April 2020 – She Speaks True Words

Running the race.

I feel like I have started the beginning of a long race without much of any training. My body feels stiff and sore navigating this unfamiliar territory and wants to push through. As I start the race I feel pretty good; I can do this. It’s going to be a little hard but I’ve got it.

But then I push a little too hard and the terrain changes. I start going up a long hill and cannot see the top. I’m in the midst of this hill and I feel myself slipping, with an ache in my side that makes me want to stop, pull off to the side and rest.

So here I sit, gulping in air and catching my breath. Waiting to regain my strength so I can get back in the race again. This time, knowing that I can’t push too hard too soon. Because the race I am running isn’t a sprint. It is a long one that requires me to endure. To trust myself and the process.

I consider myself a pretty self aware person. I know my strengths and my shortcomings. I wear my heart on my sleeve, which shows itself in my passion, my empathy for others and my sensitive nature. I also tend to try to avoid the bigger emotions I feel: anxiety, fear and grief. Great for times such as these. [Sarcasm.]

I tend to ruminate in my thoughts and emotions, while at the same time trying to stuff them down and move on so as to avoid my overthinking nature. Trying to not feel things I believe I ought not to dwell in too much.

Hence, the race I am enduring. Following Dave’s passing, I thought I was doing OK. I was able to grieve but also pick up the pieces. Make plans. Try to move forward. But all that came to a screeching halt just a few weeks following the funeral with COVID-19 and I found myself homebound with the girls 24/7. I quickly realized that I cannot fast forward through the grief process.

When you want to avoid your thoughts and emotions it’s a little hard when you have less to distract yourself with. Yet my current vice is reading all the books. Mysteries are my favorite way to escape reality. But as the weeks go on, I am reminded that I can’t distract myself from the story I am in. As hard as this story is, I have to let myself write it. With the passion that I carry in my heart. With my girls alongside me.

Today marks two months since David passed away. The first few weeks flew by with the busyness. With slowing down and spending time with the girls at home, it has been a much slower pace. One that has caused me to realize that I need to give myself a lot more grace. To not just let the hard feelings come and then try to quickly move past them. But rather to let them in and recognize them for what they are. To then give myself freedom. Space. Kindness. To my very core.

I started doing yoga again this past week after giving it up several months ago. I forgot how good it feels, both inside and out. One of my favorite mantras from the practice is to be kind to yourself. It’s such a simple phrase but one that is so powerful and true. We tend to pour out kindness quickly to others and less so to ourselves.

Believing the truth about ourselves is what helps us to endure. To run the race marked out for us. One step at a time. As I get back into it, this time I stretch my legs. I look up the hill and see that I am running the race with millions of others. My situation is unique and yet I am not alone in enduring hard times. We must keep going, encouraging each other – and ourselves – along the way. Keeping our eyes forward, on the author and perfecter of our faith. Breathing deeply. Staying focused.

As we keep running, the pain will continue to come and go. And what I’ve realized is that it’s OK to stop and tend to it. But to not stop and give up. I can ask for help. For someone to sit with me through it. To get up and walk with me for a bit until I regain my strength and find my stride again. This is what I’ve come to find renewal in. Again and again. I find myself surrendering to the same truths along the way each time I stumble. Finding hope and faith to endure.

Life is painful. Messy. Filled with heartbreak and heartache. We don’t need to ignore it or try to push it aside quickly and move on. We can let ourselves feel the depths of emotions and tend to our inner being. In the deep, dark spaces we squint, looking for light. When we look for it, we find it. Joy and beauty become that much richer. Life begins to make sense. Because it is in these spaces that we find who we truly are. We find ourselves and each other. And run the race together.

An Easter like no other.

This was an Easter I’ll never forget. I don’t have any pictures to document it, but I’m sure I’ll always remember Easter 2020.

A holiday that was defined by social distancing when people across the nation couldn’t gather at churches or with loved ones.

A holiday when the girls and I watched church online from our family room. When we drove to our church parking lot in the afternoon and waved at our friends at a safe distance from inside our cars.

A holiday when I wept in that parking lot with a friend because my soul misses connection with my dear friends that I haven’t gotten to spend time with.

Our first holiday just me and the girls. Missing the wonderful husband and daddy who loved us so well.

“We aren’t made for isolation,” I told my friend from the open car window as pellets of icy rain came through. “It’s not supposed to be this way…This is so hard.” Pretty soon my cheeks were wet and the girls saw me crying. I continue to tell them that I miss Daddy and that it’s OK to be sad.

A holiday not like any other holiday.

The past week, Holy Week, was the hardest I’ve had in a long time. The unwelcome visitor of anxiety has pressed on my chest and in my gut through moments of grief and uncertainty. The weeks at home alone are beginning to widen the gaping hole left in our lives. I’m finding myself trying to take deep breaths through these moments of grief and what I can’t control. By Friday, Good Friday, my soul just ached. I found myself weary and overwhelmed.

This week, this time, has been like no other. Not just for me, but for all of us. We are in a collective grief for what we have lost. We seek a sense of normalcy, comfort, control.

And yet…isn’t grief what Holy Week is about? The grief Jesus felt for what he was about to do. The grief he felt when he was on the cross and was separated from God. The grief God felt when he gave up his son for humanity. And the grief of Mary and John as they watched Jesus on the cross.

We feel alone in our grief…and yet we are not alone. Before he died, Jesus said to John, “Here is your mother,” and to Mary (his mother), “Here is your son.” The significance of this, that it says from then on “this disciple [whom Jesus loved] took her into his home,” is the role of community. How we are to love and care for one another.

Like I said to my dear friend today, we aren’t made for isolation. We are called to bear one another’s burdens. Show kindness and hospitality. Pray without ceasing. Love as Christ loved us.

I see myself at the foot of the cross in surrender. Yearning. Waiting. Carrying a grief that is too heavy for me to bear on my own. The girls and I are missing Dave so much. I feel alone but I know that I am far from it.

The other night at bedtime, on Good Friday, Hannah cried for the first time in a while. I held her in her bed, taking in her sadness, and I cried with her. “I miss Daddy, too,” I said. We sat there for a minute and she calmed down and rolled over to go to sleep.

“If you ever wake up in the night and can’t go back to sleep you can come be with me,” I said to her. “No matter what you need, I’m here for you.”

As I let the words linger in the air, I felt the truth of them on my heart. I felt them spoken to me. From my Father in heaven. This Easter, I’ve made some good memories with the girls, from Easter baskets to multiple indoor egg hunts and yummy food. But those aren’t the only things I’m holding onto.

The resurrection is about hope. Light in the darkness. Receiving grace. Knowing that in the dark of the night, in my heaviest moments, God is waiting for me – for all of his children – to come to him. To find refuge and comfort. Receive unconditional love to carry us through.

Amazing grace.

I weep.

I weep
For what my heart
Aches and longs for
Missing a piece of itself
Broken
Not yet ready
For repair.

I weep
For those who sacrifice
Put their own lives at risk
Day in, day out
Taking every chance
For those suffering
To have another shot at theirs.

I weep
For those in hard situations
Without escape
With barely enough
Fearing just how
They will ever manage
To get through this.

I weep
For the sick
Those suffering alone
No matter the ailment
To carry the burden
Without family or friends
By their side.

I weep
For those who have
Lost a loved one
Unable to see them
In their final days
No goodbyes or funerals
Only tears.

I weep
For the anxious
The hurting
The depressed
The broken
The desolate
The suffering.

I weep for you
I weep for me
God weeps for all of us
Carries our burdens
When we feel heavy
And feel no more tears
Can fall.

Our tears are not
Ever in vain
They make us human
And they connect us
Even in our disconnect
Though we are far
We are closer than ever.

We weep
Collectively
We are not unalike
In our grief
So let’s lift each other up
Carry one another
Love together.