Circumstantial or Certain?

I have a question I want everyone to ponder; your joy—is it circumstantial or certain?  I believe if we are quite honest, most would admit that it tends to be circumstantial.  The least amount of discomfort may send one reeling in despair.  We place too much emphasis on physical security, and when that security is threatened, we so often become disenchanted.  Our happiness is dependent on the temporal rather than the eternal. 

My circumstances turned dire 15 months ago when my whole world came crashing down around me and fell into a million pieces at my feet. There was no light. I wandered in the darkness full of agony. I could not see. Yet, even in unfathomable despair I could feel God’s presence as He held me and carried me through the depths of my grief. Even in the bottomless pit of anguish, there was joy—joy rooted in the unquestionable presence of my Savior. Sorrow saturated my days, but joy kept me alive.

Today I want you to ask yourself, “What do I truly believe about God? Is my faith built on the solid foundation of who God is or who I am?” Are you spending too much time focused on your present circumstances? Nothing in this life is assured, but God’s strength is certain. His love will never be dependent on your circumstances.

There to Catch Me

Tomorrow it will be five years since we lost my dad. This is a blog post written over four years ago to honor him. It seemed fitting to post it again today.

“Kim Annette, you need to come down from there. You’re high enough.” I heard my father’s voice call up to me. I turned my head to search for him, and found him standing on the ground below, about twenty feet from the tree in which I was climbing, making my way steadily to the top.

“It’s okay, Dad. I won’t fall.” I shifted my focus back to the tree. There was another branch, slightly smaller than the one that I now grasped, just about two feet higher and to the left. If I stood up straight and reached with my left hand, I knew I could reach it. Then I would be able to pull myself up until I was standing on the limb that I now held onto. I took a deep breath and stretched up until the fingers of my left hand curled tightly around the branch. Got it! Now, for the right; but just as I grabbed hold with both hands, snap! Suddenly I found myself hanging upside down.

Somehow my feet had swung around until I was hanging from my toes. The branch was on the top part of my foot and my toes curled up, keeping me from falling.

“Kim Annette!”

“I’m okay, Dad!” I started to reach up in order to grab the limb I was hanging from. As my hands reached it, I dropped my legs below me, and then, crack! This time I fell to the ground in a heap. I lay on the ground for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My dad slowly walked over until he was standing over me. 

“Well?”

“I’m okay,” I responded weakly.

“Then stand up and come inside now.” I rose slowly until I stood beside him. “You’re lucky.”

“Yeah, I know.” I reached over and curled my fingers around his index finger. I knew he wasn’t happy with me. I hadn’t listened to him and as a result, I had fallen hard to the ground. He didn’t say a word but kept walking. He knew words were not necessary.

I now look back upon that memory and as a parent I appreciate the anxiety he must have felt as he watched his 40 pound ten year old in the canopy of an old oak tree, farther above the ground than he would have liked to have seen. But at the same time, he respected the independent, fearless spirit that took me to the top of that tree. And although I had fallen hard, it didn’t stop me from climbing more trees, and eventually climbing through mountains. Yes, I had fallen, but his complete lack of anxiety gave me confidence to continue striving. There was no fear. Even through the fall, I felt serene because my daddy stood close by ready to come to my assistance if need be.

Isn’t that what a father’s love should look like? Was my dad perfect? No, but no one is. I forgave him for his imperfections years ago, because he forgave me for mine. Now, however, I feel a little more fearful about the stumbles I may take in life, because my dad isn’t standing nearby to pick up the pieces. I must remember, however, that my heavenly Father has always been with me, and He will knit me together with unconditional love every time I fall.

Reflecting on God's Love

I woke up angry. Angry with Woody for leaving me when there is still so much work to do with raising our children to adulthood. Angry that I have to face the rest of life alone. Just ticked! I wanted to scream, but instead I took our dog Piper for a walk. Upon returning, I was ready to spend some time alone with God and pour out my frustrations. “Are you ready for an earful?” Yet, somehow as soon as I hit my knees, all the anger and frustration dissipated. My tears were tears of awe and wonder as I contemplated the fact that I can enter the presence of God. Do you get what a big deal that is? I mean, this is the GOD! Yahweh, Jehovah, Adonai! He is too awesome to fully comprehend and I am too finite to even begin to understand.

I am completely humbled by the fact that I am loved so completely by the God who rules the universe. I am but a cosmic speck. I am nothing! Yet God loves me as if I am everything! Today, instead of letting anger, frustration, or grief control and manipulate your emotions, focus on the fact that this same God loves you immensely.

Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

An Open Letter to Cameron Sterling

I am stunned. My heart is broken for a 15 year old boy who had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. My mind races back to a day 14 months ago when my 14 year old son had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. And, no, the circumstances are not similar, but the loss and heartache are. As I view the video of Cameron Sterling standing next to his mother in his bright horizontally striped shirt, pulling up the collar to hide his face and somehow squelch the sobs, I am overtaken with pain as I watch him succumb to the sorrow and sob into a male relative’s arms.

Cameron, I am SO sorry! No young man should experience this kind of pain. This next year will be horrific as you walk through the fog of grief. You may block it from memory and refuse to acknowledge the pain, as my son has done; or you may engage in self-harm, as another child of mine has done. No matter what you do, the pain will stab at your heart and sting your eyes. The void will grow larger as you realize the gravity of your loss the next time you want to call or text your dad and realize he’s not there. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug away the agony that grips you so tightly. I pray that through all of this you know that you have a heavenly Father who defends the orphan. He will be your Father and love you unconditionally. He alone understands the depth of your sorrow. My son and I are praying for you; and unfortunately, we know how to pray. We know what this year will look like for you and your siblings, and that is why we will not cease our prayers.

I will say this: although Cameron and Haden are the same age and have experienced a similar loss, it is not the same. Haden—a white male—does not have to worry about racial profiling. He walks down the streets of the city without fear from the police. I can honestly say that Cameron will never know that sense of peace. How many more lives must be lost before a black man can walk through the city with the same confidence as a white man?

A Wedding

It was a lovely wedding. I have known the bride and groom for years and have loved them both separately but love them even more as a couple. As they knelt to take communion together, I watched as the bride’s arm went around the groom’s torso and her hand rested lovingly on his back. Tears stung my eyes as I witnessed a long journey concluding at the altar. She had waited—and waited—for a man who would cherish her like Christ loved the church. I was honored to witness a union firmly established in faith.

The evening was bittersweet. I remembered the day I had pledged my life and love to a man who loved me with such great compassion and joy. We spoke of how we would grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren blossom into men and women. We planned trips around the world. We imagined retirement together. Our lives were ever intertwined. There was no future ever fantasized that did not include “we.”

But then the unimaginable happened. The man I vowed to love until death did us part tragically died shortly after his 43^rd birthday. Suddenly the future grew grim and gloomy. I realized then how very little control we have over what tomorrow might bring. We are not promised “old age.” We are not even guaranteed next week. We can only be assured of the moment we are in.  Life truly is short.

I know I will witness more weddings, and every one of them will be a joyous occasion. I just pray that every couple who walk down the aisle and enter into that covenant relationship will value every day after the wedding even more so than the ceremony itself. I pray that they treasure the years they are given and never squander even one single hour of any given day. Love is a gift from God, and marriage is by His design. Do not waste it.

One Step Forward....

One step forward, two steps back seems to be the pace at which we are moving these days.

I often wonder what Woody would make of our current situation. We are preparing to move for the second time in a year, Hunter is returning to Asbury University in the fall after losing and regaining his scholarship, Haley is anxiously preparing for her freshman year at Belhaven University in Jackson, Mississippi; and Haden and I are faced with the reality that we will soon be a family of two.

I miss Woody’s sound advice and constant support. I often question, “What would Woody do?” There is a running dialogue in my head as I discuss life’s matters with God knowing that I have no one else to turn to who knows me so well. I second guess every decision I make even after covering it in prayer. I wonder where we will all be in five years and if my children will look back on these years with admiration and love; or will they too question every choice I made and how I managed our affairs. I wonder if self-doubt is part of the process of becoming a widow. If so, I seem to have perfected it. So many questions, yet not enough answers.

I know God holds my hand. I know He will direct my path. However, I still feel so lost most days. The fog is starting to lift and the sun blankets the horizon with a warm glow. Hope is within grasp. But as of yet, I still do not have a firm grasp on the future. This is where faith takes the next step not knowing if the ground will hold but knowing who holds my life.

One step forward….and just maybe today only one step back.