Today is Allison's 25th birthday. Twenty-five years ago today, about 5:00 pm, amidst tears and cries of pain, a beautiful baby girl was helped out of my body. She always had a mind of her own, a trait I should have recognized in the way she chose to be born. As he placed her in my arms, the doctor explained why the delievery was so painful and long. . . Allison wanted to suck her thumb through the birth process. I wasn't just pushing a little head out. . . I was pushing out a head, arm, and elbow!
My friend, Leigh, (www.livingonsaturday.blogspot.com) recently posted a blog about her great desire to recognize her son and see his sweet smile again. Me too, Leigh. I want to see my little girl again, hear her laugh and listen to her squeaky little voice.
One day. But, until then, happy birthday, Allison. I love you and miss you.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Redeemed
When Allison was diagnosed with leukemia, we were in a children's hospital in Norfolk, Virginia. We spent many days, nights, and weeks there, discovering a wonderful playroom, excellent staff, and one very annoying mom. This particular mom was a regular on the 3rd floor, as her daughter had asthma and was frequently hospitalized for treatments. We met in the playroom, discovered we were both Christians; she was comfortable there, knew most of the staff by name, and was generally a very happy, cheerful person. I was not. I soon nicknamed my new friend, "Platitude Pam", because she seemed to be an endless fountain of scripture, cliches, and trite remarks. Her favorite was Romans 8:28. . . "all things work together for good, Joni!" I hated that verse. I couldn't see anything good in what was happening to my daughter.
Many years have passed since those unhappy days, and there still seems to be something about that verse that just rubs me a little wrong. Of course, it probably has nothing to do with the verse; and everything to do with how it's used by well-meaning people, including me. I've really tried to like it. . .it doesn't actually say all things that happen to us are good, and it doesn't actually say that I have to be happy about the things that are happening to me. But, it just seems too simplistic.
Psalm 106:10 says "from the hand of the enemy, He redeemed them." "You, Lord, took up my case; You redeemed my life." (Lam. 3:58). Redeemed. Now, that's a word with some real depth to it. . .I like that word. We sing about it frequently in church, use it to describe our new life in Christ, and read about it in countless books in the church library. And, this past week, I read about it in a book by Philip Yancey. In talking about Joni Eareckson Tada, he said "pain redeemed impresses me more than pain removed." And then he quoted Dallas Willard: "nothing irredeemable has happened or can happen to us on our way to our destiny in God's full world." Redeemed . . . synonyms include 'buy back', 'recover', 'regain possession of', and 'exchange'. Exchange? As in 'redeeming currency' or 'redeeming a savings bond'? I know I'm a little slow sometimes, but what if Romans 8:28 is actually about redemption? All things (pain, grief, sickness, death) can be redeemed . . . can be exchanged . . . for a new awareness of how temporary this life is and how very much our Savior loves us. "I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life. . . neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow. . . indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom. 8:38-39) Even the grief I continue to live with is redeemable as it reminds me of His promise that one day "we will be with the Lord forever"! (1Thess. 4:17)
I've decided that Romans 8:28 is one of my favorite verses.
Many years have passed since those unhappy days, and there still seems to be something about that verse that just rubs me a little wrong. Of course, it probably has nothing to do with the verse; and everything to do with how it's used by well-meaning people, including me. I've really tried to like it. . .it doesn't actually say all things that happen to us are good, and it doesn't actually say that I have to be happy about the things that are happening to me. But, it just seems too simplistic.
Psalm 106:10 says "from the hand of the enemy, He redeemed them." "You, Lord, took up my case; You redeemed my life." (Lam. 3:58). Redeemed. Now, that's a word with some real depth to it. . .I like that word. We sing about it frequently in church, use it to describe our new life in Christ, and read about it in countless books in the church library. And, this past week, I read about it in a book by Philip Yancey. In talking about Joni Eareckson Tada, he said "pain redeemed impresses me more than pain removed." And then he quoted Dallas Willard: "nothing irredeemable has happened or can happen to us on our way to our destiny in God's full world." Redeemed . . . synonyms include 'buy back', 'recover', 'regain possession of', and 'exchange'. Exchange? As in 'redeeming currency' or 'redeeming a savings bond'? I know I'm a little slow sometimes, but what if Romans 8:28 is actually about redemption? All things (pain, grief, sickness, death) can be redeemed . . . can be exchanged . . . for a new awareness of how temporary this life is and how very much our Savior loves us. "I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life. . . neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow. . . indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom. 8:38-39) Even the grief I continue to live with is redeemable as it reminds me of His promise that one day "we will be with the Lord forever"! (1Thess. 4:17)
I've decided that Romans 8:28 is one of my favorite verses.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Welcome to my party!
Death was the first guest to arrive, followed closely by his good friends, Sadness, Anger, and Shock. Despair tried to sneak in behind them, but he was turned away at the door. There seemed to be some kind of problem with his ID or invitation, which was a relief to me, because he was horribly scary. Confusion arrived just a few minutes later with an entrance that sent the entire party into a tizzy! He must have turned up the volume on the speakers, because suddenly the noise level in the room became intense and overwhelming. I think someone said something about some kind of scam, it's just hearsay and we shouldn't believe it; it's all lies, one guest said, but I wasn't sure what they were talking about. The noise level was increasing, and my head was pounding. I found myself hoping and praying that this whole crazy party was just a horrible nightmare. . . surely I would wake up soon to my pleasant, quiet, dependable life. Please let me wake up soon, I begged!
But as the night wore on, the party seemed to escalate and I even noticed a few of the guests in a physical altercation in one of the back rooms. "Stop!", I finally shouted! "Didn't you read your invitations? They were printed with clear instructions to arrive at designated times specifically designed to prevent this ghastly revelry! Now, get out, get out!" There was just a brief moment of silence following my verbal outburst, then the laughter started. . .horrible, shrill, demeaning laughter. My legs buckled under me, and I fell to the floor, weeping.
Days, weeks, months passed. I lost all track of time. The guests were still there. But, as I walked through the house one morning, I began to notice new faces in the crowd, some with vaguely familiar features. Feeling somewhat adventurous, I started down a darkened hallway and heard a curious noise behind a closed door. This was still my house, and I had a right to know who was there, so I boldly pushed open the door and stared, unbelieving at the sight before me. Sunshine poured through the windows and Joy and Hope were laughing and dancing around the room. "Where did you come from? How long have you been here? What are you doing?" The questions poured out of me, but my guests just grabbed me by the hands and pulled me into their blissful waltz. Time seemed to slow as precious memories of happier days filled my head, but the calm repose didn't last long as voices from the hallway began shouting and sobbing once again. My time in the sunroom with these old friends had been so precious . . . I was desperate to grab a few more minutes with them, but other guests were once again demanding my attention. Will this party ever end, I screamed out to no-one. And there was no answer.
But as the night wore on, the party seemed to escalate and I even noticed a few of the guests in a physical altercation in one of the back rooms. "Stop!", I finally shouted! "Didn't you read your invitations? They were printed with clear instructions to arrive at designated times specifically designed to prevent this ghastly revelry! Now, get out, get out!" There was just a brief moment of silence following my verbal outburst, then the laughter started. . .horrible, shrill, demeaning laughter. My legs buckled under me, and I fell to the floor, weeping.
Days, weeks, months passed. I lost all track of time. The guests were still there. But, as I walked through the house one morning, I began to notice new faces in the crowd, some with vaguely familiar features. Feeling somewhat adventurous, I started down a darkened hallway and heard a curious noise behind a closed door. This was still my house, and I had a right to know who was there, so I boldly pushed open the door and stared, unbelieving at the sight before me. Sunshine poured through the windows and Joy and Hope were laughing and dancing around the room. "Where did you come from? How long have you been here? What are you doing?" The questions poured out of me, but my guests just grabbed me by the hands and pulled me into their blissful waltz. Time seemed to slow as precious memories of happier days filled my head, but the calm repose didn't last long as voices from the hallway began shouting and sobbing once again. My time in the sunroom with these old friends had been so precious . . . I was desperate to grab a few more minutes with them, but other guests were once again demanding my attention. Will this party ever end, I screamed out to no-one. And there was no answer.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
I'm Sorry
When Allison died, Jim was working with a man who had also buried a little girl. I knew just a few details of her death. . . she was three and had died about 10 years earlier in a traffic accident. We had a somewhat casual relationship with this couple; outside of Jim's office, we only saw them occasionally at chapel or at military social functions. But, after Allison's death, I expected all that to change. I anticipated that the wife would choose to walk alongside me, to comfort me, and to share her words of wisdom with me. Obviously, she had survived those years since her daughter had died, a feat I could not personally even conceive of doing, and I longed for her to teach me how to live again. I wanted her to speak words of peace and comfort, bring encouragement to my wounded spirit, and answer my questions about simply making it through each day.
I was wrong.
Actually, I don't know if Jim had any heartfelt conversations on grief with the husband, but I never had any with the wife. We continued to see each other socially, shared polite and courteous exchanges, and I gradually grew more and more resentful. And, the resentment evolved into a deep anger that uncomfortably leaked out during those required, but brief, social interchanges.
I'm sorry. Now, twenty years later, I finally realize what you knew then. . . .there are no magic words of comfort, there's no 'how to' guide filled with all the right things to say and do, and nothing takes away the raw intense pain of new grief. I realize now the struggle you were going through as the death of my little girl must have brought new waves of sadness and loss into your own life. I'm so sorry that I didn't see the anguish my presence must have brought you. I'm so sorry for expecting the impossible from you.
As the years have passed, I have become the woman who grieved and survived. I have become the one who persevered through unspeakable loss. And I have become the one who has let others grieve silently, wondering 'why isn't she here? why isn't she walking alongside me?' I could give lots of reasons . . fear, too busy, selfish . . but, in the end, I have no excuse. Yes, I've buried a child, and I've learned so much in the years since. . . but, faced with another's grief, I still don't know what to say or do to ease the pain.
But, maybe that's the point. . . it's not about 'saying' or 'doing'. . .it's about being.
I was wrong.
Actually, I don't know if Jim had any heartfelt conversations on grief with the husband, but I never had any with the wife. We continued to see each other socially, shared polite and courteous exchanges, and I gradually grew more and more resentful. And, the resentment evolved into a deep anger that uncomfortably leaked out during those required, but brief, social interchanges.
I'm sorry. Now, twenty years later, I finally realize what you knew then. . . .there are no magic words of comfort, there's no 'how to' guide filled with all the right things to say and do, and nothing takes away the raw intense pain of new grief. I realize now the struggle you were going through as the death of my little girl must have brought new waves of sadness and loss into your own life. I'm so sorry that I didn't see the anguish my presence must have brought you. I'm so sorry for expecting the impossible from you.
As the years have passed, I have become the woman who grieved and survived. I have become the one who persevered through unspeakable loss. And I have become the one who has let others grieve silently, wondering 'why isn't she here? why isn't she walking alongside me?' I could give lots of reasons . . fear, too busy, selfish . . but, in the end, I have no excuse. Yes, I've buried a child, and I've learned so much in the years since. . . but, faced with another's grief, I still don't know what to say or do to ease the pain.
But, maybe that's the point. . . it's not about 'saying' or 'doing'. . .it's about being.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Lost
I hate getting lost. I have to admit that I've been in that state so often over the years that you would think I would be used to it, but there's just something so terrifying about being lost to a person with absolutely no sense of direction.
This morning, my job was to take Jim to the Reagan National Airport. That part was easy. . . nice, straight drive up Highway 1, turn right at the sign pointing to the airport. Of course, it also doesn't hurt to have the man with the most perfect sense of direction sitting in the front passenger seat. Quick kiss good-by, move out of the busy drop-off lane, and follow the sign that says 'Airport Exit'. Now, wouldn't you assume that's the correct way to leave an airport? Unfortunately, I didn't notice the small print under the exit sign that said 'North' until it was too late. And there's just no feeling quite like the feeling of finding yourself lost in Washington D.C.
Jim's a good husband - back in the days before GPS, he always made sure I had a map in my car. What he didn't understand, though, is that a map is not very helpful to a person without the ability to know where she is. But, this is the 21st century and some wonderful people have since invented maps on little tablets with blinking blue dots that show you precisely where you are in this world! And, they even highlight in blue the route you should take to get to your desired destination! How absolutely wonderful! Except. . . when there's no internet service.
So, there I was, praying, crying, willing the iPad to work, and watching the Washington monument get closer and closer. But you already know the end of the story, because here I am, safe at home, journaling on this blog.
Philip Yancey's book, Sole Survivor, introduced me to Frederick Buechner who describes faith as an act of discovery, of hearing God speak, not through the miraculous or supernatural, but through the everyday, ordinary, waking up, going to work, and getting lost moments of life. "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. . . because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace". Grace. I can't think of any more beautiful word. Yes, I know I'll get lost again, I'll grieve again, I'll cry again. But, at the beginning, the end, and every little blinking blue dot of every painful, joyful, terrifying moment, there's grace.
So what do poor little lost girls do when they finally end up in familiar territory? Why, stop at Krispy Kreme of course! I feel much better now.
This morning, my job was to take Jim to the Reagan National Airport. That part was easy. . . nice, straight drive up Highway 1, turn right at the sign pointing to the airport. Of course, it also doesn't hurt to have the man with the most perfect sense of direction sitting in the front passenger seat. Quick kiss good-by, move out of the busy drop-off lane, and follow the sign that says 'Airport Exit'. Now, wouldn't you assume that's the correct way to leave an airport? Unfortunately, I didn't notice the small print under the exit sign that said 'North' until it was too late. And there's just no feeling quite like the feeling of finding yourself lost in Washington D.C.
Jim's a good husband - back in the days before GPS, he always made sure I had a map in my car. What he didn't understand, though, is that a map is not very helpful to a person without the ability to know where she is. But, this is the 21st century and some wonderful people have since invented maps on little tablets with blinking blue dots that show you precisely where you are in this world! And, they even highlight in blue the route you should take to get to your desired destination! How absolutely wonderful! Except. . . when there's no internet service.
So, there I was, praying, crying, willing the iPad to work, and watching the Washington monument get closer and closer. But you already know the end of the story, because here I am, safe at home, journaling on this blog.
Philip Yancey's book, Sole Survivor, introduced me to Frederick Buechner who describes faith as an act of discovery, of hearing God speak, not through the miraculous or supernatural, but through the everyday, ordinary, waking up, going to work, and getting lost moments of life. "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. . . because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace". Grace. I can't think of any more beautiful word. Yes, I know I'll get lost again, I'll grieve again, I'll cry again. But, at the beginning, the end, and every little blinking blue dot of every painful, joyful, terrifying moment, there's grace.
So what do poor little lost girls do when they finally end up in familiar territory? Why, stop at Krispy Kreme of course! I feel much better now.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Grace and Truth
Recently, I participated in a Bible study entitled "Grace and Truth" based on the verse from John 1:14 - "The Word became flesh and took up residence among us. We observed His glory, the glory as the One and Only Son of the Father, full of grace and truth." Jesus represents total 'grace', the sacrificial, forgiving love and endless mercy of the Father, as well as 'truth', the impossibly high standards of the law: "be ye perfect, therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48).
Wow! What a huge chasm separates these 2 concepts! At times, I can feel myself scaling the cliffs of grace; other times, I'm drowning in the deep waters of truth.
This past year, Jim and I have been running together several times a week and working on memorizing Scriptures while we run. Of course, I'm the one that struggles with actually putting one foot in front of the other instead of just passing out on the trail! So, we came up with the great idea of memorizing verses about running (surely it couldn't hurt!). Currently, we're working on Hebrews 12:1-2, "let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith." The more we talked and thought about that verse, the more it felt like a lifeboat in those floodwaters of truth! Yes, I am called to a high standard that I continually fail to reach, but my Savior, full of grace and truth, is not only the origin of my faith but, also, the One who promises to bring it to full maturity! Unfortunately, though, just like the Apostle Peter, I have a hard time keeping my 'eyes fixed on Jesus', especially when the giant waves of life are surging over me. . . but, I can just imagine Him reaching down His hand, like a father reaching for his little child, and gently pulling me back to His boat of grace!
As I continue to ponder these verses, I'm struck again with the need for honesty. If I'm not honest in my own reflections of myself, my sins, and my constant failure to be 'perfect' or 'sweet' or 'good' or any other self-affirming adjective you might choose, where is the need for grace? And, if I'm not aware of my own desperate need for grace, how can I manifest grace to others who are just as desperate? How do I sit with others, screaming at God in pain and grief, and offer love and grace? How do I, without judgment, listen to a friend's struggle with doubt and fear? Growing up in the Bible Belt, I was comfortable with the blacks and whites of right and wrong. Now, I'm not so sure. . . I'm a flawed, broken crayon living in a box filled with countless broken colors desperate for a touch from the Great Physician. And, if God is glorified when we "accept each other just as Christ has accepted you" (Romans 15:7), then who am I to argue? Thank God, for grace and truth!
This past year, Jim and I have been running together several times a week and working on memorizing Scriptures while we run. Of course, I'm the one that struggles with actually putting one foot in front of the other instead of just passing out on the trail! So, we came up with the great idea of memorizing verses about running (surely it couldn't hurt!). Currently, we're working on Hebrews 12:1-2, "let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith." The more we talked and thought about that verse, the more it felt like a lifeboat in those floodwaters of truth! Yes, I am called to a high standard that I continually fail to reach, but my Savior, full of grace and truth, is not only the origin of my faith but, also, the One who promises to bring it to full maturity! Unfortunately, though, just like the Apostle Peter, I have a hard time keeping my 'eyes fixed on Jesus', especially when the giant waves of life are surging over me. . . but, I can just imagine Him reaching down His hand, like a father reaching for his little child, and gently pulling me back to His boat of grace!
As I continue to ponder these verses, I'm struck again with the need for honesty. If I'm not honest in my own reflections of myself, my sins, and my constant failure to be 'perfect' or 'sweet' or 'good' or any other self-affirming adjective you might choose, where is the need for grace? And, if I'm not aware of my own desperate need for grace, how can I manifest grace to others who are just as desperate? How do I sit with others, screaming at God in pain and grief, and offer love and grace? How do I, without judgment, listen to a friend's struggle with doubt and fear? Growing up in the Bible Belt, I was comfortable with the blacks and whites of right and wrong. Now, I'm not so sure. . . I'm a flawed, broken crayon living in a box filled with countless broken colors desperate for a touch from the Great Physician. And, if God is glorified when we "accept each other just as Christ has accepted you" (Romans 15:7), then who am I to argue? Thank God, for grace and truth!
Friday, May 25, 2012
Faces
I've been thinking a lot about honesty lately . . . maybe because I'm realizing that I'm not very good at it. Growing up, the adjective I remember most often used to describe me was "sweet". Yes, I was that "sweet" girl . . . smile nicely, be polite, follow the rules, help others . . . in public.
I grew up, got married, had beautiful children, watched as one suffered with leukemia, and then buried my little girl. And, I still tried to put on my sweet face before marching out into the world. The drive home alone in my car was when the sobs and screams at God would force their way out from my soul. And, the shower before bedtime was a great place for silent tears.
Two years later, I had a miscarriage and lost my much-wanted baby. The sweet face got lost in the anger. Rather than reveal the monster hiding within, though, I withdrew from life, rarely went to church, wouldn't answer the door, and threw unread Helen Steiner Rice cards in the trash. When I was forced to leave the house, I found a different mask to wear . . .maybe it was a little like the Phantom of the Opera . . . one that would stoically conceal the gruesomely scarred and bleeding tissue underneath. Even with my mask on, though, people would see me coming and would turn away to avoid catching a glimpse of my pain. Finally, every week, Tuesday would come, and I drove to our Compassionate Friends bereavement group. I sat down with about twenty other people, and we all took our masks off, enjoying the feel of cool, fresh honesty against our damaged spirits. Slowly, gradually, the healing came.
Sometimes, I wonder how much quicker my grief could have diminished if I had learned the value of honesty sooner. Has my family suffered unduly because I was not willing to let the horror and intensity of my pain be exposed? I chose hiding and suffering silently over being real with my doubts, depression, and fear, and I lost the opportunity to be genuine before my children, my family, and my church. "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (1 Cor. 13:12). I'm old now, tired of trying on different faces, ready to start knowing and being fully known. Better late than never?
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