Hope is Not Cheap ... But It's Free

A few months ago a dear friend of mine who recently lost her husband to brain cancer gave me a little sack filled with these “Hope” rocks for use at the Refuge.  I’ve placed them all around the Refuge, just as little reminders of the hope we have in Jesus.

A few nights ago, our son-in-law, Brad, was here, and he picked up one of them, flipped it over, saw the price tag on the bottom, and said, “Wow!  Hope is cheap!”  I chuckled … but it made me think.  Is hope really cheap?

If you look closely at the bottom of this rock, you’ll see that the original price was $1.99 at Bed, Bath & Beyond.  But, there’s a red line through that price and the new price, highlighted in yellow, is just 99 cents. 

That is pretty cheap, isn’t it?

If you hold this rock in your hand, you’ll notice right away that it doesn’t feel like a real rock … It’s not heavy enough! 

No wonder it’s cheap … It’s fake!  It’s false hope, if you will.

When we are grieving, there are all kinds of “cheap” hope available to us. 

We can put our hope in keeping busy … If we just keep moving, maybe the sorrow won’t catch up with us.

We can put our hope in spending money … Maybe more stuff will make us feel better.

We can put our hope in drugs or alcohol … Maybe we can drown or at least muffle our pain.

We can put our hope in avoidance … Maybe we can stay away from all situations or people which might remind us of our loss.

We can put our hope in our work … Maybe we can find solace in moving up the ladder.

We can put our hope in the good things we do … Maybe if we’re good enough, we’ll get to go to Heaven with our children someday.

We can put our hope in other people … Maybe other people can bring us comfort.

These are all sources of hope that we CAN look to, but none of these will satisfy.  They are cheap substitutes for real Hope.

So where is real Hope to be found?  What is true Hope?

True Hope is not cheap.  It is incredibly costly.  It cost God everything.  It cost Jesus His very life.

Yet it’s available to us for free.

Because Jesus was willing to give up His glory and come to earth as a baby, born in a filthy stable to a teenage virgin, we can have Hope. 

This is a Hope that will never disappoint,

never say the wrong thing,

never run out,

never fail,

never let us down.

We can put our Hope in Jesus, because that is how we get to Heaven.  We can never be good enough to get there on our own.

And because of our Hope in Jesus, we will one day see Him face-to-face, along with our precious children who knew Him here on earth.

Our theme verse for While We're Waiting is Romans 8:25 … “But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.” 

That Hope helps us wait.  And not just wait with our feet kicked up like in a recliner, but to wait eagerly, persevering in the journey while we’re waiting! 

True Hope helps us wait well.

In John 8:12, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Grief can feel awfully dark, can’t it?  Especially right here at Christmas time when Christmas lights are everywhere!  Everything is lit up … but we can spend a lot of time walking around in the darkness. 

But Hope gives us light for our path.  And there’s nothing cheap about that kind of Hope!

"The people dwelling in darkness

    have seen a great light,

and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death,

    on them a light has dawned."  Matthew 4:16 

Thoughtful Thursday ... What Am I Missing?

When my daughter Hannah was little, she had a friend named Nicole.  Nicole was a curly-headed girl with round-framed glasses, and the two of them were in AWANA Cubbies together.  They had a blast learning Bible verses, eating cookies and drinking red Kool-Aid, and hopping and jumping around the room as they belted out the Cubbies theme song together.

Nicole is all grown up now, and is serving the Lord as a youth minister in California.  She still has the same curly hair and (not as round) glasses, and it's been a joy to watch her grow up from afar via Facebook.

Even as I write that, I must confess that there's a tug in my heart ... How I wish I could have seen Hannah grow up like Nicole has!  What would she be like as an almost 24-year-old woman?  There's always that little (sometimes not-so-little) twist of pain as I see Hannah's contemporaries serving the Lord, getting married, having babies.  But at the same time, I am thankful when I see her friends doing well.

Nicole lost her dad a couple of years ago, and she recently shared on Facebook about how she was struggling with the difficult memories associated with his Heaven-going.  But then she went on to say that she had heard a speaker online (who I later discovered was Beth Moore) sharing the story of an aging father who had lost two children many years previously.  The father was speaking at a family dinner to his remaining family members, saying, "I don't want to miss you because I miss them."  This was very encouraging to Nicole as she has really been missing her dad recently.  She said, "I never ever want to miss an opportunity or another human being because of the loss I have experienced."

Her comments really made me stop and think.

What might I be missing because I miss Hannah?  There's so much!

I don't want to miss my surviving daughter or her husband because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss my husband because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss sharing an encouraging word with someone because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss the joy of spending time with family or friends because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss the awe inspired by a beautiful sunset because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss an awareness of God's blessings because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss the opportunity to express gratitude because I miss Hannah.
I don't want to miss the chance to point someone to Jesus because I miss Hannah.

Yes, I miss Hannah.  Oh, how I miss Hannah.  But if I miss my life because I miss Hannah, the tragedy of her death is compounded.

If the situation were reversed, and I were the one who had died seven years ago instead of her, I would certainly not want her to miss her life missing me.  I would want her to live her life to the fullest, squeezing every moment of joy out of it she could.

And I don't think Hannah would want any less for me.  And I know God doesn't ... Jesus said that he came that we "may have life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).

So yes, I will miss Hannah ... but by God's grace and through His strength, I will choose not to miss this life He has given me.

Preparing a Place ... With Eager Anticipation

So, it looks like it's been a little over three months since my last post.  Believe me when I say I haven't been sitting beside a pool somewhere eating bonbons over the past three months.  No, I've been working beside Brad, Larry, Janice, and a host of wonderful volunteers as we labor to get the While We're Waiting Refuge for Bereaved Parents completed by mid-October, when we'll be hosting our first weekend retreat there.

The work, while often hot, dirty, and exhausting, is also exhilarating.  We've been spending a lot of time recently working on preparing the ten bedrooms for our guests.

First there was the framing ...

Then came the caulking ...

Then the insulating ...

Then came the drywall ...

Followed by priming ...

And finally, the fun part ... painting!  Each guest room is a different color, which makes it feel more like a home than a hotel ...

We can't wait to get furniture in these rooms (after we get the flooring installed, of course!), and then comes the really fun part ... decorating them!  We have plans for each room to have its own personality, and to feel warm and welcoming to those who will be staying in them at our retreats.  We can already envision moms and dads walking up and down the hallway, choosing the room that best "fits" them for the weekend.  Our desire is to have special little touches in each room which will bring comfort and encouragement to hurting parents.  There are times when we get positively giddy as we discuss our plans for these rooms.

The anticipation of meeting these moms and dads for the first time, of seeing their eyes light up as they choose their special room for the weekend, of watching as their burden becomes a little less heavy as they set down their physical and emotional baggage, of seeing a smile play around their lips for perhaps the first time in awhile ... These are the things that drive us as we labor in preparing this place.

* * * * * *

Last month, I participated in an online Bible study with several other moms who have children in Heaven.  It was a Precept Bible study called, "Heaven, Hell, and Life After Death."  It was an excellent study, and it was a great experience to discuss these truths with other moms for whom these concepts are more than just vague thoughts for the future ... they are critical truths about which they think every day.  

The last lesson of the series focused primarily on Heaven.  One of the passages we discussed was John 14:1-3:

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.  In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also."

I've probably read those verses more times than I can count.  But they have never struck me like they did that day.  Maybe because I've been spending so much time preparing rooms lately!

It got me to wondering ... I wonder if Jesus is preparing our rooms in Heaven with as much eager anticipation as we are preparing the rooms for our guests at the Refuge?  

As Hannah's life was nearing its earthly end, was He excitedly saying to His Father, "Hey Dad, that Hannah Joy Sullivan will be coming soon, and I can't wait until she gets here!  I've got her room all ready for her ... It's painted her favorite color and I've got some sunflowers in a vase in the corner for her.  There are some pictures of her family and friends on the dresser, and a whole plate full of Spudnuts for her to snack on.  I can't wait to see her face when she sees what I've prepared for her ... I sure hope she likes it!"  

Theologically sound?  Maybe not.  

Is it possible, though?  Maybe.  I like to think so.  He calls us His children, and what good father isn't excited about preparing something special for his children?  

Well ... time to get back to work preparing rooms ... October will be here before we know it!!

* * * * * *

If you have experienced the loss of a child, and would like more information about the While We're Waiting ministry and the bereaved parent retreats we offer, click HERE to go to our website.  

If you'd like to connect with us on Facebook, click HERE to follow our public page (open to anyone) and HERE to request to join our closed group (open only to bereaved parents).  

If you'd like to follow the construction progress of the While We're Waiting Refuge for Bereaved Parents, click HERE for our Refuge Facebook page.

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

Thoughtful Thursday - Good-bye Southside

When we lived in El Dorado, Arkansas, our girls attended a magnificent old school called Southside Elementary.  It was built in 1926, and it was an absolute treasure ... at least to those of us whose children attended there.  It was like a school you might see in an old movie, with gleaming wooden floors and stairs that were literally grooved from the footsteps of countless numbers of children.

It was the kind of school where the janitor always sang in the Christmas program, where the first grade teacher had a genuine dentist chair in her classroom and pulled her students' baby teeth, where veterans were honored and hallways were filled with brightly-colored student artwork.

It's where Bethany's kindergarten teacher wrote on her report card, "I love you more than purple," and where she was disciplined for thumping the little boy sitting behind her in the head.  It's where she played the role of teacher in the end-of-kindergarten performance and a pilgrim in the first grade Thanksgiving play.  It's where she had her Most Embarrassing Moment, and was hiding in the bushes when I came to pick her up after school that day.

It's where Hannah read so many Babysitter's Club books that she broke every Accelerated Reader record there was and where she met her best friend Brittany.  It's where she became involved in Odyssey of the Mind and won so many spelling bees her teacher finally asked her not to participate.  It's where she got stuck in "The Big Toy" on the playground and had to be freed by a team of custodians.

It's where I picked up the girls on the afternoon of 9/11 and wondered how to tell them that the world had forever changed.

Southside officially closed its doors at the end of Bethany's second grade year and Hannah's fifth grade year.  There was an assembly where all of us Southside families sang, "Good-bye, Southside," and shed lots of tears.  But the building remained standing, and there was talk of making it into something else ... maybe a cultural center or something.  And after we moved, every time we visited El Dorado, we would take time to drive through that part of town, just to see the old building and reminisce fondly.  It was that kind of school.

Yesterday, Hannah's friend Brittany posted this picture on Facebook and my heart just sank...

It's just a school.  Just a dilapidated old building in a blighted neighborhood.

So much has changed since Hannah went to Heaven seven years ago this month.  We now live in a different house and drive new vehicles.  We no longer have the jobs we had when she was here, and we no longer have our dog.  Bethany is married and no longer lives at home.  Our focus in life is completely different than it was seven years ago.  We are involved in a type of ministry we would never have dreamed we would need ourselves back when our girls were students at Southside and all was right in the world.

It's just an old school building ... but it's another physical tie to Hannah that's now gone.  And that makes me a little melancholy on this thoughtful Thursday.

I'm so thankful that this world is not all there is, and that I'm tied to Hannah by an indestructible cord of love that will last for all eternity.  What a treasure I have in Heaven!  And that's a tremendous comfort while I'm waiting.

"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."  Matthew 6:19-21 ESV

"For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."  II Corinthians 5:1 ESV

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

New Year's Resolutions for Bereaved Parents

As bereaved parents, we know that some days are going to be difficult ... our child's birthday, their Heaven Day, Christmas, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, etc.  But another time that can be just as hard (or harder) is New Year's.

For some, there may be a sense of relief that a painful year is coming to an end, but for most, the thought of facing their first (or yet another) whole year without a precious child can be incredibly difficult.

I've never been much of a New Year's resolutions kind of person, but a few years back I put together a list of ten resolutions for myself that I like to review each year about this time.  I've posted these before, but I've tweaked them just a little bit and thought I'd share them again.

1.  I resolve to ... Look forward to the future and not spend time agonizing over the "If Onlys". These things are in the past, they cannot be changed, and it is a waste of my time and energy to be consumed by them.  These thoughts draw me away from doing the things God wants me to be doing today.  And I believe that it dishonors both my child and my Lord when I remain stuck in the past and refuse to move forward.

2.  I resolve to ... Extend grace to those who inadvertently add to my pain by making well-meaning, but inappropriate comments.  And I refuse to replay those hurtful words over and over in my mind, thinking about all the things I could have or should have said, that would have put them in their place.  I will remember that I, too, have said unintentionally hurtful things in my own clumsy attempts to comfort others.

3.  I resolve to ... Extend grace to those who avoid me, or who are clearly uncomfortable talking to me about my child.  They're just afraid.  They don't want to add to my pain, so it's easier just to steer clear of me.  I will remember that I have been that person, too.

4.  I resolve to ... Help others understand what I need from them.  If I need to talk about my child, I'll explain to them that it helps me to talk about her, even if it does make me cry.  If I need to be alone for awhile, I'll ask them to respect my solitude.  If I just don't have the energy for chit-chat and smiles, I'll explain to them why.  If I need to celebrate holidays in a different way, I'll discuss it with them ahead of time.  If I don't know what I need (which happens a lot!), I'll even tell them that.

 5.   I resolve to ... Be patient with myself.  Grief takes time ... much more time than I ever realized before.  I will give myself all the time I need, and not try to rush it (even though others may try to rush me along).  I will be gentle and kind to myself and the fellow grievers in my household.

6.  I resolve to ... Find some joy in every day.  There's a difference between happiness and joy.  Happiness is dependent upon circumstances, and happiness can be pretty scarce sometimes.  But joy is God-given, and it is possible to still have joy even in the worst of circumstances.  And it doesn't have to come from big things.  It can be found in little things ... dew on a spiderweb, the sight of your favorite pet greeting you at your doorway, the sparkle of sunshine on the water, the feeling of pulling on a pair of new warm socks on a cold day.  I resolve to look for and appreciate those things.

7.  I resolve to ... Be grateful for the 17 1/2 years I had with Hannah.  I would rather have had her and lost her than to never have had her in my life at all.  And when I consider the fact that I haven't really "lost" her, but in fact, I will spend eternity with her ... the gratitude just overflows.

8.  I resolve to ... Recognize and rebuff the attacks of Satan.  He knows that I'm vulnerable right now, and he would like nothing more than to destroy my witness and to tear my family apart.  He wants me to believe his lies -- that I'm somehow responsible for my child's death; that God is punishing me for some sin; that if only I had had more faith or if I had prayed more, my child would still be here today.  I refuse to allow Satan to have a foothold in my life.

9.  I resolve to ... Depend upon what I know to be true about God, and not on what my feelings are telling me.  So much of the time, my feelings and emotions are completely out of control and unpredictable.  I can laugh and cry and be angry and happy all at the same time.  I can be fine one minute, and sobbing the next.  And I may not even know what triggered the meltdown.  My feelings will lie to me (See #8), but God's Word always tells me the truth.  To keep this resolution, I must spend time with Him, and be intentional in prayer and Bible study.

10.  I resolve to ... Remember that I can do none of these things on my own.  I have no power within myself to keep even one of these resolutions.  It helps to talk to other moms and dads who understand what it's like to miss your child so desperately.  It's great to know that I'm not alone in this thing ... that I'm not the only one who struggles with these things.  But even more than having the support of other bereaved parents, it is critical that I lean on my Heavenly Father for strength.  Because it is only in Him that I can find the strength to keep these resolutions.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong."  II Corinthians 12: 9-11 (NASB)

Never-Ending Christmas

Hannah Joy, Christmas 1992

Do you remember being a little kid on Christmas morning? The excitement of tearing into those presents with the shiny paper and sparkling bows?  The thrill of new toys, games, clothes, books?  Do you also remember that feeling of disappointment when the last gift was opened and Christmas was "over"?  I don't know about you, but I always looked carefully around the tree to make sure there wasn't just one more gift that maybe I had overlooked.  After all, I had looked forward to this day all. year. long.  It couldn't be over already!  And do you remember how quickly the newness wore off of the things that brought so much excitement under the Christmas tree?  It wasn't long before they were broken, or used up, or grown out of, or simply weren't cool anymore.  The "after" of Christmas can feel very empty.

The things, the experiences, the stuff of this world will never satisfy.  That's because we were made for another world.

Where the shine never wears off because Christmas never ends.

Where every day is better than the one before.

Where all our tears will be wiped away.

Where all that was so very wrong in this world has been made right.

Where every empty place is filled and every broken heart is mended.

Where we will sit at the feet of Jesus with our loved ones beside us (or maybe even in our laps).

And we'll never have to worry about it being "over", because it will last forever.

All because God stooped down, reached into our world, and was born as a baby in the humility of a stable.

Grace beyond imagination.

Mercy beyond merit.

Hope beyond all expectation.

Love so exquisite we cannot even begin to comprehend.

"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men."  Philippians 2:5-7 ESV

Thank you, Jesus.

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.

Celebrating When the Guest of Honor is Absent

Today I went birthday shopping for my daughter.

I went to Hobby Lobby and bought some fun fall decorating items, and even a "JOY" Christmas ornament.  

I found the cutest wooden block that says, "You are loved" ... and I just couldn't pass it up. I love the "present tense-ness" of it.

Then it was off to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for a Mississippi Mud Cake ... her all-time favorite.  This has been the cake I've made every year for her birthday; at least since she was old enough to leave the Barney and Barbie birthday cakes behind!

A little later today, I'll pick up a dozen roses, her favorite flower, and bring them to her.

That's all I'm going to get her this year, because I really don't know what else she might want.  You see, she'll be turning 24, and I haven't seen her or spoken to her since she was 17.  She was just a teenager then, interested in clothes and boys and American Idol and politics.  (Yes, politics.)

I have no idea what her interests would be as a woman of 24.  She might be married by now with a baby on the way.  Or she might be working on a master's degree in some field of interest.  She might be into travel, or gardening, or hiking, or writing.  She might be a missionary in a far-away land, or she might live right next door to me.

Compared to the joy of her first 17 birthdays, the last seven have been very quiet ... No fanfare or singing or blowing out of candles.  No anticipation of her excitement as she opens her presents.  No hugs of appreciation and affection.  No good-natured joking about getting older.  Only an emptiness and a longing for what once was.

I loaded all the birthday gifts in my car and made the 65 mile drive to Mount Zion Cemetery in Yell County, Arkansas, to deliver them.

I am so not okay with delivering my daughter's birthday gifts to a cemetery.  Nothing could feel more wrong.

It's hard to celebrate a birthday when the guest of honor is absent.

But, although my daughter is absent, she is not lost.  And she is not under that headstone.  She is where she was created to be ... I am the one who is out of place.

Does that make me miss her any less?  Absolutely not.

I can thankfully say that on a day-to-day basis, God has restored my joy and I do not grieve with the intensity that I once did.  But there are still days when the "missing" is enough to bring me to my knees, and birthdays are one of those times.

But God has given us a promise.  Isaiah 25:8 (ESV) says, "He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken."

Death will be swallowed up, the sting of tears will be wiped away, and I will see my Hannah again.  I just have to wait.

Image from www.redbubble.com

Thoughtful Thursday - Broken Pieces

I had the pleasure of spending last week at the beach in Navarre, Florida, with my Mom and her friend, Carol.  I've never had the opportunity to go on a "girls trip" like this with my Mom, so it was a real blessing to be able to go.

The weather was not the greatest while we were there.  In fact, it rained so hard on Tuesday that they had to close down the elevators because the shafts were flooding.  Being sixteen floors up, we were grateful that we were safe and dry inside when that call was made!

Even though the weather wasn't ideal most of the time, I was able to get in several good walks on the beach.  Navarre is known for its beautiful seashells, and I have a friend who has an amazing collection of shells from there, so I kept my eyes open for some good ones.

But as I walked along the edge of the chilly waves, with my toes in the sand and the seagulls skittering along ahead of me, searching for perfect shells, I remembered something one of our While We're Waiting moms said at a support group meeting a couple of years ago.  She and her husband had taken their first trip to the beach since the death of her 23-year-old son, and she talked about how she was walking on the beach, looking for shells, much like I was doing.  But here's what she said that struck me.  She said, "I found myself drawn to the broken shells. And I realized that as long as I remember to stay broken, God can still use me."  When she said this, it made such an impression on me that I wrote it down.

We all agreed at that evening that we, as parents who have lost children, are broken.  But we also agreed that our very brokenness may be just what God wants to use for His glory.  Our lives may not have turned out the way we thought they would ... far from it ... but God is faithful to take those broken pieces and make a new creation out of us ... something more beautiful and more useful for His Kingdom than we ever dreamed.

The prophet Jeremiah was once sent by God to observe a potter working at his wheel.  Here's what Jeremiah 18:1-4 (ESV) says about that experience.

"The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord:  'Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.'  So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do."

The potter was working hard at making a vessel of clay when something happened and the clay was "spoiled" ... broken, if you will.  But the potter didn't declare it useless and throw it away.  He reworked it, and made a new, different vessel out of it, something that was useful ... something that he saw as good, maybe even better than what he had started to make.  God can do that with us, too, as long as we stay pliable and are willing to let Him rework us as seems good to Him.

As I thought back to our discussion that evening, I decided to abandon my search for those "perfect" shells.  I came home with a Ziploc bag full of broken pieces, and I'm keeping a few of them my desk to remind myself that God is in the business of making something beautiful out of the broken.

"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."  Psalm 51:17 (ESV)

While We're Waiting Wednesday - The Dedication of the WWW Refuge

This past Saturday, we held a dedication service for the While We're Waiting Refuge, a retreat facility specifically designed for bereaved parents.  I can't even begin to tell you what a blessing it was ... but I'm going to try!

We began planning this event about three months ago.  It was important to us to take some time to dedicate this facility to God before we got too far along in its construction.  We set the date for September 19th, not really knowing where we would be in the building process at that time, but trusting that God would have us right where we needed to be.

We invited our While We're Waiting family and our church family, having no idea how many people might actually come.  We publicized it on social media, via email, and in our church bulletin.  We thought maybe fifty people would come.

As it got closer, we realized that we may have a few more folks than that, so we prepared areas for parking and asked members of the Fearless Rock dive team to assist us with the parking.

It turns out that more than 150 people came to help us dedicate this facility to the Lord!  We were absolutely thrilled, humbled, and overwhelmed by the support we received that day.  As always, a story is best told through pictures, so here are a few taken by my daughter and her husband.

These dear folks sat through 90+ degree temperatures and blowing dust to show their support for this project.

A big shout out to the Fearless Rock dive team who helped us get everyone parked safely!

The program included parents who had attended past While We're Waiting retreats sharing what this ministry has meant to them.

After the program, we encircled the entire slab and had a closing prayer.  It was a very touching moment.

After the prayer, bereaved parents were invited to write on the walls and studs of the kitchen/dining area in memory of their precious children ... a very special time of remembrance.

Finally, just a few more pictures so you can get a feel of what the Refuge will actually be like.  This picture shows the full perspective of the building.  The slab where everyone is standing is the area where the ten guest bedrooms will be.  The middle section is the existing house, which includes our meeting area and sitting area/library, and is being completely renovated, and the far section is where the welcome center, the dining room, and the kitchen will be.

I love this view of the kitchen/dining area.  The dining room will have a high, arched ceiling.

One last picture.  This is the view out of the large dining room windows.  The pond is a bit low right now, as it's been very dry here lately, but it's a beautiful, peaceful spot.  We will be building a fishing dock on the pond, and plan to keep it stocked for our guests.

Each person who attended the Dedication Day on Saturday received a program which included a prayer list for this ministry.  We would be honored if you would join us in prayer for these specific requests.

1.  For God's will to be done in all aspects of the While We're Waiting ministry; that He would be glorified in all that is said and done.

2.  That every hurting parent who comes here will receive comfort, feel God's love, and ultimately be pointed to Jesus, the true source of all comfort.

3.  For laborers to help with the building project and to serve our families.

4.  For safety of all those involved in the building project.

5.  For finances for the building project and for the day-to-day operation of the ministry.

6.  For God's wisdom for the Browns and the Sullivans as they lead this ministry.

Thank you so much for your support and prayers for the While We're Waiting ministry!  

Throwback Thursday - "Miss Havisham"

Photo from paulineconnelly.com

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.

Thoughtful Thursday -- How Many More Minutes?

Image from www.skitterphoto.com

"How many more minutes?"

We used to hear that question a lot from our little girls riding to Grandma and Grandpa's house in the back seat of the car.

We would try to explain how much time remained in our trip in terms they could understand:  "It's two Rugrats shows and a Barney" meant that we were still an hour away.

They would settle in, satisfied, ready to be patient a little bit longer, knowing that the joy of getting to their grandparents' house was awaiting them at the end of the journey.

We no longer have little girls riding in the back seat of our car.  One of those little girls is in Heaven, and the other is happily married and I look forward to the day that she is driving her little ones to Grandma and Grandpa's house!

So now it's not our kids who are asking, "How many more minutes?"

It's us.

How long, O Lord, until we see our Hannah again?  How many more minutes (hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades) until we get to Heaven?

It's hard to be patient when you're looking forward to a time of great joy, isn't it?  It can seem like the time just crawls by.

We found that those road trips went by faster when the girls had something to do to keep them busy while they were waiting.  We played the ABC game, sometimes fighting over who got to claim the "Q" in "Antique"; we sang songs; we listened to audio books.  Anything to help the time pass ... and it worked!

The theme verse for the While We're Waiting ministry to bereaved parents is Romans 8:25:  "But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance."

A ministry consultant once told us that we needed to change the name of the ministry.  He said, "It sounds like you're kicked back in a recliner, doing nothing, just waiting to get to Heaven."

Obviously, we didn't follow his advice ... because nothing could be further from the truth.  We are waiting eagerly ... persevering until that day.  Our desire is to keep busy doing what God has for us to do until this particular road trip is over.  Our goal is to live well (by God's grace alone) while we're waiting.  Nothing will make the time pass more quickly than that!

And not only does the time pass more quickly ... the trip has been made so much richer by the fellow travelers we've met along the way.

"How many more minutes?"

I asked myself this question again the other day, but in an entirely different context.  For Valentine's Day, my husband gave me a gift certificate for a 55-minute massage, and I've saved it all this time, waiting for just the right time to use it.  I finally decided there would never be a "perfect" time, so last Friday I hopped in the car and drove to the spa.

The massage therapist began to do her magic and it was Ahhhhh, so nice.  But pretty soon I started thinking, "I wonder how many minutes I have left.  I had 55 when I started ... so maybe now I have 42, or 29, or what if I only have 7?  I don't want this to be over yet!"  Before I knew it, I was no longer enjoying the massage, because I was too busy thinking about how many more minutes I had left, and wishing there were more.  I had to repeatedly remind myself to enjoy the moment I was in.

Isn't it awesome to know that when we get to Heaven, we'll never again have to ask "How many more minutes"?  The joys of Heaven will never end.  We'll never have to worry about running out of time.  No matter how many minutes pass, there will still be infinitely more to come.  Every mile of this road trip we're on will be redeemed!

"How long, O Lord, will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I wrestle with my thoughts day after day and have sorrow in my heart?  How long will my enemy triumph over me ... But I trust in Your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.  I will sing the Lord's praise, for he has been good to me."  Psalm 13:1b-2; 5-6