Monday Mourning - Anytime I Want ...

A few nights ago, I had what is a very rare experience for me.  I had a dream about Hannah.

In the seven years since Hannah went Home, I can easily count the number of dreams I've had about her on just a few fingers ... and they haven't all been good.

This was a good one.

I'm not going to share a lot of the details, because I really can't.  The dream was very clear when I first woke up, but became rather muddled as the day went by.  I finally sat down and wrote out a few of the details before it left me completely.

The basic gist of the dream was that after all these years of believing Hannah had died of cancer, we suddenly discovered that she had not actually died.  She had been in some sort of terrible car accident and had been critically injured.  For the last seven years, she had been living with another family who was providing her with some sort of specialized care.

This family lived locally, so Brad and I raced to their house and miracle of miracles, there she was!  She was sitting up in bed and was absolutely radiant.  She could not walk, but otherwise seemed completely healthy.  We talked for what seemed like hours (though I can't remember a bit of our conversation!) and then it was time for us to go.  We hugged her goodbye and I could feel the texture of her long, thick, curly hair in the dream.  This was remarkable because the last time I hugged her here on earth she had only a little baby-fine hair growing back after discontinuing her chemotherapy treatments. Then it was time to leave.

But our departure wasn't sad!

It was clear that the couple who was caring for her loved her and were giving her excellent care.  They were very warm and welcoming to us and said as we left, "You can come back to see her anytime you want to."

I replied incredulously, "I can come anytime I want?  Can I come back tomorrow?"

They laughed and said, "Yes!  You can come back tomorrow and the next day and the next day ... Anytime you want!"

Oh, the joy that filled my soul as I began to grasp that I would be able to see Hannah anytime I wanted to!  I can't even describe it.  It didn't even matter to me that Hannah wasn't coming home with us ... it was enough just to know that I could see her anytime I wanted to.

That joy was still there when I woke up, tempered just a little by the realization that it was just a dream.  The very thought of being able to see Hannah anytime I want to causes joy to swell in my chest even as I write this post.

The feeling of awe stuck with me throughout that day.  It made me think about what our lives might be like in Heaven, where I finally really will be able to see Hannah anytime I want.

I have another daughter here on earth, who is married and lives in the same town as we do.  Since Bethany no longer lives in our home, I don't see her every day, but I literally can see her any time I want.  Even if we lived across the country from each other, I could still see her any time I wanted to ... I could hop on a plane and be there in a few hours, or thanks to modern technology, we can FaceTime or Skype.

Maybe that's how it will be in Heaven, too.  Hannah will have her own place, and Bethany and her husband will have their own place, and we can all see each other anytime we want.  Not that I think we're just going to be sitting around the pool sipping sweet tea together at our respective mansions all the time ... Oh, no.  I believe we'll be worshiping, working, and serving God side-by-side with the multitudes.

But ... I also believe I'll be able to see my girls anytime I want.  And my joy will indeed be complete.

If you have experienced the loss of a child, and would like to get connected to a faith-based ministry which serves bereaved parents, click here for more information about While We're Waiting.

Photo credit: ✿ indecisive via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-ND

Monday Mourning -- Sucker Punch

Definition:  suck·er punch
noun  1.  an unexpected punch or blow.
verb  1.  hit (someone) with an unexpected punch or blow.  "Joe sucker-punched him and knocked him out"

This February will mark seven years since Hannah went to Heaven after a year-long battle with brain cancer.  In the early months after her homegoing, life in general felt like one gigantic sucker punch. As time went on, the sucker punches became fewer and farther between, and now they occur only rarely.

And then there was yesterday.

For the last several Sundays, we've had a video presentation early in the service highlighting one ministry of the church.  This Sunday was the youth ministry.

The video consisted of several youth group "alumni", now young adults, each of whom shared what God was doing in their lives and how their time in the youth group had prepared them for what they are doing now.  There were those who had been called by God to be worship leaders, those who had been called by God to attend seminary, those who had been called to by God to serve on the mission field, those who had been called by God to work with youth themselves, etc.  All these fresh young faces, brimming with anticipation and excitement about their future.  So much hope, so much expectancy, so much joy.  It's wonderful to see these young adults who are serving the Lord with such zeal.

But all I could see was the person who was missing.  These were Hannah's peers, the "kids" she had gone on mission trips with, the ones she hung out with on Wednesday and Sunday nights, the ones who attended Disciple Now weekends with her.  Yet she was not in the video, because she died when she was 17, before she ever had the opportunity to graduate high school, go to college, experience the call of God on her life.

Hannah should have been a part of that video.  She should have been flashing her trademark smile as she shared excitedly about how God had called her to be a teacher, or a missionary, or ... who knows what?

I'm one of the sign language interpreters at our church, and I happened to be the one interpreting these video vignettes.  When the video ended, my head and hands moved on, but my heart didn't.  I couldn't shake the fact that Hannah wasn't in that video, and she should have been!

That sucker punch still rankled throughout the day yesterday.  My girl should have been in that video ... but she wasn't.

But slowly, slowly God began to remind me that He did have a call on Hannah's life.  It was a different call than that of the young adults featured in the video, but it was certainly no less of a call than theirs.  What if He had called her to become a teacher or a missionary ... Would her life have had as much of an impact for His kingdom if she had become one of those things?   Or did see the bigger picture for her life, and in His loving sovereignty, call her Home early?

I still wish she had been in that video.  Oh, how I wish she had been in that video.

Sigh.

But I choose to rest in the knowledge that she lived well, she finished well, and she fulfilled God's call for her life in a way that makes this Mama proud.

"And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast."  I Peter 5:10

Photo credit: tim caynes via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC

You Might Be A Bereaved Parent ...

We bought a much-needed new car this past summer ... a Nissan Pathfinder.  Our 2007 Toyota Camry had served us well, but with over 220,000 miles on it, we just couldn't trust it for long distance trips anymore.  And as the While We're Waiting ministry continues to grow and we spend more time on the road, something bigger was needed to haul all our "stuff" around.

Our purchase included a free trial of Sirius satellite radio, and we enjoyed it while it lasted.  One station that I particularly enjoyed was one that featured brief comedy routines by stand-up comics.  As I chuckled along with Jeff Foxworthy doing one of his "You Might Be a Redneck" routines, I began to wonder what a "You Might Be a Bereaved Parent" list might include.

Here's some of what I came up with ...

If you've ever laughed and cried in the same ten-second time period, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever put an article of your child's clothing in a zip-loc bag because it smells like your child, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever left an empty Coke can sitting in one place for months (or years) because it was the last thing your child drank, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you ever find yourself seeking out a seat at the end of the aisle and close to the door so you can leave a church service/concert/ball game/school event/graduation/baby shower quickly, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever cried through an entire church service/concert/ball game/school event/graduation/baby shower, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you still have your child's phone number stored in your cell phone even though you personally canceled his phone service, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever called your child's phone number, knowing she wouldn't answer, but you just couldn't help yourself, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been dumbfounded by the insignificant things people complain about on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever smiled and said, "Fine" when someone asked, "How are you doing?" even though it was a lie, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever tried to run away from Christmas, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wanted to throat punch someone who said, "At least you have other children," "God must have needed him in Heaven," "You can always have another baby," or some other such nonsense, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever had to restrain yourself from typing a snarky comment to a parent bemoaning their child's first day of kindergarten/high school graduation/week away at summer camp on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever typed a snarky comment to a parent bemoaning their child's first day of kindergarten/high school graduation/week away at summer camp on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever stuttered around on your response when asked, "How many children do you have?" you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever lied when asked "How many children do you have?" because you just couldn't deal with the deer-in-the-headlights look at that particular moment, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever choked when the waitress asks, "How many?", you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever gotten out 4 plates for dinner and had to put one back, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever avoided an entire aisle at the grocery store because it contains your child's favorite food, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever slept with your child's hairbrush/stuffed animal/pillow, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever dreaded having a family picture taken, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been moved to unquenchable tears when singing a song about Heaven, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever found yourself marking time by "before" and "after", you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever looked at a picture of yourself "before" and wondered who that person is, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wondered if/how to plan a birthday party for someone who's not going to be there, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been told, "You're so strong ... I could never be that strong," and you know that you're really not strong at all, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever heard, "I don't know how you do it," and you don't know how you do it either, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever had to make absolutely unthinkable decisions at a time when you're least prepared to make them, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever found yourself feeling completely alone in a crowd of people you once knew very well, maybe even your own family, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wished you could just completely disappear during a particular month or months, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been left gasping when someone posts a picture of your child that you've never seen before on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever felt grief so heavy that it was literally difficult to sit upright, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been jealous of older people because they're probably going to get to Heaven before you do, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever thought you might be going crazy ... or are pretty sure you really are going crazy, you might be a bereaved parent.


That's a very negative list, isn't it?  And understandably so.  The loss of a child is an incredibly painful, life-changing experience.  But, that being said, it's not without some positive things as well, particularly if you have a sustaining faith in a good, loving God.

Here are a few which come to mind ...

If your focus on the here-and-now has been replaced with an eternal perspective, you might be a bereaved parent.

If your penchant for small talk has been replaced with a desire to discuss weighty topics of eternal significance, you might be a bereaved parent.

If your shallow relationships with others have been replaced with deep, rich, life-long friendships based on common bonds you wish you didn't have, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find yourself appreciating and savoring every moment you have with your surviving children, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find great joy in watching your surviving children grow up, because that's what children are supposed to do, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you live with a heightened awareness that bad stuff happens, and you need to make the most of every opportunity you have to spend time with your loved ones, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find yourself with a desire to learn all you can about Heaven, because your child now lives there, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you are deeply saddened and moved to heartfelt prayer every time you hear about a parent who has just lost a child, you might be a bereaved parent.

If, because of an awareness of the fragility of life, you have a new urgency to show people the hope that is only available through Jesus Christ, you might be a bereaved parent.


If you are a bereaved parent yourself, and would like to get connected with others who understand the experience of losing a child, I encourage you to check out the While We're Waiting ministry.  Click here to visit our website, or here to join our faith-based Facebook community for bereaved parents.

Monday Mourning -- #nationwidefail

Well, it's been a looooong time since I've written here, hasn't it?  There's really no reason for that, other than I've just been very busy!  Not the kind of busy that I used to be when Bethany was still at home, running from basketball game, to track meet, to softball field, but busy nonetheless.  My busy-ness these days is due to the rapid growth of the While We're Waiting ministry, which I'll discuss in another post.  It's a good kind of busy, but the blog is what seems to take the back burner these days.

bBut after last night's Super Bowl commercial for Nationwide Insurance, I just had to squeeze in a few minutes to write my thoughts this evening.  Did you see it?  It features a little boy, and sucks you right in with cuteness.  The kid is talking about all the things he's not going to have the opportunity to do, like learn to ride a bike, get "cooties" when a girl kisses him on the bus, travel with his best friend, or get married.  Then he says he won't get to do all these things because he's dead due to a household accident.  The ad then shows a very full bathtub, an open cabinet under the kitchen sink, and a large television which has fallen over, presumably on a small child, and informs us that preventable accidents are the leading cause of death in children.

For a few moments, my mind couldn't even process what I had seen.  Did I misunderstand something?  Did I really hear what I thought I heard coming out of that kid's mouth?  Surely not!  No reputable company could possibly be that insensitive to families who may have experienced the loss of a child!  I could literally feel my heart break into a thousand tiny pieces as I knew the pain this commercial would stir up in the hearts of so many.  I  had trouble sleeping last night and the icky feelings brought up by this commercial have stuck with me all day today.

Here are a few of my random thoughts ...

I don't need to be reminded (during the Superbowl, of all times!) of all the experiences I'm missing out on with Hannah.  Yes, I got to see her learn to ride a bike, but I didn't have the opportunity to see her go to college with her best friend, and I will never celebrate at her wedding.  Shoot, I can't even watch the Super Bowl with her.  I have not forgotten that I'll never experience these things with her.  I live with that knowledge every day.

BUT, these are experiences I'M missing out on ... Hannah is not missing out on a thing!  That poor, pathetic kid in the commercial (what parent would agree to have their child play that role?) made it appear that because he was dead, he was missing all the fun stuff.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

I also didn't need to be reminded that children die, often in what the world calls "accidents."  Because of my role in the While We're Waiting ministry, I literally spend hours every day interacting with parents who have lost children.  Sometimes I think I have heard every possible horrific way a child can lose his or her life.  Believe me, it gets heavy.

BUT, I believe with all that is in me that God is sovereign, and that He has appointed the number of days each of us will live before we are born.  Psalm 139:16 says, "Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."  And Job 14:5 says, "A person's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed."  Therefore, the word "accident" seems to be misapplied here.  The 17-year-old son of one of our WWW board members drowned in six feet of water a little over a year ago.  This dad does not refer to what happened as an "accident", but rather the "incident" by which his son was taken to Heaven.

My daughter did not die from an "accident", but from cancer.  And even in that situation, Satan still whispers in my ear from time to time that it's somehow my fault that she is no longer here with us ... If only we'd discovered her tumor sooner, or gone to a different hospital, or tried a different treatment, or had more faith, etc., etc.  Satan is the father of lies, and I don't know a single bereaved parent who is not engaged in a daily battle with him.  This commercial, which referred to "preventable accidents" plays right into his hand.  Who's supposed to prevent them, if not the parents?  I've talked to so many parents who are so heavily burdened by guilt, they can hardly breathe.

BUT, the power of life and death is not in our hands.  As a parent, there is nothing I could have done to extend Hannah's life even one day past February 26, 2009.  If it wasn't brain cancer that took her to Heaven, it might have been one of those "preventable accidents."  God's purpose for Hannah was fulfilled in the number of days He gave her. I will NOT listen to the lies of Satan and accept any responsibility for her death.

Nationwide has issued a statement saying that this ad was not an attempt to sell insurance, but rather to bring awareness to the issue of child safety.  Eh.  Maybe.  If it was an attempt to sell insurance, it was clearly an epic fail, as I've seen a number of people today stating that they'll NEVER do business with Nationwide ... and I would include myself in that number.

BUT, here's the thing ... It doesn't matter who you buy your insurance from, no amount of insurance can prevent your death or guarantee you an eternity in Heaven when you die.  We can try to create our own insurance by going to church, or being a good neighbor, or donating money to worthy causes ... but unless we have a relationship with Jesus Christ, that stuff means absolutely nothing.

If this commercial causes you to seriously consider where you're going to spend eternity, then maybe it wasn't such a failure after all.

Monday Mourning -- Not Because of How We Feel

Many of you know that the While We're Waiting ministry hosts a Facebook page.  Actually, we host two Facebook pages -- a public one, which we encourage anyone who is interested in this ministry to "like" and follow -- and a private one, with membership limited just to parents who have lost a child.

 
Something amazing has been going on on that private page this month.

While the rest of Facebook has been filled with posts from people doing their obligatory "30 Days of Thanks" during the month of November ... stating their thankfulness for everything from the health of their children to the fact that the lines at Wal-Mart were short on that particular day ... the members of the "While We're Waiting -- Support for Bereaved Parents" page have been sharing the things they're grateful for as well.

And the list has been nothing short of astounding.  And humbling.

The fact that these statements of thanks come from hearts which have been crushed into pieces make them all the more precious.  I believe that they are a sweet aroma to the Lord, made all the sweeter by the sacrifice required to see these things as gifts from Him.

Here is just a peek into this amazing list.  These parents are thankful:

• for the fog of grief that helped them survive the initial days, weeks, and months after their child's death
• that their child is no longer suffering from physical illness, addiction, or mental illness; or for those who died young, that they never experienced heartache
• that they already had appropriate clothing to wear to the funeral; or that they had friends who helped "dress them"
• for their dog, who forced them to get outside every day for walks
• for the opportunity to be transparent and authentic with their surviving children
• for co-workers who did not expect them to be "back to normal" right away
• that their son had not had a haircut recently so they could save a lock of his hair
• for people who opened their homes so extended family had a place to stay around the time of the funeral
• for items they found after their child's death with their child's handwriting on them
• for a friend who brought their son a birthday cake after his death 
• for a friend who brought toilet paper to their home
• that their child died in their own backyard
• that their child died doing something he or she loved
• that they were able to hold their child as she took her last breaths
• for supportive teachers and administrators at their child's school
• for friends who organized pictures, details, etc., for their child's funeral
• for their child's salvation
• that their child's death makes the need for a Savior so very real
• for people who began a relationship with Jesus or renewed that relationship because of their child's death
• that their last words to their child were, "I love you."

Not exactly the typical "What I'm Thankful For" list we often hear at this time of year.

The picture above, from Ann Voskamp, perfectly captures what is happening here.  These parents are thankful to God, not because of how they feel, but because of Who He is.  I've made that picture my Facebook profile picture this month, just to remind myself of the truth of it.

Many of these precious folks also expressed thankfulness for the While We're Waiting ministry, and I can't tell you how humble and grateful that makes me feel.  WWW is a gift God has given us as part of our healing process after Hannah's homegoing, and we feel privileged that He has entrusted us with it.  

May we always be thankful to God for Who He is, and not because of how we feel.

Monday Mourning -- When Your Soul Hurts

It's October.  Almost the 22nd of October, in fact.  A day that I once anticipated with great joy ... the day I met this little beauty.  She was induced, so I knew when I woke up that Tuesday morning 23 years ago (Did I really sleep the night before? I don't think so!) I would finally get to see our baby for the first time.  To add to the anticipation, we did not know if this baby was going to be a girl or a boy ... something almost unheard of these days!

I remember the doctor exclaiming, "It's a girl!"  Such a joy flooded my soul.  I had only brothers growing up.  I knew nothing about raising girls ... but I was thrilled, nonetheless.

From that day on, October 22nd was a day to look forward to.  Carefully selecting birthday presents, lovingly wrapping them, anticipating her excitement as she opened them.  Choosing a theme for her birthday party, making (or usually buying, ha!) her a cake, sending invitations to her friends.  Watching her grow from a baby to a toddler, a toddler to a child, a child to an awkward pre-teen, an awkward pre-teen to a beautiful young lady.  October 22nd was a joyful mile marker, a date to celebrate another year of our precious girl's life.

On October 22, 2008, Hannah turned 16 ... truly a milestone birthday!  Her gift that year was a bright red Mazda Protege'.  It was a hand-me-down from me, but that didn't matter to her.  She was thrilled!  She drove it around proudly for about four months before she was diagnosed with cancer.  The effects of brain surgery and radiation made her unable to drive and she surrendered her keys without a word of complaint.

Hannah's 17th birthday came around about three weeks after we found out that her cancer had returned with a vengeance.  Three weeks after her doctor, with tears in his eyes, told us that she had less than a five percent chance of survival.  And two days before she lost every strand of her thick, curly hair.  That was a tough birthday.  How do you celebrate your child's birthday, knowing that unless God does a miracle, it will be her last?  Somehow He gave us the grace to get through that day and the months that followed.

Hannah's 18th birthday came around eight months after she went to Heaven.  Oh, how I dreaded that day!  I really don't remember much about it, but I know that Brad, Bethany, and I went to her grave and covered it with rose petals.  I also made a Mississippi Mud Cake, which had become Hannah's annual birthday request once she outgrew the Barney and Barbie cakes.  Over the past several years, those two things have become a tradition on her birthday.  Not exactly the way we envisioned marking October 22nd for the rest of our lives.

That brings us to this week ... the week Hannah would be turning 23.  Twenty-three?  Twenty-three is a grown woman, a college graduate, someone who is starting a career, possibly married, maybe even with a new baby in her arms. It's so hard to see a 23-year-old woman standing in the place of the 17-year-old girl who left us.

I'm not going to lie.  Weeks like this are tough ... even though this will be Hannah's sixth birthday in Heaven.  My heart hurts.  My soul hurts.  Especially when I contrast these October 22nds with the October 22nds of the past.

In Psalm 42, the psalmist writes these words ...

3 "My tears have been my food
    day and night,
while people say to me all day long,
    “Where is your God?”
4 These things I remember
    as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go to the house of God
    under the protection of the Mighty One
with shouts of joy and praise
    among the festive throng."

Even as he weeps, he remembers how he used to shout with joy and praise while he participated in festivities.

Just like our family used to get so much joy from celebrating our girl on October 22nd, a day that is now marked by tears.

But, thankfully, he doesn't stop there.  In the very next verse he says this ...

5 "Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God."

Did you catch that?  The psalmist talks to himself!  Well, actually, he talks to his soul ... and he reminds it that there's really no reason to be downcast and disturbed.  He reminds it (and us) that we need to put our hope in God, and that even though our heart and soul are hurting, we can still praise Him.  Truly a sacrifice of praise.

My parents always told me it wasn't nice to "talk back" when I was growing up, and we taught our girls the same thing.  But you know what?  This week, when my soul tells me I should be downcast and disturbed because I'll be visiting Hannah's grave on her birthday, instead of celebrating with her in person, I'm going to talk back to it.  I'm going to tell it where my hope is, and that that I'm going to choose to praise my God.  Because He is my Savior, and He was Hannah's Savior, I will spend eternity celebrating October 22nds with her!  Truly a reason to rejoice, even on those days when my soul hurts.

Monday Mourning -- Candy Land

Anybody remember the game Candy Land?  I absolutely loved playing Candy Land when I was a kid, and my girls loved it, too.

It was our favorite game to play together, and was always our go-to game when one of them had to stay home from school because they were sick.

I can still remember how excited Hannah would get when she got to take one of the shortcuts.  She'd say, "Look Mommy!  I get to go up the 'Wainbow Twail!'"  For the uninitiated, she was referring to the "Rainbow Trail" ... a shortcut that allowed you to skip a large portion of the long, winding trail.  There was another shortcut called the Gumdrop Pass, which took you through the Gumdrop Mountains, but that one wasn't nearly as exciting because you didn't get to skip as much.

The game was also a lot of fun (or not!) because of the unpredictability.  Your little gingerbread person could just be racing along, making great progress, almost to the Candy Castle, and BAM, you'd draw a Plumpy card and you're almost back to the beginning.  Or, you could be dragging along, feeling like you're getting nowhere, and WOO HOO, you'd pull a Queen Frostine card, and suddenly you're back in the running.

For some reason, I was thinking about Candy Land the other day (I know, random, right?) and it struck me how much this simple children's game is like the journey of the grieving parent.

I guess because we hear so much about the "stages of grief", we sometimes get the idea that the road of grief is a straight shot through all those stages, and that everybody travels the same route.  In truth, it's much more like the path on a Candy Land board, constantly meandering back and forth and folding in on itself.  Our path to the Candy Castle (healing) is a winding one, and it's different for every person.

And as much as we'd like to take the Rainbow Trail or even the Mountain Pass to skip some of the really tough parts, we can't.  We have to take every step through the Gumdrop Mountains, the Lollipop Woods, and the Molasses Swamp.

Sometimes we'll be moving along the trail and think we're doing okay ... even pretty well ... when Wham! Something hits us out of the blue, and knocks us back the way we came, maybe even almost all the way back to the beginning.  And sometimes we feel like we're not making any progress at all, when God gives us a special boost of encouragement and suddenly we're at the Ice Cream Sea.

One thing I do know about Candy Land ... the only way to finish the game is to keep on playing.  If we grow weary of the setbacks, and we lay our little gingerbread person down beside the trail, we'll never make it to the Candy Castle.  Or if we conclude that the game is just not fair and throw it up in the air, scattering playing pieces and cards everywhere, healing becomes even more elusive.

And the only way we can keep playing is to hold the hand of Jesus as we walk.  Maybe that's why the people who made the Candy Land game made those little playing pieces with their hands out to the sides like that ... to remind us to hold His hand on the journey.

Or maybe I'm the only one who sees all these crazy parallels between Candy Land and the grief journey.  That is certainly possible.  :)

Monday Mourning -- How to Help a Grieving Friend (Part 4)

This will be the final installment of a series of posts I wrote back in November of 2010 about how to help those who are grieving.  I hope the re-posting of this series has been helpful to you as you encounter those who are hurting and heartbroken by their circumstances in life.

As I read over this post today, I had to smile when I read the second to the last paragraph, where I refer to a "new venture" God had placed on our hearts.  That "new venture" is now known as "While We're Waiting", and God has indeed blessed it beyond our wildest dreams.  I'm so grateful and humbled that God has entrusted this ministry to us.

OK, so we're finally coming to the end of my seemingly endless blogging on grief. Whew! I don't know about you, but it's been kind of a rough series of posts for me. I've just learned so much over the last couple of years...things that I had absolutely no idea about before...and I've wanted to share it all. As I said when I started all of this (please read the last three posts if this is your first visit to this blog), I just don't think we spend enough time talking about grief, especially in our churches, when we are surrounded by people slogging their way through it.

So, back to Nancy Guthrie's four needs of grieving people:

They have intense sadness that is lonely and lingering and needs to be respected.

They have significant questions that need to be answered in light of Scripture.

They have broken relationships that need to be healed.

And finally,

They have a deep desire to discover some meaning and purpose in their loss.

Once again, I think she's right on with this one. It has made a huge difference to us that we've been able to actually see God's purpose being fulfilled through Hannah's death. I think we've been particularly blessed in that regard due to the fact that Hannah actually prayed for a storm in order to give God glory and to bring others closer to Him. We've seen her prayer answered over and over again, and it continues to be answered even today.

I really believe there is some purpose in every loss...we sometimes just have to look a lot harder to see it. I don't believe that God does things randomly. Now, we may not find that purpose until we get to Heaven someday...and we may have to learn to live with that. He didn't promise us answers, but He did promise us Himself.

I think that Nancy could have added a subpoint under this one, but she didn't...so I will. Here it is.

They have a deep desire that their loved one be remembered.

You know, when an elderly person dies, they leave behind a legacy. They have children, grandchildren, maybe even great grandchildren...all of whom carry their DNA. They've had a lifetime to build relationships with others, and their influence in life may have been very widespread. Long after they leave this earth, their legacy lives on through their descendants and the people they've influenced during their long lifetime.

When a child dies, there is none of that. That child will never have a single descendant; their relationships have been few; and their circle of influence has been limited. After they leave this earth, their parents, siblings, extended family members and close friends are still filled with their memories, but not many others.

This is why so many bereaved parents start foundations, establish scholarships, or launch ministries following the death of their children. They have a deep desire not only for their child to be remembered, but also to bring good out of a tragic situation. Just a few great projects that have sprung up out of immense grief are the following: Keep the Faith, Kamo's Kids, and Vincent & Annabella's Garden. God has a way of bringing beauty out of ashes, but we must be willing to let Him use our sorrow for His purposes.

We've been so grateful that He's allowed us numerous opportunities to share His glory through Hannah's story, and that He's brought the Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry into being as a result of our experiences with cancer. We are particularly excited about two things that He is doing right now.

We have been asked to speak at the Arkansas Children's Hospital Hematology/Oncology Memorial Service on Sunday, November 21st. This is an annual service that is held for families who have lost children to cancer over the past year. I must say that I am thrilled and terrified about this opportunity all at the same time. Thrilled, because I am looking forward to sharing what God has taught us over the past 20 months, but terrified at the thought of being back at Children's Hospital. I have not been back there since the day Hannah was rolled out of there on our way to the hospice center. It will be a difficult day emotionally, so prayers would be greatly appreciated!!

We are also excited about a new venture that God has placed on our hearts. I don't want to disclose too many details yet, because it is all still coming together, but we have been meeting with another bereaved couple about it, and it is very apparent that God is at work. That's all I'm going to say about it right now, but I will share more when I'm able. We would also appreciate prayers about this project, even though I'm not going to tell you what it is at this point. Just please pray that God will keep His hand upon it, that we will follow His leadership, and that He will bring it together according to His will.

Thanks for sticking with me through this whole series on grief. I've often said that even if I knew nobody else ever read it, I'd continue to write this blog simply because it helps me so much. I am thankful that there are people who read it, though, and it always makes my day when I hear from someone that something I wrote helped them in some way. It's humbling, too, and even a little bit scary to know that so many people read what I write. I pray that I will always be careful to follow God's leadership as I write. And thank YOU for your faithful prayers in that regard!!

Monday Mourning -- How to Help a Grieving Friend (Part 3)

It's Monday ... That means it's time for the third installment of "How to Help a Grieving Friend", a reprise of a series of blog posts I wrote back in the fall of 2010.  This one is a bit lengthy (sorry about that!) but I hope it is helpful to you as you encounter those who are hurting.  It's from November 4, 2010 ...

Picking up where we left off.....(Please read the last two posts if you're new to this blog).....I'd like to share more about our experience with grief after losing our daughter to cancer a little over 20 months ago. Again, credit goes to Nancy Guthrie and Greg Laurie for the basic outline of these thoughts.

According to Nancy, grieving people have four primary needs. In my last two posts, I discussed the first two:

Grieving people have intense sadness that is lonely and lingering that needs to be respected.

Grieving people have significant questions that need to be answered in light of Scripture.
Now, for the third:

Grieving people have broken relationships that need to be healed.

A crisis or grief situation can cause enormous stress within a family, and in outside relationships as well. Again, my comments on this topic are those of a bereaved parent, since that is the only kind of grief I'm familiar with.

Have you ever heard the statistic that 75% (or 85% or 90%!) of couples divorce after the death of a child? I certainly had...and then I was actually reminded of it by a few "helpful" people after Hannah went to Heaven. But did you know that that statistic is a myth? Recent studies show that the divorce rate for bereaved couples is actually BELOW the national average! If you don't believe me, google it! A 2006 study by The Compassionate Friends (the nation's largest self-help bereavement organization for families) actually shows that only 16% of bereaved couples divorce. Who knew?

Now, that's not to say that there are not stresses on a marriage resulting from the death of a child (especially if the marriage is already strained before the loss). There certainly are...not the least of which is the fact that husbands and wives tend to grieve differently. Brad and I certainly do, and it requires a great deal of patience and understanding to allow each other the space and time to do so. There are times when we might wonder if our spouse will ever be the same...and you know what? They probably won't! Losing a child is a life-transforming experience...Neither spouse will ever be the same. But that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. If we allow Him, God can use our experiences to change us for the better, and to bring us into an even stronger relationship with Him and with our spouses. In one of her books, Nancy Guthrie describes the relationship between bereaved spouses as that of two wounded soldiers, limping off the battlefield, leaning heavily on each other, basically holding each other up as they are walking. Now that's a word picture I can relate to!

Relationships with extended family can also become strained, as expectations regarding holidays, family gatherings, birthdays, etc., can become a source of stress. Often, grieving families want to start completely new traditions, and extended family members may not understand. They are grieving, too, and sometimes just don't know how they can help their hurting loved ones navigate these difficult waters. Some bereaved families choose to just "skip Christmas" or other holidays for a year or so. We didn't skip Christmas last year (though we considered it!), but we did do some things differently, because some of our family traditions were just too painful. I'm chafing a little bit at the Christmas displays I'm already seeing at Wal-Mart...We just work at surviving one holiday at a time these days. Hannah's birthday is behind us...we tackle Thanksgiving next...I'll start thinking about Christmas after that.

Then there are those people outside of the grieving family...the people who love them, who are concerned about them, and who desperately want to say something to make them "feel better." These people are well-meaning, and have only the family's best interest at heart. But...some of the things they say can hurt. Or even if they don't really hurt, at best they're not helpful. Here's a list of some rather "unhelpful" things that people commonly say to grieving people:

"I understand what you're going through." (Unless you really, truly do...if, for example, you've also had a child who died of cancer. And even then, nobody REALLY understands another person's grief.)

"He/She is in a better place." (Yes, I'm glad Hannah is in a better place...but I really wish she was still here with us!)

"It's a good thing you have another child." (Ummm...No comment.)

"God always picks His best flowers first." (What does that even mean?)

"God must have needed him/her more than you did." (But couldn't He have left him/her here for a little longer? I really needed him/her, too!)

"God must have wanted another angel in Heaven." (I'm really not sure this one passes theological muster. I don't think Hannah is an angel...I believe she is far superior to the angels.)

"How are you doing?"...followed by a hand on your arm and a compassionate look deep into your eyes with the follow-up question..."But how are you REALLY doing?" (Especially if you are in a public place...that second question can often lead to the release of a lot of pent-up emotion that the person may not wish to share with everyone.) Let me also say...If you are a very close friend or family member of the grieving person, you are in a private place, and you are prepared for an honest response, it's okay to ask these questions.

Then there's the other extreme...the avoiders. I understand this group very well, because I have been (and still kind of am) one of them. These are the folks who see a grieving family coming down the church hallway or down the aisle at Wal-Mart, and suddenly realize that they need to go to the bathroom, or remember that there was something they forgot to pick up in another aisle. I know this because I've done it!! I've done it for two different reasons...one was that I simply didn't know what to say and was afraid of saying something wrong, and the other was that I was afraid I might start crying, choke up, and not be able to say anything at all. Did you catch that both reasons involved being afraid? I really think that's the root of the avoidance issue.

Some grieving families are very hurt by the fact that people avoid them, or may spend time with them, but avoid the subject that they most want to talk about. For me, personally, this has not been a problem, because I understand the avoiders so well. For many people, though, this can be a source of great pain and lead to broken relationships.

I hope you're not beating yourself up right now and thinking, "Oh no! I've been doing (or saying) everything wrong for my grieving friend or family member!" Please don't do that! As Paul would say, "I am the chief" of wrongdoers in this area, and only learned better through the death of my own child. I still slide back into my avoiding habits from time to time...Thankfully, God is still working on me.

So, what's the "right" thing to do when you encounter a grieving person or family? I think a lot depends on how well you know the person. If they are just an acquaintance or someone you have a relatively shallow relationship with, it is probably best to say something like, "I'm sorry about what happened. I'm praying for you." This is highly preferable to "How are you doing?" because it doesn't require a response from the grieving person. If you knew the person who passed away, a brief word about what they meant to you might be appropriate. If you're in a private setting, you might share a little more deeply about what the person meant to you, but be careful about doing this in public settings. It may be more than the grieving person can handle at that particular moment. Honestly, particularly early on in my grief, when I was in public...church, a football game, work...sometimes I was just trying to make it through the event. I would walk through a crowd thinking to myself, "Please don't stop me to talk about Hannah, please don't stop me to talk about Hannah, please don't stop me to talk about Hannah." I knew that if somebody did, I would totally lose it. A brief "I'm praying for you" or a quick hug, I could handle, but not much more than that. Your prayers are absolutely the best gift you can give to a grieving person.

If you know the person well...just love them. Spend time with them. Let them talk. Don't be afraid to bring up the person who has died...I can promise you they're already thinking about them anyway! Allow them to share their questions and struggles without judging. Give them space to work through their emotions, and don't expect them to get over it quickly. Be prepared to spend a lot of time listening, and refrain from attempting to "fix" them. Only God can do that!

I'm almost done...Just a couple more thoughts to share...I promise!

Take a few moments to talk to your children about how to help people who are grieving, especially if you know of a situation they may be encountering with a friend or classmate. When Bethany returned to school a few days after Hannah's funeral, she was met with the following comments from fellow students: "I know just how you feel...my dog died last week." "Hey, I heard your sister kicked the bucket." "How come your sister had to die on my birthday?" I'm not kidding. Her classmates actually said these things to her. Please, please talk to your kids.

Sometimes grieving people have a hard time returning to church after their loss. There are a variety of reasons for this. The memories make it hard...If you've been accustomed to sitting together as a family in church, it can be extraordinarily difficult to come back without one of your family members. Oh, how I miss hearing Hannah singing next to me. The music makes it hard...Music can always trigger emotion, especially when you're grieving. And some of those praise songs can be hard to sing when your heart is heavy and your faith is shaken. The people make it hard (although they don't mean to!)...a grieving person can sometimes feel like they're in a fishbowl, and that everyone is watching them to see "how they're doing." The sermons can make it hard...some messages (particularly those about families) can be difficult for a grieving person to hear. Finally, the expectations make it hard...We tend to have a certain expectation for how people are supposed to behave at church. We dress ourselves up, pick up our Bibles, and put on our smiles. I'll be honest...sometimes it's just too much effort to keep that smile on for two (or more) straight hours. If a grieving person or family doesn't return to church right away after their loss, it may be that they are just not ready to face all of that yet.

I actually started writing this post three days ago. (I'm sorry if it feels like you started reading it three days ago :-) !) I never intended for it to be this long. I've actually lost sleep over this post...waking up early, early in the mornings and thinking about what I wanted to share. My intention is not to criticize or make anyone feel bad about something they've said to a grieving person. And I certainly can't speak for all grieving people...many of them might feel completely differently than I do about some of these things. I can only share from my own experience. And my hope and prayer in sharing all of this is that it will open your eyes and give you a better understanding of those of us who grieve.

Finally...If you are someone who is grieving, and your heart has been broken by something that someone has (or hasn't) said, let me share one last thought with you. The day I started this post, I stopped by our local Christian bookstore to pick up a new 2011 planner, and found a neat little flip calendar for my desk. It's called "Rain on Me: Daily Moments of Hope and Encouragement" by Holley Gerth. When I sat down at my desk to start writing this blog, I opened up that calendar to November 4th, and this is what it said,

"If people have said things to you in God's name that have wounded you deeply, if you sit in the pew on Sunday morning and feel utterly alone in your pain, if you have been hurt by the very ones intended to heal you--then please know that is not God's desire for you. We are imperfect people, and we are capable of tearing each other apart in ways that break our Heavenly Father's heart."

How cool is that? On the very day I sit down to write about grieving people having broken relationships, that is what my brand new calendar says. Someone must have needed to hear that. Our Heavenly Father grieves with us, and some day, He will set all things right.

Monday Mourning -- How to Help a Grieving Friend (Part 2)

This past weekend, we had the amazing opportunity to spend a great deal of time with some wonderful moms and dads ... all of whom have children in Heaven.  We hosted our very first While We're Waiting Weekend for Bereaved Parents "on the road" this weekend ... traveling all the way to southern Mississippi to share a few days with several couples and singles at a beautiful lake home.  On our way home last night, we had the privilege of meeting with three more bereaved, but believing, couples in the Jackson, Mississippi, area.  We started our visit at 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and by the time we looked up, it was 9:30 at night!  It's always amazing to me how quickly time flies by when like-minded moms and dads get together.

But that's not what I want to write about tonight.  I do plan to share more about our weekend, but, honestly, I need a couple of days to regroup ... I'm exhausted!  But it's a good kind of tired, if you know what I mean.

Last Monday, I began the reprisal of a series of blog posts I shared in the fall of 2010.  All of these posts have to do with grief in general, and how we can help friends who are grieving specifically.  So tonight, here's the second of these posts.  Look for the third one next week.

 In today's post, I want to share some more thoughts about grief. If this is your first visit to my blog, you might want to read my last post to get an idea where I'm going with this and why. Again, I want to give credit to books and interviews by Nancy Guthrie and Greg Laurie for the basic framework of this series of posts.

Nancy stated in an interview with the Gospel Coalition Blog on August 4, 2010, that grieving people have four primary needs. After countless discussions with bereaved parents, and through our own experience after losing our daughter to cancer, we've found her statements to be very accurate. 

In my last post, I shared the first need:

Grieving people have lingering sadness that is lonely and lingering that needs to be respected.
Today, I want to share her second point, and discuss it in light of our experience.

Grieving people have significant questions that need to be answered in light of Scripture.

As I've stated before, I've been in church basically my entire life. But until my teenaged daughter was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I was quite content to stay in the shallow end of the theological pool. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I had ever even learned how to swim...I really think I was still sitting in an inner tube wearing floaties. Not really a pretty picture of a 41-year-old woman!

But when that diagnosis came, I suddenly found myself in the deep end of the pool with a hole in my inner tube and the floaties stripped away. I'm so thankful that even though I'd never really had to apply them, I'd been getting "swimming lessons" my entire life. I could at least dog paddle, I knew the Master Lifeguard, and I had access to all of His written swimming lessons. I knew where to turn for help.

But, still, there were questions...deep questions that were not easily answered.

Why does a 16-year-old girl who is serving the Lord get cancer?

If God is a God of love, why doesn't He heal my child?

Why pray, when God's going to do what He's going to do anyway?

Does God even care about what happens to our family?

You may remember that we went to a Respite Retreat with other bereaved couples over Labor Day weekend. We spent hours and hours just sitting around and talking. There were no shallow conversations at that retreat...all of us were navigating the deep end of the pool, and that's what we wanted to talk about.

A common experience of bereaved parents is that they no longer enjoy "small talk." Who has time to talk about the weather, or the latest ball game, or even politics (make sure you vote today!) when there are life and death issues to discuss?! One of the moms at the retreat exclained, "I love it here! Everywhere else we go people want to talk about Kindergarten, and we want to talk about Calculus!" I knew exactly what she meant.

I still don't have all the answers to my deep theological questions. But there are a few things I know:

God is good, He is in control, and He's working out His plan. Sin, evil, cancer, death...all of these things will come to an end in His perfect time.

God is God, He sees the big picture, and He has a purpose in everything that happens (even if I don't like it...okay, even if I hate it!)

God is sovereign, and He can be trusted. I don't have to understand everything, I just have to rest in the knowledge of His care.

These are the kinds of things that grieving people need to be assured of. Don't try to answer all their questions with "Sunday School" answers, but listen to their questions without judging. Love them, pray for them, and gently guide them to the comfort that comes only from the Master Lifeguard.

Monday Mourning -- How to Help a Grieving Friend

People often ask me how they can help a friend who has lost a child.  They see the tears, they feel the heartbreak, they hear the grief in their friend's voice ... but they have no idea what to do and say or what not to do or say.  A few years back, I wrote a series of posts about that very thing, and I often direct people to those posts when I'm asked that question.  Since I've been hearing that question more and more recently, I thought I'd reprise that series of posts.  I'll be posting one each "Monday Mourning" for the next four weeks.

So here we go ... This one originally appeared on the blog on October 31, 2010:

You know, I've been attending church for my entire life. My parents made sure we were there every time the doors were open. Sure, when I went to college, there were some Sundays that I attended Boxsprings Baptist (an old OBU joke), but for the most part, I was in church. As often as we've moved since we've been married, we've always made finding a church home a priority. So over the years, I've been in literally hundreds of church services, Bible studies, and Sunday School classes.

And in all those years, I've never heard a single sermon or Sunday School lesson on grief. Until the death of my daughter in February 2009, I didn't know ANYTHING about grief. I had never learned anything about it at church, and I certainly had never experienced it. I had never lost anyone close to me...grandparents, yes, but grandparents are "supposed" to die. I had no idea what it was like to be deeply, achingly sad. I also had no idea how many sad people there were around me. I've learned a lot over the last couple of years.

So, when Brad and I were asked to share with the deacon body at our church last week, we knew right away what we wanted to talk about...grief. And who needs to know more about ministering to grieving people than the deacons? It was the perfect opportunity to share some of what we've learned.

I'd like to share some of that presentation with you over the next few posts. Many of the thoughts I'm going to share originate with Nancy Guthrie and Greg Laurie, both of whom have lost children. I'll also be adding lots of our own experiences and stories. My goal is to be as transparent and honest as possible, to try to give you a window into our grief. I'll be writing from the perspective of a grieving parent, because that's the only kind of grief I know. My prayer is that God will use something I write to help you personally, if you find yourself in a season of sorrow, or that He will provide you with some sort of insight to help a grieving friend or loved one.

In a recent interview, Nancy Guthrie discussed four needs that grieving people share. The first was this:

They have intense sadness that is lonely and lingering and needs to be respected.

Here's how ignorant I used to be about grief...I honestly thought that when someone lost a loved one, they were really sad for awhile...maybe about six months or so...and then they just kind of got over it. I had no idea how long it takes to work through grief (and it is work!). It's been twenty months since Hannah left for Heaven, and we are definitely not "over it", nor do I think we ever will be. Greg Laurie describes losing his son as somewhat similar to the amputation of a limb. The wound from an amputation heals over time, but your limb is never restored. Unlike a broken leg, which heals and allows you to return to normal life, an amputation changes your life forever. 

The intense sadness of grief tends to come in waves. Sometimes the waves are fairly gentle and can be ridden out, and sometimes they are tsunamis that suck you down, spin you around, and leave you gasping for breath. Depending on the status of those waves, you may see the grieving person smiling and doing "fine", or you may see them doubled over in tears. You can't make assumptions on how a person "is doing" based on what you see at any given moment. Because in the very next moment, things could change. 

We need to respect a person's need to grieve by giving them the time and space to do so. The person may not be able to return to their normal activities right away....or they might. They might find comfort in returning to a routine. They may want to talk about their loss...or they may not. Think back to the story of Job in the Bible. His friends sat with him in complete silence for seven days...things fell apart when they opened their mouths! Unless you are a very close friend or family member, don't ask them, "How are you doing?" That is an incredibly difficult question for a grieving person to answer. For one thing, the answer could vary widely depending on the status of the waves at that particular moment. And, there is no simple answer to that question. Don't ask it unless you have plenty of time to sit and listen to what might be a brutally honest response. 

Saying "Let me know if you need anything" isn't particularly helpful either. Someone who is going through an intense period of grief may not be emotionally able to ask for the help they need. It is much better to figure out what their needs are and take steps to meet them. A wonderful neighbor took care of our dog when we spent long days at the hospital. People brought food to the extended family staying at our house while we were at the hospice center in Little Rock. There was a hot meal waiting on our kitchen counter the evening we arrived home after saying our final good-byes to Hannah. Dear friends collected pictures and personal items of Hannah's and arranged them beautifully at the visitation and funeral. I could never have done that on my own. We didn't ask for any of these things...people just obeyed the Holy Spirit's promptings and did them. And while a grieving person may forget a lot of things...these kinds of things are never forgotten!

Grieving people need time, space, and "permission" to be sad. That sadness may last awhile. And that's okay.

More to come on my next Monday Mourning post ...

Monday Mourning -- The Highest Form of Love

This past Sunday, we had the opportunity to visit a rather large church where we set up a table with information about While We're Waiting and handed out brochures to those who were interested in learning more about the ministry.  We spent some time visiting with one of the pastors of this church who had lost his wife to cancer several years ago.  

This gentleman was very interested in While We're Waiting and the fact that its outreach is specifically to parents who have lost children, unlike other grief ministries which are more broadly focused, addressing all types of loss equally.

He said that, in his opinion, the loss of a child is a unique type of loss ... something different from any other ... and, as such, it needs to be addressed differently.  Which, of course, is exactly the need that While We're Waiting is seeking to meet.

Then he went on to say something that really struck me.  He said, "In fact, the bond between a parent and child is so strong, that is why I believe God chose to use that relationship to demonstrate His love for us.  When He gave up His own Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for our sins, He was showing the highest form of love."

It's worth saying again ... The bond between a parent and child is so strong, that is why God chose to use that relationship to demonstrate the magnitude of His love for us.  When He gave up His own Son, Jesus, to die on the cross to redeem us from our sin, He was illustrating the highest form of love.

Honestly, I had never thought about it in that way before.  But, wow, does it make God's gift of His Son just that much more meaningful.  And it makes me that much more grateful!

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life."  John 3:16

Monday Mourning -- The Walk

Every time we have a While We're Waiting event, I come away with a new thought, concept, or perspective just from listening to the other moms and dads there.  In fact, there are usually quite a few new things I learn.  I keep a notebook in my lap and try to write these nuggets down, because my memory is completely unreliable these days.

This month's While We're Waiting Weekend was no exception.  I scribbled down several bits of wisdom I wanted to remember.  The thing that has stuck with me the most from that weekend, though, I didn't even write down.  In fact, I don't even remember who said it ... I think it was one of the dads, but I could be wrong!  But I will never forget what he (or she?) said.

He brought up Isaiah 40:31 and said that he always felt that the Scripture was a little bit backward.  He said it had always seemed to him that we walk first, then we run, then we fly.  But, since losing his child, he understood it differently.  That "walking" was last, because that was the hardest thing ... the daily walk of a bereaved parent.

Wow!  That was so profound to me.  I think that's why I didn't write it down ... I was sort of frozen in thought for a few moments.  What he (she? I wish I could remember!) said was so true.

I think that many of us who have lost children, especially those of us who are Christians, are able to fly for awhile after their deaths.  I mean, we have our faith, we have our church family supporting us ... and we have this "responsibility" to be a good witness to others in the midst of our suffering.  Hey, I'm just keeping it real!  After all, people are watching us, and we can't let God down by completely falling apart, at least in public, right?  I've got my tongue in my cheek here, but I know that many of you understand what I'm saying.  Seriously, there is a period of time when we are buoyed up by the love and prayers of family and friends, and God mercifully grants a numbness that can keep us soaring through those early days.

Eventually, the numbness begins to wear off, and we hit the ground.  At this point, though, we're still able to run.  People are still sensitive to our loss, and are still kindly (if somewhat awkwardly, at times) reaching out to us and praying for us.  Our kids are being talked about, maybe even honored, and that's a good feeling.  Maybe our faith has been shaken, but it's stood the test, and with God's help, we're still running the race.

As time continues to pass and everyone else goes back to their normal lives, enjoying vacations with their families, celebrating holidays and posting pictures of their smiling children on Facebook, and angrily complaining when McDonalds gives them regular Coke instead of Diet Coke at the drive-through ... that's when the walking begins.  Our friends and family assume that surely we are "over it" by now, and we seldom, if ever, hear our child's name spoken anymore.

And every day, every minute, we miss our child.  There's an unoccupied bedroom, an empty seat at the table, and a gaping hole in our hearts.  This is when the truly hard work of grief begins.  Reality has set in, and we are finally beginning to fully realize that life will never be the same.  It's the walk, the daily walk, that can be so very tough.  In fact, sometimes it's more like a trudge than a walk.

So how do we keep from fainting as we walk this rocky road of grief?  The first part of the verse gives us the answer ... We wait on the Lord and allow Him to renew our strength.  In fact, in the verses just prior to this one, we are assured that He Himself never grows tired or weary, and that He gives strength and power to the weary and the weak.

So maybe it's not backwards.  It makes sense to me when I think about it that way.  And that encourages me as I walk (and sometimes trudge) this road each day.

"Do you not know?  Have you not heard?  The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He will not grow tired or weary, and His understanding no one can fathom.  He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.  Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."  Isaiah 40:28-31

Monday Mourning -- When It Doesn't Feel Like Spring

When our 17-year-old daughter, Hannah, was diagnosed with brain cancer at the end of  February 2008, I remember being thankful that we were facing this challenge in the springtime.  Somehow, seeing the blooming of the flowers and the fresh new leaves on the trees made dealing with the roller coaster of cancer seem easier.  It made me feel that, no matter what happened, we had hope.

But when the "no matter what" became reality as Hannah left for Heaven in February of 2009, it seemed that even nature went into mourning.  We have a beautiful dogwood tree on our property, just off our deck, and every spring that tree unfailingly burst into glorious bloom.

But not that spring ... Not a single bloom appeared on that dogwood that year.  It went directly from bud to leaf, without flowering.  Our neighbors' dogwoods bloomed right on schedule, but ours did not.  I will never forget how God allowed that tree to mourn with us that year.  It sure didn't feel like spring to us.

Springtime is not all blooms and butterflies, either.  Along with the new life of spring comes throat-clogging pollen, rampant weeds, and in Arkansas, tornadoes.  That's the way it is with grief, too ... just when we think we're making progress in healing, along comes one of those tornadoes without any warning, and BAM, we're right back there where there are no blooms on our trees.  Or maybe it's just that ever-present lump in our throat and watering eyes, or the ugly weeds of discouragement, guilt, anger, etc., that Satan plants in our minds.

Fast forward to the spring of 2010.  The dogwood blooms were back, in all their glory ... reminding us that even though we were still mourning the loss of our precious girl ... God was in control, and He had a good plan for us.  We still had to deal with the tornadoes, pollen, and weeds, but through these beautiful blooms, He reminded us of His faithfulness to us.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you.  Plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

There is a legend that the cross was constructed from a dogwood tree.  It is said that the tree was greatly distressed to be used for such a purpose, and that Jesus said to it, "Because of your pity for my suffering, never again shall the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used for a cross. Henceforth, it shall be slender, bent, and twisted, and its blossoms shall be in the form of a cross–two long and two short petals.  In the center of the outer edge of each petal will be the print of nails. In the center of the flower, stained with blood, will be a crown of thorns so that all who see it will remember."

Yes, that's just a legend.  But dogwoods always remind me of the cross and God's sacrifice of His own Son there.  And because of that sacrifice, it can always be springtime ... even when it doesn't feel like it.

I stepped out on my deck this morning and took a picture of that tree ... God's love in full bloom.

Monday Mourning -- "Resurrection"?

So, have you seen ABC's new show called "Resurrection"?  I confess I have not seen a single episode, but the commercials for it have made me a bit ... uncomfortable.

The premise of the show is this ... Small-town families find their long-dead loved ones suddenly arriving, unchanged after decades, on their doorsteps.  Nearly 14 million people tuned in for the premiere episode, making it the highest Sunday drama debut for ABC since 2006.

There was a time when I probably would have thought that was an awesome concept for a show, and I just might have tuned in with great anticipation.

Not anymore.

Now, I think watching it would be akin to torture.

The first time I saw the commercial for this new series (and, oh my, the promotion for it has been relentless), it honestly left me a bit breathless.  The looks on the older couples' faces as they saw their still-8-year-old son Jacob for the first time after he died in a drowning accident 32 years earlier ...!  Yes, they're just actors, and cognitively I know that ... but, oh, what a tug in my heart!  And then, the actress sitting on a church pew (who looks to be about the age Hannah would be now) saying tearfully, "Did I really die?"

This is the fondest dream of every parent who has lost a child ... to be reunited with them here on earth.  To wrap our arms around that child's neck and hold on for all we're worth.  To feel their arms wrap around us and squeeze us back.  To breathe in their scent, to hear their voice, to see their smile, to just look into their eyes and be still.  And then, finally, to talk to them.  And talk and talk and talk.  To say, "Yes, you really died, but now you're back!  And I'm never going to let you go again!"

Sigh.

But that's not the way it works.  I will never see Hannah again here on this earth.  I won't hug her, hold her hand, hear her voice, or sit beside her on her bed and giggle with her again.  People just aren't "resurrected" here on this earth.

But thank God, that's not the end of the story.  I believe that because Hannah trusted Jesus here on earth, she already lives again ... in Heaven.  And as much as I'd like to see her again here on this earth (and believe me, I do!), an earthly resurrection can't compare with a heavenly one.

An earthly resurrection is only temporary.  At some point, we'd have to say good-bye again.  Either she would die, or I would die.  And because of the fact that we have sin natures, our relationship would not be perfect ... we'd have disagreements and misunderstandings, and we might even get angry with each other sometimes.  We'd have to deal with all that comes along with living in a fallen world ... illness, injustice, terrorism, pain, grief, hunger, loss ... the list goes on and on.

A heavenly resurrection is eternal.  We'll never have to say good-bye again.  Our sin natures will be destroyed, so our relationship will be perfect, unmarred by any type of strife.  And we will live in a perfect world ... one without tears, one where we'll worship our Savior with nothing to hinder us.

So will I be watching the TV show "Resurrection"?  Nope, not me.  Why waste my time longing for something that can never happen, and even if it did, would only be a dim shadow of the real resurrection?  I prefer to fix my mind on the great resurrection that is to come in the future, because that's where my real hope lies!

"Jesus said to her (Martha), 'I am the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he lives.'"  John 11:25

Monday Mourning -- A Gift of Memories

Would you indulge me for just one more post about Hannah's five-year Heaven Day?

I really just have to share one more thing ... really, just one more.

You know, parents who have lost children (and I suppose anyone who has lost a loved one ... my only real experience with this is losing my daughter) live in dread of these kinds of dates.  I've actually named it ... I call it "The Tyranny of Dates."  You can't get away from them.  Just when you get through one -- your child's birthday, for example -- there's another one on the horizon.  Christmas, Mother's Day, the day she should have graduated from kindergarten or high school, the day he should have been born.  The calendar is relentless ... It never stops!

Now, I did learn pretty early on that the anticipation of the day is usually worse than the day itself.  Knowing that usually helps me in dealing with these days.  And this year, I was a bit distracted from the upcoming date by my dad's very unexpected open heart surgery (5 bypasses!) a week earlier.

I spent several days with my mom and dad as he dealt with numerous complications following his surgery.  Finally, he stabilized, and I was able to return home a couple of days before that dreaded date.

I knew this year was going to be different than any other, because I was going to be all alone.  My husband was in Phoenix, and Bethany was four hours away at the University of Arkansas.  I just really wasn't sure how the day was going to go.

I had decided a few days earlier to start out the day by making a post on Facebook asking people to share their memories of Hannah.  I almost talked myself out of it.  After all, Hannah was only a teenager when she died ... she didn't know that many people.  And besides, she was so quiet, a real homebody, a girl who would rather stay home with her family on Saturday nights than hang out with friends.  Would anybody really have any memories to share?  What if nobody wrote anything?

I decided to go ahead and post it anyway.  I knew that family members would write something, and maybe a few of her friends.  Here's what I wrote:

Five years ago today, our beautiful daughter and sister, Hannah Joy, went to Heaven after bravely battling brain cancer for a year. Would you mind giving our family a gift today? Would you take just a moment and share a memory you have of Hannah with us? We have so many wonderful memories with her, and it would really be a blessing to us to hear some of yours. Thank you so much!

I then went on about my day, most of which you know about if you've read my last few posts.  All through the day, I heard the notification chirps coming in from my phone.  A couple of times, I started to pick it up and look at the posts, but I would immediately tear up and have to put it down.  I had to lead the While We're Waiting support group meeting that evening, and I had to be able to hold myself together.  I knew if I read those posts, I would be done for the day.  So I decided to wait.

We had a great WWW meeting that night, and then I had the wonderful God-surprise of the wind chimes and the rock after I got home.  Once I had somewhat recovered from that awesome moment, I put on my pajama pants, curled up on the couch with some Kleenex, and opened up my laptop.  I was completely unprepared for what I found.

There were 90 comments on my post.

There were memories from relatives, family friends, former teachers, acquaintances, nurses, church leaders, peers, and a large people who had never even met her, but had been somehow touched by her life.  There were remembrances of her smile, her laugh, her "sweet spirit", her servant's heart, and her curly hair.  There were memories of her caring for younger children, bantering with her sister, playing Barbies, eating pizza, letting a friend copy her biology paper, helping in Vacation Bible School, and managing the high school basketball team.  And as much as I hate to rank one comment above the others, this one had to mean the most to me ...

Our daughter, Madelyn, began to ask questions about Jesus, eternal salvation and Heaven during Hannah's courageous battle. Hannah was a light for Christ during her dark days and Madelyn accepted Christ as her Savior on 2-23-09 because of Hannah's testimony. Hannah will always hold a special place in our family's heart! 

Y'all ... It just doesn't get any better than that.  That right there is what it's all about.

Would I have chosen for Hannah to battle cancer for a year and go to Heaven at the age of 17?  No.  Never.  If it were possible, would I turn back time to January 2008 and write a different ending for her story?  You betcha.

Would her life have had the impact it's had if things had been different?  I don't think so.

Is God's master plan better than mine?  Yes (somewhat grudgingly).

I think my role is to be thankful for the countless wonderful memories that I (and apparently many others) have of my girl, and to be grateful that God has chosen to use her in the way He has.

So, thank you, Lord.  And let me say a huge thank you to all of those who gave us the gift of your memories.  You blessed our family more than you could ever know.

Monday Mourning -- It's Not MY Birthday Anyway

When I was a little girl, Christmas was my absolute favorite holiday.  We would always travel from our home in northern Wisconsin to visit my relatives in Illinois, and I would have the best time playing with all my cousins.  Of course, the best part of Christmas was when we got to open our presents ... I was always so excited to get a bunch of new toys to play with! 

Except for that one Christmas ... when I was sorely disappointed.  I had asked for a Fisher Price farm set.  You remember the one ... it had a silo, a hay loft, a fence, all these neat little animals ... and best of all, it made a mooing sound when you opened and closed the barn doors!  I'm sure I got some really awesome gifts that year, but the only thing I can remember is that this farm set was not one of them.

And to make it worse, my cousin did get one!  And this particular cousin actually lived on a farm, and she even had horses!  I mean, how unfair was that??  I was soooooo disappointed, and I let everyone know.  I'm pretty sure I received a hearty lecture about my lack of gratitude ... and deservedly so.

This past weekend we celebrated Christmas with the Sullivan family in Van Buren.  Yesterday morning we went to church with them, and enjoyed a great sermon from my in-laws' pastor.  He opened his message by sharing an illustration which really caught my attention.

It seems there was a little boy attending a church Christmas party.  Each child who came to the party stood in line to receive a present, and this little guy was at the very end of the line.  He patiently awaited his turn, but just as he got to the front of the line, they ran out of presents.  The pastor felt terrible about this and apologized profusely, but the little boy smilingly said, "That's okay.  It's not MY birthday anyway."

It's not MY birthday anyway.

Wow, did I need that reminder.  

When I'm feeling second-rate because my house is not Pinterest perfect ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

When I'm frustrated because I haven't had the time or energy to get my Christmas cards done ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

When I'm aggravated by the rudeness of the crowds in the stores ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

When I'm disappointed and sad that our family Christmas is not what it once was ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

When everyone else seems to have what I want so desperately for myself ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

And most of all, when I want to kick and scream and rant about how unfair it is that Hannah is not here to celebrate with us ... (Sigh) ... It's not MY birthday anyway.

No, it's not MY birthday ... it's HIS.  

Because it is HIS birthday, all of these things that are so hard, painful, sad, disappointing, frustrating, aggravating, and unfair today will one day be redeemed.  

Because it is HIS birthday, Hannah is more alive today than she has ever been.

And because it is HIS birthday, I will see my girl again, and not just see her again, but spend eternity with her.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved."  John 3:16-17