A Fatherless Father's Day

“How are you and the kids doing today?” It’s a valid question, but not one I want to answer.

“Fine,” I respond with a superficial smile, and then we part ways and no one feels awkward. No one feels as if he or she overstepped any boundaries. I know people are still concerned about how we are dealing with the fatal blow we received a little over four years ago. I know it takes a lot of courage to even broach the subject with us. I appreciate every person who remembers and doesn’t just smile and pretend it never happened.

It is difficult to explain how a fatherless Father’s Day feels. I lost my dad nearly eight years ago, and I still wish I could pick up the phone and call him. I miss his voice and his ornery smile.  I miss the love he had for me. And then I think of my children who lost the most amazing daddy I have ever known. They were still children. They had not had the opportunity to know him as an equal. They still needed a father to guide them through the adolescent years into adulthood.

I asked my oldest son today how he was doing. His response was, “I don’t miss dad any more one day over the next.” Perhaps not, but Father’s Day reminds us of our loss. I liken it to a world class soccer player who has had a foot amputated. He will always miss the loss of that foot. However, the loss is amplified every year as the World Cup approaches. That is when he faces the reality that he will never play again. A crucial part of the game has been painfully removed. Watching other players kick and volley is too much; especially when those players take for granted the blessings they still have.

If you still have your father, please do not take that wonderful gift for granted. Love fully everyday realizing life is a precious gift and you do not control when the game begins or ends. A fatherless Father’s Day reminds us all of what we had and what we have lost. So please, make that call or visit and treasure the time you still have.

On the Eve of Another Birthday

This morning I held my man child in my arms while he sobbed. “I’ll never get to do anything with my dad again,” he wailed as I tried unsuccessfully to soothe him. You see, tomorrow is Woody’s 47^th birthday, a day  we will not celebrate with him, just as we have not been able to celebrate his 44^th through his 46^th. The harsh reality of a life taken too soon slams us in the face every March 21, and there is no way to escape the pain. There are no justifications for a young man who was just a child when he lost his hero. There will never be an explanation good enough no matter how you wrap it up and redefine it. Yes, he has faith; and yes, he knows God is good, but this is not good. This aching for a daddy to help him find his way into adulthood is unbearable. I can offer little assistance in this area because I am not a man. Try as I might to be the best mother and father, I will always fall short. He needs his dad here, wrapping his strong arms around his shoulders and giving him advice about college, girls, and what the future might hold. I am inadequately equipped, I know that; and although I know God is on this journey with me there are moments when I feel terribly alone—moments like this morning as I watched my child sob.

But I continue on in faith, believing that someday this journey will not be so lonely and treacherous, believing that someday this heaviness will cease to exist and in its place peace will reside with comfort close by. Someday…we’re just not there yet.

The Top Five Things You Should Not Say or Do to Those Who are Grieving

I am frequently asked by others what they should say or do when a friend has lost someone to death. I thought it was time to make a list of my top five things not to say or do. I hope this helps those who are really concerned about supporting the grieving.

First and foremost put the idea out of your head right now that you can say or do something to remove the pain and heal the grieving person. You can’t. Your vain attempts may do more harm than good. So often individuals puffed up with self-importance believe they know exactly what to say and that their words will be the magic pill to swallow and eliminate all the pain. They are wrong. There is nothing anyone on this planet can do to remove that sort of anguish. The sooner you swallow your pride and realize that, the better. Your presence means more than 1,000 words. Care for the grieving person’s needs. Take them dinner. Run errands for them. Offer to stay with them through the night. Prove your concern through your actions.

Do not question the grieving person’s faith/spirituality. This is not the time to demonstrate your theological prowess and educate the person as to why their thinking is flawed. You are not the Holy Spirit, so quit trying to do His job. Trust God to work through the grieving process, and if there comes a time in the person’s life when he/she seeks your advice, give it humbly and sparingly, remembering how fragile the person is.

Do not avoid the person or act like nothing has changed when you do see him/her. EVERYTHING has changed! That person’s world will never spin on the same axis. Their foundation has crumbled. A grieving person questions everything that was ever known, every belief, and suddenly nothing can be trusted because he/she has learned that in a millisecond the whole world can come crashing down around you. If ever your friendship was needed it is now! Grieving people need to know that you can be trusted and you will be consistent. They need you to acknowledge the loss and ask questions about how they are coping in the moment. They need to know you care. I know it’s awkward, but trust me it’s a hell of a lot more than “awkward” for the grieving person. So, get over yourself and be the friend you have always claimed to be.

Do not EVER say, “I know how you feel” or any variation of that statement because you do not know how any other person feels! I don’t care if you have experienced the exact same type of loss in the exact same way. That is where the similarities end. People grieve uniquely based on biological, emotional, relational, spiritual, and intellectual factors. It is offensive to grieving people when you try to equate whatever experience you have had to theirs. Then you make it about you and your loss. For now, just listen and try to understand admitting you never will. You are not God, so give up.

Finally, do not try to rush grief. Do not get impatient when six months to a year someone is still hurting over the death of his/her loved one. It may take up to five years or longer before a grieving person begins to heal from grief. Now, if after two years there is absolutely no change, then suggest some type of grief counseling or group therapy and offer to go along for moral support. However, do not make the person feel like there is something wrong because he/she needs a little help processing the pain. Encourage them to realize little steps they have made towards recovery and be patient.

Remember, your friend may never be the same. Loss changes you. However, your friend will find a way back to you and your relationship. It just takes time. Although the loss seems like an event far in the past for you, for your friend it may feel like yesterday. Someday he/she will learn how to smile again and find joy in living, but right now it takes every ounce of energy just to breathe and do the next thing.

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!