Throwback Thursday - "Miss Havisham"

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Another Throwback Thursday post today ... This one written November 26, 2012, about 2 1/2 years after Hannah went to Heaven.  Sometimes I still feel like Miss Havisham ...

If you're a regular reader of the blog, you know I've been reading through the classics on my treadmill in the mornings.  I have really enjoyed discovering these books.  You know, if I had been assigned to read these books in high school or college, I think I would have hated them.  But now, as an adult, I'm loving them.  The quality of the writing, the depth of the plots, and the richness of the character development completely eclipses anything being written today ... in my humble opinion, of course.

My most recent read was "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens. Yet another amazing work of literature.  I was particularly intrigued by one character ... Miss Havisham.  Miss Havisham lives in a decrepit old mansion, and requests that a young boy, Pip, be brought in to entertain her.  Pip is escorted into the mansion by a beautiful young lady named Estella, and trails behind her through several gloomy passages and up a dark staircase, with only a single candle to light the way.  Estella leaves him alone at the door of a room, which he nervously enters.  It was a dressing room, well lit by wax candles, but without a hint of daylight in it.  Sitting at the dressing table is Miss Havisham, and here is how Pip describes her...

"She was dressed in rich materials -- satins, and lace, and silks -- all of white.  Her shoes were white.  And she had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white.  Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and some other jewels lay sparkling on the table.  Dresses, less splendid than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about.  She had not quite finished dressing, for she had but one shoe on -- the other was on the table near her hand -- her veil was but half arranged, her watch and chain were not put on, and some lace for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves, and some flowers, and a Prayer-Book all confusedly heaped about the looking-glass.

It was not in the first few moments that I saw all these things, though I saw more of them in the first moments than might be supposed.  But I saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been white long ago, and had lost its lustre and was faded and yellow.  I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her sunken eyes.  I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose had shrunk to skin and bone.  Once, I had been taken to see some ghastly waxwork at the Fair, representing I know not what impossible personage lying in state.  Once, I had been taken to one of our old marsh churches to see a skeleton in the ashes of a rich dress that had been dug out of a vault under the church pavement.  Now, waxwork and skeleton seemed to have dark eyes that moved and looked at me.  I should have cried out, if I could."

Have you got the picture in your mind?  As Pip looks around a little more, he notices that Miss Havisham's watch has stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room has stopped at twenty minutes to nine, as has every other clock in the house.  He observes that the shoe on the dressing table, though yellowed, had never been worn, and that Miss Havisham's silk stocking on that foot had been trodden ragged.  On a subsequent visit, he enters an adjoining room and discovers a long table with an object upon it so covered with mold and cobwebs, it was unidentifiable.  It was crawling with spiders and black beetles ... and Miss Havisham explained to Pip that it was her wedding cake.

You can probably guess what happened.  Miss Havisham had been jilted on her wedding day, at precisely twenty minutes 'til nine ... and she had never moved forward from that moment.  Her life basically ended right there.  She was alive, but she wasn't living.

I guess Miss Havisham's character intrigued me because I could so totally relate to her.  I "get" her.  I remember when Hannah left for Heaven, it felt like time had completely stopped.  As if every clock in the world had stopped at 2:31 p.m., never to be re-started.  As we made the drive home from Little Rock on that day, it was so surreal to see all the other people just driving along the interstate, going about their everyday activities, as if nothing had happened.  Didn't they know that life as I knew it had just ended?

I can't tell you how tempting it was to just sit at my dressing table wearing my wedding dress in the weeks and months after Hannah's death.  I'm not a naturally social person anyway, and it was hard, so hard, to step back out into the world again.  It's still not always easy.  Good thing my husband is such an extrovert and tends to drag me along with him most of the time, or I might still be sitting there with one shoe on and one shoe off.

As the story goes along in "Great Expectations", we find that Miss Havisham is a bitter, angry, pathetic character, who has spent her miserable life manipulating people to do her bidding.  Her life is a complete and utter waste.

And that's exactly why we can't just stop the clocks when a devastating loss happens in our lives.  How would that be honoring to our Lord, or even to the loved one whom we've lost?  Do we really want our suffering (and our child's suffering) just go to waste?  Or do we want to grow from it, learn from it, and become a better person because of it?  We have to decide what we're going to do while we're waiting ... sit at the dressing table and gradually turn yellow from lack of use ... or put on that other shoe and get busy for the kingdom of God?

Can we do that on our own?  No, it's only through the grace of God and by His strength that we can brush away the cobwebs, sweep the moldy cake crumbs off the table, and step back out into the sunshine.  The Bridegroom is there and He's patiently waiting ... We just have to be willing to reach up and take His hand.

Throwback Thursday -- Back to School

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This Throwback Thursday post was originally written on August 18, 2010, about a year and a half after our daughter, Hannah, went to Heaven. I wanted to re-post it this week because of a conversation which has been taking place on our While We're Waiting - Support for Bereaved Parents facebook page (a closed page, just for parents who have lost children.)

Many of these parents have been discussing how hard it is to see all the back-to-school posts on Facebook this week.  And it's not so much that they begrudge other families recording these milestones on social media ... most of them acknowledge that they truly are happy these families have not had to experience the loss of a child.  

No, rather it's the sorrow that so many parents describe as they drop their child off for kindergarten, middle school, high school, college, you-fill-in-the-blank.  The sadness they express about the fact that their child is growing up.  The tears they shed because their baby is getting so old.

It's a little hard for a parent who will never get to hug their child again here on earth to feel much sympathy for a parent who is tearfully hugging their child good-bye until 3:30 that afternoon or until Christmas break.  My purpose in sharing this blog post is not to be critical of these folks ... I'm sure I did the very same thing myself until Hannah's homegoing changed my perspective.  Rather, I just want to remind all of us not to waste a moment of our children's lives being sad that they are growing up, but to celebrate those milestones with them!  Every moment we have with our children is a gift from God and should be treasured.

So, here's what I wrote the week that Hannah should have started college ...

I love school supplies. There's something about brand new, never-written-in notebooks, clean loose leaf paper wrapped in plastic, binders with tabbed dividers, "bouquets of newly sharpened pencils" (one of my favorite lines from "You've Got Mail"), and neat stacks of pristine pocket folders that I just like. Every new school year is a blank slate; a fresh start. There are no crayons or safety scissors on our list this year...there haven't been for many years now...instead, we have things like protractors and compasses. And if I can't help Bethany with her geometry homework this year (which is highly likely)...no worries; her teacher does podcasts explaining the difficult problems! Hopefully, she can figure out how to watch them, because I probably won't be able to help her with that either.

Hannah shared my affinity for school supplies. She always wanted to shop for them as early as possible for the best selection, and the second we got home with them, she would get busy. She'd separate them all by class, then painstakingly label each item with her name, her teacher's name, the class title, etc. The loose leaf paper would go into the binders, and dividers would be put into place. Then she'd place everything in a neat stack, largest items on the bottom, smallest on the top. She would have her schedule, locker number, and combination all memorized within five minutes of receiving it. The girl just loved school! On the other hand, I won't even comment about what Bethany's heap of school supplies looks like on the kitchen table right now!

This summer, instead of buying school supplies for Hannah, we would have been buying items to furnish her college dorm room. We would have been moving her into her dorm at Ouachita Baptist University this Saturday. It's hard for me to even imagine what that would be like. I think she would have been really nervous...before she got sick, she was easily freaked out by change...but she would have been excited, too. And I wonder how I would feel.

I see lots of moms on Facebook lamenting the fact that their kids are starting college this fall, and talking about how sad they are going to be that they won't be living at home. I suppose I might feel that way too, if we had not the experience we had. But now, I really want to comment on all those posts, "Don't be sad! Be happy...be thrilled...that your child is moving on to the next step in life. You can talk to them every day on the phone. They will come home to visit on the weekends. Don't waste a moment of precious time being sad that your child is growing up. Enjoy every second of it!!"

Last night, I brought Bethany to open house at her school. I barely even remember open house last year...I was just trying to survive the night. The emotion was still so raw at that point, and it was excruciatingly difficult to be there among all of Hannah's classmates as they were starting their senior year. This year was better, but still difficult, just in a different way. Hannah was diagnosed with cancer during her sophomore year of high school...and Bethany will be starting her sophomore year tomorrow. She has the exact same slate of teachers that Hannah had in the tenth grade. So, as we went around from room to room last night, visiting with all of those teachers, it was just kind of surreal. They are wonderful teachers, and I'm so glad they will all be teaching Bethany this year, but I'm sure that it will feel kind of strange to them as well.

I'm so thankful for Heaven. I'm so thankful that there is so much more to look forward to than a dorm room at OBU. And I'm so thankful for John 16:22..."Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy." No one will take away your joy...I love that!!

Throwback Thursday -- "Weep Not For Me"

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Here's another Throwback Thursday post.
This was originally posted on March 12, 2012, and is still one of my favorites ...

I continue to be amazed at the bond that forms between parents who have lost children. It's an instant bond, that forms as soon as we meet, and it's a permanent bond, that remains even if we only meet once.

One of these dear friends sent me a message on Facebook this weekend. She and I have actually only met once, at one of our While We're Waiting Mom's Days, but as bereaved moms, we bonded instantly, and have been close ever since. Both of us lost our children to cancer, which bonds us even more closely.

In her message, she shared a beautiful story about a visit to her son's grave. It really touched me, and with her permission, I'd like to share it with you. I think it will encourage you, as it did me, especially if you've lost a loved one.

She and her husband visited their son's grave this weekend, which is located in an old cemetery where many of her dad's family members are buried. Her husband rarely comes to the cemetery with her, because he has such a difficult time emotionally...something I can definitely relate to! As they were leaving, they passed by a monument that had been broken in half. It caught her eye, and she went over to it to see what it said. She had to get down on her knees and scrape the moss off of it in order to read it. It was a monument for a nine year old girl, her grandpa's sister, and this is what it said...

"Father and Mother, weep not for me, for I am waiting in Glory for thee."

She immediately felt that it was a message from God...a reminder that her son was in Heaven waiting for them...and she was filled with His comfort and peace. She even felt that it was a turning point in her grief journey.

Then she said this ... "I can't believe I have been going to the cemetery all of my life but had to get down on my knees today to read what it said."

Wow. Did you catch the depth of that statement? She had to get down on her knees to read it.

I think there's a message there for all of us ... I know there's one for me. Thank you, my sweet friend, for sharing your story with me, and for allowing me to share it with others.

Throwback Thursday -- 10 Reasons Why Bereaved Parents Are My Favorite People

I'm back in Throwback Thursday mode this week.  I just haven't had the time to sit down and formulate a fresh new post.  But that's okay, because after our While We're Waiting support group meeting last night, I was reminded again why Christian parents who have lost children are my favorite people to be around.  I just knew I had to re-post this list that I originally wrote back in March of 2013.  All ten of these statements were confirmed once again last night ...

1. They are some of the bravest people I know (although most would deny that they are brave at all). These are folks who have survived every parents' biggest nightmare, and are still breathing.

2. They don't waste time with small talk. Every conversation has depth and richness to it.

3. They've learned not to judge others, because they've come to realize that they've been wrong about a whole lot of things themselves.

4. They appreciate the little things in life ... because they've learned that the little things are really the big things.

5. They understand that they are not in control ... and they've learned how to trust the One who is, even when they don't like what He allows.

6. They've wrestled with the most difficult questions of life, and have come to accept that they will never have all the answers this side of Heaven.

7. They would give anything to still have their child with them ... but they love their child too much to really want them to leave Heaven.

8. They have learned how to accept clumsily-spoken words from well-meaning folks with grace.

9. They know how to smile in spite of their broken hearts ... and they bravely do it every day.

10. They live with eternity always before them. It's what gets them up in the mornings and lays them down at night. It is the promise of Heaven that keeps them breathing every day.

Throwback Thursday -- A Period or a Question Mark?

Another Throwback Thursday post today ... This one was written on February 23, 2012.

A friend recently forwarded me a devotional she received from Joel Osteen's ministry. Normally, I'm not a huge fan of Joel Osteen ... he seems a little too "health and wealth gospel" to me ... but that is simply my opinion. I could certainly be wrong on that. (No "hate comments" please, haha.) Anyway, this particular devotional really spoke to me. Take a minute and read through it...


File It Away

Today's Scripture: "Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor my eyes lofty. Neither do I concern myself with great matters, nor with things too profound for me." Psalm 131:1, NKJV

When things happen in your life that you didn't plan, do you find yourself trying to reason it all out, or look for a "file," so to speak, in your mind? What happens when you can't find a "file" to put it in? What if you can't make sense of it all?

Here's the answer. Every one of us needs to create a file in our thinking called an "I Don't Understand It" file. When things come up that don't make sense and you can't figure it out, instead of getting frustrated or confused, simply put it in your "I Don't Understand It" file and leave it alone. If you go through life trying to figure out why something bad happened, why it didn't work out, why my child didn't get healed, it's going to cause you to be bitter. Part of trusting God means trusting Him when things don't make sense, knowing that His plan is always for your good; knowing that He will reveal all things in His time -- even if it means in eternity.

Here's what I've learned. Don't put a question mark where God has put a period. What the enemy meant for evil, God will ultimately use for your good. Keep moving forward because God loves you, God is for you, and He has a great plan for you!


Bam!! That hit me right between the eyes. I find myself continually pulling out my "Hannah" file, flipping through it, studying it, analyzing it, questioning it, agonizing over it, re-living it ... you get the idea, right? I don't think that in and of itself is necessarily wrong, because I believe God still has a lot to teach me through her life. But here's what I do need to do ... Replace that question mark with a period.

Sometimes, even after nearly three years, I wonder if I've really accepted the fact of Hannah's death. There are still times that none of it really seems real. Maybe it's because I so desperately wanted there to be a different outcome to her cancer. That's the question mark I'm referring to.  But God put a period at the end of her life. Not that there aren't still ripples on the pond resulting from her testimony of faith ... her influence continues to touch others. But God drew a very distinct period on her earthly life on February 26, 2009, and I am not to scrawl a question mark there.

Of course, the key point to remember is that periods are earthly punctuation marks ... Since that earthly period appeared three years ago, Hannah's life has been a series of eternal exclamation points! And that fact, if nothing else, should put to rest all the question marks!

Throwback Thursday -- 14 Things I Wish I'd Known 5 Years Ago

My Throwback Thursday post for today is one I wrote on the five year anniversary of Hannah's homegoing.  These fourteen things are just as true for me today as they were the day I wrote them ...


Today marks five years since Hannah drew her last earthly breath and stepped into the arms of Jesus.

I have to be honest and say that my immediate reaction at that moment was relief that she was no longer suffering from cancer. But that relief was quickly swallowed up by grief ... overwhelming, nearly debilitating sorrow at the loss of my precious daughter.

In those raw early days of grief, I remember looking at other people who had lost children several years previously and wondering how on earth those people had made it. I could not fathom making it through five weeks, much less five years.

And yet, here I am.

It still doesn't seem possible.

I am not the same person I was 1,826 days ago, nor will I ever be that person again. And that's not all bad ... in fact, that's probably a really good thing.

God has done a lot of work in my life over the last five years ... work that needed to be done. And, oh my, He's got a lot more to do. But, if you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a few of the things I've learned over the last five years ... Things I wish I'd known from the beginning.

1. The loss of a child is indescribably difficult. It impacts every fiber of your being, and shakes you to your very core. There are times (even now) when it seems unsurvivable. BUT ... but ... it does, it really does, get better. There are those who will tell you that it never gets better. Do not believe them. However, we must earnestly desire to get better, and actively take steps to make that happen. We are not given a choice about having grief, but we do have a choice in how we grieve.

2. Much of the battle on this journey is spiritual. Actually, "much" may be the wrong word ... "all" is probably closer to the truth. At the time when we are the most vulnerable, Satan is absolutely relentless. He bashes us in the head again and again with "if onlys" and "what ifs". He fills our minds with memories of horrific sights, sounds, and smells. He causes us to question God's goodness and mercy. For me, the best way to fight this battle is to recognize it for what it is ... spiritual warfare. Whenever I get really down, it is always because I've allowed Satan to get a foothold in my mind.

3. This is not a competition. In those early days, I spent a lot of time wondering which was "worse" ... losing a child suddenly and not being able to say good-bye, or having the opportunity to say good-bye but being forced to watch your child suffer in horrific ways. I wondered if it was "easier" if the child you lost was an infant, or maybe it was "easier" if he or she was an adult when they went to Heaven. I wondered how my grief stacked against with that of others. I've learned that it does not matter. After talking to hundreds of bereaved parents over the past five years, I've found that even though our losses are all different, our pain is the same. The loss of a child is heartrending, no matter the child's age or the circumstances of his or her death.

4. There is no time limit on grief. I used to be so ignorant. I actually used to think people "got over" the death of a loved one within a couple of months ... a year at the very most. I now know that one does not "get over" the death of a child ... they just learn how to live without them. I will be "over" the loss of my child when I put my arms around her neck in Heaven.

5. Pain is not wasted in God's economy. God can take our pain and bring good from it. I've learned that one of the best ways to ease my pain is to stop focusing inward and begin looking for ways to serve Him and others. It could be something "big", like starting a ministry or a foundation in your child's memory ... or it could be something "smaller." One sweet mom I know watches the obituaries for parents who lose children close to her son's age when he died, and writes them encouraging notes. Believe me, this is not a "small" thing to those who receive these gifts of love from her.

6. There is a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is dependent upon circumstances, and since the day Hannah was diagnosed with cancer just over six years ago, my circumstances have not been what I have wanted them to be. Absolutely everything I do is tinged with sorrow to some degree, whether it's just going to work each day, celebrating a family birthday, or planning my younger daughter's wedding. Hannah is not here, and that means there is sadness in my heart all the time. But, I can still have joy in my life, because that is not dependent upon my circumstances. Joy is unassailable, because it comes from my relationship with God. Joy is that deep-down, rugged knowledge that God will one day make all things right, even a 17-year-old girl dying of cancer.

7. I don't have to be strong all the time ... In fact, my greatest strength lies in weakness. I am not strong enough to do this on my own. I must allow myself to be weak and lean fully on Him. That is the only way to walk this road. 2 Corinthians 2:9 -- "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." As my dear friend Donna says, God tells us, "I want you to be strong, but you don't have to be stronger than me."

8. C. S. Lewis once said, "No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear." In the early days of my grief, I felt very cavalier. The thing I had feared most in life had happened ... What else was there to be afraid of? As time has passed, I've begun to experience more fear. I've met parents who have lost two, three, even four children. If it happened to me once, why couldn't it happen again? This fear could easily become paralyzing, even debilitating. But, I've learned that I must give that fear to God, and put my loved ones in His hand. I want to love having them more than I fear losing them.

9. I have to remember that I am living in the temporary. This world that seems so real to us now will dissolve in a moment someday. I love these lines from the last book in the Narnia series, "The Last Battle" by C. S. Lewis, "‘There was a real railway accident,’ said Aslan softly. ‘Your father and mother and all of you are – as you used to call it in the Shadowlands – dead. The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is over: this is the morning.’" When this life in the Shadowlands (but a dream) is over, the holidays will truly begin!

10. I also have to remember this ... My future with my daughter is going to be so much greater than my past with her. What an amazing thought.

11. I cannot put a question mark where God has put a period. God put a period at the end of Hannah's earthly life on February 26, 2009. I can question His wisdom in that all I want to (and believe me, I have) but the period is still there. I cannot change that; and I don't believe He wants me to waste the life He has given me in arguing with Him. The period has not yet been placed at the end of my earthly life, and there are so much better things I can be doing with my energy and my time. God still has work for me to do here.

12. Everyone says stupid things to people who have lost children ... even other people who have lost children (I know I've said dumb things myself)! I can choose to replay the hurtful things people have said over and over in my mind -- along with the snarky comebacks I wish I'd hit them with -- or I can choose to extend grace to those folks and move forward. There is only one perfect Comforter ... the rest of us fall far short.

13. God is sovereign. God knew the number of Hannah's days before she was born (Psalm 139:16). There is not a thing we could have done to extend her life by even a single day. It does no good to question whether we should have gone to a different hospital or tried a different treatment. She lived exactly the number of days God had ordained for her.

14. Finally, I've learned that a short life is not an incomplete life. I've talked to parents whose child never took a breath outside of the womb whose lives have been changed for eternity by that brief life. Hannah's life may have been short, but it was definitely not incomplete. In the early months following her death, we heard quite often from people whose lives had been touched by hers ... even a number of salvations directly due to her testimony. As time has gone on, we've heard those kinds of reports less and less. But may I share something with you? A little less than a month ago, out of the blue, we received an email from an old high school friend of my husband's. Brad had not heard from this friend in years; in fact, we did not even know he had followed Hannah's story. Here's what he wrote in his email:

Brad,

Just a quick note to tell you what a blessing your journey has been to me, my patients and students that rotate through my facility. I made copies of every email you sent out over the years of Hannah's battle and kept them in a bound folder. [The emails he's referring to are available on this blog. Look in the right hand column and click on "Hannah's Story in Emails."]

Each night as the emails came I would read them to my daughter and son and we as a family would pray for Hannah and your family. I will never forget the day in Feb that I sat down and shared the email that Hannah had lost her battle with this disease. We all cried because of your transparency allowed us to be vested in your journey.

Even today I make all our nursing, x-ray, and oncology students to read the collection of emails at the start of their clinical rotation and it helps remind them we are not treating diseases...we are treating beautiful people like Hannah.

My continued prayers for you guys. God bless and thank you for allowing others to see the beauty that continues to be Hannah's legacy.

Ah ... to know that my daughter is remembered, and that her life is still having an impact on others ... there is no greater gift that can be given to a parent who's lost a child.

Five years. It's a long time. But it's five years closer to Home ... and that's just fine with me. Even so, come Lord Jesus.

Throwback Thursday -- In the Dark

Another Throwback Thursday post -- This one is from September 8, 2011.

Do you remember being a child alone in your bedroom at night? I remember that I always had to sleep with my door open...I felt so alone if the door was shut. As a matter of fact, if I was acting up, not wanting to sleep, fussing, or whatever, my parents could always shut me up just by threatening to shut my door. No way did I want my bedroom door closed. I think I found a lot of comfort in just hearing their voices in the living room as I was drifting off to sleep. Now, I can't sleep if the bedroom door is open. Go figure.

The other day, I was reading the book "Stronger" by Jim Daly, president of Focus on the Family, and he shared a very interesting illustration. He was referring to those times in our lives when God seems absent, when we just can't seem to feel His presence. See if this illustration speaks to you like it does to me...

"I think in this case, it's a little like being a child in your bedroom at night. It's dark, and so black that you can't see anything. Your door is closed, so you can't hear anything outside your room. Yet your favorite pillow and nightstand are still there. Your parents are nearby, too. They haven't left you. In fact, your mother is in the kitchen preparing lunch for the next day. She's humming as she works, because she's baking chocolate chip cookies to surprise you.

It's a simple illustration, but you get the idea -- circumstances may make it hard to sense God's presence, yet He's still there. He hasn't left us. And more often than we realize, His "hiddenness" allows Him to work on our behalf in a way that wouldn't be possible if we could see Him.

To take the analogy further, if you're a child in bed at night, you could jump out of bed, turn on the light, and rush into the kitchen to make sure Mom is still around. You could do that all night long. But that isn't what's best for you, is it? It would leave you exhausted the next day, and it would spoil the surprise of the chocolate chip cookies. You'd be far better off to trust that Mom is there, that she has things under control, and that all you need to do now is go to sleep."

I love that! What a great reminder to continue trusting God, even when we can't feel His presence. Or when the bedroom door is closed, and we just don't understand what He is up to in our lives. Definitely something to think about during the darkest of times.

And I don't know about you...but I don't want to miss out on the chocolate chip cookies!

Throwback Thursday -- Paradigm Shifts

Keeping up the Throwback Thursday blogs ... This is a post I wrote on August 10, 2011, just a few days after 38 brave servicemen (including 17 Navy SEALS) were killed when their Chinook helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan in an incident now known as Extortion 17.

All this week, I've been sitting in school workshops. The last two days have been a presentation of the "Seven Habits of Highly Effective People" and one of the big topics has been paradigm shifts. As part of his introduction, the presenter posed a question to the group, "What is something that has happened in your life that led to a paradigm shift?" A few people shared stories of events in their lives that had led to significant change. I didn't volunteer to share, but if I had, I would have said, "When my teenage daughter was diagnosed with cancer."

There's nothing like suffering and loss to change your paradigms. There are definitely some military families who've had their paradigms shifted this week.

In Randy Alcorn's book, "If God Is Good", he shares nine paradigm-shifting insights that he learned through studying the book of Job. If I wasn't so drained from sitting in workshops all day every day this week, I might be able to come up with one more on my own, thus making today a true Ten on the Tenth. But I just don't think that's going to happen tonight. So, without further ado, here are...

Nine Lessons To Be Learned from Job (from Randy Alcorn)

1. Life is not predictable or formulaic.

2. Most of life's expectations and suffering's explanations are simplistic and naive, waiting to be toppled.

3. When the day of crisis comes, we should pour out our hearts to God, who can handle our grief and even our anger.

4. We should not turn from God and internalize our anger, allowing it to become bitterness.

5. We should weigh and measure the words of friends, authors, teachers, and counselors, finding whatever truth they might speak without embracing their errors or getting derailed by their insensitivities.

6. We should not insist on taking control by demanding a rational explanation for the evils and suffering that befall us.

7. We should look to God and ask him to reveal himself to us; in contemplating his greatness we will come to see him as the Answer above all answers.

8. We should trust that God is working behind the scenes and that our suffering has hidden purposes that one day, even if not in this life, we will see.

9. We should cry out to Jesus, the mediator and friend whom Job could only glimpse, but who indwells us by grace.

Hmmmmm....Good stuff, huh?

Throwback Thursday -- When I Get To Heaven

Continuing the Throwback Thursday theme for a few more weeks while waiting for the school year to wrap up enough to start writing some new posts ... Here's a post I originally wrote on July 28, 2011. Reading it again today sure got me excited about all we have to look forward to in Heaven one day!

"When I Get to Heaven"

I have to be honest...Before Hannah became a resident there, I really didn't think much about Heaven. Sure, I wanted to go there someday, but I didn't really know anybody there, other than my grandparents, and, of course, Jesus. And I looked forward to that day (distant, though it seemed, which was fine with me) because I knew it would be amazing to see Him..."I Can Only Imagine" and all that.

Well, now that Hannah is there, my feelings have changed greatly. I look forward every day to the moment I arrive there. I must admit, though, I am a little conflicted about something.

Would you think less of me if I told you that if Jesus is the first person I meet when I arrive, while He's hugging me, I'm going to be on my tiptoes peering over his shoulder looking for Hannah? It's just the truth.

Brad read a book last week on the beach in which a father said he hoped that his child was sitting on Jesus's lap when he got to Heaven, so he could see both of them at the same time. That would be pretty cool.

But Hannah was seventeen when she died, and I just can't really picture her sitting on Jesus's lap.

And that's not really how I think it's going to be when I arrive in Heaven anyway. Here's how I picture it. I have no theological basis for this whatsoever...these are just my thoughts.

If I were to go there today, I think that Hannah would be the first person I would see. As a matter of fact, for some reason, in my mind, I picture her grasping both of my hands and pulling me into Heaven from wherever I am. We would fall into each other's arms and laugh and cry and hold each other for a long, long time. When we had gotten our fill (it might take awhile), she would take me by the hand and together, we would greet all of our family members who were there....grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great-great-great-etc. grandparents, and so on.

All of this would take place at a very leisurely pace...no need to hurry like we do every day in this life...we have all the time we could ever possibly need.

After visiting with all the family, next I would want to meet the children of all the bereaved parents we've talked to over the last few years. Most of them I never got to meet on earth, but their parents have become so precious to me, and their stories have been so amazing, I've just got to meet them. And since I have this idea in my head that everytime we meet a bereaved parent here on earth, Hannah meets their child(ren) in Heaven, she'll be able to introduce me to all of them.

After visiting with all of these amazing people, I would want to meet the Old Testament patriarchs...Abraham, Jacob, Isaac, Moses, Noah, David, Solomon, etc. Can you imagine? And then the folks from the New Testament...Mary and Joseph, Anna, Simeon, the woman at the well, Lazarus, Mary & Martha, the disciples, Paul, Silas, Timothy...the list could go on and on! What a thought!

And by this time...by this time...at the point where my heart is about to burst with joy and gratitude and awe and wonder...my only desire would be to meet the One, the One who made all of this possible through His sacrifice. And my daughter, my daughter who is now so far superior to me in wisdom and grace, will ask me, "Are you ready?" I will be speechless, only able to nod my head in affirmation. And, still leading me by the hand, with the familiar ease of introducing me to a good friend, she will bring me to the throne of glory. And I will tremble uncontrollably, fall to my knees, worship the One who died for me, and then finally, finally my joy will be complete. Oh, glorious day!

Throwback Thursday -- Heavenly Wisdom

Today's Throwback Thursday post was written on July 25, 2011 ... a little over two years after Hannah went to Heaven.  It brought a smile to my face today as I considered how much more wisdom she's gained in the last four years since I wrote this ...

Will you indulge me for a few minutes of shameless boasting? Thank you.

Hannah was a very intelligent young lady. She was a straight-A student all through school, even in the second semester of her sophomore year, when she underwent brain surgery and radiation therapy. She won nearly every academic award given during her freshman and sophomore years, including overall "outstanding student" both years. Her biggest concern when she was in the hospital prior to her surgery was getting behind in her schoolwork and losing her opportunity to be the valedictorian. She was an extremely competitive student (to a fault), and always went above and beyond what was required of her in class.

Her junior year was off to a great start, when her cancer returned in late September. She had to drop out of school for a few months to do another round of extensive radiation and to start a new kind of chemotherapy. By mid-December, she was well enough to return to school for a few days before Christmas break. On her first day back to school, she walked into her World History class, only to find out that they were taking a test that day. The teacher gave them a few minutes to look over their notes before taking the test. Of course, she could have been exempt from taking the test since she had not been present for any of the material, but she chose to look over a friend's notes and take it. She got a 100%...after only a few minutes of studying completely unfamiliar material.

Right after Christmas break, Hannah's health began to deteriorate rapidly, and she never did return to school. It wasn't long before the cancer attacking her brain brought her to a state of almost child-like simplicity. It was a heartbreaking thing to watch, and to be perfectly honest, it just felt so unfair.

And then Hannah went to Heaven. And I believe that as soon as she entered her new home, her intelligence was not only restored, it was transformed into wisdom. A wisdom beyond anything I can even imagine. And I believe that the longer she is in Heaven, the more wisdom she gains.

Now, when I feel sad about all that she had to suffer through, the indignities she had to endure, the losses she had to experience ... I picture her, surrounded by the splendor of Heaven, saying, "C'mon, Mom. It's fine. All that stuff you're thinking about -- that was just a second, just the blink of an eye -- it was nothing! None of that matters now. I'm better than I've ever been. Just wait 'til you get here...you'll see!"

And won't it be awesome when I do get there, and I'm able to sit beside her and learn from her what she's been taught by the Master Himself! 

 After I've spent the first thousand years or so just hugging her neck, that is! 

 What an amazing experience that will be....

Throwback Thursday -- "Strangers and Aliens"

Here's another Throwback Thursday post, this one from September 2, 2010.  The interesting thing about this post is that it was written the night before we went to a bereaved parents retreat in Nashville, Tennessee, which ultimately led to the creation of the While We're Waiting ministry.  When I wrote this post, I could not have guessed how my life was about to change once again.

"Strangers & Aliens"

Last night, I went to the first meeting of a new Beth Moore study at our church. There were not too many of us there...maybe about 7 or 8 women. About half were people I knew from our church, and the others were visitors. And I knew it was going to happen...it's inevitable at any "first meeting"...we had to go around the room, introduce ourselves, and tell a little bit about ourselves. Have you ever noticed that when women are asked to tell a little bit about themselves, they always talk about their children? They might mention their husband, they might briefly touch on their job, but they ALWAYS tell about their children.

I never know quite what to do in this situation. Do I just say that I have a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and leave it at that? Or do I risk the gasps of shock and murmurs of sympathy and say that I have two daughters...one of them in Heaven? I hate making people uncomfortable or drawing undue attention to myself, but at the same time, it just doesn't feel honest to tell people that I have only have one child.

I didn't have very long to think about it last night. I was the second one in the circle. About half of the group knew my story anyway. So, I took a deep breath (I've learned that it's easier not to cry when I do that) and said my name, that my husband was a high school principal, that I was a speech pathologist, that I had a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and that I had a daughter in Heaven. I was so relieved that I managed to get it all out without choking into awkward silence, that I almost forgot to inhale. It actually took me a couple of minutes to get my breath back. The introductions continued around the circle, with all the ladies sharing about their children and families.

With that task accomplished, the leader spoke a few words to introduce the series, which is about the book of Esther, and for the next hour, we sat in semi-darkness watching the video. For awhile, I had some difficulty focusing on what Beth Moore was saying, because as I sat there in there in that room surrounded by all those very friendly women, I suddenly felt like I was a stranger and an alien. I realized for the first time--well, not really for the first time; I've been aware of it before, but this was the first time I've put words to it--that everything, absolutely everything about me is colored by the fact that I'm a mother who has lost a child. Everything I see, hear, say, and think passes through that filter. I can never take that veil off...it is a part of my very being. I suddenly felt so "different" from all of the other women there, and I felt very alone. Not lonely, mind you, but alone. There's a difference.

But here's the cool thing. That was last night. At this time tomorrow night, I will be in another group. And in this group, I will not be alone. I will be surrounded by people who understand me...and I will understand them. Tomorrow morning, Brad and I are leaving bright and early for Nashville, Tennessee, where we will spend the weekend at a Respite Retreat for bereaved parents, hosted by Nancy & David Guthrie. I've posted a lot about Nancy Guthrie in the past. She and her husband have lost two young children, and she's written several wonderful books about their experiences. There will be 10 or 12 couples there, including the Guthries, and we will be spending the weekend together, sharing our stories and growing together in our faith. I think it's going to be an absolutely amazing experience, and we are so looking forward to it!

You know, there's another very good (actually much more accurate) reason I felt like a stranger and an alien in that room last night. It's because I really am one, and so are you, if you are a child of God. This world is not our home...we're just traveling through it on our way to Heaven. I recently read that Heaven shouldn't be called the "afterlife"...instead, this world should be called the "beforelife." I love that!

In Hebrews 11, the author lists Abel and Enoch and Noah and Abraham, and then says this in verses 13-16:

"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them."

How cool is that? He has prepared a city for us...where we will finally, truly be "at home." What an incredible day that will be!!

Throwback Thursday -- Life is Good . . .?

Continuing the Throwback Thursday theme on the blog ... Here's a post from August 8, 2010.

Life Is Good . . . ?

Have you ever seen those T-shirts that say "Life is good"? They always have some kind of relaxation-inducing picture along with those words...like a lawn chair and a glass of lemonade, or a pair of flip-flops and a beach umbrella or something. They're nice T-shirts...they come in all different colors in sort of a weathered-looking fabric. Seems like I usually see them in sporting-good stores. I always look at them because I like them, but I've never bought one...partly because I think they're very pricey for T-shirts, but mostly because I'm not sold on the "Life is Good" sentiment. Oh, there was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about that slogan...life was good, and always had been for me. My eyes had not yet been opened to the world of childhood cancer. Sure, I knew it existed. I had seen those St. Jude fundraisers on TV...you know the ones. Of course, I always changed the channel really fast so I didn't have to look at those steroid-swollen children with no hair or eyebrows...I felt bad for those kids, but I didn't know any of them. They weren't my kids, or my neighbor's kids, or my friend's kids, so it was easy to change the channel and blithely go on my way.

When we were in Gulf Shores, Alabama, earlier this summer, we went in one of those tourist traps stores. This one is called Souvenir City, and the door is shaped like an enormous shark's mouth. If you've ever been there, you've seen it...You can't miss it! After taking the obligatory picture...

...we went in and looked around. As I wandered through the T-shirt section, I spotted a group of shirts that looked just like the "Life is Good" shirts from a distance. I walked up to them, and found that these were a little different. These shirts actually said, "Life is Crap" and had pictures like a tree falling on someone's car, or a guy hitting his thumb with a hammer. Some were kind of funny...like one that had a picture of a men's restroom and a ladies' restroom. The ladies' room had a line of about five women waiting to use it, and of course the men's room had no line. Anyway, these shirts gave me a chuckle, and then got me thinking.

Life isn't always good...but God is. Sometimes life is crap...but God is always good. In his wisdom and sovereignty, He has allowed our family to see and experience some of the more crappy parts of life. He has taken us beyond seeing young strangers with cancer on TV, to learning the names and faces and families and stories of so many cancer battlers right here in Arkansas and beyond. It is such a privilege to be able to lift these families up in prayer, and to keep up with their journeys through the storms.

In John 9:1-3, the disciples questioned Jesus about why a man was born blind, trying to determine whether it was caused by sinfulness. Jesus replied, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," and then He goes on to explain the purpose of the man's disability: "This happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life." Did you catch the "so that"? The "so that" rules out bad luck, haphazardness, and neglect. God had a specific, divine purpose for the man's handicap. And today, some 2000 years later, I believe that is still true. In His sovereignty, I believe that God allows...might I even say ordains...the difficult times in our lives. But He will always, if we choose to allow Him, display His goodness through them.

So which shirt had the right message? For me, it's a combination of the two. Life is sometimes crap...but God is always good!

Throwback Thursday -- "But Even If He Does Not ..."

Oh, the blog has been sooooo quiet lately.

Unfortunately, it's probably going to stay that way for awhile.

Our school district is making up its snow days by tacking an extra hour to the end of each school day.  That will be wonderful at the end of May, when we're out of school and everyone else is still going ... but for now, it's making very long work days.  The remainder of the evening is spent getting caught up on While We're Waiting stuff, which I love doing ... but that doesn't leave much time for blogging.

I hate the thought of the blog just sitting dark so much, though, so I've decided to incorporate Facebook's "Throwback Thursday" theme into the blog. On Thursdays, I'm going to re-post some of my personal favorite blog posts from the past.  I hope you enjoy these, because it's probably all you're going to see on here for awhile ... at least until school is out!  :-)

Here's the first Throwback Thursday post from Saturday, March 6, 2010, just a little over a year after Hannah went to Heaven.

"But Even If He Does Not ..." 

I have such great memories of the little church where I grew up...First Baptist Church of Phillips, Wisconsin. Every Wednesday afternoon, my brother and I would walk from school to church for CYF. There were probably only about 10 or 12 kids that came, but our pastor, Arlo Little, was there every single Wednesday to play games with us and teach us a Bible lesson. 

When it was warm enough outside, we would play baseball (that's when I discovered that I was not an athlete). When it was cold outside, which was pretty much the whole school year, we would play games in the basement of the church, where we had our Bible story time. My favorite one involved a pincushion which the pastor would hide somewhere in our meeting room (it seemed like a huge room at the time, although I think it was actually quite small) and we would have to find it. He would tell us if we were hot or cold until we found it, and then we would do it all over again. I remember the excitement of getting warm, then warmer, then steaming, then boiling, then blazing as we got closer and closer to that little pincushion. 

I liked the games, but I loved it when he would tell the Bible story and get out the flannelgraph stuff. I loved the flannelgraph background, looking like it had been drawn with colorful pastels, and all those flannel-backed figures, dressed in their Bible-time robes. I especially loved the animals...the camels, donkeys, and sheep. I learned lots of Bible stories in that basement in northern Wisconsin.

Yesterday morning, I was reading my daily excerpt from "The One Year Book of Hope" by Nancy Guthrie (an excellent book for anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one) and she referenced the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego and the fiery furnace. I was immediately back in that church basement, seeing those flannel graph figures and hearing the story told by my pastor. And yesterday evening, I was reading "Letters from the Land of Cancer" by Walter Wangerin, Jr., (an excellent book for anyone traveling through the land of cancer) and, would you believe, he referenced the same story. And both authors emphasized a part of the story that I had never really given much thought to before. 

You may remember that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were thrown into the fiery furnace because they refused to worship a gold statue of the Babylonian king. Here's what they said to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power, Your Majesty. But even if He does not, Your Majesty can be sure that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up." Daniel 3:16-18.

I've always thought of them as Biblical heroes because they refused to bow down to an idol, even under threat of death. And while that was heroic, I've decided that their real heroism is reflected in the statement, "But even if He does not...". On the surface, it may look like they were giving God an escape clause, something to protect His reputation in case they burned up in the furnace. But I don't think so. They didn't pretend to know what God would do, nor did they try to tell Him what to do. I think they trusted Him to the point that they knew whatever He would do what was right, even if it resulted in their death. God was God however He chose to act.

This was the same understanding we came to as we watched Hannah's life slowly leave her. That "even if He does not", we would continue to trust Him. And I've seen this attitude replicated in the lives of several of the cancer patients we've come to know as we've traveled this journey. We've been asked by a friend to help her choose music for her own funeral, and this afternoon I will be burning a CD of songs for her to listen to. She has such a glowing peace about her as she contemplates her own death, which, according to her doctors, is approaching. She knows that "even if He does not" heal her in this life, He will in the next. 

What a difference it makes when we face life, and death, with this kind of attitude!