The Landscape

I have read so many health insurance policy plans that when I close my eyes they overlay like old overhead sheets on a table. They blur and details are lost, and I wish there were someone to call and ask, "Could you please make this decision for me?"

Could anyone make any decision for me?

A year ago I was the follower, trusting the decisions made that were never topics of discussions, oblivious to the detailed workings of life. Now I am a single mom trying to navigate a country I've never even seen, and when I stare at the latest major thing we have to cross, I remind myself that few things in life truly destroy. They make for struggles, but as life continues, wisdom is gained, and the next crossing will be easier. It is the price of learning life.

The price of learning life.

Thursday I had lunch with Mike and Judy Brisky, and we were discussing the grief process, where I am, how the children are, and so on. I tossed out the fact that people often use the phrase, "when you get past this," as though somewhere down the line at some divine point I will wake and this will be over.

My mom might still be dead, but somehow the missing her will be over, and Rob will still be dead, but somehow the effects will be over, or I'll be over the effects.

I'm not really what "being past this" means. It's not like it is some part of the carwash that you drive through before getting to the next part. You know, you drive through the soapy part, but once you hit the rinse, there is no soapy being dumped on you. The soapy is over. You're past it, and you get to move on to the wind in your face section, and at the end of the journey, you drive into the sunshine, and the carwash is over. You're past it all.

Mike and Judy and I talked about the fact events in life are not over. They become part of the landscape, the bigger picture. The effects are still there. The influence is still visible. Maybe it isn't the whole landscape. Maybe it isn't even in the forefront, but it never completely goes away. Pain and loss is part of the landscape. It isn't something to get past. It is something that becomes a part of the whole picture, part of me, the whole me. and if it is allowed to blend in the right way, it adds to the picture, not becomes the picture. It makes the picture richer, deeper, more interesting to know.

No. I'm not on some carwash ride with parts and pieces I am getting past. I'm living the picture, letting the elements blend from glaring pieces into a stunning landscape, so when peoople look at it, they don't see a moment or an event. Instead, they see how the bright spots and dark places mesh together to become one amazing picture...they see me.

Making a Difference

I am convinced if we asked God how to make a personal difference, He'd tell us.

And I am convinced if we did what He told us to do, it really would make a difference.

Worshipping

Tonight there is no Gibbs. There is no shooting terrorists.

Tonight there is stillness.

I am forcing myself to be still, to allow myself to think, to allow myself to feel.

It's a hard thing, this feeling...or drowning in so much feeling that I have gone numb.

The truth is I am simply standing in the midst of carnage, turning in circles, staring at the devestation. The sword I used to wield with such ferocity hangs limp from my hand, and instead of determination, I feel very little more than shock.

And I cannot truly believe what I see around me.

For months my goal has been to keep moving forward no matter what exploded around me or in front of me, and I have done that. However, today, I don't know what "forward" means. I don't even know what movement looks like. Settling Rob's estate? Getting the legal papers signed? Picking up his ashes and figuring out where to put them until we scatter them later? Paying off bills that have accrued? Waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, showering, and brushing my teeth?

When all of this started nine months ago, I told folks we were not "fine", but we were okay. It was hard, but we were going to get to the other side and flourish anyway. I'm not sure what other side we are supposed to get to, and I don't know what "okay" is anymore.

I'm not trying to give the impression that I'm hopeless. I'm not. I'm not depressed either. I'm just...

...hurting...

...and dismayed...

...and waiting.

I have never felt so utterly stripped bare, undefined, and directionless.

I have never stood before God and been so completely at a loss. I have nothing, not even words. I can only stand before Him, stare confused, and shrug with a thousand unworded questions.

And all I really know is He is good.

And instead of being appalled by tears, He accepts them as worship because it is all I have to offer Him. It is what I have been reduced to...tearful trust in Him despite the pain.

TRUST IN THE LORD WITH (ALL YOUR BROKEN) HEART,
and do not lean on your own (finite, pleasure seeking, comfort desiring) understanding.
In all your (broken, tear marked) ways, acknowledge Him (He is the only One who can or will make a difference),
and He will make your (seemingly devestating and dream destroying) paths straight.

This is worship.

It is not standing with hands high, songs filled with happy thoughts, and easy thankfulness for all the good things.

Worship is...

...the staring eyes filled with confusion and questions,

that choose to look to Him and not away,

even when the tears fall hot and the heart aches deep.

...the heart shattered

with nothing left of what it had hoped for

that turns to Him and whispers,

"I hope you can find me here."

Worship is not going to God because He feels good.

Worship is going to God

even when it hurts beyond one's wildest nightmares.

And I stand here...staring...aching...questioning...

...worshiping.

Faith Defined

The best definition of faith I've ever heard:

"Faith is not about everything turning out OK;

Faith is about being OK no matter how things turn out." 

Thank you, Stacey, for sending this to me.

Milk and Honey

It is now 12:34 am, and the children are in their beds again. It's an emotional night with them really missing their dad. Usually, they see him on Thursday nights, but due to weather concerns that didn't happen. The change in schedule has raised the awareness of Daddy being gone back to the forefront of Favorite Boy's thoughts and emotions. It didn't take Wonder Girl long to join the snuggle pile on the couch.

Nights like this are really hard for me. On one hand, I want to cry because it makes me sad for the children, and when Wonder Boy's voice breaks as he says, "I miss you and Dad being together," my heart breaks, too. Then I get angry because I think the divorce is stupid and unnecessary. It is selfishness at its most unconsionable. However, I don't break into sobs, and I don't throw their dad under a bus. Instead, I speak tenderly and assure them I am here, I have no intention of going anywhere. I tell them again that some days are hard but it is going to get easier, it is easier, and we are okay.

I'm not sure what "okay" looks like, but the hope of it seems to make things better...for them and me.

In my mind, I try to remember that we are in one doozy of a desert right now but the Promised Land is out there. I don't really know what that looks like for us, but I know it is a good place. For the Israelites that was literal. What about us? What does milk and honey look like when you are trying to put your life back together?

Milk--Milk is nurturing, the food a mother gives a baby. It is filled with all the food, nutrients, and provision a baby needs to thrive.

Honey--Sweet, useful for a variety of food items. A teaspoon of local honey everyday can reduce allergies and help one breathe better. It's produced from flowers by worker bees.

While I don't know exactly what the Promised Land looks like or how it will manifest, I know God will nurture us there, and He will give us what we need to thrive. He will fully provide for us as His children. It will be sweet, with beauty around us. It'll be a place we can breathe, and we will have purpose and be productive.

The Promise Land is a good place, a good place indeed, and the God who is going to get us there is with us even now, in the desert...and even now I see the nurturing and the provision, enjoy the sweet moments filled with beauty. Even now, we are breathing...have purpose...are growing...

Even now He is keeping His promise...even now, we really are okay...