Tag: relationships

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

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“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me.”

I’ve heard this scripture passage hundreds of times in my life.  The 23rd Psalm.  When I was in about 5th grade, I earned a silver (colored) coin in Sunday School for memorizing it.  It has been somewhat liturgical for me until now.  You say it, you know it, you know what it means.

And then one day you 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 what it means.

Yea, though I walk through the valley (as I’m definitely not on a mountain-top these days) of the 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩….  Suddenly the scripture takes on new meaning.

I am living in the shadow of death.  It looms overhead in everything I do, making the world appear dark, cold, clammy, scary.  Death is a giant, weighty boulder blocking the sun from shining on me.

And the next part goes “I will fear no evil for Thou art with me.”

This is where it gets tricky.  God is with me; of that I have no doubt.  It’s the “I will fear no evil” part that trips me up now and again.  After what happened to my husband, there are 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 to be afraid of.  I can’t even list them all but one of them is undeniably a fear of losing someone else in the sudden manner in which I lost Scott.  I’ve always known we’re not promised tomorrow but nothing has ever quite made it as real and as terrifying as this.

I’m trying hard not to live as if there’s a goblin in every corner but it’s honestly not easy.  I watched him go with my own eyes and stood there yelling for people to 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨!!! I cannot go into more detail at this time about the circumstances but suffice it to say that it is the most traumatic situation I have ever suffered in my whole life. As a nurse, I’ve seen a lot of people die and I have cried over most of them either during or later, but this was my person and in this scenario there was nothing I could do to help him. So call it severe PTSD (as the therapist has) but I have enormous difficulty with trying not to be afraid of anything that could happen to people I love day-to-day.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.  Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.  Now, this part really was liturgy for me.  I know that there are many references to shepherds protecting sheep in the Bible and I chalked it up to another shepherd reference, which it is, but I didn’t understand what it really meant.

This is what I learned:  The rod and staff can be broadly categorized as tools of protection and guidance, respectively. The rod warded off predators; the staff was a guiding tool with a hook on one end to secure a sheep around its chest. Only the two tools together provided comfort to the sheep.

Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me.  Thy rod wards off predators (they are many these days but they are supernaturally being warded off because The Lord is my shepherd.) Thy staff guides me, keeping an arm around me to keep me from straying too far (into anxiety, for one) and showing me how to move next.  They comfort me.

The thing about that is, because sin and evil were invited into our world way back in the Garden, God can ward off predators but evil still has an opportunity to have its day.  If that weren’t the case, my sweet mother-and-father-in-law wouldn’t have lost two sons within 15 months.  So it’s scary.  I AM comforted by the fact that He watches over me and will send angels to fight for me in spiritual warfare, I also know that the devil gets his day sometimes.  He’ll never win the war but there are battles he keeps gnashing his teeth through just to try to get a leg up.  

So I will keep repeating this Psalm because, now that I know I’m actually in the figurative valley of the shadow of death, I need the reassurance that I’m not here alone.  

I feel like I’m living my life between the two gardens. I guess we all are somewhere in between the Garden of Eden, when life feels like paradise and you can’t believe how blessed you are, and the Garden of Gethsemane, where sorrow runs rampant through your veins and you know there is know way out of the pain you are and will continue going through. I think one of the hardest parts for me is that my two gardens met up in one moment of time. One moment he was here and it was still paradise; the next he was gone and I haven’t been able to fully lift my head or my body since.

So, I’m adding in a little bit of John 14 (this part is from the Amplified version because the wording is clarified in just the way I need it):

“I have told you these things while I am still with you. But the Helper (Comforter, Advocate, Intercessor—Counselor, Strengthener, Standby), the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name [in My place, to represent Me and act on My behalf], He will teach you all things. And He will help you remember everything that I have told you. Peace I leave with you; My [perfect] peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be afraid. [Let My perfect peace calm you in every circumstance and give you courage and strength for every challenge.]”

‭‭John‬ ‭14‬:‭25‬-‭27‬ ‭AMP‬‬

You’ll notice that in the bracketed Amplified text it explains “give you courage and strength for every challenge.” It does NOT say “Don’t stress out because I’m never gonna let anything bad happen.” Nope. This part: “Do not let your heart be troubled; nor let it be afraid.”  actually indicates that we WILL have trouble. Let My perfect peace calm you anyway.

His perfect peace has the ability to calm me, to shield my mind from gnawing thoughts that constantly try to invade.  His perfect peace is a forcefield.  I cannot control what is going to happen in the world around me.  But I can know that He gives perfect peace in the midst of immeasurably difficult circumstances.  I’ve felt it but now I need to cultivate it.  I need to focus on not feeding the demon of fear but fertilizing the seed of faith and, from that, increasing my measure of peace, because God does have the power to pour that out over me.

Daniel ought to have been terribly afraid in the lion’s den.  And Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace.  Moses and the Israelites as they stood before a great sea with enemies charging up from behind while they seemingly had nowhere to go.  But fear was an unnecessary evil (although it most likely still existed) because God’s plan went before them. He calms fears.

The long and short of it is this:  bad things do happen to the best of people.  My testimony to that is my husband and the deplorable way that he died.  But “Do not be anxious or worried about anything, but in everything [every circumstance and situation] by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, continue to make your [specific] requests known to God. And the peace of God [that peace which reassures the heart, that peace] which transcends all understanding, [that peace which] stands guard over your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus [is yours].” Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6‬-‭7‬ ‭AMP‬‬

A peace that transcends all understanding.  It’s over and above my head and my pay grade.  It’s a peace that just simply shouldn’t exist in some circumstances but it does anyway simply because He is God.  I’ve felt it.  I want to bottle it up and drink it for breakfast lunch and dinner every single day.

But it cannot be bottled because it has already been written down.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner scripture is my new diet.  If I keep feeding myself then I become less weak.  So why wouldn’t I feed myself?  Laziness? Apathy? Forgetfulness? Busyness? Depression? I still need nourishment.  “I lift my eyes unto the hills.  Where does my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of Heaven and Earth.” Psalm 121:1

For the record, I’m still going to struggle with this.  Being a human makes me susceptible to attacks any time, day or night.  I’m still going to be afraid sometimes.  I’m still going to be angry.  I’m still going to wish it wasn’t like it is.  But I’m going to redouble my efforts to combat those feelings with the Sword of the Spirit.  At least I’m fighting back (for today.)

Grief vs. Fear

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Fear is a very intense feeling. It’s something that I don’t really feel can be accurately described if you haven’t truly experienced it. And there are varying degrees of fear. There’s “oh, no…my keys aren’t in my pocket; where did I leave them?” fear. There is “my child let go of my hand and almost darted into traffic” fear. There’s Halloween Horror Nights fear. There’s also BOO! Hannibal Lechter scary movie fear. And there’s “I’m lowering the bucket; she puts on the lotion” kind of fear. You get me? (If you don’t, go Google the “Silence of the Lambs” movie. It’ll start making sense.)

And then there is 𝘍𝘌𝘈𝘙. Italicized, capital letters fear. A guy just dragged me into the woods to rape me fear. My child has gone missing and there’s an Amber Alert fear. You hear a gunshot from another part of your house fear. These are the 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓 𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝘍𝘌𝘈𝘙.

And grief feels a lot like that, in its own way. Fear cripples your muscles so you may fall to your knees, unwittingly even, and think later “how and when did I get down here?” It squeezes your stomach…not just squeezes but twists it like wringing out a wet washrag. It literally feels like it stops your heart but also like a homemade bomb filled with nails just exploded and every single piece of metal hit the center of your chest.

I’ve been afraid since I lost my husband, yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Not talking about the fear of living without him here. Not talking about the fear of not being protected by him, or of facing a disaster without him.

I’m talking about the way capital, italicized 𝘎𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘍 feels. Underlined even.

Even grief has levels of devastation. Someone you know: that’s so sad. A close friend: this is awful; why her/him? A parent: I’ve never lived without him/her before; I’m an orphan now.

And then there is losing a soulmate spouse (because I realize not all spouses are the same) or a child. That’s on a whole ‘nother level.

Yes, when I read the picture I’m posting with this, it hit me that some grief feels a LOT alike bone-chilling fear. It stops you in your tracks. It paralyzes you. It makes you lose consciousness for weeks – everyone else thinks you’re wide awake but you’re really not. It makes everything going on in the world around you n͛o͛t͛ m͛a͛k͛e͛ s͛e͛n͛s͛e͛. And it’s timeless; you don’t know if you’ve been terrified for a minute or an hour or for days.

I’ve found it difficult to explain, to paint a picture of, to validate what this grief feels like. But if you have ever truly been afraid, and I mean TRULY afraid, then just imagine that feeling, the way your body feels and your mind cannot think, continuing for months on end and then think of never being able to determine when there may be a point at which you do not feel that feeling hundreds of times a day. That gut-wrenching feeling of fear is very similar to the agonizing, heartrending, tragic, harrowing feeling of deep grief. Especially if it comes out of nowhere. At least in a suspenseful movie there is music that lets you know “look out….something bad is coming…something scary…” Sometimes with great grief, there is no warning. No cautionary tunes. No “Hey you! Look out!” No. Just an MMA style kick to the gut when you weren’t looking. BAM! And there it is.

Yes. Grief feels a lot like fear…in case you didn’t know.

The Cacophony of Silence

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The sheer cacophony of the unabbreviated silence is deafening.

I’m just indiscriminately drifting, without any method of control, toward an unknown yet unwanted destination.  I may be a nomad progressing forward but I’m still looking back, surveying the path of destruction that will always be behind me now.  But it’s also in front of me; it surrounds me. Yet I’m always still looking back in a desperate hope to see him in the rear view, chasing after me and yelling “wait up!”

Our dreams were a joint effort.  Every single one we had involved both of us.  Any kind of aimless search for a new dream without him feels inconsequential.  It seems now that they were all just hallucinations, pipe dreams never capable of coming to fruition…but how would we have known that?  We were living on the hope of tomorrows adventures that have now faded into oblivion.

I’m an eery stranger to my own life.  I don’t recognize myself anymore, in the mirror or in my heart, and he isn’t here to share my heartbreak over that enormous detail.  He was always here to share my heartbreak and, even as his broke for me, he devised a plan to turn it all back around. Dear God, I don’t know how to turn it back around now. Life has brutally pushed me forward, unwillingly, to where I’m destined to go, whether I like it or not.

I’m living in the constant predicament of yearning and missing in a world where absolutely everything is bittersweet or just bitter…never only sweet.  If it appears it should be sweet, he’s still not here to enjoy it and that allows the bitterness to soak through every fiber of my being.

It’s about so much more than missing his physical presence; it’s about finding myself in the aftermath of a Cat 5 hurricane followed by a trail of tornadoes where trees are wrapped around each other like tumbleweeds in every direction with no clear path in sight.  Finding who I am without him is not only daunting – do I even like who I am without him? – but also seems pointless and disheartening. I feel blinded and deaf in a screaming silence.

God is here. I know He is because I still am. There is no other explanation. I’m not strong enough to stay here on my own, despite everyone telling me how “strong” I am; I know, full-well, that I’m only doing it because God has put life rafts in place to float me past the parts that try to sink me. My sons, my daughters-in-love, my granddaughter, sometimes other family or friends, they are the tugboats, the barges, the canoes, the life rings that glide across the water toward me, hailing me to grab on, to climb aboard the safe vessel that their loving me has built.

It’s funny how no one can hear me screaming.

I was watching a movie recently. Not a sad one; I know better than to wade even deeper into the flood. There was a beach. My husband loved the beach, the ocean, the waves, the sounds, the fishing, the boating. We loved being in The Keys together, paddle boarding the mangroves or fishing the bridges. All I could think was “we’ll never be able to reserve a hotel at the beach together again and just have a getaway.”

That epitomizes pretty much my entire day, every day. Cleaning up after Hurricane Idalia? He’s not here to do it with me. Cooking dinner? He won’t be coming home to eat. Grocery shopping? No reason to buy all of his favorites as I walk past them on the aisle. Trying to sleep? I can’t reach across and just know he’s right there. It’s everything. Ev.Ry.Thing. Every day, all day, a perpetual, rolling tide of agony that refuses to recede more than an hour at a time.

Fortunately, most days I’m good at putting on a happy face. My mask is nearly impenetrable and imperceivable most of the time. I occasionally have lapses in my ability to maintain its stalwart visage but typically it is the picture of perfection and strength. The “picture” of it.

I pray daily for this “strength” that others speak of. I pray for relief. I pray for justice for my husband. I pray for reform in the processes that accelerated his death. I pray for hope…a glimmer of hope. I have big faith in a big and magnificent God and I am working steadily to grow the measure that I have. All of these things are, by human nature, a slow process. I pray for divine hastening. I remind myself that I am not in this world alone when I feel alone in this world.

Be kind, always. You know not what path another is walking, even when you think that you understand it. Some things cannot be presumed or perceived without actual experience. This is an experience I never want you to have.

Just Another Hurricane…

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Everything brings a memory. Ev.Re.Thing.

Idalia is the first hurricane to come since he’s been gone.

He used to help me figure out what needed to be moved around or put away from the back yard. My boys have all offered to help, thankfully.

We used to worry whether the power would go out at night because he wore a CPAP every single night (because he planned to be around for a long time and untreated sleep apnea is not a good way to plan for that.)

I never really worried about the storms because we’d snuggle on the couch, watch movies or good TV, and make popcorn (as long as we had power.) When we didn’t have power, we’ve cooked on the grill outside til it came back on once it was safe to be out there.

Our pool house flooded one year. So much wet stuff. Scott got floor blowers out there, we moved everything we could together, and got it all dried out. It was a mess and an inconvenience but I’m not sure what I’ll do if I have to handle such an “inconvenience” alone. Again, I have my boys and they’ll help with anything I need (and I am so very grateful for every single day I have them and am so thankful they’re all near now) but I still just miss him always knowing what to do and always having a way to figure things out.

Yes, I’m an adult and I was a single mom for years. I’m capable of figuring things out for myself but I just don’t want to anymore. It was so good having him to lean on when life just felt overwhelming. And I guess I never truly knew what overwhelming felt like until now.

Funny how lightning and Thunder crashing outside my windows can bring back so many memories of trying times but now they seem like beautiful memories.

If you still have your person please know now that the things that feel like bad times are still really the good times because you’re doing life together. You aren’t facing the world alone.

For you, this is just another hurricane.

Nefarious Attacks

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This is something I wrote two years ago, in 2021. But today it reminded me of some spiritual truths that I needed to be reminded of TODAY. God is always on time. And yet two years ago, He already knew I would need this TODAY!!!

When you’re under deafening spiritual attack:

🔹Seek pastoral guidance. Your pastors know what spiritual attack looks like because, guaranteed, they have pushed through a lot of it. They also have the tools to teach you how to fight 🥊 it.
🔹Get up. I know you don’t want to, but get up. Take a shower. 🚿 Get dressed. Do your makeup (ladies).
🔹Listen to praise & worship music.
🔹Read the Word. Try Psalms.
🔹Pray. Out loud. The power of life and death is in the tongue. Even when you don’t believe them, make declarations over yourself: I am redeemed and worthy. I am a child of the one true king. I am healed and whole. I have peace in the name of Jesus. I walk in victory.
🔹When you feel so broken that you don’t know how to pray, say something like this, out loud: Jesus, I trust you. Or just Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. There is power in the name and this also seeds your faith. Repeating it over and over and over (even when you 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 like you’re not sure you believe it, because emotions can be liars, too) gives God an open invitation to put your mustard seed of faith to work.
🔹Find a devotional that centers around what you’re feeling or going through. Read it. Read some every single day when you first wake up to seed your day.
🔹Don’t give in. I’m a fighter but sometimes I get so tired. Satan doesn’t always try to take you down by force; he’ll do everything he can to wear you down so that you give up on yourself and turn away from the One who heals you. Then the takedown becomes easier. Don’t turn back around. Stay the course…that’s exactly what the enemy 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯´𝘵 want you to do.
🔹Listen. When God is trying to speak a new plan over your life, the enemy grabs a megaphone 📢. Just because he’s louder doesn’t mean he’s right. Ever known someone who was downright wrong but alarmingly loud about it? That’s what he does. If you 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯, you’ll still hear the voice of the One who has conquered it all.
🔹Wait. God is in the waiting. You can’t always see what He is doing by looking through the keyhole but he can see the full spectrum of what is on the other side of the door. He sees what comes after the rain. Wait; it WILL open.

I have lived and walked through many bouts with depression. I have survived them all and thrived afterwards. Sometimes it’s like a door closing in your face, quite suddenly, with a noisy, resounding boom, and then a window of light opening shortly afterwards. Other times, it’s like slowly stepping past the last lightbulb in a long hallway and feeling your way through the darkness until you see the next area of illumination. 💡

The Light always shows Himself. Even if I have to wait awhile. It’s taken me a lifetime to recognize and trust that He will always come for me, no matter how deep I’ve walked in.

Grief Brain

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I remember being pregnant and complaining of having “pregnancy brain.”  It’s a real thing and it seemed to “wear off” a month or two postpartum, if I remember correctly.  I remember feeling like a complete featherhead, forgetting things I was supposed to do or where I put things.

It feels like there is a thing that should be called “grief brain.”  

I understood it with all of the chaos after Scott was gone.  There was SO much to think about and decide and do and things to find.  Thank God I had people to help walk me through all of that part.

But the people are mostly gone now.  I’m okay with that.  Most of the time now I would just as soon be by myself and at home unless I pop over to the boys’ house for awhile.  No insult intended to anyone at all but I just have a lot of reasons to prefer being alone at the moment.  

I have only made it through one entire live church service since it happened.  I still find it very hard to say or type the words “since Scott _____ (left)”  And I keep trying to get back to being at church every Sunday but depression has always made it hard for me whenever it has doubled back on me for various reasons.  When I’m in a dark place I know God is there with me and that I’ll be able to look back later and see that.  It’s happened soooo many times before so I’m fully sure that’s what will happen.    But I can’t feel it right then.

I think it’s like when Jesus went into the desert to be tempted by Satan for forty days and forty nights.  He had to rely on His knowledge of God’s presence and His Word rather than the feel of Him.  I’m not comparing myself to Jesus (that’s just analogy) but I’m definitely in the desert.

I make it through part of the worship service and then I feel like I’m going to implode.  The music is always what gets me at church, or in any other situation, really.  It always has been.  I’m not one of the people who see colors when I hear music, a different hue for each note (did you know that was a thing?  It’s called chromesthesia or sound-to-color synesthesia.) But music does evoke very deep emotion for me.  It peels back layers that I’m trying to barricade myself within and touches the sensitive and raw core of what I’m feeling.  

Sometimes it is a whirlwind of happiness and joy.  Sometimes it is anger.  And sometimes it is the deepest sadness, swirling down into a deep drain-spin in the moments between verse and chorus or bridge.  It hits so suddenly that sometimes I cannot catch my breath.  Or maybe I can’t let it out.  But it feels like I’m being crushed into implosion sometimes.  

With worship music, it usually has to do with the fact that I know the promises that the music speaks of.  I believe wholeheartedly that they are true.  But I’m in a vacuum.  Somehow the music reaches me but it feels as if the hand of God does not.  

And the thing is, I know that He’s there and is wrapped like a protective cocoon around me.  I know because I’ve seen this part many times before.  But I’m in such a deep place of hurt that I just want the after part, the part where the pain dies down enough that I’m able to look backwards.  I can’t look backwards…

When my mind tries to go back to that night, all of its own accord, I feel like I want to rip my hair out at the roots to stop it.  I do work to take my thoughts captive and refocus but pieces get through the wall before it’s fully built.  It’s always the absolute worst parts that break through.  Like fractured pieces of a broken mirror where the only pieces big enough to see a reflection are focused right on the biggest insult to your sanity.  Then you slam the heavy door in the wall you just hastily built, lock it as quickly as you can, and stand with your back pressed hard against it while you try to catch your breath.  And you literally cannot catch your breath.  That detail isn’t just a part of the metaphor.

So, rather than implode, the only solution is to break down into a sobbing mess.  And I don’t cry.  Well, I never did cry before.  I may have cried three or four times since I’ve been with Scott, ten years.  Now I’ve cried what feels like it could supply Niagara Falls for a week.  

I tell you about my grief here in blog posts.  I share what’s going on.  But unless you were at his funeral or you are one of very few people really close to me, you will not actually see it.  Public displays of affection?  Yep, any day of the week (nothing gross, y’all.) I’m a hugger.  I’m going to let all of you know I love you.  But public displays of any other emotion?  That’s not me.  

See, when I write on social media so that someone else who is grieving can see it, my hope is just to MAKE something good come from this.  What happened has already happened and cannot be reversed so it 𝘩𝘢𝘴 to have some kind of meaning now.  It has to. 

And when I write here, you can “see” what’s going on but you can’t see it.  Understand?  I can stop seventeen times, or seventy-hundred, and fall apart if that’s what I need to do to get the feelings from the inside to the outside so I can breathe.  I can type while the words are blurry more easily than I can stand and try to see people through it.  I told Scott that I think it was a safety mechanism that formed when I was a single mom and had to keep it together so that no one else got scared.  Now it is concrete.  

So the option, in church or any public place, is to get up and walk out then let it all come to the outside (once I’ve reached my car, or home if I can make it.)  Ugly crying, tears, snot, saliva, whatever is pushed out by the grief behind it that is trying to escape this high pressure situation.  I suppose it exits as more of an explosion than an implosion at that point.  But it’s better than trying to sit through the rest of a service holding it all in and trying to flatten it, keep it quiet, hold it still.  Besides, when I get home and go online for the message, I can certainly concentrate on it better than I could have while trying to force down and compartmentalize everything that was brewing inside.

It’s the strangest phenomenon, how you can look backwards and see God in the rear view after you feel Him beside you again.  In the darkness, you can’t see, hear, or feel Him.  It feels like the same kind of absence as not having Scott here with me every (or any) day.  Vacant.  Devoid of oxygen and movement.  A vacuum.

Afterwards it is so obvious that you were being carried from place to place, day to day, and you can look back and KNOW that He had you.

My brain feels like that.  Like there are cavities, absent of matter or information, that are just scattered throughout.  No synapses are firing in those areas.  It feels as if the electricity has failed and no one has turned it back on yet.

My brain “has a mind of it’s own” now.  Sometimes it’s like trying to drink from a full pressure fire hose processing everything moving around in there.  Sometimes it all just feels blank and words won’t come to me, reminders won’t come to me, prayer won’t come to me.  And sometimes it lets me put a voice to what’s going on, but mostly only in type.

I feel like a bumbling fool a lot of the time now.  I’ll be in conversation and will have to stop to reach for words that are just barely out of my grasp (and usually just have to say “whatever – you know what I mean!) I forget things I said to people, or will remember I said it but just not who I said it to.  I forget to set the oven timer then get distracted and forget about what’s in there until I smell it burning.  I forget something I’m supposed to do and feel like I need to apologize a million times because “this isn’t me.”  

This isn’t me, is it?  This kind of thing only happens to someone else.  It happens in Nicholas Sparks movies.  It happens to people in the newspapers. Not us. Yes, there are days when I know exactly how real it is and others when I just still cannot believe it.  This could not have really happened.  Pinch me, please.

So, if you are grieving or you know someone who is grieving, give grace.  To yourself.  To whoever is grieving.  I don’t know if I’ll ever “be myself” again.  Or if I’ll ever feel like I am.  But I can’t keep beating myself up for failing at this.  I’m giving myself the grace I would give to others if they were living in shoes that look an awful lot like mine.  

Because these shoes I’m in?  I don’t like them and they’re terribly uncomfortable.  I’ve got blisters and sores from them.  But they look an awful lot like mine.

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. ☀️

Grief Just Doesn’t Make Sense

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July 5th, 2023

𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯´𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦.

I can be “okay” watching TV, nothing on that pulls heart strings or anything (which is on purpose), no scene comes up that reminds me of anything, NO “trigger” at all….

I say “okay” because I don’t know what else to call it. It means I am currently floating on the top of the salty water but still out to sea.

And it hits. A giant wave 🌊 that I didn’t see or hear coming up behind me crashes over my head and slams me to the coarse sand and sharp crushed seashells at the bottom. I’m tumbling over and over trying to catch my breath as tears materialize from nowhere.

As I’m crying, I’m saying “Where did this come from??? I was fine.” And there is no answer. No reply. No sudden realization of what caused this new onslaught of despair all over again.

The thing is, it doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. Just like when he died. Why he died. How he died. None of it makes sense because it shouldn’t have happened.

Scott dying doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. There is no way to make it make sense but also no way to reverse time and change it.

I savagely interrogate myself. What could I have done differently? What could have changed the outcome? What could have kept him here? Despite the ferociousness with which I scourge myself, the answer is still the same…nothing. Dismally I realize, again, that the only things that could have been done to allow him to still be here were completely out of my hands, out of my control.

I had no control at that time and I have none now over these incessant waves of grief and torment. I’m floating in a sea of uncertainty, unable to predict the next storm of epic proportions or the next monster that will drag me under, with no land, life raft, or rescue vessel in sight.

Except…in desperation I reach for the One who made the wind and waves. And who calmed them.

As Jesus walked across the water toward the boat, Peter said to him, “Lord, if it is you then tell me to come to you on the water.” Jesus beckoned him to come. Peter stepped out on the water and began to walk on top of its surface. He had just asked Jesus to call to him to come, knowing in that moment that if Jesus called him to do it, he would be capable of doing it. Moments later, however, as he did indeed walk on the water, he quickly forgot that the power of Jesus was providing him with the ability to do it. He somehow forgot this even as he was actually doing it! He lost faith even while Jesus was being faithful. (Matthew 14:22-33)

I’m doing that very thing often. God has been faithful. He has shown His faithfulness in many other times in my life. I have testimonies of specific things that could not have occurred in the natural, only the supernatural. BUT GOD, in so many things.

Even now, I know He is here…but I forget. When the waves shove me under, I let my emotions overwhelm me and then I cannot find my way back to the top to breathe freely. I forget for awhile to look for the source of all hope. I forget that the only way I am making it through this is because of Him. I forget, when I am near drowning in my own sorrow, to look for the hand that will always be reaching out for me to save me from even myself.

As I’m typing this, words begin to fill my head.

They’re from a song that Chris Tomlin sings called “He is With Us.” I know exactly how the words were placed there for me. Part of it goes like this:

“Remember when your hope is lost and faith is shaken.
Remember when you wonder if you’re gonna make it.
There’s a hand stretched out through your deepest doubt.
We can’t pretend to see the ending or what’s coming up ahead,
To know the story of tomorrow,
But we can stay close to the One who knows.

We can trust our God;
He knows what He’s doing.
Though it might hurt now,
We won’t be ruined.
It might seem there’s an ocean in between
But He’s holding on to you and me
And He’s never gonna leave, no.
He is with us. He is with us.
Always, always.
He is with us. He is with us.
Always.”

I trust you, Jesus. The current storm and waves have calmed, just as Jesus told them to so many years ago when he was on the water with his disciples. Faith activates relief. It silences the screaming words of the enemy with just a whisper.

For now, I am “okay” again.

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.

Grief Has No Timetable

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July 3rd, 2023

Not being able to think of words to pray when I want to reach out to God for help in this season has been hard. I have started to pray, many times, and have fallen into tears because what I really want to ask is something that won’t happen this side of Heaven. Consequently, I can’t even think of words for anything else. I often just pray “I trust you, Jesus” because I know He will deliver me through this darkness. Other than that, few words have come on their own.

The Bible has many prayers and reminders tucked within its pages. But reading is difficult, too. When I try to read any book, it feels like I’m reading something written in a foreign language. It’s like I can pronounce the words but few of them are making sense or I cannot retain the words that are strung together in a sentence long enough to obtain comprehension.

The thing about reading my Bible, though, as opposed to a novel, is that I know what the Bible says about things we go through in life. It says to trust Him, to obey His Word. I can sit down with my Bible and read aloud and know that I am praying His will into my life. If you were to ask me what I just read/prayed, I may say that I’m not even sure, or I may be able to tell you what book and chapter I was reading from but not give you much context at this point. The important thing is that I am speaking His Word, and out loud because His Word holds power on my tongue.

Grief has no timetable. There is no agenda or list of tasks I can mark off. There is no foreseeable end date. There is no future date I can look forward to or count down towards when it will “get easier” because grief does it’s own thing inside each of us and there are many variables. The only thing I have to cling to is the Word of God which tells me He is faithful. From the history of my own life, I can pull specific passages of time that speak to His goodness, His faithfulness, His comfort, and His strength given over to me. By this I know that I will have endurance through this passage of time because He won’t leave me in it alone.

Today, these are just a few of the passages that I have pulled strength from.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭31‬:‭6‬, ‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life, for I am faithful to you; save your servant who trusts in you. You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord, for I call to you all day long. Bring joy to your servant, Lord, for I put my trust in you. You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you. Hear my prayer, Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress, I call to you, because you answer me. Among the gods there is none like you, Lord; no deeds can compare with yours. All the nations you have made will come and worship before you, Lord; they will bring glory to your name. For you are great and do marvelous deeds; you alone are God. Teach me your way, Lord, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever. For great is your love toward me; you have delivered me from the depths, from the realm of the dead.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭86‬:‭1-13

This photo of Scott, in a Google Photos slideshow, just popped up this morning right as I was finishing reading in Psalms. I noticed something in the clouds today that I had never seen before in this photo. It reminded me that Scott was also not alone when he left that night. And he knew he wasn’t leaving me alone, either. He wasn’t afraid to go because he knew he would see me soon (in his current understanding of the passage of time) and that He was leaving me with the greatest source of love, protection, strength, and comfort until that time. He knew I’d be held until he could hold me, when we would worship together again. Until then, my love. ♥️🌅