Marginalized

What do you do or say when people are visibly uncomfortable and fall into silence when told a loved one has passed away?

I can forgive you for your facial expressions and even forgive the fellow who took two steps backward and left the conversation uneasily,  but I still don't know how to respond to your discomfort.  I still don't know how to make you feel better about my situation and I'm not even sure I should have to...  

These situations arose mainly on walks with Shelby, my late son Robbie's boxer.  I became a dog owner the day after Robbie stepped into heaven.   

A couple years down the road of my dog ownership,  Shelby developed a disease called degenerative myelopathy.  It's a progressive disease that starts in the hindquarters and slowly moves forward.  To slow its progression it was suggested we purchase some "wheels" for her back legs to keep her moving about.  Despite her handicap, she was a perfectly healthy boxer.   Quite beautiful as well.  It took her some time getting familiar with her wheelchair, it wasn't something she took to immediately.  It took practice for both of us, mainly her.

Because of her disability, many people were curious about her mode of transportation. It was easy to chat about her “wheels" because it wasn't something that you saw every day. 

Many conversations occurred on the beach and in the neighborhood as we took her "therapy" walks.   She was a real topic of conversation and folks always wanted to know how old she was or how long I'd had her or was she from the kennel or a rescue dog.  I would respond she was a rescue of sorts and then I'd explain how I inherited her.  This is when I was left standing alone and marginalized.  My loss branded me.

I think I've experienced every different way a conversation can end.  Oh, we could be having a terrific chat and then once the question is answered, it suddenly ends as if I had thrown a wet blanket on a frisky fire.  Faces go blank, words are mumbled and Shel and I were left standing alone feeling as if we crashed a party.

To make everyone comfortable I shouldn't have to avoid mentioning my late son.   I WANT TO TALK ABOUT HIM.  Heck, I'm not sobbing in front of you.  I'm just remembering someone who was a big part of my life.  Don't alienate me, marginalize me or leave me standing alone on this island. It's lonely enough as I grope to discover how to live a "new" normal life as it is.  

Shelby passed away this year.  The DM monster finally had its way with her.  I no longer have the walks but it hasn't spared me from those moments.   

Please don't think you are sparing the grieving sorrow by not talking about the ones who are missing from their lives.  You are grieving us more by not allowing us to speak their names and remember them lovingly.  Ask us questions, how they died is not one of the questions to ask.  How they lived would be appreciated.  

 I want to share with you how much he loved Shelby.  I want to laugh with you and remember the day he called and told me he had done exactly the opposite of what I had recommended and gone ahead and bought the dog.  I want to tell you how Shelby ate a lightbulb and survived! And a couch to boot!!  I want to share with you how my son would watch her as she played with love in his eyes similar to a father gazing on his firstborn.  He would have been a good father, like his older brother. 

   

  

I'm writing this today for those who share similar experiences and also for those who find themselves unexpectedly in a conversation with a person who is grieving a loss.  Please don't leave us alone.  Smile lovingly, ask us something about our loved one.  Don't drop the conversation and leave.  Learn how to respond.  Walk with them in silence, or place a hand on their shoulder with a gentle squeeze.  Empathy, please. 

I know it's uncomfortable. I'm not saying I'm good at it either.  I bump into losses pretty regular, as we all do on this journey through life.  Take a moment to pause and then respond.  Practice.   "I know it must be hard".  "How are you coping?", "Where do you find your strength?".   Remember we are here for one another.  Be someone whose presence helps someone else take a step closer to healing.  I'll try to be that person, will you? 

Gracious words are a honeycomb,

    sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

Proverbs 16:24

Man alone near shoreline photo by Raghav Yadav on Unsplash

Spelunking

I've been spelunking….

...exploring the depths of this new normal. I've questioned the peace and dove down into the pain. I examined thoughts that were previously shelved.  I opened the drawer and pulled out each piece of the loss. Once again, I laid each piece out and brought them into the light.  And the jury is in and the verdict is read, I choose to trust God.    

"With the birth of a child our lives change instantly, we love more, we feel more, we hope more.  

"With the death of a child, our lives change beyond all measure.  All we can do is love our children in the time we have them, love them without end."

This quote is from a series titled Grantchester and was a pivotal statement that drew all the haphazard pieces laying out on the table together into one cohesive position where I have chosen to continue to stand.  It gave me renewed permission to embrace the peace I have surrounding the loss of my son Robbie.  

My decision is not for everyone.  We are as unique as our circumstances.  I simply offer this for those who have been given a sense of peace after the greatest loss a parent can walk through, so they would perhaps hesitate before they throw the peace away and opt for continued sadness.

I had the absolute pleasure to raise two boys,  to love two boys and to have the hope that those boys ushered into my life.   

As a woman of faith, I know that I arrived in this world with nothing and will leave this world with nothing.  My faith reminds me that our children are God's, as are we, and that I was given the distinct honor of raising two of God's beloved children.

I have to remember that it wasn't all the times I told them to be careful that kept them alive.    There were events and experiences that were for them alone to wade through that had nothing to do with me but had everything to do with their life and the story God was writing into their lives.   Do I understand the how and the why's in the story?  Not for a minute but I trust the one who writes it. 

It truly breaks my heart to see the already suffering mistakenly claim responsibility for life-changing events that they have no control over. 

"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" (Matt 6:27) …or if I might have the freedom to add,  can add a single day to their children's life?

My thinking could be and was for a miserable period of time, well, what if I didn't have to raise the boys as a single mother, Robbie might still be alive.  What if Robbie didn't get into that car accident, he may not have decided he liked pain medications, or if he wasn't bitten by that water moccasin… Maybe if Robbie had moved in a third time to live with us he wouldn't have gone out that night and gotten himself killed. The what-if train will drive you into a land of no answers and continued trickery as if you were the one who held control over life and death.  

I was numb for the first two years after Robbie died.  Those years were put into someone else's pocket and they moved away.   I heard and listened to others grieving the loss of their children.  I knew their pain, felt their pain and decided to pull mine out again and feel it,  all the rough edges, sharp edges,  the hardness of it all and the bitterness.  I questioned the peace I had.  I dissected it, doubted it, argued with it and was ready to turn my back on it and begin to wail.   

At one point I even came to the conclusion that something was deeply wrong with me.  That the peace I was experiencing was an illusion I used to escape living in the land of grief.  I went into that land again.  Wore the sadness again and what I found was the sadness didn't fit me anymore.  It was a garment I wore for a time that isn't comfortable now.  Do I still get sad?  Of course I do, but it isn't something that lingers for long.  

"Oh, she really didn't love her son if she can put aside her grief."  So grateful to God that I don't have to live seeking man's approval.   If God gives you peace and says trust me, be thankful.  

The amount of your grief is not commensurate to how much you loved your child.  I learned I don't have to continue to grieve hard to prove I loved Robbie and I don't have to grieve long to prove I LOVED ROBBIE.  If love could have kept him alive he would be living.  But if Love decided to bring him home, I won't turn my back on trust and question His Love.  I know God loves my son greater than I ever could.   

Without faith, this would be impossible.  Oh, my heart breaks for the grieving who don't have hope in a future where every tear will be wiped from their eyes. 

My prayer for all the beloved brokenhearted parents in grief is that the God of all comfort covers your sorrow with a love that heals and grants you a peace that goes beyond any earthly understanding until you hold your loved one again.      

"I will hold you in my heart Robbie until I can hold you in heaven".  

Cave Photo by Devon Janse van Rensburg on Unsplash

Shadow of a Doubt

Awakening in the shadow of a doubt.  Heavy and gray.  I passed into sleep last night after having the sweet occasion to be among those who fortify and share the same love for God as I do.  

So this feeling of doubt points to the one who deceives me, attempting to thwart the good intended for me.  

Scripture tells me to look around at my brothers and sisters in Him.  In them I see hearts breaking for those who don't know Him.  In them, I see the desire to reach out and share what has made such a difference in their own lives.  The very thing that gives them hope and purpose.  In them, I see a love for others.  It's in their love that I see God.  He truly works through people.

 My vision sharpens, the weight lightens and I see that what is offered to me is the choice to believe or disbelieve.  Once again my decision rests heavily on the side of belief.  Belief in the One who seeks and saves.  Belief in the One who accepts me as I am and forgives me for all I am not.  I'm at peace again knowing and resting in a love like no other.  What is offered by Jesus is far greater and richer than anything this world has to offer me. 

Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.  So I will bless you as long as I live.  In your Name, I will lift up my hands.

Psalm 63:3-4

Dogs, death, divorce, deliverance

It was four years ago today that my son Rob stepped into heaven. These last four years have been a deep valley I've traveled through which has brought me to new vistas in my walk with God. Robbie's memories don't pierce me as they did when I first wrote this story I'm sharing with you today. His memories are more like whispers now, sweet and nostalgic.. I miss him most when I see his older brother hold his son, or when his friends get married and I watch their lives unfold without him. It's the life he didn't have that can prick like a thorn now.

Also since the writing of this story, his dog Shelby has passed away. Although I would like to believe "all dogs go to heaven". I only truly know that she has been set free of the disease that robbed her of mobility and crippled her. It has to be better for her now.

So on this day of remembering Robbie's departure, I offer my blog to all the road-weary as encouragement and inspiration to live greatly despite your circumstances. To quote my acupuncturist, "A miracle is that we keep going in spite of everything and that we keep looking to and thanking God."

- - -

Robbie's sandcastle memorial

Dogs, Death, Divorce, and Deliverance

There's a young cardinal feeding outside my window. The comb on the top of its head is still small and his feathers haven't yet filled in with red. It chits off and on as a small downy woodpecker shows up and exchanges a chirp or two, fluffs its soft feather-white down and continues on its way. In the distance, I see a wind-mill in the shape of a flower spinning in the easy breeze that blows across the day. A cassia tree is blooming in all its yellow brilliance. 

I hear my son's dog panting quietly beside me after its romp outside with Bacon and Theo, a friend's pets. My first anniversary of becoming a dog owner is in a few days. Before Shelby arrived, I had pretty much been interested in cats; at one time being the feeder of five. One from the pound, another named Gracie who moved back and forth between my son Robbie and me and the others were delivered to my doorstep by God's grace or sense of humor. My husband and I jokingly imagine that it was our cat Suma, the goodwill ambassador, who sent the word out to all the neighborhood homeless that our home was a safe house. Shelby came to live with us last Labor Day weekend when my youngest son had his homecoming in heaven. 

This past year I've learned a lot about dogs and a lot about grief. I could also say I've learned a lot about myself but it would be more accurate to say I learned more about God. Is it possible for me to explain how the pressing in of grief has pressed me into a more real version of faith? I'm going to give it my best shot to explain. 

I had laid awake all night until the tell-tale signs of dawn began to loosen the nights hold on the day. This was the first morning that would dawn over the loss of my son. I was gripped with a deep desolation and fear at the thought of the day dawning. How do I walk through this? I remember crying out to God that I didn't know how to do this…

That morning was a year ago. Since then I still hear over and over again the words of the police officer softly explaining that they found my son and he had passed away. These two sentences still bubble pop into my day like a macabre surprise party. Not nice, sharp and convincing. Robbie was involved in a tragic ATV accident. He was 27. He loved his ATV as much as he loved his dog, Shelby. As I write I hear Shelby snoring softly on the floor next to me. She has finally settled down from her romp with the boys. 

Many storms have rumbled through my life. The difference in the aftermath of the two storms is what inspired me to write this quiet afternoon. In one storm my faith was in myself, I had no relationship with God and then in this more recent storm, my faith was in God. Maybe you've had a few storms already in your life. If you haven't, count your blessings, but know that none of us walk through our lives unscathed. It is my hope that in sharing my storms, it may help you through yours. 

The first storm was my divorce and I didn't know much about the God of the Bible during that time. I was seeking God my way. Sampling what I was going to believe as if it were a spiritual buffet. I sampled 20 years of meditating twice a day to reach God-consciousness; Hinduism, followed the teachings of Ramtha (a woman claiming to channel a spiritual entity) and countless other ways where one could work or think their way to knowing or becoming like God. So when that first storm rumbled through my life I was left with my choice, me. I was lonely, broken, spent, desperate, and hopeless for many years.

As I write this I realize it has been fifteen years since I, through some rather amazing God-incidences, took a look at what the God of the Bible had to say about life, purpose and his love for me, His created. Most of my life I believed in God but now I was believing God. I began to see my life through the lens of a holy God. I certainly wasn't as shiny and bright as I had thought. But in spite of that, there was a God offering grace to me despite all the messiness in my life. Come as you are. 

It reminds me of a poem written by Augustine of Hippo speaking about the lament of a soul who has realized belatedly that God is there, while he was not aware of it. He writes, 

"Slow was I, Lord, too slow in loving you. To you, earliest and latest beauty, I was slow in love. You were waiting within me while I went outside me, looking for you there, misshaping myself as I flung myself upon the shapely things you made. You were with me all the while I was not with you, kept from you by things that could not be except by being in you. You were calling to me, shouting, drumming on deaf ears. You thundered and lightninged, piercing my blindness."

Through this more recent storm, my heart was inclined toward Christ. I had placed my trust in Him alone. I had a strong family of friends who supported me, prayed for me, cried with me and stood beside me and in their eyes, I saw the reflection of God's love. I was surrounded by a deep love I'd never experienced before. Additionally, I experienced a peace from God that was beyond any understanding. How can I have peace when "that" happens? A pastor* I respect greatly explained it as such… 

The how has no human answer. It is beyond human understanding. Human understanding will not be able to come up with an answer as to how you enjoy peace in "that" circumstance. It is suprarational. Reasoning doesn't make the peace happen. God makes the peace happen and he does it in answer to prayer. It's a wonderful experience (paraphrased). 

These experiences of the love and peace that come from God would have just remained something I had read about had it not been for this grief pressing into my life. I'm here to tell you it is a very, very real experience, one that has deepened my faith in a way I would not have thought possible. Know that my peace during this time does not mean I don't miss Robbie. I do, deeply. But I rest in knowing I will see him again, not as he was, an earthly man troubled by sins. But as a heavenly man, as God intended him to be. And I will be the same.

"You will keep him in perfect peace,

Whose mind is stayed on You,

Because he trusts in You."

—Isaiah 26:3—

*John Piper

Float

Her beautiful eyes are fixed on the sky and I can tell she is listening closely yet every muscle in her little body is still held taut.  I encourage her to relax. Just let all the tenseness drain out of your muscles and let me hold and steady you.  

It’s a beautiful summer’s day and we’ve gone to the community pool to cool off.  My granddaughter is an active five-year-old who loves a challenge.  After swimming back and forth from the side of the pool to my measured distance out into the pool, she creates a challenge by asking me to step a little further away each time she completes a swim out.  I can see her tiring physically, but mentally she was grimly determined to continue to swim a greater distance with each attempt.  About this time I realized there was a teaching moment in the midst of her challenge.  After a few more tries, I introduced a new challenge.  How to float.  How to let go of her efforts when she becomes tired and just rolls over onto her back, relaxes and floats. 

As I hold her tiny lighter than air form above the waterline, I can’t help but realize this teaching moment is also one for myself. My memory reaches back into past times in my life where though mentally and physically fatigued, I would doggedly push myself to continue despite the ache in my bones and the fog in my head.  Sometimes my anger would even become the tired fuel I would spend to accomplish checking off one more "to do" on my mountainous list.  

    

In retrospect and through the eyes of faith, how much easier if I had learned how to relax sooner in my life.  If I had taken some time to fix my sights on the one who holds me above the waterline and encourages me to rest into Him,  much like I was encouraging my granddaughter to do.  

Gradually I begin to see her struggle lessen as she begins to trust my support beneath her.  She experiences her buoyancy as she turns her efforts down and floats.  Her smile lights up my world.

We can light up His world too.  No matter the tempest, storm or workload.  No matter how high the waves or strong the wind, we can relax our struggle and release it into His loving hands.  We can trust him as my granddaughter trusted me.  Our trust in Him can be the smile on His face and a light in the world.

~

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”   

Matthew 11:29-30 The Message (MSG)

The Singer

The day's temperature was just beginning its upward climb toward the nineties.  The parking lot was full but we found a spot reasonably close to our destination that offered a stingy piece of appreciated shade.  As I stepped out of the car the Florida temperature greeted me like a warm hug.  Immediately my ears picked up the sound of someone singing.  I recall having heard this before from a previous visit to this shopping area.   I also recalled the thoughts I had the first time I heard him here.  My heart becomes hard like a sharp-edged rock.

The man singing is standing against the wall of a department store.  He isn't near the entrance to the store so we can avoid him rather easily as we head in that direction.   He appears to be blind as he has a cane next to him and a jar before him.  As my sister and I are walking we exchange some comments about him.   I may have said something to the effect of having seen him here before,  keeping veiled the nature of my inner thoughts.  We continued toward the entrance chalking him up to be one of the many homeless copping a coin. 

As we navigate toward the door his singing ceases and he begins to speak about new life in Jesus.   I pause for a moment listening to him as he speaks truth into the wide-open space of this busy parking lot. He has become a font of spiritual water running like a stream in a desert wilderness. My heart seizes.  I know what it's like to thirst for something and attempt to quench it with what doesn't satisfy.  

As we enter the store the grip on my heart does not relent.  I am unenthused with all the merchandise before me.  What happens instead is all the negative thoughts I've had about this blind solo singer in the past begin to bubble up in my memory.  As I am convicted of this my heart continues to ache and I'm unable to think, let alone shop.  

 I look in my wallet for some bills and find I have none.  I ask my sister if she has cash and she gives me a questioning look but responds with a  yes.  I mumble to her I'll be right back quickly explaining to her that the singing man was speaking the truth and I felt compelled to respond in some way.  

As I exit the store the sound of his song touches my ears once again.  The hardness in my heart eases, the ache lessens.  I walk toward him with purposeful intention.   As I draw up closer to him, I put the bills into his jar and thank him for speaking the truth.  Just as I finish my sentence he stops, turns his blind countenance toward me and asks my name.  I answer and ask him for his.  He is a young man.  It's then that he asks if he can pray for me.  I am caught a little off guard but I respond with a yes.  

I ask him for prayer on loving God in a greater way than I already do.   I know deep in my soul that to love God more would enable me to love others more genuinely.   We bow our heads together and this young blind man whom I've criticized and disregarded in the past is praying confidently for me to Jesus.  He knows Him well. 

As he prays it seems as if there isn't another soul around.   It's as if all the people that were bustling about were swallowed up in a vacuum and all that was left behind were this young man and I standing in prayer before the very one who has quenched our thirst, Jesus. He is there with us.

"For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Matthew 18:20

For days the memory of this parking lot prayer remained as a tangible presence in my life.   Words fall short of the spiritual blessing God graced me with through this young man.  It was supernatural.   Some of the scales that were blinding my eyes dropped away and my heart discovered a greater tenderness.   I chuckle to think I went to give him a few dollars and he gave me a memory that was as precious as pearls.  

I haven't seen him in the area for many months now.  He truly was a lesson placed there to be learned.  And you may wonder if the prayer was answered.  I would have to say the prayer was being answered before it was ever spoken. 

Life lessons from Shelby

I can still see her running away from me.  Nothing but a cloud of sand following behind her as she charges forward.  Her sheer joy is obvious as she streaks along the shoreline, pulling muscles drawing tight against bones, stretching for the distance.   Boxers have a lot of unbridled energy.  

Relieved I see her slowing down.  Being caught up in the rapture of running she has journeyed farther than she thought, or perhaps even had no thought at all which would most likely be closer to the truth.   

I watch her as she runs over to strangers seeking something familiar, wreaking havoc on beach blankets of unknown scents.  She is searching,  at times even looking panicked. Suddenly she stops and stands still and silent in the distance.   How my heart races that she sees me, that she hears me calling out to her.

 She turns and faces a familiar sound, though slight and quiet there is some familiarity in it.  A remembrance of being loved,  protected and cared for.  Oh, how she charges back in my direction joyously, ecstatic and very slobbery.

I can't help but reflect how many times in my life  I do the same thing?  Exuberantly running off in my own direction, plowing ahead with no thought of checking in with the captain of my life, the one who holds my life, protects my life and gives me life. 

I can find myself lost among the unfamiliar looking for help where help doesn't live.  It's that moment when I stop and stand shocked still that I have the ear to hear the sound of His voice, the call to remember whose I am.  

Then, I too, turn and run back ecstatically,  joyously and hopefully not slobbery, into His presence.  I am received into His loving arms, His easy yoke and am overcome with that same giddy reassurance that I am kept, I am held,  I am loved and protected by the very one who gives me life.  My Father, my Friend, my Master, Jesus.  

"Be still and know that I am God". 

Psalm 46:10