I can't write it yet...

People have asked me to share what are good things to say to those who are grieving, and what are things better left unsaid.

I've tried.

I've tried four times.

I have not posted any of it.

Why?

The hurt has still been too raw and ready, and it has taken me to a very angry place. I don't get angry over most of the things that were said to me. What stokes my fire the most is the memory of words that have hurt our children and made this already agonizing road even more painful. Mama bear. She has a hard time letting go of hurt to her cubs.

 What have I learned?

I will write about those things someday. First, though, it is essential that I walk the road of forgiveness over all of those clumsy, thoughtless, well-intended, damaging, hurtful words. I wrote about this in my most recent post. I have not posted anything since because I am living the journey right now.

I am doing the hard work, prayerfully, sometimes reluctantly, but committed to pressing on.

I will not be able to write in a healthy, hopeful, helpful way about the words that hurt until I have excavated the buried pain and resentment in my own heart and let it go.

For now, I'll continue to share the journey toward forgiveness.

And someday, when I can do it without fire shooting from my fingertips, I will write about the words that were spoken to us in our hardest days.

Beginning and Ending With Thanks

My greatest battles take place inside my own head.

The giants I wrestle with most often are hurt, resentment and a complaining attitude. It is so easy to fall into those traps. My mind can be spinning in toxic spirals without my even realizing that I've gone there, yet again.

So... how do I fight the battle for my mind?

The stock answer would be, "Just pray. That will solve it."

But it's not always that simple.

Prayer can take many tones. There are whiny prayers, and resentful prayers, and angry prayers. Praying angrily or resentfully does not help to pull my mind out of its unhealthy track. Toxic prayer does not heal.

I have a long journey with this struggle, and I have learned a few things. Many would say that if you're having a bad attitude about someone, you should pray for them. That can work, or it can just be a continuation of the same destructive thoughts, dressed up in spiritual clothes. Complaining about someone in prayer is no different than complaining about them in my own head. Praying angry prayers about someone can feel like flinging sharp rocks at their head. Spiteful prayer is ugly.

Angry, resentful, complaining, whiny prayers do not help move a person to a more healthy inner space.

What does help?

Here is what I have learned:

When I am in that space of toxic spinning, the only thing that will stop it and send me in a fresh direction is to focus entirely on God. Talking to Him about my resentments does not help if my attitude still stinks. Talking to Him about the beauty of His own character helps tremendously!
Singing worship songs, even silently in my mind, helps. Recalling Bible verses about God's love and faithfulness helps also.

In my struggles with sleep, I have learned that the moment my mind goes still it will leap to upsetting places. It will either fling me into some painful place about the death of our son, or it will dig up hurtful words and dismissive actions that have come my way. Either one is sure to kick my adrenaline, which guarantees that I will not sleep for a couple more hours. Reading the Bible just before I go to sleep often helps to circumvent this cycle. I have the Bible on my Kindle, which sits next to the bed. If I put my thoughts on God's Word just before I sleep, that puts me in a better frame of mind and helps me to downshift from the day.

There is still the moment after I've put down the Kindle, when I'm settled and ready for sleep. What I'm thinking of as I drift off makes all the difference. For me, if I start praying about issues or for people at that point, it can wind me up all over again. The one thing that works is...gratitude.

The same is true in the morning. If I can plant gratitude in my mind before it has a chance to take any other tack, it sets a better tone for the entire day.

Gratitude is not fancy, but it works. All I do, as I lie in bed, slowly waking up, is to say, "Thank you," in my mind. I do the same at night. When I'm all settled, and drifting toward sleep, I simply think, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you."  It doesn't have to be thanks for anything specific. Simply saying thank you is enough.

This, making my last and first thoughts be words of thanks, has helped me more than anything else.

I do still deal with skirmishes inside my mind during the day, but it truly does make a difference if I begin the day by pointing my heart toward gratitude.

The struggle to be still

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

Those words have blown in on the breeze, waved like a banner, and been spoken in the words of friends and strangers, so many times in the past year.

In my struggle to understand the "why" behind the massive transition of our lives, I slowly came to think that part of it was so that I would rest, and in that resting, learn to be still in the presence of God. To sit at the feet of Jesus and be loved, and learn- this made some sense of all the changes. Not of Michael's death. That was a bomb that exploded in the midst of intense and comprehensive change.

Some of you already know this story, but for those who don't: Lee first proposed the idea to me in October of 2017 that he would retire, we would sell our home, buy an RV to live in, and that he would work different jobs that hire people who travel. This entailed giving up our family home and leaving our kids, family, friends, church family, community, my work (teaching violin) and ministry that I dearly loved. It meant going from a life of steady income and comfortable familiarity to one of uncertainty and constant change.

When people would ask about our plans and I would explain the kinds of jobs Lee might do, the next question was usually, "So while he's working, what will you do?" Most often, I would answer, "I will rest and write." This sounded lovely, but every time I said it, something about it felt "off" to me. It seemed a little too me-focused. It felt like that shouldn't be the end of the sentence.

After a while, the lights started to dawn, and I added to my answer, "...and sit at the feet of Jesus." Now, the whole thing actually started to make sense to me. I needed rest badly, to help restore my health. In order to write, I needed a less busy life. In order to grow, I needed to sit with God and listen.

So many things crossed my path in those months with the message, "Be still," confirming this idea.
I started looking forward to this time of rest and spiritual refreshment. It seemed simple.

The reality has been much more of a struggle than I ever imagined.

For the first several months of this new life, we were basically on vacation. That time of rest and togetherness was much needed and very healing. It was only when Lee went back to work in late March that I started having long spans of alone time. Somehow, it didn't go as I'd expected, and it took me quite a while to understand why.

Instead of quiet hours of study, prayer and worship, or of richly creative writing, I went face-first into the internet and stayed there. I would spin the hours away crawling through Facebook or watching one YouTube video after another.

At first, I just thought badly of myself for wasting so many days this way. After a while, though, I finally started to wonder why I was spending my days (and nights) this way.

After a long time of wrestling with the issue, I finally asked myself the right question:
"Why am I afraid to be still? What am I afraid will happen?"

Oh. There it was. Yes, it really was fear-based. But why?

The answer lay in my struggles with sleep. No matter how many calming, soothing things I did before going to bed, the moment my mind stilled, intensely upsetting things would flash into my thoughts, usually things to do with Michael. This was upsetting, to say the least.

This was the thing that was stopping me. It was not an unfounded fear. From experience, I knew that if I tried to Be Still I would be tormented by painful thoughts. I would suffer a fresh outpouring of agonizing grief, and I was tired of being desperately sad. Deep grief is exhausting. It wears you to the bone, then pounds your bones until they break. It is miserably hard.

Identifying the problem was good, but it did not solve anything. It was a relief to understand the reason behind my avoidance, but it did not fix it. I talked to God about it, saying, "I see the problem, but I don't have an answer for it. Being still does not feel safe to me." This was my position for a month or two more, seeing the problem but having no clue how to move from that stuck place.

As I was traveling back to the Northwest in late May for a visit, my feelings finally began to shift. I started to feel that the day would come when I could be still. I knew that the pounding waves of sadness would sweep over me, but I began to see that God would meet me in those moments and help me through them. I would not be alone in that storm. He would be with me and would hold me close and comfort me and give me strength. I could see a time, once I went home to my quiet little corner of the world, that I would feel safe enough to go to that place of stillness.

I've been home for a few weeks now, and I have still been shying like a skittish foal from the specter of stillness. I came home completely exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. It was absolutely wonderful to see my people, but all of the people time, travel, busyness and goodbyes wore me out and used me up. Two days after I got back was the first anniversary of Michael's death.

If I had been in a less exhausted state, I might have leaned into Jesus and let His peace carry me through that painful "deathiversary." All I could do, in the state I was in, was to be very still. Not in the lovely, "Be still and know that I am God" way; more the frozen state of a rabbit who senses a predator nearby. That is exactly how I felt- like a terrified rabbit, holding desperately still, knowing that any movement might trigger the predator to attack and destroy me. I had imagined that I might do something emotional and meaningful to mark that first year, but I couldn't. Through those few most-intense days, if I even thought about Michael, I felt like I might start screaming, or throwing up, or both. The pain really is that intense.

All I could do was hold very still and breathe quietly until those days passed.


Colossians 3:15 "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts." <3

I have been using devotional plans through the Bible app on my phone. The other day, the message was about merely existing versus really living. I thought about that, and it rang very true. For people in grief, this is probably pretty common. This past year has been one of gut-level survival. It has not been about shining or achieving or living victoriously. We have survived. So...yeah, in light of this devotional, I am existing rather than living. It's all I can manage, most days, and that's okay.

I do have a tentative hope that the day will come when this changes.

I do believe that someday, maybe soon, I will take a deep breath, take hold of the supportive hand that Jesus is holding out to me, and step into stillness. I know it may unleash a flood of agony, but I also know that it won't end there. I know that in time I will move through the agony and into a better, restful stillness; a stillness that heals.

Far off, somewhere on that hopeful horizon, I can imagine a time when, not only outwardly, but from my heart, I will once again truly live. I will not only survive, one clutching moment at a time, or drift quietly through the days avoiding the pain, but I will live.

Nine Months Later

The actual day to remember is a little fuzzy for me. As Facebook would say, "It's complicated."

It is most likely that Michael died on Sunday morning, probably between 10:30 and 11. Nobody knew until the next evening, when his friend and co-worker went by his apartment to see why he hadn't shown up for work that day. We got the news soon after, I think at around 6:30 pm, when a local police officer knocked on our door.

So...which day do we mark? The 24th, when he died, or the 25th, when the terrible news hit us?

I kind of do both. Because they both matter.

When the 24th falls on a Sunday, it's harder than usual because I am doing the same things I was doing that day back in June- getting dressed up, going to church, sitting in the sanctuary, standing to sing... never knowing that a few hundred miles away, our sons life was ending.

The battles of the mind that I fight are different on the 24th than they are on the 25th.

On the one, my mind tries to tell me things about what was happening at that moment in time; ugly, hurtful things; pictures of the moment he died. There are toxic little guilt trips about how I was going blithely along in my day, oblivious to what was happening to my son. For example- did he cross my mind that morning? Did I think of calling him, only to brush it aside with- I'll do that later. I fight that with the only weapon there is, fixing my thoughts on Jesus and His great love for me. Focusing on Him is the only thing that fills my mind full enough to drive out those images and words.

On the day we got the news, the battle is different. It's more of my mind piping up throughout the day with, "This time nine months ago, you were still happy." That's not so bad. When it goes to, "This time, nine months ago, Michael lay dead in his apartment, and nobody knew," that's much harder. There is less of the guilt-trip aspect and more of the pure tragedy of it. Again, the only remedy that truly helps is firmly turning my thoughts to Jesus; to the goodness and love of God. Just "not thinking about it" is not enough. I have to forcibly fill my mind with the only thing big enough to fight the darkness.

So, how has it gone this time around, as we hit the nine month mark?

Yesterday, I debated whether to go to church. Would I have a big emotional breakdown in church, surrounded by virtual strangers? I prayed about it, and felt that it was right for me to go. I am so glad that I did. We were singing songs of worship when the fateful time rolled past, things like "Your grace is enough for me," and "Your mercy is all I need." Yes, I had tears during the singing, but it was not the full-blown meltdown it might have been. I felt cherished, held close to the heart of Jesus, and cradled in His love. That helped the whole day to be just...a day, and not a tragic, somber slog of sadness. It was actually a good day. I thought of Michael pretty much constantly, but it did not rip my heart to shreds.

Today has been....normal. Normal use to sound boring. Now, it is a surprising gift. I have thought of our boy many times today, but those heavy, torturous thoughts have not attacked me today. I am so thankful. I've rested, and gotten things accomplished- just housekeeping kinds of things.

A part of my mind is watching the clock, very aware that the hour when we got the worst news is about to roll around again...but that is not tearing at me. It's not making it hard to breathe.

This makes me think that people much be praying for me today. I know that there are specific people in my life who are very mindful of when these days roll around every month. I am so grateful for that. If you are someone who was praying for me yesterday and/or today- thank you so much. It is such a gift to have one of these "monthiversaries" roll by without being tortured.

I'm really....okay. Which is really lovely.

I am wearing one of Michael's flannel shirts- keeping him close. As soon as I finish typing this, we will take the dogs for their evening stroll, and then Lee will go to bed.

It all feels peaceful, which is a very precious gift.

Why God asks us to praise Him in the midst of the storm. It's so good!

Okay, so this interests me...

There are so many Bible verses that I've only really heard in extract form- pulled from their context and shared on their own or turned into song lyrics. These, for example, which I read yesterday morning: "Be exalted, O God, above the heavens! Let your glory be over all the earth!" Did your brain sing those as you read them? Mine did. :)

I have sung those words so many times in church. But do you know the context? I didn't. They're lovely words of praise, but in their proper setting, they take on a whole new depth.

The verse before, Psalm 57:4, says "My soul is in the midst of lions; I lie down amid fiery beasts-the children of man, whose teeth are spears and arrows, whose tongues are sharp swords." Sounds like a time of intense hardship! The author is suffering; under focused, personal attack. And then, verse 5- "Be exalted, O God, above the heavens! Let your glory be over all the earth!" And again, in verse 6, "They set a net for my steps; my soul was bowed down." Wow. This expression of praise was not the inspiration of a light heart on an easy morning, with sun shining and sweet fragrance drifting in on a gentle breeze. Those words were poured out from a heart in deep distress, in the midst of heavy persecution and suffering. And yet- "Be exalted, O God."

This reminds me of the words "sacrifice of praise." (Hebrews 13:15) Again, words I've sung often in church, buy never considered, until the past year, the weight and depth of them. When is praise a sacrifice? When it is the last thing you feel like doing! Praise and thanksgiving are sacrifices, holy offerings given beyond human capacity, when they come from a place of pain and lack and weary suffering. I can speak from personal experience now, in a way I never could before, of the deep sacrifice and determination it takes to praise God in the deepest pain, with the heaviest heart.

Praise is a choice. It is an act of sheer will and determination to praise and thank God when every part of you lies shattered and bleeding on the cold, gritty floor. And that is a precious, beautiful thing in the eyes of our God. <3 <3 He asks us to praise Him in the hardest times, not because it makes Him feel important, but because it is the best thing for us!

What God asks of us is always, always the thing that is the deepest, highest best for us, for our souls, for our hearts.

"When you walk through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown." Isaiah 43:2

In every single moment, God's perfect, inexhaustible love is poured out to us. In the midst of intense suffering, He is with us in deep, sustaining ways. He never abandons us to suffer alone. And He asks us to praise Him, and to thank Him, in the hardest moments, because it does incredible, good things in our hearts and minds and souls. It is good for us to choose praise in the midst of our suffering. It is the best possible thing to lift our eyes to Jesus, even as we lie bleeding, and fix our minds on His goodness and His love. And what happens when we do that?

Philippians 4:6 "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." And what happens? "And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." YES!!

[necessary disclaimer- all the added emphasis of italics and bold print is mine- because it is just so intensely good!] Moving on...

When we look to God, with trust and love, in the midst of our pain, it opens the door for His priceless peace to flood in. I love that phrase, that His peace will "guard our hearts and minds." When our minds lie shattered and our hearts are ripped to pieces, His peace guards them- picks them up, pieces them gently back together, puts them in a safe and sacred place, and His holy fire then stands guard all around them while they rest and survive and heal.

<3 <3 <3 Can I get a Hallelujah?!! :D :D