Inciting Incident

Recently my husband and I found ourselves sitting in church, enjoying the gentle tug that the worship has had on our souls the past few times we've been.  They were playing my favorite song and the soft lilt of the singer's voice soothed the aches found within the folds of my heart...the places I've hidden so I can bring them out and use them as excuses at my own inclination.  Our pastor interrupted the song...he felt that God was leading him to give us the opportunity to open ourselves and allow God to reach in and take something we needed to let go of.  My first thought; I'm fine, nothing to let go of here...  Then God, quite vividly, showed me something very specific and revealing.  Something that I hid so well that I almost didn't realize it was there, or just never recognized its origin.

My vision:  We had just returned home from Dakota's funeral in Houston.  We decided to go to church, despite our fragility.  I remembered standing in the congregation and listening to worship, but completely incapable of participating.  Not just because I was distraught, but I had no praise in me for the moment.  Breath was slowly escaping me and I was struggling with filling my lungs.  I spent most of the service with my face buried within the safety of the space between my husbands neck and shoulder.  I heard the words in the songs and the sermon of God's love, power, and joy...but I couldn't reconcile what I was hearing with what I was feeling.  Something very small and huge happened in those moments.  Bitterness was planted.  It was like a sharpie that left a tiny dot on a white t-shirt.  It started so small, but grew into a very discernible stain.  I wasn't so much angry at God as much as the world.  I was disillusioned; reality robbed my family of an innocence I hoped would linger a bit longer.

God showed me the day bitterness found a home in my heart.  He showed me how easily I welcomed it.  I guess it's easier to slip into a hole than it is to build a bridge over it.  God whispered, "That's what I want to take from you.  Will you give it to me?"  With a ragged breath I allowed God to pull it from the very air I was exhaling.  If I'm going to be totally transparent, I had been feeling the bitterness grow... I talked to Josh about how I needed to do something, that I needed to change the ways I was seeing, hearing, and remembering.  I just couldn't let go of the bitterness though.  I would say that it had its claws in me, but I think it was the other way around.  I had my own fingers rooted in bitterness.  It's kind of like when someone finds comfort in their sadness or in their anger, and letting it go becomes entirely too foreign.

Some would say, "Don't lose faith."  I haven't.  Others would say, "God gives the strongest the most."  I say that's a lie... God isn't cruel.  And there are some who say, "It'll be ok."  And I say...no it won't.  The thing is, that's ok...that it's not ok.  It's where I am, and it's where my family is.  This is a place of honesty and truth, and it's a place to start.

So, I will let go of this bitterness that I have entrapped in my fingers.  Although the remnants may take time to clean out from beneath my fingernails.

I do feel I must add though:  Faith and hope are not lost.  God doesn't give the strongest the biggest hurdles...He just doesn't work that way, so please don't say that.  And finally, IT may never be ok...but some day, we will be.

Madness In Measure

“All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.” 
― Yann Martel, Life of Pi

We all have a madness inside us.  It hides sometimes, however it always finds it's way to the surface.  This is the part of us that we are embarrassed of, but it's also the part that is the most "us".  You see it when you forget to check yourself when others are around.  You hear it when you're laughing so hard that you snort and wheeze.  When you laugh at your own joke, and you're all alone in your giggles, because nobody else gets it.  You feel it when the emotion that catches in your throat is too strong and you run down the street searching for solitude and scream to the heavens, because there is no one else to blame.  

I sometimes run from my madness, but it is always there...following me like a shadow that chases its maker.  

I once heard a pastor say, "you can't run away from yourself...where ever you go, there you are."  Because, in all actuality, "ourselves" our "madness" is the part of us that is the rawest and the most honest.  This part does help us adapt, because it is real and it is the truest "us" that is willing to accept who we are and what we must do to survive.  Isn't it funny that this is the very part that we apologize for the most?  We have to apologize for it though, right?  Because we can't completely control it.  No matter how hard we try to disguise it, or pretend it away, we cannot deny it.  

My madness humbles me and reminds me where I came from.  This is why I secretly cherish it...why I'll forever turn red-faced by its inevitable appearance, but never be able to let it go.  It is my "real" and what people really see on the surface is just its shabby dressings.  Because my madness gives me permission to guffaw at what is truly funny and tear at those shabby dressings that you all see, when I truly despair.  It is also the part that allows me to survive the unimaginable.  Only those who have met this point understand the madness that is required to do so...survive.  Yet, we have all been there...or will one day, and it is this madness, within measure, that will give us the permission necessary to unearth ourselves from the pit we're found buried in.  

Here you find the tears that transform into laughter; the sadness that finds joy in the ashes.  The torn relationships that reconcile amidst loss, because it no longer makes sense.

Oh if we could all embrace just a bit of our madness ;)

Arms Left Wanting

Almost 6 months later and here we are, all together in one place again... The elephant's in the room that everyone is aching to talk about, but terrified to expose.  We all know we all hurt, but we try to pretend that this is another regular day... it's just that it isn't.  She isn't here and it is abundantly obvious.  It's a blessing to all be together in solidarity and love.  This is just another moment for a first, and the tension is not missed, the loss is apparent, and I'm still standing there with my arms open, waiting for the hug that will never come.  My arms resign to the open air and are left wanting.

Tonight at dinner my husband, Josh, and I  were talking about goodbyes.  He mentioned how we say goodbye with the intention of seeing someone again.  When loved ones visit, you intend on the final goodbye...the one you say when everyone is heading back home... on being the best.  This is the goodbye with the longest hug and the biggest kisses.  This is the goodbye that you leave your loved ones with a show of how much you are going to miss them and how much you are looking forward to seeing them again.  It's funny how not every goodbye is treated with such reverence... After all, we are never promised tomorrow.  We'll wave, give a side hug, and say, "see you later"... but what if later doesn't come...

I know that the later of eternity always comes, that we will see our loved ones in heaven.  Sometimes that later just doesn't seem fair enough, or good enough because we want what we want now.  It's just so hard.  I imagine that the wait is like being caught on the inside of a beach break.  The wave crashes into your body, driving you into the sandy ocean floor, then lifts and tumbles you into, what seems to be, a perpetual summersault.  You're not quite prepared for the on slot, so your initial breath before being forced below the surface of the water is minimal, at best.  As you tumble, you are acutely aware of the time, and in direct contrast, completely unaware of which way is up or down.  There is a point that everyone reaches, where fear kicks in, that your body sends a signal to your brain...like a bright light flashing within the curtain of your eyelids, telling you that you have no more breath to withstand this deluge beneath the blanket of white water.  Then you find footing and the force of your legs rocket you up and out with a spray of the briny water and a desperate sucking in of oxygen.

For two years my daughter has been asking to be baptized, and for two years we have made her wait.  We just wanted to be sure that she understood what choice she was making and its importance.  This year she asked again with utter determination in her eyes.  We have had many God talks since January, and Josh and I felt she was ready.  Since she is so young our church has her fill out a pamphlet that is meant to help her understand the step she is taking.  Kirra and I were going through the pamphlet and we come to this question, "When bad things happen to you, why do you continue to follow Jesus?"  Kirra's initial answer was a classic Sunday school answer.  I had to remind her who I was, and that I don't accept Sunday school answers.  So I said to her, "Consider this year... your friends picking on you and abandoning you, and Dakota... Think about the day that you told me that you thought God was cruel for taking Dakota from us.  Why is it that you still want to hold Jesus' hand?  Why do you still want to follow Him?"  Tears fill the corners of her eyes and spill out along the side of her nose, and hang in anticipation at the edge of her chin.

"Because God told me I would see Dakota again mom.  He told me that this wouldn't be forever.  He gave me hope."  My child humbles me in the most gentle and sweetest of ways.  God has plans and I must trust Him.  He doesn't leave me empty handed; He gives me hope.  Although, the wait can be disorienting and agonizing; we will break through the surface and be met with relief and the air we were so desperately craving will fill our lungs.  So until that day comes, my goodbyes should be more reverent and my breaths will be more intentional, lest I find myself struggling beneath the force of the ocean once again.

The Wound and the Light

I read this quote this morning and it hit this very sensitive, very deep and very destitute part of my heart.

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you." - Rumi

This is so true and so "typical", right?  The very place you hurt the most and have the most pain is the place that the light will enter...it is, in all actuality, the place that needs the light.  But, it's more than that...this statement exposes the truth about healing.  It's painful...  You have to think about the things that are raw and grating at your caustic skin.  You can't come at it from another angle in hopes that the healing will happen through a gentle osmosis that makes it's way to your more severe and wounded places.  No...  Its like having to clean a wound with alcohol...scrubbing out the bacteria that threatens to infect and break down your wellbeing.  At first it stings terribly; causing your body to curl into itself in hopes of fending off the agony that is invading your, no longer, composed existence.  You scream and you rage until the cool calm of tears soak over your tender places.  Your tears clean your most agonizing parts and sooth your throat that is sore from your cries.  You no longer cry tears of bitterness, but of new beginnings and your soul will be refreshed.

If only healing can be as sweet as it sounds.  Isn't it interesting that the most necessary things in life can also be the most grievous.  But, it is what it is...right?  Your fear keeps you from sleeping...but what will bring your soul rest?  Sleep.  Your guilt keeps you from laughing...but what will bring you joy?  Forgiveness.  Your pain keeps you from living...but what will bring you peace?  Acceptance that only comes from diving into the very thing that causes your pain.  In the beginning your memories will be devastating, but as you move along the path of healing, your memories will become a cooling salve that you will hold protectively and gently, but with utter resolve that they shall never leave your tangled fingers.  Healing isn't something that just happens...its intentional.  You work at it, you fail at it and when you don't think it will ever happen...its there.  As life goes on, you'll have moments of remission...but you've been there and you will never sink below the surface of the water that threatens to drown you.  You'll rise above and walk among the waves that have been calmed by the Great Comforter.  There is a Light that you can reach and the darkness can never extinguish it, so reach for it.  Don't let fear keep you from the light.  Don't allow the pain to define you...that is a liberty that only healing can own.  Expose your wounds to the Light and grip your memories so you can withstand the sting.

Delicate, Vulnerable and Simply Overwhelmed

My niece passed away on New Year's Day...She was 8 years old.  She was sledding and went into the road, she was laughing...so happy; she didn't even see the car.  One of my biggest strengths in my life has always been belief.  Belief that everything happens for a reason and that anything has the capacity for redemption...no matter how tragic.  I still believe that, but it's in these moments that I grip that belief with angry and sometimes bitter hands.  I refuse to believe that she left this world in vain...for something to end in nothing would be a true tragedy.  Something will always remain.  It's interesting...it's like my belief is what maintains the balance, even when what keeps me grasping at the fibers of belief seems so contrary.  So here I am, refusing to let go and accepting that we may never see the answer...and doing this with deepest sadness.  Although, I know, the tender edges bordering our wounds will one day grow into a gentle ache or longing.  For now we are delicate, vulnerable and simply overwhelmed.  Today my daughter found a scrapbook page that her and her cousin made together.  At the top it said their names, followed by "Best Friends".  My heart beat against my ribs, threatening to escape.  You feel blessed to see evidence of great and beautiful moments, angry for the future moments that are now stolen away, and utterly sad for the empty chair at the table.  You battle between optimism and despair, perseverance and the desire to just give in.  You never completely fall prey to the despair nor the idea of giving in...you can't...because life keeps on going and the world stops for no one...and you are responsible for more than just your sadness.  I imagine, as a mother or a father, your children are attached to your heart by, what appears to be, a fragile piece of string.  You come to learn that, this seemingly delicate string bears a strength that is paramount to any other...it's never meant to be severed.  So when your child is taken from you...the cord doesn't merely break, it takes a piece of you with it.  What I find devastatingly beautiful is...that piece of you didn't actually belong to you...it belongs to her and she had to take it with her.  She can't be separated from you...she needs you, so she took you with her.  She took the part reserved for her.  And, one day, she will replace that piece when you find her in your embrace once again.

So, having said all of that, I am asking those of you who stumble across this message, please pray for my sister and brother-in-law and their two other children.  Pray that they can make their way through this labyrinth of emotions, that they can take each step knowing that they are not alone and that God will catch them when they don't feel like they can walk any longer.  Pray that they can laugh freely and without regret. Pray for strength for tomorrow and the next day then the next and on and on.

“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.” 
― Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid