd get back to the Ronald McDonald house to try to sleep. A pastor's wife who was more of an acquaintance at the time wrote responses to updates. Her prayers and wisdom were exactly what I needed. She'd had her own surgeries and seemed to know, on a spiritual level, what my heart actually needed in those hard moments. Another friend whose card said, "You're a good momma, and accidents happen" was good for me. She knew something I didn't know. I needed to hear those words.
Relating - I became friends with some unsuspecting people at that time in life. There's something about deep suffering that you can't really explain. Because it happens on a deep spiritual level. A mom I had just met in Bible study visited. I didn't know at the time, but she knew what suffering was like. Her son had taken his own life years before. What she knew about God and what she said to me were the right things at the right time. I didn't have to know her story because we knew the same God. The strength of the older women in my life at that time was remarkable. I think because they've been through more than people my age have. They understand on some level, the damage a spirit can undergo in times of trial. One of them just took me under her wing. Her son had spent a lot of time at the hospital with medical needs, so she just came like a little ray of sunshine into our lives. We'd known her for a loooong time, but she became our friend as she prayed for us and encouraged us. Another pastor's wife had had a lot of her own medical needs, so when she stepped in to hold my baby and clean the house for me, I knew it was because she understood me. And having someone who "gets" it is just powerful. None of these people dumped their life story on me. They were just there. They prayed, they helped, they encouraged. You have to be careful not to relate too much, because at some point it becomes not relating. A huge part of healing for me was meeting other burn survivors and their families. I've spoken with quite a few moms of burn victims now. we don't have to say the things we're all thinking. We just share the burden together.
Prayers - knowing someone was praying made a difference. Hearing them pray was a totally different experience. One family from church whose kids all help with children and who knew JJ arrived with an Easter basket full of gifts for all of us. Then they surrounded the hospital bed and prayed over our whole family. Powerful. My dad prayed before they wheeled away the hospital bed with my daughter, ready for surgery. There was such comfort in his faith, the faith that shaped me, extending to all of us there in that moment. If you don't know what to pray for someone in a situation, you can always pray that God will begin to heal their spirit and show them the ways He is bringing healing. That is meaningful. I'm fairly certain someone was praying that for me.
God's Voice - This all occurred with the guiding of the Holy Spirit, speaking in my own heart, showing me the ways he was trying to heal me. I think that I could get in the way of my own healing sometimes. I think I still do. But when I could listen, when I wanted to see it, He was there, showing me. The ways people cared for me were HIS hands caring. The words people spoke were because He gave them the words. The cards, the prayers, everything was under his authority and action. So I can give him credit for it. There were times when he spoke directly to me. I don't even remember them all. Twice it was with a song. The first one I've already shared a few times, but the second time was just last spring. I was driving to church and this overplayed song called "Tell your heart to beat again" came on the radio. I'd heard it before, but for some reason in that moment, God said, "This is for you." And all of the feelings I'd been holding inside just kind of started to pour out. All of these questions and doubts were just... in front of me. It was like I'd actually stopped breathing when the accident happened. I think I had in some way. And God was telling me he wanted to make my heart whole again, to heal me, but I had to just... let him. Since then, I think we've made some good progress. I always think about it when that song comes on. About how everything could all go back into their places, but something was wrong with my heart still. And how God said right then that He was going to heal my heart and make it beat again. Wow.

You're shattered
Like you've never been before
The life you knew
In a thousand pieces on the floor
And words fall short in times like these
When this world drives you to your knees
You think you're never gonna get back
To the you that used to be
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Beginning
Just let that word wash over you
It's alright now
Love's healing hands have pulled you through
So get back up, take step one
Leave the darkness, feel the sun
'Cause your story's far from over
And your journey's just begun
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Let every heartbreak
And every scar
Be a picture that reminds you
Who has carried you this far
'Cause love sees farther than you ever could
In this moment heaven's working
Everything for your good
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Your heart to beat again
Beat again
Oh, so tell your heart to beat againSongwriters: Matthew West / Bernie Herms / Randy Phillips
Tell Your Heart to Beat Again lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Capitol Christian Music Group

The Ministry of Help

The first time someone offered to help me in a time of need, I wasn't really sure what to do. People had been bringing meals after the loss of my baby, but they would leave. They didn't stick around and visit. This gal stayed. She came in, set up the food and then said, "Can I help you with anything else?" I didn't know what to say. So she grabbed my broom and swept the floor. She's a wise person who knows something about suffering that I hadn't learned yet.
I've learned it since then. Now, ten years after that little incident, I've been the recipient of every kind of help. When our daughter got burned and we spent a month in and out of the hospital and rehab, I had to learn to say "Yes" to all of the offers for help. It wasn't just because I genuinely needed the help. It was also because the people helping needed to help. It wasn't always the kind of help I wanted. It wasn't always beautiful and it didn't always get done my way. But I learned a lot through it and built some really good relationships because of it. As an expert in "life just turned upside down", I'm qualified to say it now. When you're struggling through something, and someone offers to help you, JUST ACCEPT IT.

It Fulfills the Law of Christ

When a crisis hits, everyone wants to do something. Most of us can't do anything. You've been there, empty-handed, wishing you could do more for your suffering friend. You bring a meal, maybe, but there just isn't an opportunity to do much else.
When the tables are turned and you're the one in the crisis, you for some reason feel like it's imposing to accept help from people. Help that they offered. Help that they wanted to give to you to ease your burden (and theirs). Culture feeds us a lie that if we can handle it, then we should. But here's the thing. We shouldn't. The Bible says to bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. So allowing someone to bear your burden, whatever it might be, you're actually fulfilling the law of Christ. And, you're letting someone else fulfill His law too. I think what it means, when you look at Galatians 6, is that that helping one another is a reflection of the way Christ came and helped us in our helplessness. So, conversely, when you refuse to accept help, you're depriving someone of the opportunity to fulfill the law of Christ. Is that a big deal? I don't know. It sounds like one. And it says in the same passage that as we have opportunity, let us do good to others. Allowing help is giving a person a chance to obey God's word.

The Indisputable Comfort of the Gospel 

2 Corinthians talks about how we experience the comfort of Christ and because of that we are able to comfort others. Accepting comfort is difficult, but we've all accepted the comfort of Christ. For me in some of the hardest times, that comfort has come through people who have poured out their prayers and thoughts to me, shared their gifts, and carried hope for me. God's comfort is an inextinguishable light in a dark world. People notice when it's given and shared, regardless of what god they're worshiping. There is power in God's comfort, in the fact that He suffered in his life on earth to take away our sin, and He understands our suffering. It's powerful because it's the truth of the gospel. He comforts us so we might comfort others! We should not withhold it and we most certainly should not inhibit others from giving it. You know why Jesus said "They'll know you are my disciples by your love for one another?" If you didn't before now, you hopefully have drawn your own conclusions. If you aren't letting people have the chance to demonstrate His love to you, you're missing a great blessing.

Doing The Hard Thing Builds a Stronger Community

I'm not sure what it is about us that makes us chafe at accepting help. I guess it isn't easy to admit that you'd rather not do everything on your own, that you're inadequate and you can't handle it all. Maybe you don't want people to know that sometimes your house gets messy or you're too tired to take care of your kids so you've been watching Netflix for six hours. But when you accept the truth, you are identifying with the human condition. We're all inadequate. We all fail. We all have fallen short of perfection in God's eyes. Really we all need help. So it's pride that keeps us from accepting the gift others wish to give to us, and it's pride that's somehow telling God you don't need the help He sent to you through that person.

On the other end, it is also just as difficult to offer help. While signing up to drop off a meal is most often the first an easiest way to help someone in crisis, there is so much more you can do. If you know how. It involves time. It involves persistence. It involves one of my least favorite words in English: Gumption. It requires creativity. Most of all, it requires that you listen. To the Holy Spirit and to the person you're offering to help. With all of that, it also often involves a little bit of wisdom for how to handle a situation.

I think Americans are afraid of suffering. We spend so much time making our lives easy and comfortable that when someone is in a position that isn't comfortable, we don't know what to do with it. We aren't really quite sure how to embrace the ick and BE with a person. But that's just what they need. That's what bearing someone's burden looks like. It's walking into the hospital room and seeing open wounds that aren't healing. It's singing to a baby while mom goes and cries alone in the bathroom. It's stepping around clutter in your friend's house to get to the kitchen and washing their dishes. It's calling on dark nights when you know they're alone and tempted to give up. It is ugly and it's beautiful, it's tragic and trivial, it's faithfulness and failing all wrapped together. What you get when you come out the other end is someone who knows you for who you are, who's seen you at your worst and who you know hasn't decided to give up after that.

My friend Robin showed up during our second round at the hospital. She'd been praying and following my caringbridge all year. The second time back was just as hard as the first time. I'd just had a baby by cesarean three weeks prior, and so I was juggling nursing, caring for a baby, and nursing the post-surgery issues with the older sister. Husband was trying to get his hours in at work so I was alone most of the day. I was well past the "I can do this" and the pride of being able to juggle everything. I knew better. I asked for help from basically everyone I knew, and several women in the church stepped up. Women who, up until then, had been in the periphery of my life. Older ladies who knew my parents or knew me through mutual friends. Robin had spent a large portion of her life at the same hospital twenty years ago with her oldest son. She knew some of the struggles I was having, and she showed up. She came all of the days she could, held the baby, read books to sister, took sister to the hospital activities for kids. Prayed for me. Listened. Waited while I cried and gave hugs when I needed them. There were some others. The pastor's wife, who's got her own string of medical issues and has suffered at the hospital. She brought me eggs and showed me how to microwave them. She held the baby and smiled cheerfully for me. Another mom came to my house during recovery time and let me nap. Others cleaned for me. My point is, these were women who I didn't know very well at the time. And they're women who, since then, have made themselves available for my questions and prayers. I know they care about me. They built a protective wall around my heart during hard, hard times without ever expecting anything in return. They were Jesus' love poured out on me and my family, and that love carried me when I was too weak to ask for it.

That is knowing each other in suffering. That is building a community that doesn't splinter and dissolve when things get hard. It's when things get hard that we need each other. So don't give up. Don't push your people away when things are hard for you. Embrace their help. Even if it isn't the kind of help you actually need. you might find out it actually was what you needed. Or, they might find out what kind of help you actually need and provide it for you. Let your friends and acquaintances receive the blessings bestowed by bearing your burdens. Let them suffer along side of you. You'll all be better off for it in the end.

You Can't Make Old Friends

I've been living in the past this week. It started because I was looking for a letter from my youth pastor who just retired, but it became a lot more than that. I have these boxes of things. I made one when I was seven out of a box from a gift for my sister's baby shower. I put in these special things that I liked and then it just kept on adding stuff that I wanted to keep.

Some of it is dumb. But there are ribbons and awards I won, mementos from trips and days in Bible quiz. Little cards and name tags from events I attended. Some of it's more meaningful like mementos from vacations or things friends gave me. At first that box had all of the cards and letters I'd received, but by the time I was twelve I needed a different box for those. So I have a second box full of messages from friends through the years. It was fun looking through that one. With the youth pastor on my mind, I got to thinking about youth group days.
It's been twenty years since I was in the thick of high school. My life was pretty simple, but I didn't have a lot of friends and I didn't ever feel like I really fit in. But on Sunday when I was reunited with some of the kids I went to youth group with, who I've only seen a couple of times since we all graduated, it was something special. We ALL were kids who felt like we didn't fit in, but we all found a place in that group. Several of us had the same story. We were disillusioned and ready to give up on church, but visiting that group changed it. We felt lonely and overlooked but someone in that group noticed and acknowledged it. We've all moved on into family life and grown up, but we stood around the tables looking at pictures of our high school selves (and admired how good our hair looks now compared to then), and I think for those few hours, we all were back in the walls of that youth room, thinking about all of the zany adventures we had together, missing the people who weren't there, wondering how everyone turned out, appreciating Pastor Mark together.
It was like a class reunion, except without the pressure of having to feel successful and look good. We could just be, and that felt really good.
Since then I've been thinking about things I'd nearly forgotten. Cold bus rides at the break of dawn for a community service project. Sneaking out of my dorm with Meredith to go see Emily. Staying up all night on a retreat when all of the leaders decided to stay in the other cabin. Talking all night with Jess on her bunk bed and playing cards until the literal break of dawn, at which time the guys decided to storm our cabin with the PA system playing Mission Impossible. Sitting on the bus in Mexico with two other friends and making up ridiculous stories about spider spies and tomatoes taking over the world. Standing on stage and singing with good friends. My best friend Rachel and I building playdoh worlds together. Sitting crammed together in a stairwell that echoed and singing a Capella harmonies to God. Canoeing together and campfires where we washed each others' feet. Trips down to the prison to lead worship in the chapel services. So many, many memories.

I wore a vintage youth group shirt from our Mexico Trip. D's is from another trip he was on in 8th grade.

Being together reminded me. It's good to be in a place where there aren't any regrets, where the mistakes of the past are buried, and what's left are really good memories. There isn't a great way to describe it except that
it's a kind of love that we were bound together by. We loved each other and our leaders, but more than that we loved God and were doing what we could to serve him together.
It was a chance to thank each other for things and to say words that we couldn't say as insecure teenagers. A lot of friends were missing, and some of them have passed away. But I think they were on all of our minds. And even without them there, our relationships are cemented.  One of my favorite songs explains it best:

Would you take me back to when we were kids
who weren't scared of getting older
cuz no one knows you like they know you and no one probably ever will
you can grow up
make new ones
but the truth is there's nothing like old friends.
And you can't make old friends.

-- Ben Rector "Old Friends" (Watch the video; it's awesome)

Counselor, Pastor, Friend

I was a church refugee in 1997. We'd left a church we'd been at for ten years and I was lonely and tired and had lots of questions about God. The first week we came to NCBC, I knew it was the place for us. There were other kids who talked to us and several of the youth leaders made sure to introduce themselves to us. The teaching was by this guy who was talking about creation and evolution and did it in such an interesting way. There were students leading worship and giving announcements in front of the group like they wanted to be there. My brother and I were both pretty excited about the whole thing. In fact, my whole family was excited about the church.

My brother was an outgoing guy and he'd brought along a couple of friends to the church with him, so he had no trouble slipping in and being part of the group right away. It was slower for me, but I never felt completely isolated because the youth pastor was making an effort to include everyone. He did in a personal way. One of the first weeks there, he invited me to go on the summer trip with them, and he went and got me an application to take home with me. Another one of the first weeks there, they were having a graduation party for all of the seniors. I planned to sit in the car for the duration since I didn't know anyone, but he actually came out to find me and make sure I knew I was welcome. (I did end up going in too).

There was a death in the group one of the first Wednesdays we visited, and seeing how that affected all of them showed me a kind of unity that had been missing at the last church. At the last church, I'd felt like one of the only kids who'd cared about Jesus. I'd been excluded, quite intentionally, quite often. I'd learned to make myself invisible there, and at school and at home too. But at this new church, with this new pastor who seemed to notice everyone, I had hope that it would be different.

And it was. So very different.

As the years went on, I found a place I belonged. I made friends with a few people, took chances to serve at the church and in the group. I even ended up leading a worship band at the end. I attended camping trips, missions trips, retreats, overnights, and as many Sundays and Wednesdays as I could. I found like-minded people, some of whom I even went to school with. The way the group was set up gave us a chance to get to know each other in smaller groups each week, and we had a chance to tell stories to each other also. It was that way because Mark had decided to make it "everyone's youth group" instead of just his.

There was a puzzle that they had out on a table most weeks and they took it on retreats. When it got completed, they'd hang it up for everyone to see under a sign that said, "Each Person Plays a Part" or something along those lines. It was a reminder that everyone in the group was a valuable member. I was in that group for three years and I grew so much in that time. Everyone grows in high school, but there were things i learned there that I wouldn't have had a chance to learn in other places. About servant leadership, about humility, about reaching out into the community and about worship. There were a lot of wonderful adults that built into my life, but I think the pastor and his wife knew me best. And I think most of what I learned was because he modeled it for all of us with his own life. He wasn't a "Do what I say, not what I do" kind of guy. He was (and is) more of a "Do what I do because that's what Jesus does" kind of guy.

It was because of him that I met my future husband. Wanting to encourage the missionary kid in Russia, he gave us all D's email address to write to him. I did, and we connected through email for a few months until he got home. Then, we spent a fun summer together doing youth group activities like a musical, a canoe trip, and Sunday mornings at church. We also went on a trip to Mexico, which was life changing in so many ways.

We did a lot of trips together with the group, and Pastor Mark was on all of them. That summer after Mexico, we had another trip the week following so I went on that one as well (this was after a summer vacation with my family also). After three back-to-back weeks of not being home, I was exhausted and spent and ended up crying one of the last nights of that youth conference. Mark did what he did best. He noticed me, asked if I wanted to talk, and spent most of that evening session with me talking about my heart issues and the place where I happened to be stuck at that time. He didn't say anything really earth-shattering that night, but what he said made a difference. It was actually the beginning of a big change in my life, of learning how to forgive and seeing God in the middle of hard times. He's probably had hundreds of talks like that, but for me it mattered that I mattered to him. He took time away from what he was supposed to be doing to listen, and he listened well.

There are fun memories too, like when he tried to hit traffic cones with the bus, or when he fell asleep standing up, or eating plain salsa in his office while we talked. All of them are memories of a person who was fully present in his place, doing what God called him to do, teaching and leading with a humility that I haven't ever seen in anyone else. Was he perfect? No. Was he the best youth pastor ever?

Probably.

He's retiring this week and going back to school to become a family counselor. I'm happy for him even though we're all going to miss him. He's been a counselor and confidant and co-conspirator to all kinds of people. He's taught God's word faithfully. He's lived a life without shadows. He's a husband and dad and a pastor. Whatever he's been in 25 years at our church to thousands of different people, he's been my friend, and that's what I'll cherish the most.

The Joy and Sorrow of Mother's Day

"Joy and Sorrow are this ocean/and in their every ebb and flow/now the Lord a door has opened/that all hell can never close/here I'm tested and made worthy/tossed about and lifted up/in the reckless raging fury that they call the love of God."  Rich Mullins, The Love of God

If you read my other blog, you know that I talk a lot about the combination of joy and sorrow, and how so much of our lives are a mingling of the two. Just like in the movie with the emotions, sometimes we have to experience sorrow to really, truly know joy. I think that's the shape of Mother's Day for most women. There are just so many ways for it to be wrong, even when it's right. There's this deep sense of loss that happens, even with the best of moms, realizing that we just aren't going to be everything we thought we should have/could have/needed to. And there's a sense of failure a little too, when you're being celebrated but feel a little empty because of the places we lack. Then there's the whole infertility problem for so many ladies. Ouch. And then there's the relationship with your own mom, even if you're a mom yourself. (I don't have issues with my mom, but I know lots of people who do, including my own mom). I've never really liked Mother's Day because I don't feel like there's no need to celebrate the mundane everyday things. But I'm probably wrong, and it does give people a chance to think about the things they can be grateful for.

Ten years ago, I walked out of the church service in tears. Not just whimpering, threatening wet eyes, but full-on bawling tears. The lobby was empty except for one mom, a family friend, who saw me and knew exactly why I was crying. She just came and held me and recognized that "it hit me like a ton of bricks". I was four months out from a still birth experience. It was the baby's due date that day. And they were doing these child dedications with all of the babies who had been born that year. I just couldn't.

And I think all that has left this indelible sadness in my heart that resurfaces at the strangest times. Often on Mother's Day. With four beautiful girls who love me and really are perfect in so many ways, I don't need to be unhappy. I don't need to dread the church service and the ten thousand "Happy Mother's Days" that come my way all day long. But I kind of do. The majority of people I talk to have no idea that my heart is squished in between the joy and sorrow of motherhood. The war waging between what it "should" be like, and what it actually is. And that's OK. I'd prefer that the whole world doesn't know. But what I do prefer the world knows, is that Mothering is complicated. And the emotions that come in this messed up world are just hard to explain. I love my kids and I love being a mom, and I probably wouldn't trade it for anything. But that doesn't mean I've nailed this gig, and it doesn't mean I don't notice the others who are suffering from lack and loss on a day that we all just wish could be a nice special day. I'm there with you, Mamas. And even more so, God is with us in all the ways we suffer, He sees and knows us, and He's even brought healing to those places I really thought never would be whole again. And that's my message on Mother's Day.

Thirty Memories for Thirty Years Part two

Marie and I drove to Kansas City the first night and enjoyed a walk around the Plaza in freezing cold temps. We ate at PF Changs because there isn't one in our town. And it was restaurant week in KC, so that pretty much eliminated the chance of eating anywhere creative without a reservation.
We talked all night long and took our sweet time getting up in the morning.
And then it was on to Arkansas. Uncharted territory.
We felt like Arkansas gets a bad rap. The roads were nice and the scenery was pretty. The towns were good, although there were a lot of churches along the sides of the highways. I guess that's maybe a thing?
The first stop of the day was the Crystal Bridges Museum, which was fabulous. We arrived and walked into this kind of military-complex-feeling place with an elevator that took you down into the valley where the museum was tucked. The building was amazing.
We found out that we came on the worst possible weekend. Two of the main exhibits were closed for a few months while they re-did the whole thing. The special exhibition was in transition so there wasn't one that weekend.
Nonetheless, it was amazing. Standing inches away from Norman Rockwell's Rosie, seeing the beautiful canvases of modern art. So many amazing things to see. We were there a few hours, exploring the architecture of the building and the different artists.
Then we ate at this expensive coffee shop there in the complex and took off toward Little Rock. We hadn't really made any plans to go there, but decided we might as well since we were pretty nearby, all things considered.
There was this theme between us about "bad luck" things that consistently happen to us. The first one mentioned was how my orders at coffee shops always get forgotten or screwed up. In this case, BOTH happened. Eventually I got the iced tea I'd ordered but wow. Marie's thing was that the gas station booths can never print her receipt. Turns out that was true also. A long-time running one that's been part of our friendship since kindergarten is that whenever I decide to celebrate my birthday with her, weather happens. Bad weather. I think it was third grade when she had to stay at least one extra night at my house for my birthday because the roads had iced over so much. For my sixteenth, some friends had planned a huge surprise party and the biggest blizzard we'd had in years (probably since third grade) came in and they had to cancel the whole thing. No one left the house for at least a day after that one.
So for this trip, even though we were headed south, I planned for some bad weather. We were fine most of the time. Until the last little leg between St. Louis and home. I've driven it before in a storm and the road maintenance on the avenue of the Saints is not always up to par. Especially for this little leg. It was a white-knuckled drive for the last hundred miles, taking a very slow route as the snow poured down and the untreated roads got slicker and slicker. True to form. Birthday times get snow for me and Marie.

Ten Years Gone

If you followed my other blog years ago, you know that a big part of my adult life has been discussion about our stillbirth baby Grace. Monday was her 10th birthday. I was 25 weeks along. She would have been perfect. She's missing every day.

We move on and heal and time just washes over those memories and the days, but once in a while, the waves come again and we have to take a few minutes to just... remember, to feel. I've said before how in loss of this kind, the pain of the memories is kind of all you have to hold on to. So I give myself a chance to feel, to be sad about it. For a long time, writing anything about it was hard. But on Monday when the internet died, I wrote a couple of poems as I thought about that terrible day ten years ago. I didn't have any idea what life was going to look like ten years later. At that time, it sort of felt like life had stopped and would never go on.

But it does go on, and we live full, rich lives. Without her here. Thankfully, we have hope of heaven and we wait for those explanations that will become clearer and clearer in eternity.

Ten Years Gone 

You and me were built for eternity

And for a moment you grew within me

Ten years ago you were here and then gone

Leaving a scar that tears itself open time after time

Ten years of wanting, and prayers of why

As the family without you laughs and grows

                There are reasons we believe that God knows

Ten years of wondering what it would have been like

If you’d lived with us in this life.

And we planted our promises in the fertile earth

                And asked the Lord to show us Himself through your birth

Ten years of wishing you were here,

Of faith growing in spite of our fears.

Believing in heaven and best things untold

In the secret ways of God and the mysteries that will unfold

When the veil of dark glass is removed

And our tears are all wiped dry

And we see you, and Him together, on the streets of gold.

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