Getting Into the Trenches

Christians have become complacent, comfortable. We like everything to run efficiently and with ease. We have no time for those things which interfere with our daily routines. Problems are welcome as long as they don’t involve too much discomfort and sacrifice on our part. Grief, trauma, sorrow—those are messy items that we spend hours upon hours trying to fix and tidy up. We want to remove the suffering and make everything better. We will apply every salve known to mankind in order to ensure that there are no scars left behind. We wouldn’t want anything spoiling our ideal lives; and wounds are ugly, complicated affairs that have the ability to leave nasty scars.

Yet, I look at the resurrected Christ, whose power lives in us, and He had scars. Thomas put his hand in the wounds of the resurrected Christ. Those scars and His suffering are foundational to the power to which God has given believers access. Christ’s suffering is the very thing that has given Christians their freedom. His weakness is our strength.  The message in the scars is not that the power of the resurrection makes our suffering go away, but that God can and will use it for His glory. In Philippians 3:10, Paul states that he wants to know Christ and the “power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.” How many of us are truly willing to share in the fellowship of suffering? How many of us are willing to walk among those who are suffering great trauma and loss and enter into a relationship founded upon suffering? But that’s what we have been called to do.

Christians need to get over this idea that suffering, grief, loss, and sorrow are horrible things to be avoided at all costs. When someone suffers great trauma, it is our job to climb into the trenches with that person—not in an attempt to make the suffering go away, but to help that person process the unspeakable and bring the power of the resurrection to revitalize the dead places. It is our job to assist the individual as he or she figures out how to live with the atrocity and visualize how God can work through weakness to demonstrate His great strength.

Life is messy, and grief is even messier. Quit trying to sweep it under the rug. Instead, encourage healthy conversations that will truly help the person who is suffering learn to heal.

Haden's Driving, Another Milestone

Haden turned 15 four months after Woody’s death. Although he had finally reached the age when he could obtain his driver’s permit, I was not ready. Teaching the kids to drive had always been Woody’s responsibility. He had nerves of steel and was extremely laid back about near misses with mailboxes and vehicles. I had the luxury of waiting until the kids were relatively proficient at driving before getting in the car with them as a passenger. Then it was my job to fine tune their skills until they reached 16 and could test for their provisional driver’s license. I was not ready to teach Haden. I couldn’t. It was just another reminder of all the things Haden would miss doing with his dad.

Five months after Haden’s birthday, after much pleading, I was ready. It was terrifying for me, but somehow we made it through without me yelling or puking. Only once after he had pulled out into oncoming traffic nearly causing a collision, did I make him pull over and let me drive. Six months after he began, I let him drive on the interstate for the first time. He was nervous. Little did he know, I was terrified. Yet, I remained calm and encouraged him as we made our way south on I85. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever quit gripping the arm rest and praying while he drove us through rush hour traffic. But I did.

This past Friday, Haden was eligible to take his driving test for his license. Although he had had an instructor from Taggart’s Driving School work with him on parallel parking and backing into a parking space, he was terrified that he would fail those two skills on his test. “Everyone I know has passed it the first time!” he anxiously informed me.

“So, are you afraid that you’ll be the first person who doesn’t?” Yes. Haden contacted our youth pastor who was in between winter retreats with our youth, but he made the time anyways. Dustin arrived at our house Thursday morning with cones in hand and took Haden to a nearby parking lot to practice. He offered to help him again in the evening, but Haden felt at that point he was prepared. Needless to say, he passed with flying colors. Another milestone without Woody.

I am so proud of Haden. He never complains about Woody’s absence. He never behaves as if he is unfortunate. He stays positive in the face of insurmountable loss and trauma. I know that is God in him. Haden’s faith has remained rock solid throughout all of this, and God continues to bring people into his life to help him through these moments. You see, Dustin wasn’t the only man who offered to help Haden. Ryan, a man who works with our youth ministry, also offered. And truth be told, there were probably 20 more men in our church who would have gladly stepped in to assist Haden. I must remember God’s provision when our loss weighs heavily upon my heart. God will always be there—especially for the milestone moments.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”—Psalm 68:5

One Year and Nine Months

“I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” –Psalm 77:1-2

One year and nine months. I have suffered more than I can adequately articulate. My heart has been shattered countless times. My tears could have filled an ocean. Suffering?—it has become an old associate, one whom I am ready to abandon. I have been intimately acquainted with despair. Like the psalmist, I have stretched out my hands at night, waiting for comfort that constantly eluded me.

Yet God has brought me through the storm. He has lifted me out of the darkness where my memories tormented my soul and filled my heart with hopelessness. God has pried the fingers from my throat that threatened to snatch away my life. He has given me shelter and satiated my whole being with peace. He has sat quietly by my bedside as I sobbed through the nights, waiting for the morning light to bring reprieve. God has been by my side through every tear, every fear, and has loved me through it all. I am His—completely and continually.

There may still be valleys that I must voyage through, and misery may accompany me through them. However, I will never be alone and eventually the gloom of grief will be completely overcome by God’s glorious love. You see, I am not forgotten.

King to Queen

I saw the advertisement on a Facebook page dedicated to our neighborhood—“Antique French bed includes headboard, footboard, and side rails. Good condition.” Hmm.... I thought about it for a week before making inquiries. Another week passed before I heard a response from the owner. Today was the day I finally made contact with the woman who was selling it and arranged a time after church to see the bed. Today was the day I officially decided that it is time to exchange my king sized bed for something smaller.

When I drove up to the home to examine the bed, an older couple was working diligently in the front yard, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm January day. I immediately liked them. They both had smile lined faces and the lines around their eyes told the story of all the joy they had shared over the years. “Hi, I’m Kim. I texted you about the bed.”

“Hello, I’m Renate,” the woman spoke with a thick South African accent and extended her hand to take mine. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” We made our way to the garage where the head board leaned against a wall. Renate showed me a stamp near the bottom. “See, this is the stamp showing it was made in Paris.”

“Where did you find this?” I was curious to know more.

“I bought it 42 years ago in South Africa when we were first married. It was in an antique store. We just recently bought a bigger bed.” Her husband joined us in the garage. Their mannerisms demonstrated a love and intimacy that was over forty years strong.

“I’ll take it.”

Her husband spoke up, “When will your husband see it? When you get home?”

“No,” I hesitated a moment, “my husband is dead. That’s why I’m buying this. I have a king bed and just decided it’s time to downsize. I don’t even use half my bed.”

There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he responded, eyes downcast.

They helped Haden and I load the bed into the back of our Expedition. They gave us pillows to provide padding between the pieces, and then Renate followed us home so that we would not need to return them. We spoke a little and with every word I liked her even more. Before she left I told her, “Now I have a piece of your story.”

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you do.”

Marriage is such a gift. It is the covenant relationship that God uses to demonstrate His connection with the church. I believe wholeheartedly in marriage and value it even more now that Woody is gone. It is not something to be taken for granted but to be cherished and preserved. Renate and her husband reminded me of what Woody and I had hoped to have in another 22 years. However, our story was rewritten and now I have learned to lean on God as I adjust to a life that does not include a husband to have and to hold into old age. It means a life of transitions, such as downsizing from a king to a queen. But with every adjustment, with every change I grow stronger. God is slowly removing the clouds to reveal His brilliant sunlight.

Hopefully soon I can begin the work of restoring the queen bed, and as I do I know I’ll remember Renate’s beautiful smile and the marriage that began in South Africa 42 years ago. I will also remember how God has faithfully carried me through the darkness and continues to restore my heart. King to queen—another step forward.

It Is Well

In 1873, Horatio Spafford sent his wife and four daughters on to Europe hoping to join them after attending to some urgent business matter. Unfortunately, the Ville du Havre, the ship upon which his family traveled, was struck by another ship and most of the passengers were killed. Horatio’s wife survived, but not one their daughters did. While traveling on another ship to join his wife in Europe, the captain pointed out the place where it was believed the Ville du Havre had gone down. After viewing the place of his family’s demise, Horatio returned to his cabin and penned these words: “It is well; the will of God be done.” Later, those words became the foundation to the hymn It Is Well.

What does it mean to be well in my soul? I have pondered that question for a year and seven months ever since the tragic day we lost Woody in a horrific hiking accident. We have suffered tragic loss, but even more than that we are suffering the effects of unmentionable trauma. One cannot comprehend the full force of the weight of which we have been under for so long, trying desperately to prevent it from squashing the very life from our bodies. The image of my children covered in their father’s blood while tears flowed down their dirt covered faces still haunts me. The look of fear in their eyes as we held Woody trying so desperately to hold onto hope and hold onto his life, will always be with me. Yet I still know that it is well with my soul. It is a knowledge that permeates every pore of my being. I know God holds my breaking heart and not once has He dropped a single fragment. He is with me—always! And as long as my eyes are fixed on Him, I have peace—not to be mistaken for trouble- and pain-free circumstances. No, peace is quite different. It is a deep seated sensation that no matter what I am walking through in this moment, eternity awaits my arrival and then my tears will cease and my heart will once again be whole.

I believe what Horatio did over 140 years ago when faced with harrowing circumstances; it is well with my soul because the God I have placed my faith in is just, and eventually He will turn my life's anguish into a beautiful hymn.

Dreams

It’s the dreams that kill me. I can manage the days so well, in complete control of my environment and my thoughts and then the night comes. My mind is no longer being directed by my consciousness and it ransacks my memories and creates illusions that, although pleasant at the time, remind me of the loss and loneliness. I am startled awake by the chimes of my alarm clock; and I have to take a moment to remember where I am, why I set my alarm, and what day it is. As consciousness awakens to reality, I remember that the security and comfort I was enveloped in only a few moments before as I wandered through the dream state is not real. That is not my reality anymore. Instead I am left with a longing—an aching really—for the only man whom I have ever loved.

Grief is a process and unfortunately, there is not a manual that can adequately guide anyone through it. It is not a “one size fits all” item. It cannot be analyzed, categorized, and placed neatly on a bookshelf ready to be perused at leisure. It is as unique as the individual who experiences it. There are no words which can minimize the effect, although people try in vain to do so. And unless you have been thrown into the gloomy, desolate pit that grief creates and have had to fight for every breath, you cannot fully comprehend or appreciate just how debilitating grief can be. The only glimmer of hope I have had through the whole process has been found in my faith. Although I have been absolutely crushed under the weight of despair, I have felt a peace that can only be explained through the existence of an omnipotent God. However, even faith cannot shelter one from the anguish of loss and horrific trauma. It merely keeps one moving in the face of an overwhelming desire to quit. Faith helps keep the process of healing moving forward.

I am hopeful that someday the dreams in which Woody is alive and well and doing life with me will be as pleasant visitations rather than sorrowful reminders. I am hopeful, too, that I will continue to find joy in the moment. On the tenth it will be one year and six months since that fateful day. Although I am still damaged, progress is being made. I need only look back through my blog posts to see that. I am moving in the right direction. There will just be days when it feels as if I am going nowhere, and today is one of those days because of a dream. But someday not even the dreams will slow me down. I’m just not there yet.

Milestone Moments

It had been a tough week for Haden. He struggled to complete his school work each day, and I discovered several assignments that he had just “forgotten” to do. I had to repeat directions to him several times before he was able to complete a task. He shared with me that he had to ask his swim coach several times what the set was because he could not remember. “Mom, I can’t even stay focused enough to count my laps,” he revealed to me after swim practice one day. I tried to be patient, but by Friday, my patience was running thin. Nevertheless, I did not want to upset Haden. He had his second degree black belt test coming up on Saturday, and I knew he was feeling the pressure to perform well. “We’ll talk about it next week,” I thought. “It can wait.” Yes, it was a difficult week.

Saturday arrived and although Haden seemed rather melancholy, I attributed it to stress. However, as we were preparing to walk out the door to drive to his belt test I noticed that he looked rather downcast. Had I been too harsh with him concerning his lack of focus? He was sitting in a chair in the breakfast area. I approached him and leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been extremely patient with you this week. You’re a great kid and sometimes I’m not the greatest mom.”

Suddenly, it was as if a pipe had broken. Haden started trembling in my arms. He was sobbing, deep guttural sobs that wracked his whole body. “I want Dad!” he moaned when he finally caught his breath. And then again, like a broken record, he repeated his wish. “I want Dad!” He was completely broken. I had not heard him cry with such terrible aching since the day Woody had died. Tears filled my eyes and my heart was broken in two, but I knew that now was not the time. I had to be strong. He needed to feel my steadfast comfort.

I rubbed Haden’s back and held him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It sucks! We will always want your daddy here, always.” I grew silent and listened to the moans of a child in deep agony. I prayed over him, pleading with God to give this precious child peace and to relieve his pain. It was brutal and though I wanted to fall on the floor in a heap with him, I couldn’t. I had to be his strength and God would have to be mine.

After about ten minutes, the sobs ceased. I gently wiped the tears from his face with my fingers and kissed him on the forehead. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.” I told Haden that I truly believed that God would allow Woody to see him as he tested for his second degree black belt. Yet, I knew it wasn’t the same as having Woody there beaming with pride and then afterwards giving Haden one of his big bear hugs. But, unfortunately, it is all we are left with—the hope that he is watching from the spiritual realm.

I know we have so many more of these milestone moments to endure; and I know each will be as painful to bear as this one. I also know that in a week or two the grief that I had to suppress in that moment will hit me, and I will struggle to get out of bed and wonder why I’m still here. But I also know that just like on Saturday, God will somehow carry us through these valleys and keep us standing. Perhaps it will never get easier; but as one of my sisters stated, we will grow stronger and—with God’s help—we will persevere.