A Daughter's View Point

A cry for help? Physical pain to cover the emotional torment that plagues a young girl’s life? Whatever the excuse, however it may be labeled; the act itself must be taken seriously. Fear. Desolation. No sense of value. My poor daughter’s world has been turned upside down. Her biggest cheerleader, her constant affirmation, the man who made her feel like the princess she is, is gone—ripped violently from her life in a manner too horrible for words. She watched for hours as he struggled against the agonizing pain—as her mother tried to piece together the back of her daddy’s head in an attempt to stop some of the bleeding. She tried to look into eyes that bulged from his face, closed from the swelling. The mouth that had spoken words of encouragement and kissed her lovingly on the forehead coughed up blood and moaned in agony. “How long?” she cried, exasperated, terrified as we waited for help to come. Fear of plunging down the granite slope plagued her with every move her daddy made. “Please STOP!” And the hours lingered. An eternity was lived within a day.

Angry? A constant state of anger, misery, distress, and dread. Yes, God is real, but she questions His choices. How can good come from this? She sees the people who have been helped, but she really doesn’t care. In all reality, she would let them suffer the wrath of God and be forever lost for one more day with her daddy. There is no room for compassion in the midst of her anguish. Not now. And she is surrounded by people who seem to be healing and managing the grief for which she cannot find resolution. Alone in a world where she has no power or peace.

I know she will survive this. In time the trauma of that day will fade into a distant memory with not as much pain associated with it. Those memories will not cut so deeply, wounding the soul with every remembrance. If she can learn to lean on her Heavenly Father, she will come to know the peace she seeks so desperately. She will learn to trust the world again. She will know where her help comes from. Someday the void in her heart will grow smaller as God fills it with the love of a husband and children of her own. Someday only joy will accompany the memories of her devoted daddy.  

Someday….we are just not there yet.

The Hardest Hit

Today I nearly laid my weapons down and walked off the battle field. I was completely defeated. With shoulders slumped, tears blurring my vision, I was ready to raise the white flag and concede to the enemy. Never mind that this week had been a series of victories in which I had taken back battle ground and had revealed the identity of the true enemy. Forget that I had acquired new, more effective weapons which were successfully rendering the enemy powerless. Today I was hit with a nuclear powered blast—biological warfare for which I was unprepared. The wind was knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground with an impact significant enough to register on the Richter scale. However, once I was able to get my bearings and breathe again, feelings of outrage filled my lungs. You see, the enemy hit me where it really hurts; tonight he attacked my kids, and that will always bring out the “mama bear” in me. Satan, the gloves are off! No one messes with my children! When you attack them, you attack my Father, and He has already handed you your head on a platter. You will NOT have the victory here! You will NOT take my children down with you! They belong to the Commander and Creator. AND, they have been placed in my care and I will fight you with my dying breath!

This means war! I have reloaded and refueled. My tears have run dry. My sobs have been soothed. I have strapped on my boots, picked up my shield, and am ready to wield the most deadly sword there is. I am armed and dangerous and I have everything within my arsenal aimed right at you!

No, today I will not give in. Today, and every day that God gives me, I will battle on and eventually stand in the victor’s circle with my King.

No More Lies!

Lies. I have believed so many of them throughout my life. However, the one I am continually deceived by is the one that leads me to believe that I am in control of everything that happens in my life. Satan has me so duped! I have believed this particular lie for so long that I have begun to see it as truth. If only I had been a more obedient child perhaps I would not have been disciplined so severely. If only I had not been alone with a certain male family member I would not have been molested. If only I had had more faith, the children within my womb would have survived.  If only I had prayed more fervently, Woody would not have died.  If only.... And I have believed the great deceivers accusations every time. I have fallen into despair believing that I will never be good enough or strong enough to be an effective warrior in God’s army. I have worn the yoke of oppression and have been crushed under its weight just knowing that I deserved every evil outcome—every strike against my soul—because I am responsible for causing others around me to sin. I am responsible when the laws of nature take away my child or my husband. It’s all on me.

Not anymore! A friend called me this morning to pull back the curtain and reveal the deceiver behind the deception—to connect the dots, so to speak. I had no control over my abuse as a child, no more than I had that fateful Mother’s Day on Mount Yonah. Nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome. Satan, once again, has pulled out every weapon in his arsenal in an attempt to attack and destroy my prayer life. He has tricked me into believing that my relationship with God is damaged and that my communication has been hindered by a lack of faith. That is not the case. I was not the only person on or off that mountain that prayed for Woody’s life. We were completely covered by prayers. Many pleaded for Woody’s life that day. I never thought Woody would die because although I knew his injuries were life threatening and that the laws of nature deemed that he should die, I knew my God was big enough to alter those laws and allow a miracle to occur on our behalf. What I did not know is that He would say no. That was the day God had chosen to take Woody to his eternal home. No one could have changed the outcome. This is not on me!

No more lies! I am finished allowing lies to define who I am. I am a cherished daughter of the King. He is lovingly holding me in His arms, gently rubbing my back as the sobs rack my body, wiping away the tears. He has a plan for me far better than any I can imagine. He has not abandoned my side. He has plucked me up into His arms to carry me through this turbulent time. That is the truth that needs to resonate through my life. The father of fabrication has lost this battle. This lie—the one he has deceived me with my whole life—has been exposed for what it is. From this day forward, God’s truth will define and liberate me. Finally, I have been freed from this lie.

Satan's Latest Lie

Satan’s latest accusation against me has been hurled; and although I know it is a dreadful lie, it still wounds and causes doubt to linger in my mind.

I could not sleep the night before Woody died. I finally got out of bed and tiptoed to the classroom. If I couldn’t sleep, I would write. My thoughts were jumbled—troubled. Focus was an allusive acquaintance, meandering on the outskirts of my mind. After about an hour of struggling, Woody came into the classroom rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing? I was worried when I woke up and you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I might as well do something productive.” Woody leaned over and kissed the top of my head.

“Well, try to come back to bed and get some sleep.” Then he made his way back to our bedroom.

I did go back to bed, and finally, about an hour before my alarm startled me awake, I dozed off. We went to church, where I leaned against Woody trying to stay alert. We had already made plans to go for a hike after church, but I was starting to fade and quite irritable. “Please, Mom!” the kids pleaded. I knew once we were on the trail, I would revive so off we went. However, my spirit was restless. I was struggling to feel God’s presence. I couldn’t pray. I felt so far from Him, and I could not identify the reason.

And that is the origin of satan’s accusation.

After the fall, I could not pray—not fervently. I spoke the words, but my heart and mind could not comprehend what was being said nor accept what was happening. I kept thinking, “This is not happening! This is a dream! This cannot be reality!” Not once did I think Woody’s life was in danger, even though I saw the fall and the extent of his injuries. Even while I attempting to piece together the back of his head so that I could hold it together in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding, I still did not believe he would die. I just knew something that horrible could never happen to me or our children. I kept praying, but not spirit-filled prayers that ignite the air waves. I was in shock. I was in denial. And that is where I am being attacked. Satan is accusing me and my lack of faith for killing Woody. I know it’s a lie; however, I can’t help but question my lack of passion while praying. Was I praying effectively? Is it somehow my fault? Why was I feeling so distant from God?

I know it’s a terrible deception, yet it haunts me daily. I remember stopping shortly before we reached the spot where Woody fell and taking a picture. The view was breathtaking! I wanted one of the kids to take a picture of Woody and me with the view in the background. “No,” Woody said, “Let’s wait until we get to the top.” And we went on, expecting something even more spectacular on the summit.

 I never reached the peak, but Woody did. It is where he breathed his last breath. It is where his heart stopped pumping and he went home. God has revealed His love and beauty time and time again. His presence has given me peace in the midst of the most terrifying tempest. Yet, I still let the enemy lie to me. Pray for me. Pray that the curtain will be removed and the truth will be unveiled. Today I need the prayers of God’s children interceding for my heart and mind.

Weary

I am weary. When will the storm clouds clear? When will the ache in my heart dull? When will the tears stop flowing?

Yesterday while driving through the neighborhood, a young couple sat in their driveway supervising their three young children. It brought back a flood of memories—the years we spent raising our three young children and how we cherished our time together, playing, laughing, loving. “Why can’t we go back?” I sobbed. I wanted to turn back the hands of time and relive those years with Woody by my side. I wanted another chance to live and laugh with the love of my life.

Tears. They have a will of their own. They sting and stab at my eyes. I cannot control them. Grief is an unpredictable monster devouring everyone and everything within its stead.  It consumes and confounds. And I find myself floundering within its menacing grip. Why can’t I escape? Why does it persist for so long?

I know God is with me, but even David—a man after God’s own heart—occasionally felt abandoned and alone. I am well aware of that emotion. I am living that reality. It is difficult, at best, to recognize God’s loving hand in the midst of such deep sorrow. Yet, I continue on in faith knowing that eventually I will once again distinguish God’s perfect presence in my life.

Snapshots of Our Lives

So many pictures of smiling faces, laughter, and moments of joy fill my Instagram and Facebook accounts. From the outside looking in we seem to be adjusting remarkably well. And we are. God is good. He continues to gift our days with small treasures of delight.  I find myself taking more photos realizing that before tragedy struck our family, I had become somewhat slothful in capturing our memories on film. Not now. I want to seize every moment and never forget how we rebuilt our crumbling lives. Every smile is a building stone—every bit of laughter a footing.

However, there are snapshots of time that the public will never see. The sobs and screams. The fears and falls. No one will see the messy work ensuing behind the scenes, such as this morning when I fell to the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears, sobs racking my body as I began to hyperventilate. No one will hear the soft footsteps approaching as Haley knelt beside me and wrapped me in her arms and soothed me with her gentle spirit. No one will see the evenings Haden comes into my room with tears in his eyes worried because I am not sleeping, or the times Haley crawls into my bed weeping. These are episodes that no one wants to see or acknowledge, yet these events are just as crucial to the healing process as the smiles and laughter. This is the construction stage that is unpleasant and untidy. It is the phase we want to overlook and avoid, but without it, we cannot continue to build.  Without it, restoration will never occur.

These snapshots comprise our journey, every aspect of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I treasure every moment, knowing that it is a gift from God. I will praise Him even in the midst of the storm that threatens my life and the sorrow that fills my soul.  Furthermore, I will continue to capture our flashes in time—all of them—either on film or in my mind knowing that through all of these moments we are rebuilding our crumbling lives.