Seven Months Today: A Perfectly Displaced Plan

A while back, I wrote on the "beauty of disrupted plans."

I have seen that beauty again today.

For weeks now, I have been needing a massage. I really carry stress in my body and when I don't get professional help for it, it can get pretty uncomfortable. If it goes on too long, my jaw starts dislocating slightly or I lose the ability to open my mouth all the way, or to turn my head, or use my shoulder, or....you get the idea.

For several weeks, we have talked about the need to get some work done on me. We have looked up possible places to go and made tentative plans, but something else always preempted those plans. For example, when you have an elderly dog in somewhat fragile health, and you're able to get her a vet appointment...that does take precedence.

But all along, God knew exactly the right time for me to get this much longed-for massage.

I have learned so much, this past year, on how to just let plans be what they will be, and to not get too wound up when things don't go the way I had hoped. This is a very large change for me. Having little wrenches thrown into the gears of my plan used to really throw off my groove.  Now, a lot of the time, I am able to assume that God knew better than to let my plan happen exactly the way I wanted.

Like today.

Rather than having a massage last week or the week before, or even yesterday, when my appointment was originally scheduled, I had it today. The massage therapist's family got sick, so she had to push my appointment onto today... which means that....

On this day, which is seven months since Michael ended his life, at almost the exact time that it happened...I was lying on a warm massage table, while a kind, competent lady gently worked out the stiff knots that were lodged in my shoulders and neck. 

God is so wise. And so kind. And so full of love.

He knew the exact hour and day when I would most need this restful care.

Again- the frustration of my plan was only so that my loving Father's much, much better plan could fall into place. 

The Code: how I talk about hard things, without really talking about them.

I have a sort of “code” that I use, in speaking about hard things, and this is part of the complex answer to the question, “How do you do it? How are you surviving this?”

Here is part of my code:

“Had a moment” …As in, “I was going through a box of Michael’s things, and came across the Christmas stocking that I made for him.” (part of a set of four, one for each kid, and probably the most beautiful things I have ever sewn) “Finding that, so unexpectedly…yeah, I had a moment.” 

               

 -had a moment = code for: tears streaming down my face, choked by deep, wrenching sobs

Interesting…when I cry for my lost son, it’s unlike any crying I’ve ever done before. Not the depth of it- I have sobbed deep sobs over other painful things. I think that when I cry over him, I sound sort of lost and bewildered and…hurt. It is the sound of deeply wounded disbelief, coming from the place in my mama’s heart that still can’t really understand how this can possibly be true.

“Hazardous”- also- “Risky” -also- “Fraught with peril” …As in, “Going through papers can be hazardous.“ Or “Picking up the mail can be fraught with peril.”

-any of those terms = unexpectedly running across anything to do with Michael.

It is like being gut-punched. It is shocking, and especially painful, because I was not expecting it, not prepared, my guard was down. 

Like…picking up the mail and coming across anything with his name on it; especially a bill from that one company that just won’t stop.

Like…going through cards and letters and coming across a print of the last family photo we took together, taking one look at the handsome, smiling face of our son who is now dead, and dissolving in teary, shaking sobs. (part of why I didn't sleep well last night)

Like...looking over my to-do list and being reminded that I still need to send a death certificate and copy of the obituary to that one life-insurance company, and that the attorney still needs my notes on what bills I’ve paid from Michael’s account, and...

Hazardous. Risky. Fraught with peril.

I ran into a man we know at the post office once, just after I had picked up the mail. He asked how I was doing...so I told him the truth. I told him that I'd just been sucker-punched by the mail, with envelope after envelope addressed to Michael. It was obvious that I was in such pain. He was very kind, and we had an honest conversation about deep loss, but still, seeing my actual raw naked pain is hard on people. 

I spoke in an earlier post about using “Cousin George” as code when our hearts are too raw to speak Michael’s name. That has been another very helpful tool.

[The Cousin George Construct- posted in October of 2018, on this blog.]

All of these are coping mechanisms that help to keep me sane. All of them are needed, because my skin is fragile and the pain of this loss is a raging inferno.

If I spoke of these painful things in a serious way, I would come undone. I would “have a moment.” 

Survival, for me, for us, often looks like stepping very gently over the surface and not looking too closely at the terrible reality beneath our feet. Because the reality is that we are shattered in the deepest way…and yet we have to keep functioning and doing life.

Things we have understood from the earliest days of our shocking loss:

- Life grabs you by the face and drags you forward

Life just does not stop. People still have to eat and think and have clothes to wear and do mundane things, and make petty decisions, and make immense, impossible decisions…despite the fact that the world has fallen to pieces. Life does not stop and politely wait until you’re ready for it to start again. It grabs you by the face and forces you to keep doing basic daily things and making decisions and just…living.

- You have to, so you do.

               

 I actually thought of having a t-shirt made, with this on it. So many people have said variations of “I don’t know how you’re surviving this,” and the only real answers are, “Jesus” and “you just have to, so you do.” 

It reminds me of those years of bleary, staggering exhaustion when the kids were little, and maybe I’d had two hours of sleep because someone was puking all over their bed in the middle of the night, but the reality was that there were four little people who still needed feeding and care, and I was the grown-up on duty, so I had to… so I did. 

It’s a very similar feeling now, of being absolutely beyond any hope of being able to handle things, and yet, somehow life goes on and things have to be handled, and we are the people who have to handle them, so, somehow, by the grace of God, we do.

Give the Stink Blossoms to Jesus

Years ago, I heard something that has stayed with me and helped me many times. I wish I could recall who I heard it from, but it has been decades and all I remember is the core of the story. It was a famous Christian lady, either a speaker or a singer. She was talking about the struggle of knowing how to handle praise from people in a way that was good.

This can be a complicated thing. One of the core traits of a Christian is supposed to be humility. If a person just sits back and soaks up praise from people as if it's their due...that does not fit with the ideal of humility. For many, accepting thanks and kind words feels just like that- as if they are being prideful, and as if they are taking for themselves praise that is due to God. On the other hand, any way that a person tries to turn the praise to God can feel rejecting to the person who offered the kind words. It can seem self-righteous, or super-spiritual (not in a good way) and ungrateful. This is not an easy thing, to figure out how to handle praise and appreciation in a way that both honors God and honors the other person. As one who has done things "up front" in church over the years, I understand this, and I have had a number of conversations with others who struggle to find that right balance.

I have many times referred back to what I heard all those years ago. That well-known lady spoke of trying to find this balance and she gave a solution that has worked for me, too. She said that every time a person praised her for a job well done, she imagined that they had handed her a beautiful rose. She thanked them sincerely for their kind words, and later when she was alone, she would imagine bundling all of those roses into a bouquet. She would picture herself handing that beautiful, fragrant bouquet to God and saying, "We both know that all of this praise and appreciation really belongs to You."

I love that. We can be thankful for the kind words that people say, while still giving all the praise and honor to God. It keeps our own hearts in a good place and frees us to be gracious to others by simply saying, "Thank you so much. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

I have never, until this week, thought of this concept from the other end of the spectrum. I have never thought of it as a way to handle hurts that are dealt to us.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I wrestle with resentment. I'm not proud of this. It's ugly and petty and just...wrong. But there it is. When someone hurts me with their words, or by being inconsiderate or thoughtless, or by shaming me with some failing from my past (or my present!) it is not easy for me to just let it flow by without touching me.

I have learned deep, important, life-changing lessons on forgiveness over the years, and I have applied those lessons in just these kinds of situations. By the grace of God, and by His love flowing through me, I have been able to forgive people fully and from my heart, even while they are still saying wounding, ugly words to me.

But right now, my heart is raw. Every nerve of my emotions is more on edge because of the deep waters of grief that I'm walking through, every moment of every day. Even during the times that I'm not thinking about it, the grief is still there. The reality of it, and of its impact on me, never goes away.

In some ways, this immense grief has given me a bigger perspective. Some things that would have frustrated me before just don't even phase me now. On the scale of things that are a Big Deal, those things don't even register.

At the same time, my emotions have suffered a terrible blow...kind of like a full body third degree burn. It has left everything in me vulnerable and exposed and...raw.

And so, things just hurt.

And when I am hurt, especially now, I struggle with resentment. There is a part of me that really wishes that the entire world would be especially considerate and gentle and kind to me, because I'm really really sad and deeply wounded.

But this is the real world, and people are human. And we are all, always, just doing the best we know how...which means that we still do and say things that hurt one another or leave others feeling overlooked or neglected.

As I wrestled with some feelings of hurt this past week, I suddenly saw this whole new way to handle it, which definitely felt like a real "God thing"- that He was giving me a picture of what to do with all those stored up wounded feelings.

I saw that I could do with them the exact same thing that I do with the wonderful feelings that come when people praise and appreciate something I have done.

I can take those hurtful words and picture them as....stink blossoms. These stink blossoms are ugly, foul smelling and half-rotten, and their stems are completely covered with long, wickedly sharp spines.

I thought about this, and then I gathered up the fistful of stink blossoms that had been handed to me, and I bundled them into a bunch. I looked at them, and acknowledged the real hurt of them, and then I handed them to God. He is so much better equipped to hold them than I am. I asked Him to take the hurt and sadness in my heart and just carry it for me.

This is really just a different way of seeing forgiveness.

In the past, I didn't need such a strong visual image to help me to forgive. These days, I do.

I am going to keep on using this to help me deal with hurts. I will pull the stiff thorns from the raw, exposed skin of my heart, pick those sticky, foul-smelling blossoms out of my thoughts, and ask my loving, kind Father to take them away for me. I will ask Him, again, to heal my sore places and to pour His grace through me to others.

Resentment, if it's allowed to put down roots and stay awhile, grows into bitterness.

Resentment and bitterness are also like quicksand. They look like a sound place to stand, and they sure seem easier than walking through the hard parts of this journey with an open heart. They may even seem like very reasonable responses to legitimate hurt, but they are treacherous. They will suck us in and destroy us if we let them.

Especially...Especially when we are sad and wounded, we must be on guard against the seeds of resentment and bitterness. We are so vulnerable to the lure of those insidious weeds. They are kudzu to the soul. They are Med. Sage and thistles. They are Loco Weed and Cholla. They are ivy that looks pretty but slowly chokes the living tree to death.

I wanted to share this, because I imagine I'm not the only one who wrestles with handling hurt in a good way. I hope this will prove helpful to others, as it helps me.

To me, this is just one more facet of those words that have helped me so much these past months: "The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)