grieving with hope

My life is divided into before and after now.  I now know, I can continue to live. But life will never be the same, never.  It will now forever be divided into before and after. Our family will have to restructure itself. We now have a gap inside us individually, and together a gap among us. We have to learn to live around the gap.  At every gathering, Grant’s absence will be as present as any one of us there; His silence as loud as any voice spoken. Before and after; a life now divided.

“I have no explanations. I have no answers to my questions. I can do nothing else than endure in the face of my deepest and most painful mysteries.” I strive to stay in a place of trust, faith, hope. I believe in God the Father, maker of Heaven and Earth, and resurrector of Jesus Christ, His son. I also believe my son’s life was cut off in its prime.

 I believe God is a loving Heavenly Father and wants what’s best for me.  But I also believe Grant’s death was a horrible gruesome tragedy, that no one should have to endure.

 I believe God is a God of comfort and wants to wipe away every one of my tears.  But I also believe He could have prevented these tears and chose not to.

 And so the seemingly, contrary thoughts go. The list seems endless. I cannot fit these opposing pieces together. I am at a loss when I try.  I don’t understand how all of these opposing truths exist simultaneously. But this I do know. If my God were big enough to understand, He certainly wouldn’t be big enough to worship.  He is infinite, I am finite. I will never understand everything about God, his sovereign plan, or how it all fits together for good. I will never completely understand how apparent, contrary truths can both be true at the same time. But I don’t have to. Faith makes a way to be comfortable with the mystery. Today I rest, knowing that some how these truths can exist at the same time, and they will be woven together to create a life tapestry that glorifies my Lord.

Grueling tasks today; cancel school loans (for an education that will never be used), cancel air flights (for trips that will never be taken), cancel credit cards (whose products purchased will be enjoyed no more) Gruesome tasks; death certificates needed for proof. If they could only look into this mother’s eyes, no further proof would be needed. Look no further than this mother’s broken heart for your proof of a son once here, now forever gone from this earth.  These tasks are horrific, because they remind me of a life cut short, all of the things that could have been, that never will be.

But death does not have the final say. What is a brilliant architectural career, when compared with Heaven’s Celestial City? What are trips here on earth, compared to  endless universes of God’s glory? And what does this earth have to offer that could ever compare to the matchless worth of an eternal life with Christ?

Gruesome tasks, but needed reminders that this is not my home. Lord, use these tasks to bind my heart to the things not yet seen by these eyes, and use them to loosen earth’s grip on my affections.

Philippians 3:8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.

I was laying in bed, after another long day, when he walked in buttoning up a shirt; a shirt I recognized. “It’s the only one that fit, mom,” he said to me as he finished buttoning. Colton had finally found the strength to try a few of Grant’s things on, things he thought he might want to wear. And then he said to me, as I was trying to get my head around Colton standing there in Grant’s shirt, “Mom, it smells like, Grant,” and looked at me as if he knew…he knew I would want to smell it, take in that aroma, the scent of my son lost.

 I jumped up off of the bed and fell into his arms, and breathed in with all of my might.  I wanted to fill my lungs, my senses, with that smell. I bawled, as Colton held me, just letting me breathe it all in. And Colton was right. The shirt did smell like Grant, his earthly scent, his cologne, his deodorant. It was as if he were in the room, and I was desperately trying to inhale it all in. I was undone with the fragrance of Grant; we wept together as we stood there taking in his aroma.

 Laying back down on the bed, drying my eyes, I realize there are going to be hundreds of moments like this for the rest of my life. It might be a smell, a certain food, something someone says, a mountain off in the distance, a unique angle on a building, 3 instead of 4 stockings on the mantle. The list is endless and it will take a lifetime to compile it. On countless occasions, I will instantly be in a place of sadness, longing, heartache, despair, when something reminds me of our loss.  I am aware today, in a profound way, that losing Grant is either going to make me bitter, or make me better. It seems like a contrite little thing to say, something you might see on a poster at a Christian book store. But it’s true, and I feel the weight of that truth laying here in bed.

 Daily reminders that rip off the healing bandaid, and pour salt into my wound, are going to make me bitter or better, there’s no denying that fact. I can feel them battling for supremacy right now. So how do I ensure this makes me better, and not bitter.  Oh, Lord, protect me from bitterness!

 Hebrews 12:15 See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled.

 Bitterness is a root, not a symptom. Roots lay underneath the surface, away from prying eyes, giving life to the plant and determine what kind of fruit it will bear. The same is true with bitterness in a person’s soul. It is a hidden element that lies under the surface, and out of it will spring up anger, apathy towards God, distrust of His goodness, a joyless life, inability to “obtain the grace of God.” It will defile me, and the many that come in contact with me.  Allowing Grant’s passing, to grow a root of bitterness in my soul, would make his death even worse.  There would be two deaths, his and mine; his earthly death, and the death of my soul walking around in a body of flesh.  No, bitterness must not take root!

 In order for this to “make me better” I MUST trust God. I must trust His infinite wisdom, trust His sovereign plan, for my life, for Grant’s life. I must trust that He is working all things together for good. I must trust that He knows best. And I must trust that my limited understanding of these things is not a necessary part of the equation. I can choose to trust God, and believe these things, even when I don’t understand or fail to see the wisdom in them now. I can choose to believe, even when my heart is breaking. And I must, I will, lest I become bitter and defile Grant’s memory, my life, the lives of those I love, and my Savior. No, I choose to trust today, even when the only thing left, is the aroma of things lost.

2nd Corinthians 4:16-18 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.  

 “Light momentary affliction,” that phrase seems absurd to me when I think about my grief.  Light??? It seems to me the darkest thing I have ever known! It is so dark at times, I am tempted to believe there is no light! Momentary??? The days seem endless, and the nights longer still, punctuated with moments of torment.  Momentary?  This affliction feels as if it will go on and on with no end in sight, save my own death.

 So, how incomprehensible must the weight of God’s glory be?!!!! For my present state to be “light and momentary” in comparison?! Oh, what Glory must that be! Oh Lord, give me a glimpse of that eternal glory today, that is beyond all comparison. I want that, I need that. My tear stained, blurry eyes, my broken and weary heart, ache for a glimpse of the unseen, the eternal. I know, that is the only way I have any hope of ever seeing this as a “light momentary affliction.” Fixing my eyes, my heart, my soul on the unseen, the eternal weight of glory, is my only hope. Hold my gaze, Lord, hold my gaze…

I had a precious young gal bare her heart with me at Grant’s memorial service. She is due to have her first baby in a few weeks, and she was telling me, with tears streaming down her face, how scared she was now.  She couldn’t imagine having a child, loving it like you do, only to have it snatched away and be forced to bury that child and carry on.  She was panicked. She wasn’t sure what she had signed up for. As I stood there holding her, she looked up at me and said, “You really put your heart on the line when you become a parent.”

 Those words rang so true as she spoke them. You really do put your heart on the line as a parent, in such a profound way. You give part of your life blood to your children. They are a piece of you, and extension of you. It’s a sacrificial love, an unconditional love. Yes, we give of our life to them, would give up our life for them. But immediately, and without hesitation, I took ahold of her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and said, “I would go thru this agony 10 times to have the time I had with Grant.”

 I am in agony, because of losing Grant. And she could see that. But the agony is evidence of a love so deep, so fierce, that it enriches a life, for a lifetime. If I didn’t love Grant as much as I do, I wouldn’t be in this much pain. But would I change that? Would I choose, if I could, to love a little less so the pain is more bearable when there’s loss?  Absolutely not!  It must be said again…that thought is incomprehensible to me, even in this moment of indescribable sadness.

 Love suffers sometimes.  At times more than we thought we could ever bare. Which of us has never suffered under the hands of a loved one? Hurtful words, rejection, abandonment, loss.  But the only alternative would be not to love or love less. That would be an absurd choice. Living a life, void of love, would be no life at all, or a miserable one at best. No, we must love, love fiercely, love whole heartedly, love unconditionally, love immeasurable. And the best part about loving this way? We get a glimpse of how much our Savior loves us. He loved us unto death! And in loving this way, we get a taste of how much God loved His son, and what His sacrifice cost Him, because of His great love for you, and for me, His children.

 Ephesians 3:14-19 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

 Love strengths me, strengthens my faith, grounds me, helps me to comprehend the love of my Heavenly Father, love helps me to know the love of Christ, love surpasses knowledge, and love fills me with the fullness of God. Yes, give me love, no matter the cost!

Dull, sad, heavy, listless; is this depression? Will this be my constant companion for months to come? If so, I should fear it. But strangely, it brings comfort. In my grief, in the darkness, when I am consumed with sadness and thoughts of Grant, and dreams dashed, I feel close to him.  Because my mind is consumed with thoughts of him, I feel close. So I withstand the dark places for the illusion of togetherness, closeness.

 When friends come over, or take me out, in an attempt to distract me, I feel distant from Grant. They mean well, and it’s probably good for me, but it’s exhausting. Trying to live normal, it’s exhausting. And I am forced to think of other things, and when I do, Grant feels far away, and I hate it; panic feelings hover. Will it ever feel normal again? What is normal?

 So for now, I will take the sadness and grief and a tortured mind that never stops thinking about what could have been, should have been; because at least in this place I feel close to Grant. I am not ready for him to be a distant memory that I can recall without stabbing pain. I know I can’t stay here, and with Christ, and because of Christ, I will slowly have to make my way out of this place…but not today.

I live in layers now. There’s the top layer.  The layer that musters the words to say, “I’m doing fine, thanks,” in answer to the clerk’s question, “How are you doing today?” This same layer is where I can smile at friends, chit chat about the day, and even occasionally laugh.

 But there is a layer underneath this. This bottom layer is in agony, and there is acute pain on and off all day as things come to mind. Emptiness, questions, anger, fear, sorrow, regret, and unbelief constantly jockey for their position to the top layer.

 These layers enable me to live with two competing emotions at almost anytime day or night. A constant battle vying for their dominant position: Trust versus question, joy versus agony, faith battles unbelief, peace struggles with anger, anticipation versus regret, assurance wars with confusion, courage battles fear, gratefulness versus bitterness, rejoicing strives to dominate weeping, hope versus despair. They battle one another, day by day, moment by moment, sometimes breath by breath.

 My soul is the weary battle ground. I long to be one layer again. And I will be.  Christ has already fought these battles for me and won.  I will be victorious someday, because of Christ. And until then, he will sustain my faith, comfort my weary broken heart, and never leave my side as he leads me in this battle.

The phone rings, and life as we know it, changes forever. God, no! Oh, God no! This can’t be happening. Why this, why? Why did you do this? Why did you take my son in the prime of his life? The tragedy. Why did you take him in such a gruesome way, to die torn  apart under 5 tons of steel on wheels? The horror! Why did you let us go on about our normal lives, while Grant lay dying alone, no one to hold him, kiss him, pray with him? You call yourself a loving god? A merciful god? I do not see the love, the mercy.  The timing; Glenn, my husband, my one flesh thousands of miles away, when we heard the news…the only one who will ever feel the same pain as mine! Separated for 36 hours, not there to cling to, hold onto, fall into. A good God? Oh the unfathomable, soul crushing despair and sadness. Brie and I clinging to each other, rocking each other in anguish, guttural moans, struggling to breathe, trying to wrap our minds around the unimaginable. How could you call yourself a loving God? A good God?

 I lay on the ground out back, fetal position, clutching his sweatshirt, weeping and gnashing, crying out to God. Tormented, trying to find answers. Demanding of God, some answers. But none come. He is silent, mute, when I need Him most.

 But even in my anguish I know, God, if you did answer my questions, it wouldn’t satisfy my soul’s gapping wound. I don’t really want your answers. I want Grant back, and to that, you have answered, and the answer is no.  Again, my heart questions…a loving God? A good God?

 The pain I feel at Grant’s loss is indescribable. It is so crushing at times I can barely breathe. But even in this, my darkest hour, the most devastating event of my life, I believe God to be a loving God and a good God.  My soul feels it…doesn’t it? But it makes no sense…

 If all I look at is Grant’s horrific demise, and try to determine God’s love for me or goodness towards me, in light of this one event, I will never see it.  But I cannot do that. For the sake of my soul, and the sake of my faith, I must look to Christ and His sacrifice and see all of life (even this) standing in the shadow of the cross.  Because of the cross, I don’t get what I deserve, punishment for my sin. Instead I get what I don’t deserve, the mercy, forgiveness, and love of God. Standing in the shadow of this cross of Christ, is the ONLY way I will ever be able to see God’s love and goodness, in the after math of the unthinkable. When I look to the cross, when I stand in its shadow, only then do I have any hope of seeing a loving God, a good God.

Alisa, stay here, plant your feet firmly in this shadow, fix your gaze on the cross! It’s your only hope…

A blog.  Why a blog about grieving?  We just lost our precious son less than 3 weeks ago.  Should I be doing this? What purpose will it serve?  Will it even serve a purpose?

In our narcissistic society, is it just something else to draw attention to oneself?  We take pictures of our food, our feet, our pets, and document every event of our lives.  But grief…isn’t that a private thing? Should I grieve out loud, in front of the world?  Should I let people in to see the ugliness, the despair, the hope?

 Sometimes, there is a disconnect between my head and my heart.  That is why I write.  When I put ‘pen to paper’ it helps the truths I know in my head, to penetrate my heart.  There is less than 12 inches in distance between the two, (my brian and my heart), and yet, sometimes it takes miles of the written word, truths I believe, to make their way to the depths of my heart and soul.  Writing it down, meditating on it, reading it out loud, again and again, helps these truths to find their way from head knowledge to life living, life giving truths.  I want the truths that I know, to be reflected in my life, so I write them down, commit them to memory, and remind myself everyday I believe them!

 So, I will take this journey, in front of the world and attempt to journal ‘out loud’ as I walk thru the darkest days I have ever known.  If you are going to journey with me, I must warn you. Somedays, you are bound to find despair, anger, anguish, sould crushing heartache, and unanswerable questions.  But it is my prayer that you will also find joy, trust beyond circumstances, a comfort and peace that transcends understanding, and hope.