January 19, 2021

I am procrastinating getting a photo made of my dad for one of our missionaries in India. Dad visited and taught at their ministry training school a few years ago. They are dedicating part of their new training facility in dad's honor. 

Tonight I started looking through the photos I have to find a good headshot of my dad. There were photos from all stages of his life. It's funny that I only remember him one way. There are photos where he doesn't look like himself and one's that are quintessentially dad.

I also happened to come across a couple videos. One is from our church's Sweetheart Banquet in February of 1991. The other is a video of praise and worship one Sunday morning. 

On this particular Sunday, the men in the church had just had their Men's Encounter. There's always something electric in the air after a group of people have met to just encounter the Lord. 

Dad had a word in the middle of one of the songs--"This Is How We Overcome"(Hillsong). We then began to sing the bridge and chorus again. 

This is how we overcome
This is how we overcome
This is how we overcome
This is how we overcome

You have turned my mourning into dancing
You have turned my sorrow into joy
You have turned my mourning into dancing
You have turned my sorrow into joy

 In the video you can see dad dancing.

The moment I saw it I cried. I know that I know that is what my dad is doing right now. Any of his mourning or sorrows have been turned to dancing and joy. And one day so will mine.

Six.

December 6, 2020

Today is 6 months.

Today has been hard. This week has been dark and heavy. Probably the heaviest I've had in a while--and it's been real heavy these days.

I read somewhere online this week that the irony of grief is that the person you'd talk to about what's going on is the one who isn't here. Oh how true that is.

I know that I could talk to my dad about what is going on and how I am feeling. But he's not here.

It's not that I can't talk to my mom or siblings--they are going through it too. There's a weird tension in grief where you don't want to talk to the people who are on the journey with you because you don't know where they are. Are they having a good day and you'll just bring them down? Are they having a hard day and you'll just make it harder?

Everyone walks grief so differently.

I cry...what feels like all the time. I also live in my thoughts. Anxiety has been out of control. And wanting to get it under control when you can't or don't know how just brings more anxiety.

It's a tangled journey. One that as I move forward through each day sometimes finds more knots in the rope. Will it ever come untangled?

It is hard to really comprehend six months without dad. I've gone longer without seeing him before but not this long with out actually talking to him. Sometimes I think I'm okay, and other times I'm just thankful to be able to get out of bed.

There's not an expiration date on grief. As a perfectionist, type A...I need a timeline. I need to know how much longer I have to go. I need to know the number of steps I need to get out of the tunnel. But there's no rushing this journey. There are things that help, but the journey will be as long as I need.

Today I just want to wish it all away.

press on

November 24, 2020

This morning I decided to start a Couch to 5K program. I don't know why. I'll blame it on the cold temperature that shocked my brain.

As I was nearing the end of the 20 minutes of "run then walk", a couple of times I would quit the run just two or three seconds before the notification to walk. I immediately thought.."oh my gosh, I was almost done! Why did I quit?!" I could have physically kept going, but my mind was telling me I couldn't. 

I thought about this journey of grief.

It's dark. It's long. The terrain is full of hills and valleys.

There is an overwhelming push towards giving up. When grief comes like a tidal wave that leaves me crying in the kitchen floor overcome by anxiety and panic, giving up seems the best and only choice. 

This has been a traumatic experience to say the least. It feels like dad was ripped from us. There was no preparation. I didn't have the chance to lay this all out in my mind. To make sense of what would happen.

The GriefShare email I received on Sunday had this quote in it:

“You will make it through,” says Beth, whose husband died. “It’s like a deep tunnel, and you’re in the middle of the tunnel. There’s no light at all, and you don’t think you’re going to make it. But if you just keep pressing on toward the Lord, you will make it to the end. That is a promise.”

I am in the midst of a deep tunnel. But I will make it through. My mind may tell me I can't. My body may be exhausted. But..

“But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength … ” (2 Timothy 4:17)

 

100 days.

It's been 100 days since I have heard your voice. 

It's been 100 days since I have seen your eyes looking at me.

May 25, 2020–100 days ago

I sat on the front porch steps watching the EMTs move you to the ambulance because you were in so much pain that you couldn't walk. Tears rolled down my face as I sat and thought of the things that could be happening...willing my mind to throw away the thoughts of fear. 

I walked into the house and curled up on the couch. Going to my room felt too far away. Within an hour we got the call. The call that changed everything. The call that said to come with absolute urgency. I rolled into the pillow, screamed and cried and then quickly got up to leave. We rushed to the emergency room back to where you were...already hooked up to so many machines, getting scans...scans that you probably should have had days before.

We stood, tears running with no regard for any boundary, and listened to the news that seemed to be unfathomable. Where was it supposed to go? Where did it fit in this narrative of life? How does it fit with the sovereignty of God?

I paced the small room we were in, constantly pulling my mask off my face to find any fresh air. 

We waited.

Finally, we were able to see you. 

The first time I saw you in a hospital I was a freshman in high school. You had your bypass surgery. I was so mad that I had to wait to see you. And when we could come, I promptly passed out. This time was different.

You didn't respond, but we told you how much we love you and prayed and cried. Mom started singing the chorus:

"Nothing is too difficult for Thee
Nothing is too difficult for Thee
Great and mighty God
Great in counsel and mighty in deed 
Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing

Nothing is too difficult for Thee"

The song running through my head among the barrage of thoughts was "We Bring the Sacrifice of Praise". Not exactly the song I would have picked, but there it was with out invitation. We prayed over you, and to be honest, I don't even know what they all were. So many times the words were jumbled and chaotic. Shock took up so much of the space. 

The ambulance came and took you to Greenville. We jumped in the car and followed..not knowing what was actually going to happen. We arrived at the hospital and were met by a chaplain. She ushered us to another small room where we waited for the surgeon. He came in and gave us news that truly gutted us and left us speechless. With a quick decision made, we sent the surgeon back to you but not before praying with him.

I paced that tiny room...wishing that I could punch a wall, punch someone, rewind the last 72 hours..anything...anything to not be here, in this moment. Jamie played "In the Presence of Jehovah". And with such gentleness and grace the Lord flooded into that room. I can't explain it, but I know He was there.

We waited.

We sat in another waiting room. Alone. I paced and moved from seat to seat. It was at least an hour and half before your surgeon came to give us an update. The surgery went well...but the injury was profound. There was no way to know what any true outcome would be until you could wake up. The trauma of the accident caused the bleeding to move your brain two and half centimeters. Again, we were gutted. We were ushered out of the hospital.

We waited.

For twelve days we waited. 

We face-timed with you daily. We took calls from your doctors and made calls in the evening to check on you. We were finally able to see you 8 days after the surgery. As Jamie and I walked through the hospital to see you, our voices were quiet and steps rushed. Rushed to see reality face to face. 

We walked in to see you hooked up to machines. And you'll be pleased to know that I didn't faint this time. I struggled to push words out over the tears. The words I could utter felt weak and useless. What was the point? None of them would be a magic word to wake you up. I felt like I was facing life and death at the same time. And I had absolutely no power over the outcome. 

I think I knew in that moment what the outcome would be. I wrestled with faith and reality for the next four days. Mom wrestled with the hospital to get all us back in together to see you again. 

On Friday, June 5, you were moved from the ICU to a palliative care room. Jamie, Joey and I left the house about 9:30pm to see you. We took turns alone to sit with you. Again, I struggled to push words through tears. I held your swollen hand telling you how much I love you, how much I am going to miss you, how much this hurts. I promised to finish your book. And I will. 

On Saturday, June 6, we gathered together in your room. We rubbed your feet, held your hands, held each other and cried. We spent about an hour and a half with you. Around 3:30pm we left your room...knowing that we were probably seeing you this side of eternity for the last time.

Just a few hours later, you crossed into eternity. I don't think I cried when I heard the news, but I've been making up for it these days.

It feels like yesterday and like a lifetime ago. The world has continued to spin madly. My feet have felt preserved in concrete. Life is bitter and sweet. I continue to wrestle with faith and reality.

And I wait.

I wait for the day when I see you again. I wait through waves of pain and heartache for joy to return. I wait for broken pieces to be placed back together. I wait with tears. I wait with hope.

He has made everything beautiful and appropriate in its time. He has also planted eternity [a sense of divine purpose] in the human heart [a mysterious longing which nothing under the sun can satisfy, except God]—yet man cannot find out (comprehend, grasp) what God has done (His overall plan) from the beginning to the end. Ecclesiastes 3:11 AMP

The Present

I've thought about writing this for about 2 weeks. I've started it in my head over a dozen times but never put words to paper...or fingers to keyboard? Today is the day.

I have decided to take a leave of absence from teaching. Maybe you already knew this...maybe you didn't. Maybe you didn't even know I was a teacher. This year would have been the start to my 10th year.

Year 9 was rough. In November, I had a breakdown. There were a lot of contributing factors--things from the present and things from the past. There's no one definitive straw that broke the camel's back....just a lot of little things that went unnoticed and untended for too long.

As the beginning of the school year drew closer and closer, a sinking, dreadful feeling began to well up in me. I have learned to lean into my feelings and look at their root. What is making me feel this way? What is God saying in all this?

I leaned in and listened. I felt that the Lord was calling me to step out of the boat and on to the water. I wrestled with that for days and consulted a few trusted family members and friends.

Oswald Chambers says, in speaking about the call of God, "It is the threading of God's voice to us in some particular matter, and it is no use consulting anyone else about it. We have to keep that profound relationship between our souls and God." (My Utmost for His Highest, January 16)

Keeping that in mind, I kept my consulting to a minimum to truly lean in to hear the voice of God. This would be a step in my journey that relied solely on me. Not what anyone else thinks or what they would do.

It wasn't easy. There was a weight that lifted off of me as soon as I left my job, but getting to that point took determination and faith. I don't know what the future holds. I continue to battle thoughts of doubt, and anxiety tries to take control. But I know that this new season and journey with the Lord is just beginning. And that is exciting!

Your [insert challenge word] = your [insert alliterative positive word]

I have wrestled with this idea/notion for at least a year. I couldn't necessarily wrap my mind around why it never sat comfortably with me. I wanted to wrap up in this idea of my challenges becoming my successes and just relax, but I never could.

Your crisis reveals your capacity.

Your pain becomes your promise.

Your failures fuel your future. 

Your barriers become your breakthrough.

and on..and on..and on...

It's not that these phrases are necessarily wrong...but maybe they aren't fully right either. And if something isn't completely right, isn't it wrong? A half truth is still a lie.

I think what itches me the most is that they all focus on me (or us). They make me the center.

And what if my barriers aren't a breakthrough? What if they are the Lord saying, "Don't go this way"? What if I'm not supposed to pray them away, but instead take a different route?

And maybe it's not about a breakthrough but more about a breaking?

We know that our chief end is to be conformed into the image of Christ...ever going from Glory to Glory. We know that we have been made in His image and are dying to ourselves daily. We are laying down our will for the will of the Father, as Jesus modeled for us.

These phrases encourage us on our journeys, as we all need, but they should never be the thing we hold close. In some Christian circles, there is a tendency to proclaim cliche's as if they are gospel. To me this sort of pacifies us...soothes our flesh...just a little to know that it's all gonna be good. I believe that it unintentionally (or intentionally...😳) creates a weakness in us. It tells us that we can sit back and relax because the Lord's going to work it all out anyways. 

I guess I just don't buy that the Lord is going to fix every mess I get MYSELF into while I just sit back and watch. Yes, He works all things for our good. Yes, He gives us joy for mourning...beauty for ashes and so much more. But we don't automatically get good consequences for poor decision making....especially when we are to be lead of the Spirit and heed the warnings of the Lord. 

In Mark, Jesus knew full well that God could take the cup that was before Him. He knew that God could make alternate provisions for us. He says all things are possible for You. But regardless of how God is going to move, Jesus says, not my will, but Yours. 

God, You can take this crisis from me because all things are possible. You can flatten the mountain that is before me. But if You don't, I want Your will above my own. 

And I believe sometimes His will is for us to stand in the crisis, the failure, the barrier, etc. and be changed into His image....for us to allow Him to prune the gardens of our hearts...to remove the dead things and break the hard soil...in order for Him to plant His fruit in our lives. It's not easy. It certainly isn't a painless process. But it is worth it. So worth it. 

Holiness is not consistency.

Last night I came across a 30ish second clip of a prominent, hipster preacher's latest sermon. In this clip he says "holiness is consistency". He says that God is the same yesterday, today and forever (Hebrews 13: 8) and that is how He is holy.

Holiness is not consistency.

Looking at semantics only we can see that holiness is not consistency. The word 'is' in the phrase means the third person singular present indicative of be. Used in our English language 'is' is a linking verb. It joins the subject of a sentence to a complement. It shows relationship between the two words. 'Is' is often also used in math equations. Five plus two is seven. In this 'is' can also mean equal to or the same as.

When looking from a mathematical perspective, holiness is equal to or the same as consistency, as stated by this preacher. A look at a Thesaurus would show us that this is not true. Holiness is not found as a synonym of consistency and vice versa.

Semantics aside, proposing---and speaking with intense conviction---that holiness is consistency is not a Biblical concept. There is no scripture that gives any slight indication that holiness is the same as consistency or that consistency proves holiness.

Yes. God is Holy.
Yes. God is consistent.
Yes. God is consistently holy.

But His Holiness can not be substituted or confused with the word consistency.

From the initial statement, we could conclude that all mentions of the word holiness could be interchanged with the word consistency. How do these sound:

Be ye consistent, as I am consistent. -1 Peter 1:16
Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods? who is like thee, glorious in consistency, fearful in praises, doing wonders? - Exodus 15:11
And when he had consulted with the people, he appointed singers unto the Lord, and that should praise the beauty of consistency, as they went out before the army, and to say, Praise the Lord; for his mercy endureth for ever. -2 Chronicles 20:21

We could continue, but this is ridiculous. Stating that these two things can be mutually exclusive or the same thing is preposterous. There is no way to get around this.

I admit that lack of understanding of the Holiness of God, but when I think of it I am overcome with reverence. I am made aware of my unholiness and my sin that cannot remain the presence of a Holy God. I am sobered to His immense purity against my uncleanliness.

I think about Isaiah 6. Isaiah sees the Lord seated on the throne and the angels calling to one another saying "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory." Isaiah recognizes his uncleanliness when he says " I am a man of unclean lips".

The Holiness of God should move us to humbled, repentant responses. It cannot be flippantly passed off as just being consistent.

May we seek to have a true, reverent understanding of His Holiness and may we respond appropriately.

Search my heart, oh God, and remove any unclean thing from me.