The End of the Day

I plow through the day without fail. No tears fall from my eyes; no break in my voice to betray my fears. I am resolute. I am resilient. Who wouldn’t be with the knowledge that God fights the battle?

And then nighttime falls. The kids are safely sleeping in their beds. The crisis has passed, and it is time for me to crawl in between the cold, smooth sheets alone. There is no longer anyone there to curl up next to and share the burdens of the day with. There is no one there to let me be weak and gently wipe away my tears. There is no one there to encourage me and to take the weight from my shoulders. No. He is gone. Now the tears flow freely. Now the guard comes down. Now I am shaken and defenseless. Now the full force of parenting alone smacks me upside the head and knocks the wind out of me. I feel isolated and intimidated. I wonder if I can do this. Have I completely failed?

As I sob into my pillow, I sense God’s comforting love slowly creeping into my heart, comforting my head, offering me His strength. “There, there,” He whispers in the darkness. “I will never leave you nor forsake you. My mercies are new every morning. You will not be consumed by this because I love you.” He reminds me once more that although I am unaccompanied I am not alone. He will be a Father to my children. He will guide them through this.  We were never promised a problem free life. In fact, we were guaranteed quite the opposite. However, we do not face this crisis or any other without aid. We have the power of the universe on our side. Although I am weak, He is always strong; and in that I will find comfort and rest.

Nine Months

“Father God, You are my strength when I have none. You are my hope when I am done….” And so begins my journal entry on this day, the nine month anniversary of Woody’s death.

Some days drag on for an eternity, while others whiz by. There is no consistency, no pattern. Therefore, there is no way to prepare for what each new day may bring. Every morning I wake and am greeted by the same solitude as I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed, which remains perfectly made and cold and empty. Every day I parent alone wishing Woody were here to have that “man-to-man” talk with Hunter about his future, a conversation he so desperately needs right now as he flounders trying to find his purpose in life. Every day I watch Haden mature into the man God has designed him to be and am saddened by the fact that his earthly father is not here to see it, knowing how proud Woody would be. And every day I see the sorrow that lives within Haley’s blue eyes and wonder if joy will ever crowd out the grief that has taken up residency in her heart.

Yet, through all of this God has been my one constant—my source of strength, my only hope. I am reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Philippi as he spoke about learning to be content in any state he found himself to be. He knew what I now know that only through Christ can we hope to gain the power necessary to overcome our circumstances no matter how dire.

So even today, as I mark another milestone on this journey, I give Him praise and look to my mighty God to carry me through another day.

Fragile and Frightened

“Your strength amazes me….”

“I could always see fortitude in you that left me in awe….”

“You are my ‘she-ro’!”

The accolades fall on the ground all around me while I sit, hugging my knees and crying into the emptiness that surrounds me. I am not strong! And in this moment I feel fragile and frightened. Yet, everyone believes I am strong and steady. No one sees the me that breaks down in the middle of a run and has to stop as the sobs take my breath away and defeat my soul. No one sees the tears that intermingle with sweat streaming down my face. No one sees because I am too busy hiding behind my Father, trying desperately to become invisible. What they see is supernatural. What they see is Someone greater than I will ever be picking up the pieces and holding them together.

I will never be strong. Fortitude covers my fragility; and a champion? There is only One, and it is not me. I will fall to my knees every time, delicate and defeated. Yet, somehow God shines through me and is revealed to those who cross my path. Just know that the real me does not deserve praise. I am as pathetic as they come, but I have found sustenance in a God who through my frailty is made strong.

Parenting Through Grief

How do I parent from a point of grief children who are grieving? We are all stumbling through the dark trying desperately to find our way. One child seems to be functioning quite well. Another has uncontrollable anger and the urge to rebel. And the third child has thrown himself into a sport he loves and refuses to discuss what happened. I am attempting to put the pieces of our family back together when I feel completely broken and inadequate. How do I mend something which will never again be whole?  

Tears are like raindrops falling at the most inopportune times, soaking the soul, leaving behind a muddy mess. Our pain is raw and all of us are experiencing it in different ways on different levels. Can I allow my children to fully grieve when I have not allowed myself to do so? How do I give myself permission to let go and wallow in my sorrow when I know I must be strong for the three young people who look to me for strength and wisdom? I cannot even see past the day in front of me let alone into their futures. I am failing. And failing at parenting is not something I can afford to do.

I look to God for wisdom, yet sometimes His words are barely audible. Last night Haley told me that she cannot be strong although she feels she needs to be.  I told her that she does not need to be. Her job right now is to become weak so that God can carry her in His strength. Perhaps I need to take my own advice. God’s power will be made perfect in my weakness. Perhaps parenting will best be accomplished when I completely trust God to bear my burden and accomplish what I cannot.

Parenting through grief. My new “normal.” Still, I do not parent alone nor do I suffer in solitude.  Although I no longer have my partner in parenting to physically carry me through these trials, I have my spiritual companion to lift me over every obstacle. I need only remember where my strength comes from.

The Balance of Life

From March 25, 2012

Life hangs in such a fragile balance, ready to tip in either direction at any time. God taught me that last April. He gave me a whole new understanding of His compassion and mercy. He taught me that every breath that we will ever breathe is His. He alone holds our lives—and the capacity at which we live that life—in His hands. I own nothing; I know that more clearly today than I have ever known it.

We had been standing on our new neighbor’s front steps introducing ourselves to their family when all of a sudden I heard something unusual and turned to see my then 14 year old son fall backwards down the stone steps that just moments before he had been standing on. He landed with his head on the concrete sidewalk and his body contorted and stiff. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was completely oblivious to the world around him. As I rushed to his side the thought that was rushing through my mind was, “He must have hit hard enough to cause head trauma!” And then after looking at the position of his body, I had to ask myself, “Did he break his neck?”

“Hunter!” I shouted his name over and over to no response. His arms were bent and stiff, not a normal position for someone that had merely fainted. For the longest five to ten seconds of my life he was unresponsive. When he regained consciousness, he was disoriented and without memory of anything that had happened prior to the fall. The neighbors helped me walk him slowly to our house where we continued to assess his condition. He could not remember even items that we knew should have been stored in long-term memory. Since he had hit his head, we worried about head trauma even though there was no external sign of injury. After about an hour of observing his confused state, we made the decision to take him to the emergency room.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, Hunter’s condition had improved; and by the time the doctor examined him, all of his memory, except for the hour prior to his fall, had returned. They performed every test imaginable on him—complete blood work up, CAT, EEG, blood pressure, UA, etc. Everything came back within normal ranges. They sent us home as puzzled as we were as to what had occurred.

I walked out of that hospital with a sense of complete amazement. As the images of Hunter’s fall played over and over in my mind, the one thing I realized was God’s protection had placed Hunter gently at the base of those stone steps. God’s hand had held Hunter’s head as he landed on the concrete sidewalk and prevented him from serious injury. Things could have been so much different. The impact of the fall could have easily caused him to break his neck or could have caused serious head trauma. Neither had taken place.

As I woke the following morning I realized that I could have been waking up to completely different results. I realized how precious life is and how little control I have over it. I realized, too, that my children were not mine, but a gift from God. As I went through my devotion that morning, three words came to mind—compassion, understanding, and tolerance. Carefully, I went through the Bible searching for verses that speak of God’s compassion. The Old Testament and the New Testament are full of statements exclaiming God’s mercy and compassion for those who love Him. I was overwhelmed as I realized that what I had received the previous night was just that—God’s compassion, understanding, and tolerance. He has tolerated my sin, He has understood my fallen nature, and when I was in pain, fearful for my dear son’s health, He had demonstrated compassion beyond comprehension. I am so undeserving of such amazing love!

We have since learned through follow-up testing (a couple days later, they called to inform us that the radiologist had found something on the CAT, that required further testing) that Hunter has a seizure disorder and a venous malformation in the left parietal lobe of his brain. We made the prayerful decision not to medicate him in spite of his neurologist’s recommendations, and he has been seizure free since that fateful day in April, another sign of God’s endless mercy.

I praise God for what I was given that night—a deeper sense of whom God really is, a deeper sense of what it means to be shown compassion. He felt my pain and knew my fear and responded with loving kindness. And even though the scales seem to be tipped in our favor for now, I know how quickly that can change; but I also know that God is holding every breath of our lives in His very capable, loving hands.