Tag: Christianity

The Breath of Life

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God fixed my broken pieces, but He did it by way of a soulmate he grew, hand-plucked and then planted right into my life. Now my pieces are struggling to remain attached to each other.

My mind keeps going back, over and over and over, to the moment the doctors walked down the hallway toward me, the disastrous results of my husband’s code blue evident on their faces. I cannot stop feeling what it was like to pleadingly and raggedly cry out “No…NO…NOOOOOOO!!!” and then slide down the wall in sobs as my legs failed to hold my weight.

I think I “knew” when I left his room. I’m a nurse. Not only was he not breathing but he had no airway. In the back of my mind I knew the statistics. I knew the potential and likely outcomes at that point. I knew my likelihood of loss. But I was praying for a miracle. I was holding onto hope like I was falling off of a cliff where the raveling thread of someone’s threadbare sweater was all I had to hold onto. I spent about an hour, give or take, grasping that tiny thread so tightly that it wore shreds into the skin of my palms. Or maybe that was my fingernails.

And then I drowned.

I could feel myself suffocating as I slid down the wall. As one doctor said “go get her a chair” and then told me to tuck my head and breathe. I had been holding onto the ICU visitor phone asking if my husband had been brought over yet when I heard them coming down the hall toward me and I remember seeing the handset hanging from the cord, the cord dangling, as I sat in a crumpled heap on the cold hallway floor. I remember men who had walked toward me, four abreast, all of their faces dour, the one clearly intending to deliver the news just a step ahead of the rest searching my face as he prepared to end my life as I knew it. And I could not breathe. I don’t even know how the cries for mercy made their way out except for the breath of wind that caught in my throat as they approached.

My chest clenched. I don’t know what happened to my heart but if you told me it had stopped beating right then, it would not surprise me. I wonder if that’s what cardiac arrest feels like. I wonder if my husband felt like that, too.

I read a post the other day where a widow said that her husband had “died” once before, during a heart attack, for several minutes while they resuscitated him. When he “died permanently” several years later he wasn’t afraid to go. He had told her that during that first time, he knew exactly when he left his body because the pain stopped entirely, there was suddenly no fear and a sensation he could only define as “euphoria and complete peace” overcame him. He thought to himself that he was leaving this earth and he was okay with it. He didn’t bewail the fact that he was leaving others behind but just knew he was safe and that it was okay. He was okay and they’d all be okay.

I hope that’s what it was like for my husband. Of all of the people I know in this world, my husband 100% deserved peace. He spent many years of his life not having it.

There’s a part of me that wishes he’d know how much we miss him, how much we mourn his loss, but not when I think of what that would put him through. So I guess I just want him to know how much and how completely he was loved and how important he was to people here. I hope he knows now that he made a difference, left a legacy of goodness, kindness, compassion, empathy. And I wish I could see his sweet face when he realized that. I loved the way his face lit up because someone really saw him. When someone saw him as the person I already knew he was.

We take breathing for granted. Air goes in; air comes out. We don’t even think about it most of the time. I’ve had many days since that night, well, that early, early morning, where I had to force myself to inhale. It truly felt like my body wouldn’t do it automatically. Or to exhale just so new air could come in. I remember thinking, theoretically, if I didn’t breathe right now, how long would it take? It felt unnatural to just breathe. Like it feels unnatural to be here when he isn’t.

I believe my heart shattered into a million, zillion pieces that day so how can it still feel like my heart is breaking? Or does it heal a little and the scabs then get ripped open every time a thought crosses my mind, those hundreds of times a day. That cannot be good for healing but I don’t know how to stop it because I never know from which direction the assault will come barreling toward me. It’s completely indiscernible until it hits, until my heart plummets to the ground again beneath blood and ash.

Four of “Lillian’s fish” (our granddaughter’s) died from lack of oxygen due to the hurricane this past week; I had no generator to power the aerator. Scott named them Lillian’s fish (even though we’d had them since early 2022) because she loved watching them from soon after she arrived on the outside of her mommy. We subsequently picked out even more colorful fish to entertain her. The fact that some of those fish died, ones he wanted her to have (albeit at our house because he thought that would make her ask to come visit more) has made me cry more than once. Going to the store where we bought them to get her a few more tomorrow will make me cry again…hopefully I can hold it until I get to the car. I’d rather lose my bladder in public than fall apart. People “get” medical issues (like whatever they might assume would cause me to urinate on myself) better than they “get” grief. Grief makes people uncomfortable.

But now, when I say “Lillian, where’s PopPop?” (she is eight months old now,) she turns her head and looks to his picture. That made me cry the first time but kind of makes my heart smile now. I tell her “PopPop loves you, Lillian. That’s Lillian’s PopPop.” She studies his photograph in a way that makes it look as if he is familiar even though she was only just over four months old when he died. It’s like she is trying to remember where she saw him and can’t quite place it, her face so serious and contemplative. It’s a poignant experience because she usually gets distracted so easily but she stares at his photo for a long time without looking away.

And so I breathe. There are moments sprinkled, however sparsely right now, throughout my days that cause me to breathe.

According to my research, Ruach is the word spoken three times in Hebrew scripture for the breath of God. It’s not described so much as a physical being or an entity but as God’s essence that creates and sustains life. Sometimes it is translated as “Spirit of God”, the Holy Spirit.

However, the actual Hebrew term for “spirit,” ruah (notice the similarity) is used 389 times in the Hebrew Scriptures. Ruah is translated using three different words: wind, breath, and spirit. Context decides the translation, but in Ezekiel it is often used with dual context, like breath and spirit are the same thing.

So the Holy Spirit IS breath. Not all breathe by nature of the Spirit’s breath, although all are invited to, but when my natural breath fails to sustain me, the Holy Spirit can. Yes, at some point my body will fail and the Holy Spirit will leave my earthly domain as my own spirit exits, but when my mind no longer wants to breathe, I have a backup generator as a Christian. I didn’t have to go to Lowe’s and pay a hefty sum for this one as it was bequeathed to me and all I had to do was accept the gift.

If you’ve ever been through a high-force hurricane, you know the value of a good generator. And, oh, have I been living in the eye of a hurricane these past almost-four-months. I’ve been living on the strength of my generator ever since the power went out in May.

I’m just going to keep filling up that generator with fuel because without it my life is so very much more uncomfortable…which doesn’t even seem possible but, alas, it is true. It turns out that the Word and prayer are the only fuel it accepts. The dual power generator I have at home (which spontaneously elected not to function following hurricane Idalia this past week) works on gasoline or propane. They’re a lot more expensive.

As you read this, I hope this week finds you healthy. If you are grieving, I hope you have the generator of breath. If you don’t, I know where you can find one for free.

This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine…

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August 9th, 2023

Tomorrow is the 10th. Three months.

Today, I was riding home from my mother-in-law’s house and a song came on the radio (well, my iPhone was on shuffle, so it wasn’t the “radio” but it was the car radio…whatever…you know what I mean.)

It was “God of This City” by Chris Tomlin.

Almost as soon as the song came on, God impressed on me: “You’re the city.”

I went “What?” (This was inside my head.) “I don’t understand.”

But that directed my attention to the song which had kind of just been playing in the background of what was going on in my mind. The three months thing.

The lyrics go like this, and I started listening with a new focus on how to hear it now.

“You’re the God of this city
You’re the King of these people
You’re the Lord of this nation
You are
You’re the light in this darkness
You’re the hope to the hopeless
You’re the peace to the restless
You are
There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God
For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city”

I’m the city. I’m the one in darkness. I’m the hopeless. I’m the restless.

But greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city….

I really don’t know if this is something that is going to make sense to anyone else so, if it doesn’t, scroll on. Maybe sometimes God shows me something that no one else is going to understand but I am meant to anyway. And I did.

The funny thing is, me being the city, that took my mind to Matthew 5.

I was specifically looking for this part: You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.

But I needed context (context is VERY important if you are interpreting scripture) so I began at Matthew 5:1.

Who knew there was more to come besides the city part?

Matthew 5:1-16. (The Beatitudes)

“1 And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. 2 Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. ❗️
4 Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted. ❗️
5 Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the [a]earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
10 Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. 12 Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Believers Are Salt and Light

13 “You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men.

14 “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. 16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Okay…so what did I get from all of that (in case you’re not on my frequency right now…that would be perfectly understandable.)

I’m grieving. You all know that from reading the rest of my grief journey posts. And it hurts…a lot. And I showcase that hurt here sometimes just so that people can try to understand others who are in mine or similar shoes.

But if I’m going to share my grief, I have to also share my hope. I am a city on a hill when I am posting on the blog or on other social media. You are a city on a hill if you are posting, too.

What does your city look like to other people? I want my city to be salt and light.

What does it mean to be salt and light (Biblically speaking)?

Salt is used to enhance flavor, and as a preservative. To ‘be salt’ means to deliberately seek to “season” or influence the people in one’s life by showing them the unconditional love of Christ through your speech, actions, good deeds. To sprinkle out Jesus’ love over others so that they “taste the flavor”…they recognize something that is good and then they want to have more of it.

Light is a symbol used to mean awareness, knowledge, and understanding. To “be light” we should be trying use the elevated position of our “city on a hill” to make others aware of Jesus. To “shine our lights before all men, that they might see good works and then praise your Father up in Heaven.” (“City on a Hill” by Third Day)

If you’ve been following my grief journey, know this:

I have bad days. I have very bad days. And I have what I call “okay days.” On these days, I’m not what would have been “okay” six months ago, but I’m thinking okay is relative now. On these days, I’m as “okay” as it gets for right now.

Mind you, I can smile. I can even laugh sometimes.

I walked this morning with my dear friend and mentor whom I like to call “Mama Pam.” We talked about the grief of losing a husband and she always reminds me that I’m “normal.” (Rarely do people say this about me so I cherish it when it happens.) In all seriousness, though, when I feel like people must look at me and think “she’s still THAT sad? She’s going on and on too long with this…” she makes me feel like I’m not only normal but that it’s going to be a lot longer and that’s okay. It’s not that she’s warning me it’s going to be longer and I’m thinking “oh, great;” it’s that I already cannot imagine it getting better anytime soon so I realize I’m not defunct in not being able to “get past this part.”

Then I went to Scott’s grave today where I cried and cried. I just miss him so much and, although I do not believe he is at that grave, it reminds me so starkly that this is reality.

But then I went to my mother-in-law’s house and I found myself laughing several times about, guess what…Scott. I can talk about him and enjoy memories about who he was without crying sometimes. So that’s good. It will almost feel like he’s gonna do or say something else crazy, like whatever I’m laughing about, anytime now.

So, okay days, bad days, very bad days.

Even on my very bad days, I don’t doubt that God will take me up one day, whether by death or by rapture, to see him again.

But today, as I see the date on the calendar is the 9th and know that the 10th will never be “just a day” again, I hear the song that this post started with.

God is the God of this city (me.)
God is hope to the hopeless.
God is the light in this darkness.
God is peace to this restlessness.

And greater things are yet to come; greater things are still to be done in this city.

Scott is gone. I miss him terribly every single day. Every. Single. Day.

But God is still here and there are things still to be done in this “city” (me.)

I long for them to begin so that I can feel more purpose still here.

My children are grown. I have one left at home but it won’t be long before he spreads his wings. They love me and I know that, but they are self-sufficient. They are still my purpose but they don’t need me like they used to (and that is how it is supposed to be; I’ve done my job.) So it’s hard to know what to do with this life except…

Greater things are still to be done in this city. God has a work for me.

And one of those is to be a city on a hill. I know that.

“15 Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. 16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

This is me shining my light and not hiding it under a bushel.

🎼“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.” 🎶

Put your sunglasses on, people. Everyday won’t be cupcakes and beaches (because what’s better than cupcakes and beaches?) but I’m going to shine when I can. ☀️

Loved with Wild Abandon

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July 17th, 2023

I’m supposed to be writing my book; that’s the window I should have open on my this computer.  I should be writing what God is having me write, and Scott encouraged me to finish…but I’m not.  I’m back here again, in the grief journal…and I don’t want to be.

You already know from my previous post that today was, for some reason, a rough day.  I don’t know why I have had trouble getting through random sentences without my voice breaking, without having to check my resolve before completing a verbal thought process today.  My daughter-in-love said it was because I’m overtired.  I have been back to only sleeping three hours a night for about the last three nights or so.  But I don’t know if that’s it.  

Yes, the stuff came today from Legacy (the organ donation people).  And yes, it speaks, once again, to the finality of everything that has happened.  Part of me says, “I don’t need reminders; he hasn’t been here for over two months.”  While part of me screams, “WHY???  Why isn’t he here now?  This is America!  Where is the judge and jury who says he cannot come back out?”

But it is not a prison cell where he now resides.  I know that with every shred of my being.  

So, it is not on the fact that he is not here that I demur.  It is on the principle of the length of my remaining.  While I do not know (why can’t I know?!?) the amount of time during which I will remain tethered to this plane of existence, my mind reaches to the greatest length imaginable before I will be to join him.  The average age of a woman in North America is 81 but the oldest person alive is 116 years old.  Jeanne Calment was the oldest human documented (in contemporary time, by the people who don’t consider the Bible to be documentation) was 122 years and 164 days old.  They say she is the only person verified to have lived past 120 years.  I don’t expect to be the oldest person alive (my genetics won’t likely stand for that) but even if I live to be average, 81, that is 31 years that I still have to live knowing that I don’t have him here and, right now, it feels like I’ll stil be here figuring out how I’m supposed to manage that by myself.  

There is something special about when God tells you that He has delivered to you exactly what you need. When He says to you, “Hey…I’ve got this soulmate thing for you on lock over here…got it all figured out.  You’re gonna love it…”

Yep…there’s something special about that.  He doesn’t actually warn you at the time of when it will all be over or how much longer you’ll have to figure things out without him, after that. 

Just so you know…that doesn’t make me wish that I hadn’t jumped in with both feet.  Ohhhh, and boy did I jump in!  When Scott showed up in my life, I lit up like a Christmas tree.  I even have a few friends who could still now attest to that statement being pure fact.  No sloshy, mooshy, fake gooey love stuff.  The real  sloshy, mooshy, gooey love stuff. The kind that some people (use to be me, people) don’t even think really exists.  Oh, and there was my mother-in-law who called us “twitterpated.”  She had to remind me, at the time, that the word was from Bambi but she was right; it fit.  I dare say we were twitterpated for as long as we knew one another.  (I have watched Bambi at least three times since then.)

What’s hard is knowing how much God loves you, knowing He wants the absolute best for your life, hearing that He wants you to have fullness of joy and gives you a promise for a hope and a future… and then seeing all of that drift away…or surge away in drastic measure and infinitesimally small timespan, in our case.

***But He did.  God has showed me some pretty good promises already and He has come through on them, every time.  Even in the times when those promises seemed absolutely impossible.  Even when there should have been no natural way for some things to occur.  He still came through for me.  He still fulfilled promises that I didn’t even believe were for me…surely, they had to apply to people who were better…who were worthy.

For today, I am going to choose to say, let it be…. I don’t know the hour He will call me home.  I don’t know what blessings or heartache will occur along the way.  What I do know is that my God loves me with wild abandon.  I know that, despite my doubt, despite my heartache, despite my loss…He is the rock on which I stand.  I can only imagine how hard that is for some to understand…but I am grateful that He has given me eyes to see.

Rejoicing for Joy…even if you don’t feel happy

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July 16th, 2023

“Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again: Rejoice!”  Philippians 4:4

There are times in life, and especially in a grief journey, when it feels difficult, if not impossible, to rejoice.  The word rejoice gives the inherent impression that one should be filled with happiness, the mental image showing someone jumping for joy, a new graduate as they hurl their mortarboard cap into the air in an exuberant fashion with a smile radiating a glow of happiness on their face.  That’s what rejoicing is, right?  

So how on Earth do we do that when we are downcast and feel destroyed?  How is it possible to radiate joy when we are miserable and lost and sad and feel alone?  “At all times, God?  Surely you didn’t mean that literally…because I definitely don’t feel happy right now…”

I’ve researched the difference between joy and happiness before and I took the time today, after reading this verse for probably the millionth time in my life, to locate a few definitions of joy as defined on the internet, with a particular focus on Christian pages.

“Happiness is something we feel because of our situation or circumstances.  We are happy because something has made us happy, but we are joyful because of something within us.”

“Joy is a practice and a behavior.  It is deliberate and intentional.  Happiness comes and goes blithely on its way.”

“Happiness is in the mind and feelings.  Joy, on the other hand, is deep in the heart, the spirit, the center of the self.”

“Joy is something grander than happiness.  Joy is a fruit of the spirit, and when we find joy it is infused with comfort and wrapped in peace.  It is an attitude of the heart and spirit.”

“Joy is caused by elation at a moment in time.  Happiness may dwell on materialistic, worldly pleasure while joy is derived from soul satisfying, emotional well-being.”

And then, even a secular page:  “Joy is a deep feeling of contentment.  It is cultivated over a lifetime and can even be borne from suffering.  Happiness is more about getting what you want in the moment – it is fleeting.”

1 Peter 1:8-9 says this:  “Though you have not seen him, you love him.  Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”

Peter was talking about something profound but that we already know, deep in our hearts.  Though we cannot see the air, we believe that it is there because we feel it as we inhale and breathe it in.  You may have friends who live across the continent, or even on another continent.  Even if you cannot see them, you still enjoy the beauty of that friendship.  You still know that, if you call that friend at any time you needed them, they would answer the phone or come to you in order to help.  You may find yourself laughing about something they said once while you are all alone, or even laughing at what you imagine they would say in a certain situation.  As Christians, we cannot physically see God with our eyes but are able to view the evidence of Him all around us, so we know He is there even when we can’t see or feel him, just like that faraway friend.  And also, as Christians, we know where our loved ones who trusted in Jesus go whenever they leave this world.  We cannot see them, we cannot tangibly feel them, but we know their spirit still exists, apart from their flesh and bone body, in Heaven.

I’m not happy that my husband is no longer here.  I find it very challenging to find happiness in any of my circumstances these days.  But I can say that I have joy.  Joy is not circumstantial.  It is a state of being.  

Even Dictionary.com says that the definition for joy is “to feel joy, a festive gaiety; to be glad; to rejoice; a source or cause of keen pleasure or delight; something or someone greatly valued or appreciated.”  How is it that even the dictionary, not religiously focused in any way, speaks scripture over this word?

“Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 34:4

“…and Your words became for me a joy and the delight of my heart…” Jeremiah 15:16

“For then you will delight in the Almighty and lift up your face to God.” Job 22:26

“You will make known to me the path of life. In your presence is fullness of joy.  In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.”

“Serve the Lord with gladness; come before Him with joyful singing.” Psalm 100:2

And my personal favorite: “The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save.  He will rejoice over you with gladness.  He will quiet you by His love.  He will exult over you with loud singing.”  Zephaniah 3:17

There is so much to unpack in these verses regarding the meaning of joy as opposed to happiness.  “Your words became for me a joy and the delight of my heart.”  God’s word imposes joy within us.  “Delight in the Almighty and lift your face to God” is an action that will plant seeds of joy in our hearts.  “In Your presence is fullness of joy.” Well, that one is self-explanatory.  “Serve the Lord with gladness; come before Him with joyful singing:” says that serving God with gladness (a joyful spirit) and singing to Him brings joy.  I repeat, joy is a state of being; it is not a feeling.

There have been days when I did not feel like going to work.  Nights when it was all I could do to drive to the hospital and clock in for a shift.  Even in those times, however, when I did not feel happy about being there and was probably exhausted, I did not go about my work with a sour disposition.  I smiled warmly at my patients.  I conversed with my coworkers with a friendly tone.  I spoke to supervisors and administrators with an attitude that belied my current temperament.  Most people do this and we call it professionalism.  It is unprofessional to speak to a customer, patient, client, or coworker in a grumpy or disrespectful manner just because we woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or because we are dealing with circumstances in our private life that should not cross over into work relationships.

I may go to see a friend but feel like they are mad at me or suddenly don’t like me anymore.  They may have had a fight with their teenager right before I arrived and are still stewing on that, unintentionally extending that attitude toward me.  I think I’ve done something wrong and don’t know how to fix what I don’t know but it turns out that it’s not really even about me at all.  It just made me feel that way.  Feelings aren’t fact.  

The source of joy is in being able to do the same with God, in a manner of speaking.  That doesn’t mean that you have to “fake it til you make it” with God, even though I confess that it feels that way sometimes.  Remember, “feelings” are not always reality.  I may be presented with the same scenario on two different days and feel very different about them.  A couple who are in college and learn that they are soon to be parents may have very different feelings about the situation than they will when they have their second child five years later after planning to conceive again.  Our emotions are fickle.  But reality is not.  God is not.   

Don’t get me wrong, feelings are valid and we all have a right to experience them; in fact, we often cannot help experiencing them.  My journey through grief sometimes feels like a journey in grief and I certainly cannot change the way I feel on a certain day, but that doesn’t mean that I do not still have joy living inside me, waiting to find an opportunity to be expressed.

We have to find a way, at least be reaching for a way, to be joyful over God, over the beautiful opportunity we have to have a relationship with him, over the sacrifice he suffered to give us the ultimate desires of our heart, to be with Him in paradise one fine day, even when we don’t feel like it.  Sometimes that feels like a major undertaking of mass proportion.  Other times it comes naturally.

There are mornings when I wake up and jump right into the Word, eager to see what God has for me that day.  There are also days when I wake up and the last thing I feel like doing is to try read the Bible or a devotional or even listen to praise music.  I don’t feel like praising because it feels like praising my situation.  It feels like praising for this feeling that won’t leave my gut.  It feels like I’m going against every miserable bone in my body to do something that I don’t want to do.  But if I can do it in order to go to work, if I can change how I am postured to do it for other people, can’t I do that for God?

When I’m praising in the middle of a storm, I have to remind myself (sometimes over and over) that I’m not expressing being glad about what has happened.  I’m glad for the knowledge that God already knows the outcome and I trust Him with that.  I trust that He can and will, in His timing, turn these ashes into something beautiful.  Scott would have wanted that.  That doesn’t mean that it is always easy to do.  In the contrary, some days it is really, really hard!  But for the sacrifice He gave for me and trusting in the promises that He has made, I can do it.  I can live through grief.  I can give God glory in dark times.  I can still have joy within me when I do not have happiness pouring out.  I can do hard things.  I’m doing it.  I’m doing it because God can still be joyful over me even when I am at my worst.

Forge Ahead: Forward Motion

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July 15th, 2023

FORWARD MOTION…

You’re used to my posts being long so I don’t really feel like I need to tell you…but it is long, so…

I’ve been quiet on the grief front for a couple of days. If you can get past the first two paragraphs, this one is a little different than most of them have been, at least lately.

Many of you are probably saying, “thank goodness…that stuff was heavy and sad.” That’s why I often post grief trigger warnings when I know it’s a particularly rough day with darkness in my thoughts. If you need to steer clear of other people’s trauma, you’ll be forewarned (that’s not what today is about, though.)

Others may be thinking, “Good, maybe she’s finally able to get past it, move along, now…” Oh, how I wish there were a sign that I would ever be a “past it, “ or at least an end in sight to the gnawing heartache that seems to be my constant companion from now on.

But I’m writing about something new today. A couple of days ago, I felt a searching in my spirit as I pondered at least the previous week’s worth of writing. Where was the hope? What was the purpose? I use writing to cleanse my own thoughts and spirit, to relinquish some of the weight that sits like an albatross around my neck throughout the days and nights.

Laying it all out on paper or, these days, inside a Word document journal that I sometimes copy to Facebook, seems to take the chaos, the scrambled thoughts, each one warring for top billing in my head, and bring them outside where it is easier to sort them, like various colored Post-It notes that I can move around, cross out and re-write, or scrunch up with a quiet rustle and toss in the wastebasket, swish! Writing allows me temporary respite from the swirling tornado of thoughts by calming the winds down enough to let me try to make sense of some of them.

So as I meandered through some of my earlier posts and then through the last week, I noticed a stark difference, as I’m sure many of you reading them have, as well. My hope was failing. The farther and farther away I seem to unwittingly and unwantingly drift from the days when Scott was here with me, the deeper it has felt like the cave I was sitting in became. It’s a dark cavern without a light source or company, a cold, damp, uncomfortable place with only jagged rocks to rest upon and no visible way to feed my soul; I must feel my way through everything in the dark. I didn’t want to stay there but seemed to have lost the map to leave since I can never go out through the same entrance I came in. I have to find another way out. There has to be another way.

Here’s a short detour but I promise it will all come together; bear with me.

Many have mentioned, either in comments, private messages, or telephone conversation, that I should use my grief to write a book. That sometimes my writing seems to make enough sense to some of them that they can come closer to feeling what I describe on this journey.

What most of you don’t know is that, for several years now, since Scott first encouraged me to retire from nursing, he had been trying to inspire me to write a book. He’d actually said, “you should be a writer, seriously” before that but when I retired, he told me he felt like it was something I was supposed to do. Like it was something God had called me to but I had never followed through.

I had started a few novels throughout the years before but would get a chapter or two in, or even only a prologue, and then just not know where to go with it. I also had various pages of writing that didn’t start as any kind of book but that I wondered what they were supposed to be, where they were supposed to go from there.

Part of the reason was courage (or lack thereof) and, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, lack of faith. If I truly am called to write an entire book, then God is going to be the one who formulates the direction, the idea bank, the path to completion, and then anoint me to receive the words He pours out over me. I was trying to find faith in myself, in my own abilities, and doing it that way just gave me complete writer’s block Every. Single. Time. And from there it just felt pointless to continue.

I started praying a couple of nights ago, at 2:00 in the morning, actually, for clarity regarding specifically this endeavor. Am I called to do it? Would it be any good? Would anyone ever want to read it? Would I even be able to figure out how to send it to a publisher or make a wise and well-informed decision about whether self-publishing would be the best route to take to gain any readership at all? I don’t care about notoriety; I would just really like people to actually enjoy reading it and be able to feel immersed in it if I’m going to write it.

I don’t know much about marketing. I don’t know much about book editing, cover art, catchy titles, or even if my ideas are really in a niché that would catch anyone’s attention. Actually, the first novel I began, several years ago, falls into two potentially conflicting categories, areas that some people who read one might be offended by the other and vice versa. But for me, they fit together, hand in hand.

I know that’s cryptic but I’m not really ready to divulge any more about the actual book just yet. Just imagine it being like the way that there are Pharisee-like Christians who believe that dirty, lost, unsaved people are too unscrupulous and far-gone to be welcomed in God’s house. But they’re not. Jesus says they’re never too far gone to come to him, period…even on the cross. Anyway, let’s just say it falls somewhere along those lines…sort of. A conflict of alternate beliefs, in a way.

It started when I was sitting in Miami after leaving my nursing job. I was down there to stay with Scott for a week and, although we had five days to spend together, he had to work two shifts in the middle of my stay. I had kept myself busy; there is a lot to do in Miami and I won’t deny taking a couple of trips to my favorite pastry and coffee place for almond croissants, Cuban coffee, and spinach empanadas.

But during one of those days, I was sitting alone in the sweet AirBNB where Scott had been staying during this contract, and truly just out-of-the-blue, something popped into my head that I knew I needed to get down on paper. I grabbed my iPad (which is more like a laptop, with a keyboard), opened a Word Document, and just started to type words that flowed from somewhere I couldn’t describe.

It wasn’t like I was thinking through phrasing, metaphors, context, or plot development. It was like what some people I know call a “download” from God. Some may disagree, and that’s okay and I 100% love and respect every single one of you, too. But I knew that, although there are similarities to some events in my life (they say you write best when you write what you know), most of it just came from what seemed like a whisper.

I typed furiously because the words, the story, were coming faster than I could keep up. It was only a couple of pages long but took me just minutes to write. It felt like a prologue, a middle of the story piece that then flashes back to how it all started. I showed Scott when he got back from work. I eventually showed a handful of friends because I wanted to know if it was intriguing to them, if it drew them in. All responses were, and vehemently, “You have to finish this; you have to write the rest of it. Can I read it when you’re done?”

I’m not tooting my own horn because, in a way, I feel like I didn’t even write it. It was inspired from a seemingly intangible source (maybe intangible l, but known to me). But several times following this, I tried to sit down and figure out where the story was supposed to go from this one little blurb. I didn’t know how to flesh it out.

Despite feeling like I didn’t write the first part, I felt responsible for figuring out the rest and that felt really big, overwhelming. Everything I contemplated felt like something others would think was dumb or boring or trying too hard or (insert any number of negative remarks here). Every time, I walked away from the dining room table defeated. Man…that enemy is a smooth talker, eh? Sucks you right into his vortex where you feel ill-equipped to muscle your way back out of the centrifuge.

After that 2:00 in the morning prayer session this week, I woke up at around 6:00 the next (well, the same) morning and, before even brushing my teeth, getting coffee, or making breakfast for my baby boy, I grabbed my iPad and the mini “desk” I use when I’m writing from bed, and located that very first prologue I had written, hidden in my iCloud files.

Instead of trying to just pick up the story and run with whatever popped in my head or getting stuck because nothing did, I prayed again and then scribbled out an outline. The entire book. Rising tension, climactic discovery, resolving conflict, all of it. There are 24 chapters unless I add or take away during the rest of the writing process. Each of those chapters already has a plan, a road map like I wish I had for this part of my life.

Somehow, knowing that I would be finishing something that my adoring husband always encouraged me to do feels like it needs to be done. He would have been so proud of me if he had been here to see me finish; I’ll regret that one day when it’s done, that I didn’t do it when he was still here to see it, but I will have done something he felt was important and assured me would be successful. And even if I finish writing it but it never goes anywhere, that will be a success. I’ll know I did it.

Maybe it will be successful (by the world’s standards) or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m called to do it or maybe I’m doing it because it feels good to be doing something for Scott, in a weird way, at least something he had always wanted for me.

I say all the time that I try to tell God that I am not good with subtlety. I pray for neon signs because the more faint arrows pointing which direction I should go seem to go unnoticed too easily for me. I know I probably talk too much and listen too little (quiet in the peanut gallery, please.) I’m not going to try to pretend to know, for sure, if this is His purpose for my life now or if I’m called to write this book because there are people who will like it or even because there is someone out there who needs to hear it…maybe it’s only one person but that one person can glean something from it that they really need in their life.

I’m writing it, though. In the last two days, as I’ve been radio silent here on Facebook (and in my own journal), I have written a complete outline and almost five chapters. I tend to write rough drafts of each chapter then go back and tweak them rather than doing the whole thing and starting over. I have the rough draft of Chapter 5 and am about halfway through the rewrite of it. I’m sure I’ll reread it again when it’s finished and do the same thing with the whole book when it’s complete, but I’m finishing up Chapter five out of 24 today.

Who knows, I may get a second wind (my energy levels still leave a lot to be desired) and start on six.

After it’s finished, I have NO idea where to go with it or what to do next but I’ve decided not to get bogged down and discouraged by that part just now. For today, I am thankful I spent time in prayer and petition two nights ago. I’m thankful for an early morning answer that sparked me to begin doing something that is making me feel productive and, like Scott, would be, proud that I’m doing it.

I know I’m still going to have rough days. Like my dear, wise friend told me, “Grief isn’t a choice; grief just is.” But today I’m able to lift my head and choose gratitude and forward motion in at least one plane of my life. I’m not moving on from Scott, but I’m moving forward, at least for today.

P.S. Look at my handsome hubby. We always had a different kind of smiles when we were together. Life was always good when we were side by side. ♥️

Dig Ditches Even if There is No Rain

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July 10th, 2023

It’s been a long and difficult day but I am moving through some changes in my spirit.

I can’t help saying again that two months feels like it’s been forever one minute then like I still can’t believe he’s gone the next. How has it even been two whole months since I saw his face or heard his voice? But how had it been only two months when it also seems like forever? I’ll never understand the way that time morphed into something different, something that doesn’t make sense, since he’s been gone.

I talked to him a lot throughout the day today, out loud because there’s no one here most of the time to hear me anyway. I’ve told him how much I love and miss him. I’ve told him I wished I was making two sandwiches instead of one. I’ve told him how much our dogs miss him because he spoiled them so much more than I do…I’m the disciplinarian (don’t feed them people food in the living room; that’s how they learn to beg. At least take it to their bowl so they know that’s where they eat.) I’ve told him my heart still hurts so much. I’ve asked him why he left me alone.

But overall there may be a season of change coming. Early this morning I listened to this Steven Furtick message and it truly, deeply spoke to me.

In the beginning he says “If it left your life, it’s not necessary for what’s next;” he said that twice. I got offended by that. like, really offended. You don’t know my story, Pastor Furtick. How do you know? Dude…he was NECESSARY for my life. I NEEDED him. I wanted to turn the video off but a whisper said not to.

The pastor kept talking. As he spoke, I heard a Word that was meant for me. He said that “whatever left your life, whether it was abandonment or whether it was just tragedy, I declare that the Holy Spirit is going to fill all of those gaps.” Okay, now, come on, Holy Spirit. Do. What. You. Do. Fill me! I’m ready! (But am I acting like I’m ready…?)

And so I continued to listen to this 15 minute message and it meant something to me. The whole thing quivered in my spirit, deep down inside of me.

God will tell you to dig ditches for water to fill when there is no rain. He will tell you to get ready for provision when there is no source in sight. He will tell you to prepare for overflow when you are fully empty and cannot remember, can’t even imagine what it would feel like for a single drop to fall on the parched earth that is now your heart.

I confess that I have heard Him say just that. And I’m not ready. My human mind, with all of it’s limitations, tells me I am not ready. How can I accept a life with overflow when my husband is not here to share it with me, to celebrate it with me? I’ve made no secret of the fact that Scott grounded me, encouraged me, was my champion, lifted me up, and supported me even when I did not feel worthy of what was before me. And now my husband is not here to bolster my defenses. Yet, God still has plans for my life, even still. He has plans for abundance. He has plans for growth. He has plans for fruitfulness. He has plans for a time of building. I literally and truly already know these things because they’ve been revealed to me and spoken over me again and again. It’s strange because even when I feel like I’m incapable of listening, He speaks. Even when I don’t want to hear because I want, somehow, to remain stuck in my brokenness, in my despair, He won’t leave me alone.

And I don’t really want to remain stuck. It hurts and it is a wretched place to live. I want to be free of this pain and anguish but what would that say about how much I loved and adored my husband? Oh, how I did, so much. And oh, how I do not want to live this life alone, without him. And yet I have been given no choice in the matter. How do I leave him here and “move on?” Well, by not leaving him here, of course. But it doesn’t feel that easy. When he is not here to go with me, it feels like if I take a step out of this spot, he won’t be beside me anymore…and yet he isn’t actually beside me now. It’s an absurd emotional paradox.

God will wait until I’m ready, however, or until I force myself to move. It’s such a conundrum because I physically have difficulty moving at times. No one tells you how much carrying the weight of this emotional pain weakens your physical body. It doesn’t even seem as if it conforms to natural logic. But if I can make myself (sometimes) go for a walk, or take a shower and wash my hair, or load the dishwasher, or walk to the mailbox, then I can make myself move on God’s intended path.

In the mornings, I already read devotionals because they are short and are enough that I can manage to get through reading them but can also still retain what I read. I read short passages of scripture. I pray even though it 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 small and ineffectual. I listen to praise music. Then I sit in the quiet, but it’s not in obedience to listening, if I’m being honest; it is in response to apathy and lethargy. These are decidedly two side effects of grief and depression. I have created these rituals because even when I cannot feel like worshiping, I know that the Word of God does not return void. I know that the decision to worship is every bit as important as, if not more than, the 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 of worship. We are not our feelings. Emotions are fickle and foolhardy. God is not.

God is preparing me to move. He is giving me space. He is letting me process things on the timeline that my mind is capable of maneuvering. I still do not feel like I can take on the world. I still don’t feel, many days, like I can walk, much less run. But He’s going to wait, and He will keep gently pushing me toward what He has planned for me because He already knows that His will, His plan, is what will eventually bring me joy. I just have to decide that I am worthy of that without my husband beside me. I’m still not sure what happened when “us” became “me” and of what I still have left coming out of that change.

Father God, Abba, lead me to the rock that is higher than I. You are my fortress and my deliverer. Only You hold the key to my salvation and to a future that will bring me joy. I don’t want to waste that, but I don’t know how to feel the strength to walk the path that ends in it. You are my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in You and you help me. My heart will leap for joy, and with my song I will praise You. In You, I am strong and courageous. I will not fear or be in dread, for it is the Lord my God who goes with me. You will not leave me nor forsake me. I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength. For they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not get tired; they shall walk and not become weary or faint. You have not given me a spirit not of fear, but of power and of love and of self-control. I will seek You and Your strength; I will seek Your presence continually. You, Lord, are my strength and my song; You also have become my salvation; You are my God, and I will praise You. I will exalt You and seek Your face. I have peace in my heart because the Holy Spirit comforts me.
In Jesus’ name, I cry out to You. Amen

Guidance, Protection, Favor, Provision

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July 4th, 2023

I’m reading in (well, listening to) Genesis today. Not the place you might typically go if you’re just grabbing the Bible and looking for a place to read from but I’m feeling like I’ve been taken down and backwards, a long, long way down and backwards. It feels like, no matter how many steps I take, I can never get back to a place as happy as where I fell from. Especially when it feels like two steps forward, five steps back.

So, as I was thinking about where to direct my steps today, I was told “back to the beginning.”

I was able to listen to part of a book on tape yesterday and retain some of the story so I decided to let my YouVersion Bible app read to me this morning. This might seem obvious but I didn’t think of it until now, regarding my difficulties reading lately.

What I came here to tell you about, as I stopped and listened over and over again to a few verses, is that I found a specific prayer in the scripture that wasn’t written as a prayer. Maybe it will help you, too.

The passage is Genesis 12:1-3 and it is innocuous enough that normally I would have just kept listening on ahead. Something told me (if you have a relationship with the Holy Spirit, you know how this works) to stop here and pay attention. So I listened over and over looking for what I was supposed to find. What was the application point here? Here is the scripture:

“The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your native country, your relatives, and your father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make you into a great nation. I will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt. All the families on earth will be blessed through you.””
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭12‬:‭1‬-‭3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Here’s what I came up with:

In this passage, God makes a few promises to Abram (later to be called Father Abraham “had many sons 🎶”)

He promises to Abraham His presence and His guidance (“go to the land that I will show you,”) His protection (“I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt,”) His favor (“I will bless you…and you will be a blessing to others,”) and finally His provision (because if He promises He will get Abram to the place He is showing him to go, then He will provide what is needed to get there – that part is not specifically written but implied.)

I realized that those are all things I need from God right now.

I have been having difficulty 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 His presence. God is omnipresent – He is everywhere so I know He is always with me. There have been times in my life when I could feel that presence with an unexplainable surety. Sometimes that surety is in retrospect.

All I felt was loss and disbelief when the doctors came to tell me that Scott was gone. But now I can see that, as I slid down that wall to become a nearly liquid pile of bones, muscles, organs, skin, and clothing on the floor, I know He was there. If He wasn’t, I couldn’t have gotten up after a few minutes (seconds? hours?) to stand and say “Take me to him. Now, please.” So, I need His presence and I’ll be asking to feel it.

I need His guidance because there are so many unknowns in this new part of life that I’m supposed to keep living in. There are many things about which I still do not know what to do or how to recover. There are things on the horizon that I have no idea how to walk through. I need His provision because of some of those unknowns, too.

I need His protection in more ways than one. God was always part of my protection detail; He was the head of it, actually. But Scott was a tangible part of it and he took that very seriously.

Scott liked that I have a loud and scary dog (who is friendly with family and close friends who are here often but can be dangerous if the need arises.)

Scott installed so many security cameras in and around our house that you can’t get away with anything. Don’t pick your nose as you’re walking by our house; we’ll see it.

We get notifications on our phones anytime someone walks across the grass, pulls in the driveway, or goes into our back yard via either side of the house. One button calls 9-1-1 and the fire department got here in literally a few minutes when we needed them.

Scott took me to the firing range and taught me to shoot a “pew-pew” (lest FB censor me over words.)

I’m also armed with a son who is quite adept at Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and lives in my house. I have two sons a mile away who are also happy to take up where Scott left off in making sure I’m safe. They’ll be armed, too, if a distress call goes out.

Scott made it so he wouldn’t have to worry much when he wasn’t home because I’m protected by many layers (I won’t even say the rest of them here; you get the picture.)

Just not having HIM here makes me feel frightened and vulnerable even if I’m not really – not of burglars but of missing a huge part of my protective detail. I’m missing that tangible part…the one who made sure.

But I also need God to protect my thoughts. I need angels to fight against demons that are consistently trying to invade my mind. If you aren’t sure about spiritual warfare, I can assure you that it exists. I need help climbing out of this pit, much of which is in my mind. Mind you, it being “in my head” doesn’t make it a lesser physical danger to my well-being.

Since God is not only omnipresent but is also omniscient (all knowing) and omnipotent (all powerful), He is the only One who can cover all of the bases of my protection.

I will also be praying for favor. Our lives have been turned upside down with the loss of my nephew and my husband. It still feels like we literally don’t know which way is up. If you’ve ever been boogie boarding or surfing in the ocean and been tumbled by a wave, you know this feeling. It feels like, for a few seconds, you’re not even sure which way to swim to get to the air. Except it feels like I haven’t taken a breath in almost two months. I’ll ask for favor last because, with the rest of these requests, I can survive. Favor in various areas of my life will just mean that eventually it starts to get better.

I cannot imagine ever being “okay” with Scott not being here. It’s not okay. But I hate the weight of this sadness and yet feel guilty when I have a moment that I’m thinking about anything else. People will tell me “Scott wouldn’t want you to feel that way” or “You have no reason to feel guilty for continuing to live” but when you live through this kind of grief, you learn that words don’t matter. Everyone wants to say something to help because they truly, desperately want to help. They would do anything to ease your pain. But none of the words work. That’s another place where God’s provision will come in. (And I’ll take prayers any day of the week!)

So, I will be praying daily for God to show His presence, grant me His guidance and provision, for His protection, and for favor.

And for healing. Especially healing. Not just for me but for my sister’s family, Scott’s parents, our kids, and our extended families. When your world gets rocked like this, there is a lot of collateral damage. We all need to heal.

Praying blessings over all who read this today, especially if you’re walking any path like mine.