It is Well.

Death is unnatural.  This was not what God had originally intended for His precious creation.  Yet we, in all our humanness, made choices.  Thus entered death, what we all try desperately to forget about and avoid.  Although I know the hope to which I have found because of my salvation and a promised eternity with Christ, when my dad died, I immediately dug in my heels.  The only way I can fully describe this in words is for you to visualize a tug of war.  I was on one end, pulling on the rope with all of my might, digging in my heels, resisting with every breath I took.  I wasn’t ready to let my dad go; in those first days and weeks, I pulled with everything I had in me, praying to God that I wouldn’t have to go down this path.  My resistance was intense.  This wasn’t as I had planned.

Yet, before I left home in Colorado, one peaceful evening (much like the night that he died), I stood there saying goodbye to the memories, to every tree he had planted that now towered over my head, to the joy and laughter we shared, to the lake shimmering in the distance, to the spot in the field where I knelt one last time by his side.  I watched the sun setting on the horizon, acutely aware that this era of my life was setting with it.  As I stood there, tears streaming down my face, comforted by my husband’s gentle but strong arm around me, I looked out and I prayed.  Finally, when I was able, I lifted up my tightly clenched fists in the air in front of me.  I clenched them as tightly together as I could, allowing myself to feel the pain welling up inside me.  Then, as encouraged to do in the past by some dear sisters in the Lord, I turned my fists over, palms facing up.  Slowly, I opened my fists and verbalized to God my submission to His will.  I knew, but needed to verbalize, my confidence in Him that He would see my family, Dad’s friends, and me through this journey.  And so began my journey of surrender in yet another area of my life, one onto which I clung tightly.

Learning to grieve is a journey in and of itself, so I’m told and have come to see in my prior limited exposure with deep personal loss.  I’ve been riding the waves, and thankfully, they have continued to get less intense with time.  Yet, they still come…I hear they’ll come for some time and that everyone’s journey is unique.  I’ve also attempted to stuff the emotion and avoid the pain, fearing the ache is too great to go near at times.  My wise father-in-law offered some great insight into this.  Instead of being more like a storm door, halting the emotion, he encouraged me to try being like a screen door, allowing the pain to come and go.  This seems to work for me as I’m learning to feel it, touch it, and then move through it, with God’s help.

Over the past few days, I find myself running more, laughing more, crying less.  I anticipated a marathon race in the grief process, checking off the stages of grief as I crossed them, seeing the vast, long road ahead of me.  But, it seems for me, it’s more like the laps around the track I used to run.  The stages of grief come and go in my life like the 800 meter race I used to love.   I pass through the stages of grief at different times, just to see myself rounding the track again, going through some of the same stages I was hoping I had completed.  Yet, each time, just like when I would prepare for my races, I find myself a little stronger in the Lord to face whatever stage I come upon next.  Most recently, I’ve met an unexpected visitor in my “race” or “journey” or whatever you might call this road upon which I’ve found myself.

Eucharisteo.  For those of you that have read the book, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, you are probably very familiar with this term.  Basically, it’s a willingness to give thanks for whatever God gives.  A cherished friend shared with me recently a glimpse of this demonstrated in my life.  I pointed out to her  that it most certainly wasn’t me she was seeing, but her sharing this with me helped me to see how God was at work in my life, without my even realizing it, drawing gratitude out of me in the midst of the pain.

Initially when my dad died, I knew, based on what I know about God, that one day I would be able to thank God for all that He taught me through this journey.  I anticipated that day to come once the pain subsided.  I’m beginning to see that the pain is going to be around for quite some time.  Yet, I’m coming to learn that joy and hope can exist in the same breath as pain.  And, as I’m rereading this book alongside a deep look into the book of Psalms, I’m finding that the joy and hope are found in a place of gratitude to God in the midst of the pain.  I don’t have to wait until the pain subsides.  With diligence and God’s help, I pray that I can continue to daily choose and work to have a heart of gratitude, in the big things and the small things of this life.  How differently the world looks in light of true Eucharisteo!

I have a dear BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) friend who is often heard saying the words, “It is well!”, no matter what it is she is facing in her life.  I’ve always admired that kind of faith, hope and thankfulness, but I’ve hesitated to say those words at times in my own life, not sure if I could really mean them.  For her, I knew it truly was well and that she meant every word.  I could see it in everything she said and did.  But how could I have that authentic, “It is well” lifestyle as well?  I couldn’t fake it.  It needed to be authentic, and I wasn’t sure I was there.

I’m now coming to see that, “It is well,” doesn’t necessarily have to mean that it doesn’t hurt.  What it does mean is that whatever may befall, my hope is not shaken.  My peace stands.  And, the only way I can truly embrace an authentic “It is well” attitude is to allow God to open my eyes to see all that He is doing in the midst of the pain….to allow Him to open my heart, my mind, and my soul to a place a gratitude, and so I give thanks.  And, as I give thanks, I feel the hope and joy I have in my Savior filling the void I have in my life, spurring me on to know Him and love Him more and make Him known.  What a gift it is that our pain has a purpose!

When Dad died, I asked the question over the first weeks, “Was it worth having such a close relationship?”  Basically, “Was the love worth the pain?”  I received a beautiful card where a loved one summed up my feelings.  She had written, “With immense love comes immense pain.”  Again I asked myself, “Was it worth it?”  God brought to mind another scenario of immense love and immense pain—His own love for us.  Having to watch His own Son take upon himself the punishment we deserve must have caused God pain beyond comprehension.  Yet, it was worth it to Him.  As Christ was raised again to life, God gave us the opportunity to have our hopes and lives raised in Him as well.  I praise God that it was worth it to Him.  And yes, I’ve come to see, the immense love is well-worth the immense pain.

It is well…it is well, indeed.

To answer the question, "How are you?"

Four weeks ago, my world was turned upside down.  As I have arrived back home now, I am grateful to begin seeing some of my dear, sweet midwestern friends and family, and I have been greeted with the infamous, “How are you?” question.  Hmm...how do I answer that?

If you have recently asked me that question since I’ve returned, you might have been met with a blank stare, a cynical look, or a one-word answer posed as a question, “Okay??”  I honestly just haven't known how to respond or what to say, because I can hardly figure out the answer to that question myself!  

Yes, I have experienced pain and loss in my life in many other ways, but never before have I been cut to the core of my soul and felt the darkness of such a valley.

Beginning to blog again is probably more for my own benefit than anyone's, but if you care to know more, I'd love to have you journey with me through this, and I pray that my own reflections might encourage you in some way, by God's grace, whether you are in the valley or on the mountaintop in your own life.   Either way, thanks for listening.

So, four weeks ago…

My husband and I pulled over the top of the hill overlooking my parents’ home and property around 12:30 at night.  The lights were all on; there sat my dad on the front porch, waving with a huge smile on his face as we pulled in the driveway.  Of course he would be there waiting up, anticipating the moment of our arrival, just as I was.

That’s my dad for you.  In the midst of his own busyness, after being at work until 11:00pm for a City Council meeting, he came home and simply sat enjoying the beauty of a country Colorado starry night, awaiting the arrival of his precious Sweetums and her family. 

See, the thing you have to understand is that my dad was an incredible father; he was also, outside of my husband, my very best friend.  My mom and brother would say the same thing of their relationship with him.  My dad was there for us from the day we were born to the day he died.  All of the love, wisdom, guidance, support, and friendship he showered on us over the years will carry us through the rest of our lives. 

My dad was the dad you heard the loudest from the sidelines, cheering me on in every endeavor I have ever taken.  He was the one that made me believe I was something special, especially to him. He was the one with the camera on at ALL times, making sure to never miss a precious moment of our lives.  Although he had a very demanding job as the City Attorney, we never really thought much about his job because he somehow always fit it all in.  He never missed a soccer game, a track meet, a piano recital, a school play, a graduation, a crucial conversation; my dad’s face was smiling on the sideline at basically every event in which I have ever taken a part.  Even while I was in college, my dad made sure to travel the 1000 miles to come see me run and drive me all over the country to go and do whatever I had in mind to do.  What delightful conversations we had on our many road trips together.

 As I grew and got married, my dad was still an ever-present part of our family life, and he became a dear friend and beloved father to my husband as well.  Whenever Dad came to visit, Adam, Dad and me would stay up late playing games together, laughing until we cried…literally.  Even after I was grown, he made sure to take me on Daddy-Daughter dates and made sure to listen to whatever I wanted to talk about with him. He made many trips here to Illinois every year to see his grandchildren, drive furniture across the country for me, and just stop in for a weekend visit whenever he could work it into the schedule.  Whenever Dad was in town, he joined us in doing everything (nature hikes, golfing, outings, Amish country, putzing….) and found any possible way he could to encourage me…from helping in Olivia’s Sunday school class to planting a flower garden in our front yard for me to working on our latest project around the house to helping me pick out a new wardrobe to make me feel good in my post-pregnancy state.  No matter what he had going on around him, he always took the time to take my phone call.  Even in the midst of a meeting with the mayor or City Manager, Dad would answer my call just so I could fill him in on what we were having for lunch that day or what cute thing one of the girls had done that day. 

My most favorite times with Dad, whether here in Illinois or at home in Colorado, were our long talks and walks.  In the evenings, after the kids had gone to bed, my dad and I would go for a stroll, gaze at the stars, and simply walk arm in arm talking about life, God, the past, the present, the future.  We would laugh and delight in the blessings and joys of life, and he was always the first person I ran to when life got hard.  Even as a grown woman, I still crawled into his arms to have a good cry with him when I needed it.  He always had a tender way of patting me on the shoulder or leg, looking at me with love in his eyes, and reassuring me that all would be well.  He never let a day go by without letting me know how very much he loved me.  He was every little girls’ dream for what a father would be like.

I guess I felt you’d have to understand how deep our relationship was in order to understand the void I am now feeling in my life.  I know my mom and brother feel a void just as great because their relationships with him were just as remarkable.  I was going to write more about the darkness and the pain of the night I lost my dad because beyond dealing with the loss of my dad, I am also dealing with the trauma of that night.  But, as I am writing, my dad’s own words are coming back to me, reminding me that I have a choice regarding what I choose to focus upon in my life.  I can choose to dwell on the terror and pain of that night or I can choose to focus upon the lifetime of joy I have shared (and so many others have shared) with him.  So for today, I choose to remember the joy... 

More to come...