March 2020 – She Speaks True Words

Holding my breath.

Yesterday was a bright spot at the end of a long week that has been challenging for many of us. In the morning we pushed ourselves for a long bike ride around the neighborhood: Hannah impressed me and rode for about a mile, which is exponentially farther than she’s ever ridden in her 6 years of life. Hailey “rode” her bike while I pushed her. Note to self: Find the next tricycle that’s in storage…someday when I can figure out where the key to our shed is.

It was one of those unicorn days where the girls played well together all day with minimal outbursts or tears. I’m trying to let them figure out and solve their own problems and give them the space to work through disagreements with minimal interference…it’s amazing how well this can play out when they actually go along with it.

Then there was the excitement of Hannah losing another tooth—that girl loves to pull out her teeth. We got outside again in the afternoon with a visit to the cemetery. It was the girls’ first visit since the funeral. I’ve been once by myself since, so our time to visit with Daddy was short because the girls were ready to feed the geese at the cemetery pond.

The girls are handling missing their daddy way better than I would have anticipated. Hailey surprises me as she is the one who makes more comments about missing Daddy…maybe because she hears me say that I miss him. We talk about him often and share stories so it’s not that he is far from our thoughts. The girls are handling this with a resilience that encourages me and keeps me going.

To be perfectly honest, this week has brought me more challenges emotionally. While I know I am loved and supported through texts and calls, not having outside contact for the next several weeks feels daunting. I realized that I need to prioritize more time for myself, so yesterday I made myself do nothing on my to-do list so I could rest during Hailey’s naptime.

There are so many details to be figured out and loose ends that still need to be tied up, and I feel like I am adding to my to-do list with each thing I cross off. But I need to give myself time and space to do them rather than feeling like I need to do everything all at once. That’s when the anxiety sets in rather than peace. Anxiety that sits in my gut like I’m sucking in my breath.

I feel a bit like I’ve been holding my breath for the past several months. Not necessarily in anxiety but in this sense of waiting. I’m not sure exactly what I’m waiting for but it’s like I’m holding on, waiting for a return to normal. A normal that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m wanting to exhale out everything that has happened the past few months, the memories that come in flashes in my brain, that pour waves of emotions and tears at unexpected times. I’m waiting to breathe out all of this, to let it go, and to breathe in a lasting peace. Waiting to find a sense of normalcy. A normal that perhaps is what life was like before…before Dave was sick…before the symptoms and the questions…before the answers…before the hospital and then hospice.

I know that our old normal isn’t coming back, but I think there’s a part of me that is holding on and waiting for it. Deep exhale. That was hard to admit. And though I know that we aren’t going to go back to that, I am starting to realize that I don’t have to find a new normal right now either. I don’t have to be in a rush to move on and make my life all put together. I can accept this messy state where I’m at right now. As challenging as it may be. Letting things be what they are. Finding beauty in the midst of the challenges.

If there’s anything this past week has taught me it’s that I don’t need to be ready. I don’t have to rush through grief. I can let it come in waves. I can let the current take me. Holding my breath while under the water and letting myself rise to the surface, breathing in the clean air that fills my lungs. A breath of life that renews me. That gives me strength for the next wave that passes over me. The rising and falling of the tide is a certainty, one that I need to remember. Lasting peace doesn’t come from calm circumstances but from letting myself swim through the waves.

That’s the beauty of life that I’m called to. One that knows that the challenges may overwhelm me at times, but I don’t need to hold my breath and wait for the storm to pass. I can still take my girls out in the puddles and dance in the rain, knowing that one day the sun will shine again.

Blessed are those who mourn…

The other night I was getting Hannah ready for bed when the big question came up.

We were talking about how when her daddy was diagnosed with cancer, we prayed and hoped for the best outcome, for him to be healed and get better.

Then came the question: “Why did God say no?” Her deep brown eyes and long eyelashes looked up at me, pleading for an answer.

I paused, knowing this question was coming. “That’s a good question,” I answered. “I don’t know. God doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to. But God promises us He is with us, He loves us and takes care of us even when it hurts and is hard.”

Hannah didn’t say much; she just listened so I went on. “And that doesn’t mean we should stop praying, either. What I do know is that God is with us when we pray. God wants us to talk to Him and pray and get to know Him.”

I’m not sure how much of this Hannah really took in as she then changed the subject. The big “why” question is something I have pondered even before this…why God allows pain and suffering. From my limited human understanding, and from what I’ve read in the Bible and know about the heart of God, I can see He hurts just as much as we do when we are in pain. I think suffering is a result of the broken world we live in. Why is a big question…and I don’t claim to know the answers.

What I do know is that God is near those who mourn, suffer and are brokenhearted. He sits with us. Brings light to our darkness.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

This is my truth right now. Mourning…grieving…brokenhearted…yet also comforted and deeply loved. The character and heart of God seem so complex to our human minds, yet His love is so simple and pure. I don’t need to earn it or go out of my way to find or understand it. I just need to let myself rest in God’s love and be comforted. It sounds so simple. Sometimes it is that easy. Sometimes my anxiety or grief take over. And I have to let myself breathe. Rest. Let things be as they are.

I know that my days aren’t going to be perfect. I know that grief is going to be messy. I know that sometimes my anxiety will get the best of me. But I also know that I don’t have to try to figure everything out all alone. I am navigating this brokenness one day at a time…by the grace of God.

I am grieving and brokenhearted.
I am hurting and yet I am hopeful.
I am hopeful in promises and truth.
I am in pain and yet I am comforted.
I am surrounded and I am blessed.
I am blessed because I am loved.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Rise.

As I drove the girls to school this morning, I saw the full moon in front of me, dimly shining in the early morning sky. Its full beauty was stunning, even without the black night sky as a backdrop, simply because of its light, its size, its magnificent presence in the pure blue light.

The further I drove, the more I could see the sunrise behind me, the shimmering golden sun counterbalancing the full moon in front of me. The weight of the moment was absolutely striking. The two edges of the sky told a story.

There is a balance that occurs when we let glory outweigh fear. A balance that holds up the lights that sink in the sky each day. A balance that can hold the weight that sits on our shoulders. That sits in our guts in the name of fear or anxiety.

If I am perfectly honest with myself, I know the busyness of my days since the funeral has been partially to outweigh the anxiety that is buried deep. The fear that is known to come out in stressful situations. I received a card in the mail today from someone who said she admired my strength in the face of adversity. These are words that have never been used to describe me. I am typically far from calm in a storm. That was David’s role much more than mine. He was my rock.

But here’s the thing. Somewhere in the midst of the storm of the past several months something in me changed. I knew that hanging in the balance something far greater depended on me letting go of myself. My need to let control win. My need to overthink, over plan, over analyze. One day at a time has been my mantra since the diagnosis because I knew that is all I could handle.

And that is all I can continue to handle. Yes, I know I am letting myself still plan to an extent. Be busy. I have a lot of dust that needs to settle. But I know that the beauty of balance, of glory, of peace, doesn’t come from me trying to figure it all out right now. I can’t. I don’t want to. As much as everything inside of me is still trying to. I’m fighting against my natural instincts in order to let myself surrender and be free. To let myself truly live and embrace the beauty in each day. To find light in the darkness. Balance in the weight of glory.

One of the many things I admired about David was his ability to let things be. He didn’t overthink. His calming presence was always exactly what I needed. Now, I am trying to carry on what he instilled in me: Embrace things as they come. Life is full of challenges and adversity. It is about how you respond and rise through them, knowing you can and you will. God will walk through the storm with you.

On David’s last day on Earth, I knew that I needed to carry on this legacy for myself and the girls. To continue to let one day at a time be how I put one foot in front of the other. To honor David and give God the glory.

One day at a time. Eventually these days won’t be so hard. So full of emotions. Unknowns. Rising up through this adversity isn’t going to be easy. But I know I’m not facing it alone. By God’s grace and with the love of wonderful people in my life, the weight is not just mine to carry. They are helping me rise and magnify the beauty of the One who fills me with light.