Come to Me...

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” –Jesus

I have read that verse a million times, especially during trials. After Woody died, I prayed those words repeatedly, begging God to give me rest. I was weary. I was burdened. I needed the comfort only Jesus could provide.

It is interesting that a more literal translation from the Greek is “Come to Me, all those laboring and being burdened.” How often do we labor through our suffering trying anything to relieve our pain? We self-medicate through substance abuse, relationships, shopping, work—whatever it takes to distract us from the unbearable heartache and affliction. And Jesus says all we need do is turn to Him and He will give us rest. It doesn’t mean He will remove us from our circumstances, but He will refresh our spirits and give us the strength to live another day. It doesn’t mean the pain will immediately subside, but He will expand our lungs to take another breath when the weight of our sorrow is crushing our rib cage. God’s mercy responds compassionately to the cries of the needy. It is an attribute of His infinite love. So why in the world do we keep laboring in an effort to stop the pain?

I could have taken a million avenues to escape the torment that resulted from Woody’s tragic death, and at times I was tempted. However, God gently reminded me of the easy route, the one that leads to Him and rest for my weary, grieving soul. No, it did not change my circumstances, and yes, it still hurt like hell; but I had a peace that gave me the strength to breathe through one more day and stand when I could not feel the ground beneath me. So today, if you are laboring in an attempt to “heal thyself,” stop and turn toward the only one who can refresh your soul.

A Father to the Fatherless

Psalm 68:5, “A father to the fatherless...”

I remember the first time I read that verse to Haden. “Do you believe God will be your father now that your daddy is in heaven?” He nodded his head with tears and doubt in his eyes, but he held on to hope.

I wondered if those beautiful brown eyes with flecks of bronze would ever again be full of joy. I wondered how my 14 year old would adjust and learn to live without his daddy. I wondered if I was capable of raising him on my own. And now that boy with so much doubt and despair in his eyes is a young man in Kenya serving children with joy and confidence. I scan the photos he has sent me and stand in complete awe. God is so good! He has transformed my child into a servant, and I am blown away by the joy not just in his eyes, but in the eyes of the children he has been pouring into. How did I ever believe I was raising Haden on my own? Every step of the way, God has been leading and guiding. He has made the path straight and although I have failed several times along the way, God never has.

“A father to the fatherless…” Never has there been a truer statement.

Three Years & Six Months

Three years and six months. How is that possible? I remember day one thinking we would not survive. For two years my heart was scattered and buried under an insurmountable mound of grief. The possibility of ever feeling whole and healed always dangled from a stick, but never did I believe we would reach it. And still yet I do not believe the children have fully held it in their grasp. But we now have it within our possession and hope is truly on the horizon.

Through it all, God has been just. I have pondered this truth relentlessly because there were many times within the past three and a half years I questioned that statement. Then I realized man’s definition of justice is egocentric and culturally defined. How can we truly understand justice? It will vary from person to person, and often it is emotionally laden and outright illogical. I can never truly understand the greater good when I comprehend what is “good” based on how it affects me. Only God can determine what is truly just.

And I believe it is God’s perfect and just purpose that has brought us through the darkness and despair. We have faced our biggest fear and we have survived and in a way we have been set free to live boldly, to take risks we never would have taken. We are survivors and we are stronger and wiser for the experience that devastated us three years and six months ago.

My Prayer This Morning

My God…

You have taken me on a journey through the depths of hell. My heart has hurt with pain so intense that even now the memory of it takes my breath away. I have cried oceans of tears and have fallen flat on my face in deepest despair. My soul has been splintered and severed from all solace…And yet You were there. Somehow you found me in the trenches of sorrow under the refuse. You gently pried me free. Oh, how intensely I have known anguish! Yet, never have I known your love so intensely. Even now as I reminisce on the past three years, I plead with tears in my eyes that I never walk such a journey again. I am not sure I could survive the harrowing grief again. I do not know how I survived it in the first place, other than the fact You—and You alone—carried me through. You held my shattered heart and gradually brought me back to life. You gave me strength to breathe and taught me how to laugh and love again.

Thank you, God!

My Book and Why I Wrote It

May 10, 2015, altered the course of my life forever. It was the day I learned how truly temporal life is. It was the day I discovered how devastating trauma can be. It was the day my identity was forever changed. Grief and trauma are rarely addressed in society. We ignore that which is unpleasant. We ignore the harsh reality of death and destruction and scroll through Facebook and Instagram admiring pleasant photos with smiling faces rather than the newsfeed which presents the reality of dozens being killed in Gaza or some other piece of disturbing news. Chaos and death surround us, yet we choose to look the other way and remain in our little bubbles of existence because we are clueless as to how to face trauma and loss. Rather than educating ourselves in those areas we shun the unpleasant and cling to the very thin thread which keeps us far above the harrowing incidents occurring around us. I was part of that group until May 10, 2015, when I came face to face with trauma and grief.

My book, After the Mountain: One Family’s Journey Through Trauma and Grief, was written in an attempt to open the eyes of those around me and invite them into the private moments in our lives to witness what it is like to live through something so horrific. Yes, it was very therapeutic to chronicle our ordeal, but more importantly I wanted to shed a light on what those who have been traumatized may experience. One need only view the news to realize that with school shootings and random terrorist attacks, people are more prone to experiencing trauma and grief in our day than they were in the past. We can no longer turn a blind eye to violent death and believe, “Oh, it will never happen to me.” No one is immune!

I hope those who read my book become more understanding and compassionate to those who may be suffering the loss of a loved one through death. I hope they value life more and realize there is more to it than social media and airing their own views. I hope they will pray more, listen attentively, and speak with kindness. You see, no one ever knows when he or she may be faced with his or her own life altering date, as was May 10, 2015 for me.

The url to purchase my book is included with this blog.

For those in the US:

https://www.amazon.com/After-Mountain-Familys-Journey-Through/dp/1939761514/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1526395542&sr=8-2&keywords=after+the+mountain&dpID=41R4V5YMAKL&preST=_SY344_BO1,204,203,200_QL70_&dpSrc=srch

For those in the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/258-4099051-9413820?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=after+the+mountain+one+family%27s+journey+through+trauma+and+grief

Is There an End?

“Is there an end to the sadness and grief?” As I read my friend’s text, I paused. I wasn’t sure if I could honestly answer. I am healed from the grief, that much is clear, but is it ongoing?

I pondered the question for quite some time. While doing so, my mind drifted back to the previous week. Haden had been distracted and moody. I was on him several times a day to stay on track and complete his school work. Tuesday it had come to a head. As he headed out the door for his piano lesson, I wondered out loud how prepared he would be since he had hardly practiced the previous week. On his way home, I discovered just how unprepared he was. He called me in tears. “Mom, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ms. Tomi was worried about me and didn’t even want me driving.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I just started crying,” he muttered through sobs. “I just miss daddy so much!” and then the floodgates opened.

“Haden, please, don’t do this now.” I was very concerned about my teenage son driving while tears blinded his eyes. “Pull yourself together and wait until you get to swim practice.” I listened as he gradually gained control over his emotions. “What triggered this?”

  

He was silent for a moment. “I just wish dad could see me swim. I didn’t even take swimming seriously when he was alive.” There was catch in his throat.  “I just wish he could see me now.”

How did I respond to that? He was justified in feeling cheated and wanting his dad to see the young man he has become. “Haden, Daddy was always proud of you no matter what. It wasn’t your ability to swim or play the piano or anything else that made him proud. It was your heart.”

Another pause. “I know, but I have no one. I just want a dad here to watch me and cheer for me. I know God’s my dad, but I can’t hear Him.”

We spoke a few more minutes until he reached the interstate. “I love you, Haden.”

“I love you, too.”

He reached swim practice safely and he made it through this week and even through this weekend and the swim meet he had so desperately wanted Woody to see. Today he stood in church and worshipped whole-heartedly as the band played his favorite worship song. One would never suspect the brokenness which had arrested him in anguish only five days earlier.

Perhaps grief is ongoing, even though we will heal and have healed. However, what death steals from those left behind is a perpetual loss. Maybe that is what gives grief its lasting power, although it becomes intermittent and less severe. Those left behind learn to bear the burden with God’s loving assistance, and eventually they learn to put it down. Possibly, that is the end to sadness and grief, when we completely relinquish our control to God. I really do not know, but I do know the losses my children will accumulate due to the death of their father will always be ongoing. To that there is no end.

The Treasure of Healing

I recently made a discovery. It was almost like finding hidden treasure in a spot I had passed a million times before, never seeing it glimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps the shadows of sorrow had obscured my view. Perhaps it was only recently deposited there. Whatever the scenario, sometime within the past month I finally discovered it—healing from the sting of grief.

It’s a funny thing. While walking through the gloom of despair after Woody’s traumatic death, I wondered if the sun would ever shine as brightly or if the birds would ever sing as sweetly. I wondered if the raw ache settled deep within my soul would ever relinquish its unyielding grip. Recovery seemed so distant, like an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that I must swim to after being abandoned on the beaches of California, all the while battling a tropical storm. I could not imagine a life again without sorrow tainting my every experience. Yet, here I am, finally laughing and living with joy in my heart. Don’t misunderstand me. It does not mean I do not miss Woody and the life we had together, but I have learned to survive and thrive without his bright light shining upon me. I have learned to lean in to God and allow His love and light to fill my sails as I soar into the future. The constant thud of grief's relentless hammer has finally been laid to rest and resounds no more.

I still do not know what my future holds, but I can finally look forward with hope. Who knows how valuable my little treasure will be or what other discoveries lie waiting for me, but I do know I will never be alone even when the storm rages and conceals the sun. God will never forsake me and I will persevere.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.” James 1:12, NIV