Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Your Grace Finds Me

Loved this beautiful song I have heard on the radio lately by Matt Reddman:

It's there in the newborn cry
It's there in the light of every sunrise
It's there in the shadows of this life
Your great grace
It's there on the mountaintop
It's there in the everyday and the mundane
There in the sorrow and the dancing
Your great grace
Oh, such grace
From the creation to the cross
Then from the cross into eternity
Your grace finds me
Yes, Your grace finds me
It's there in the newborn cry
It's there in the light of every sunrise
It's there in the shadows of this life
Your great grace
It's there on the mountaintop
It's there in the everyday and the mundane
There in the sorrow and the dancing
Your great grace
Oh, such grace
From the creation to the cross
Then from the cross into eternity
Your grace finds me
Yes, Your grace finds me.
It's there on a wedding day.
There in the weeping by the graveside
There in the very breath we breathe
Your great grace
Same for the rich and poor
Same for the saint and for the sinner
Enough for this whole wide world
Your great grace
Oh, such grace
From the creation to the cross
Then from the cross into eternity
Your grace finds me
Yes, Your grace finds me
There in the darkest night of the soul
There in the sweetest songs of victory
Your grace finds me
Yes, Your grace finds me
Your great grace
Oh, such grace
Your great grace
Oh, such grace
So I'm breathing in Your grace
And I'm breathing out Your praise
I'm breathing in Your grace
Forever I'll be
Breathing in Your grace
And I'm breathing out Your praise
I'm breathing in Your grace
And I'm breathing out Your praise
Breathing in Your grace
For our God, for our God
Yes, Your grace finds me
Yes, Your grace finds me

Monday, January 16, 2017

Monday

"The joy of the Lord happens inside the sorrow." (T. Keller)

Started my week with some quiet time visiting my Ryan, letting God's faithful presence console and comfort.  Our loving God is so good to meet us in our sorrow.
"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor. 4:17-18)

outside

The weather here the past few days had been absolutely beautiful - green grass and blue skies in between the much needed rain storms.  I made it a point to make sure we got to spend some time outdoors this long holiday weekend - ignoring chores and laundry and the "stuff" of life that can wait - choosing instead to work in the  garden, take Char scootering by the river, and just enjoying a nice long neighborhood walk with my sister, the kids, & the dogs.  I needed to soak in some sunshine.  Soak it into my heart - a heart thirsty for light and goodness and the comfort of being out in God's beautiful creation.





Saturday, January 14, 2017

reaching out

Sometimes I get "stuck" in my grief and just want to sit and be sad.  And there is definitely a time for letting the tears flow, that is very important.  But we can't get "stuck" in it.  One of the best - and most difficult - pieces of advice I was given was that when grief consumes, try to be a blessing to someone else.  Really.  In encouraging or supporting or reaching out to help someone else in their time of need we bless them, but we also bless ourselves.  God uses our compassion towards others to comfort them and bring a joy and a smile to our own hearts.  Life is so very difficult.  Trials and sorrows will come.  I have some precious friends going through some hard stuff right now.  But when we lift our heads up and acknowledge the sorrows our friends and companions are walking through, we are allowing ourselves to be God's hands and feet here on earth. And allowing God to work through us, allows His joy to flow through us as well.  Doing the "hard stuff" is rarely fun, but is always worth it.  It's where we truly live.  We feel deeply in the trials, we learn to love passionately in the trials, we allow our hearts to break for others so they can be filled with His love in the trials.  Not until we step outside our comfort zones, step outside our cozy worlds we have built to protect ourselves, step out to take the risks, do we truly experience the depth of Christ's love.  When we reach out to take on another person's heartache and heartbreak, we are learning to follow Christ's example of the suffering and service that leads to the greatest joy of all.  Start small - find a way to bring a smile to someone's face today and see if it warms your own heart with a joyful smile.  And then don't stop there...  😊

little bit of encouragement


widowhood

This article is a little too accurate: 'Lonely' Not Poweful Enough Word to Describe Widowhood

Thursday, January 12, 2017

breaking into being real

A few excerpts from Ann Voskamp's book, "The Broken Way," a chapter called, "Breaking into Being Real."  So much truth here.

"There is no fear in letting tears come.  Sadness is a gift to avoid the nothingness of numbness, and all the hard places need water.  Grief is a gift, and after a rain of tears, there is always more of you than before.  Rain always brings growth.

I am sad for what is.  I am even more sad for what isn't going to be now... I'd do anything to get back there and do it all over again.  If only...
The saddest string of words that's ever been strung together: "If only...". I can taste the words in my mouth.  Who doesn't know "if only..."?

But there's no way back.  Maybe life always tastes a bit like regret.  Whatever you do or don't do, there is no way to never taste it.  And though you may have to taste regret, you don't have to believe in it, you don't have to live in it, like rowing a boat that only goes backward, trying to find something that's been washed out to sea.  It's God's sea.  And that means all is grace.

You can feel too broken to be.
There can be a lying snake curled between your neural membranes and his lies can run poison in your veins.  Sometimes our deepest suffering is that voice in our head.

What if the deeper you know your own brokenness, the deeper you can experience your own belovedness?  Not one of us is ever too broken.  

You must let your false self be broken, parts of you that you only thought were necessary.  You must embrace your union with Christ, bravely surrender and trust that what's breaking and being lost is never the eternal, needed parts of you, but always the temporal, needless parts that were getting in the way of you becoming real.

The miracle of becoming real happens when you let all your suffering create love.  When you let the pain make passion.  The passion makes you real.
You are bravest when you speak your unbraveness.  You are safest when you are the realest.  When you are the realest about your brokenness - that is when you can know you're most beloved.  
You are not most loved when you're pretending to have it all together; you are actually the most loved when you feel broken and falling apart.

There is a cross that makes us all safe.  Jesus is drawn to the broken parts of us we would never want to draw attention to.  Jesus is most attracted to the busted and sees the broken as the most beautiful.  And our God wants the most unwanted parts of us most. "Heart-shattered lives ready to live don't for a moment escape God's notice... The sacrifice pleasing to God is a broken spirit." (Psalm 51:17). Nothing pleases God more than letting Him touch the places you don't think please Him.  God is drawn to broken things - so He can draw the most beautiful things.  

"Don't run from suffering; embrace it," Jesus beckons. "Follow me and I'll show you how." (Mark 8:34).
We are all doing it.  Picking up our crosses continuously.  Making Christ present against the lies, right in the midst of brokenness... Believe there is powerfulness in your brokenness.  Carrying your cross is about carrying your pain in such a way that it makes it into love.

You didn't know how to go on - but you didn't grow hard in the midst of it.  
Sometimes it isn't your fault.  Life breaks us.  The fall breaks us.  The brokenness inside of us breaks us.  Your heart's beautiful - especially the broken edges where you let the love get in.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

faking fine

So much truth in this.  Lament is a from of prayer - the deepest form of communication with God because you are trusting your Heavenly Father not only to hear your hurts and sorrows, but you are inviting Him to come cry with you.  The following is an excerpt from Esther Fleece's "No More Faking Fine."   http://www.estherfleece.com/
"Faking fine is a much easier way to live.  Answering that everything is fine is much more comfortable than having to be vulnerable.  Even getting lost in the act of service to others is easier than letting others into our pain.  But... I had to redefine this pain. I could no longer hide in my lament.  I had to make the choice not to lament alone...
What kind of Christian silences heartache?  What kind of Christian is unmoved by death?  Christians ought to be the first ones crying out that this world is not as it should be.  When we fake fine, we fake our way out of authentic relationship with God, others, and ourselves.  But lament, an honest expression of grief, is a prayer that God never silences nor wastes.  It is an authentic prayer that invites God to meet us right where we are, not where we pretend to be.  It is the language for the faithful, for we know the One who holds our pain.  And He never silences our cries. Even more than that, He cries with us. 
There will be seasons for each of us when we lament alone.  But isolation - for all of us, is never our destination.  Real strength is not pretending we are fine and keeping God and others at a safe distance.  Real strength is letting others into our brokenness.  Real strength is confessing we need God’s rescue over and over and over again.  For God loves us all too much to lament without rescue...
As I lamented, God showed me that I was not alone in my "unspoken broken" - and I don't think I can ever go back."

psalm 103

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
    and all that is within me,
    bless his holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
    and do not forget all his benefits—
who forgives all your iniquity,
    who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the Pit,
    who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good as long as you live[a]
    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
The Lord works vindication
    and justice for all who are oppressed.
He made known his ways to Moses,
    his acts to the people of Israel.
The Lord is merciful and gracious,
    slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
He will not always accuse,
    nor will he keep his anger forever.
10 He does not deal with us according to our sins,
    nor repay us according to our iniquities.
11 For as the heavens are high above the earth,
    so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
12 as far as the east is from the west,
    so far he removes our transgressions from us.
13 As a father has compassion for his children,
    so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him.
14 For he knows how we were made;
    he remembers that we are dust.
15 As for mortals, their days are like grass;
    they flourish like a flower of the field;
16 for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
    and its place knows it no more.
17 But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting
    on those who fear him,
    and his righteousness to children’s children,
18 to those who keep his covenant
    and remember to do his commandments.
19 The Lord has established his throne in the heavens,
    and his kingdom rules over all.
20 Bless the Lord, O you his angels,
    you mighty ones who do his bidding,
    obedient to his spoken word.
21 Bless the Lord, all his hosts,
    his ministers that do his will.
22 Bless the Lord, all his works,
    in all places of his dominion.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Friday, January 6, 2017

pouring out

Read this tonight and it really resonated with me.  It is from from Ann Voskamp's book, "The Broken Way."

"'You know how we all want more?'  He holds up the full-to-the-top water bottle in front of me.  'Look at this.  You can't have more unless you pour out.  You can only receive more as you pour yourself out.'  And then he tipped the water bottle... and I watched the water pour, and I felt upended and it felt about perfect.  When you are filled to the brim with the enoughness of Christ, the only way you can possibly have more is to pour yourself out.  The only way to more life is by pouring more of yourself out...  God believes in me.  Christ in me makes me enough.  I have more and become more, the more I pour out.  

half birthday

Today was Charlie's half birthday.  He asked if we could do something to celebrate it, so I baked him a half cake.  Seeing his delight and singing him half of "happy birthday" made me smile. 🎂 
Today was also an ice skating field trip with our homeschool group. ⛸   I LOVE ice skating but had not been on the ice since before my back surgery, when we lived in DC.  It felt really good to just be out exercising and enjoying the peacefulness I feel as I glide around the rink.
We finished the day at the annual Christmas tree bonfire in Solvang.  The local fire department collects trees, piles them up, and then lights them on fire.  There is music and venders, but the kids were mesmerized by the HUGE wall of fire.  It felt peaceful to be out under the stars, watching the excited kids hop around, the dancing flames dart about, and feeling the intense heat in contrast to the cold night. 🔥 
Today was a day of where my senses were overwhelmed but God's peace was present - and for that I am thankful. 🙏 

the half cake
little speed demon loves to skate
my skate buddy on the ice
Christmas tree bonfire

article

This.  So much this.
There's Nothing Selfish About Suicide

fear

This is an excerpt from Kelly Balarie's book, "Fighting Fear: Awakening Courage to Overcome Your Fears."  http://purposefulfaith.com/
Bam!  Tears.  Fears.  More frustration.  God was long gone and I was going downhill fast.  Of course, I wouldn’t have told you this.  I would have nodded my head and said, “Yes, God is good.  God will provide.  God loves me.” 
I had no idea...if God would actually return to pick me up again, or if I would have to resort to hitchhiking or some other deplorable act to find my way home.  Where did God go?
At this point in my life, it was a daily task to figure out how to keep breathing.  But when you're chasing God and you finally shush up, the Spirit has a way of holding you in your time of need.  I suppose this is why He’s called Counselor (John 14:26); He brings to mind those life-restoring Words of God that counsel you.  I like that.  I need counseling.
His Word to me at that time sounded like this: “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exod. 3:5). Now, God?  But let me tell you something, and I am serious about this: when you stop thinking God's Words in the Bible are crazy and don't apply to you, you suddenly realize - they do.  Then things happen.  You hold a broken picture but see it differently - a new image appears
You say unheard of and practically ludicrous things.  Things like, “Well, God, I have nothing to add. You hold everything, so let’s go - and do it Your way.”  It’s almost like God lent you His glasses.  You get clarity.  Focus, even.  Lights flick on and the Spirit delivers a tailored message arrowed straight to your heart (Eph. 5:8).  All you know is you got pinged by sense.  Sense that pushes you toward what you were always meant to do and created to be.
Aha moments become abundant.  The Spirit illuminated a grain of something I needed.  So you know what I did?  I looked left and right, and then I did it; I took off my shoes - odor and all.  I chose to believe my sinking (or stinky) ground was holy ground.  
Taking off your shoes means: Listening to God above humankind’s diatribe.  Seeing God’s bigger picture, not a shattered one.  Getting reverent instead of existent in pain.  Being open to truth instead of closed up in lies.  Trusting refinement versus seeing ailment.  Seeing a burning God instead of a burning house.  Seeing God’s plan above your immediate goals.  Letting God see your grime so He can wash it clean.  Yelling, screaming, and pleading to be heard and helped.
It doesn’t always look pretty, but it is almost always effective.  I gave it a shot. I settled into the idea of getting holy before God.  The Spirit even called out on my behalf, I am sure of it.  He does that, you know? He speaks our unspeakable needs (Rom. 8:26).  He groans our groans and cares for our cares.
And something transcendent happened.  I felt heaviness leave, burdens flee, and a new fire take form.  Things happen in a posture like this.  It is not always what we want or how we expect, and not always in a shiny way - but it is always in a far better way, a way that tends to leave us jawdropped and feeling flat-out loved.  Understanding wrapped His arms around me:  What I try not to see is the very thing God will use to set me free.  Going with the Spirit means moving with God’s wind, not fighting against it.  If I believe in the possibilities, I will have a chance to see God's incredibly.  
Will you stay confined or become redefined?  Where might your mission or your courage be blocked?  Where might God want you to take off your shoes?  What might that look like?  Take off those shoes that cover your real.  Let your dirt, your calluses, and your vulnerable self stand bare before God.  You aren’t too much for Him, I assure you.  There are lessons in this place.  The place where you bare your feet and bow your head.  Don’t go distracted or demotivated; expect the Spirit to move on your behalf - to speak your unspeakable...
Our greatest tab is covered.  Our insecurities are filled.  Our mistakes are not spotlighted.  All this stuff, when walked up to the heat of His love, is burned away.  Al that lasts is Jesus.  Love.  Hope personified.  A fearless vision that lasts forever.

verse of the day

Verse of the day on my phone's Bible app.  Sometimes it just fits so well that I can do nothing but stand in awe of God's promises and comfort.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

1 John 4:11-12


prayer please

I am asking for prayers this week.  I have had a huge, debilitating wave of pain completely overwhelm me.  It seems as fresh and raw as it was last summer.  The tears that won't stop, the heartache, even the dreams and nightmares are back.  I am barely eating and only leaving the house for the things I have to.  I find it almost difficult to admit any of this because I was proud of the way I was healing.  Maybe I needed a reality check on my own pride.  Maybe I was not acknowledging the healing buried deep that I still need.  I am not sure.  I know the joy I fought so hard to find is seemingly gone.  And that is followed by a guilt over being a mess when I know my children need their mama to be engaged and to be strong.  And the guilt of knowing I have hurt others as I shut down and regress and stop being fully present for those I truly do love and care for.  I ask that you be patient with me, please don't give up on me.  I need you all to love me when I am at my most unlovable.  And forgive me when I cause pain.  It is not intentional.  They say those hurting, hurt others.  I think this is because when we hurt we deeply crave connection with those we love but also fear more hurt - so we send a mixed, confusing message of come-closer-go-away, mirroring the tug of war in our own hearts.  And then the enemy sees that crack, that vulnerability, and fills us with guilt, because we know our precious friends deserve more but in our weakness we just don't have the strength to give it.  The key is that we don't rely on our own strength - I know I must keep my eyes on Him who is my strong tower when I am at my weakest.  I have somehow lost sight of that this week.  Please pray that I learn again to yield fully to His presence, so He can be my strength.  Maybe my lesson here is that I learn how to extend abundant grace to others after feeling again what it is to hurt so deeply that you can't exude anything but pain.  I don't know if this is the enemy attacking me in my weakness, after thinking I was healing so well.  Or if this is something I need to go through to bring me closer to Him who heals and Him who comforts.  In either case, I feel lost and I lack His peace, which I so desperately have clung to these past six months.



Sunday, January 1, 2017

scars


My heart is SO full of emotions as I begin a new year.  Sadness and sorrow that I am starting a year that Ryan is not part of.  But thankfulness for a God who walks WITH us through our pain.  And my heart is so full in other ways too that it often feels as if it cannot possibly still fit inside my chest.  Maybe it doesn’t anymore – it may be sitting outside, where everyone can see it.  Maybe that is what God intended to happen to my heart this year – for it to be so full that it is shared with others.  And I am not sure I will find words fitting to even begin to put this emotion I feel onto “paper,” but I am going to try.  Partly because I want to remember this feeling in case it fades.

Part of that “fullness” is because God is so good and God is so near and He is so faithful.  I am thinking back to a few weeks ago.  Our house has been unpacked and settled for quite a while now, with all the “necessities,” but I am still unpacking some of those boxes that have been pushed to the corners and have no urgency to be opened and gone through.  I recently opened one of those boxes and found all of our wedding items – the cake topper, the pictures, etc…  And I melted into a ball of tears and despair.  The waves of missing Ryan were back full force that morning.  I thought, how many times can I keep feeling this?  How many times will these waves return to consume me?  How many times will I fall back into that feeling of missing Ryan so badly that I do not want to be here any longer?

From day one of Ryan’s passing I knew I had two clear choices: either give in, give up, and let the grief consume me  - or fight to seek God, surrender to God’s will, and give Him permission to heal me.  From day one, I knew I had to surrender to God’s will for my life, but it certainly does not come without a fight.  There have many days, especially early on, where giving up or wanting my life to end seemed like far better options.  However, I have continued to obey the Lord and I kept stepping forward.

So when I get to “that” morning, like with the wedding box, where the wave of despair appears out of nowhere, I pray.  I try to quiet my thoughts enough to just let God near to me.  And I pray that my life be more than just “going through the motions” of existing and that He USE this pain.  I have prayed from the day that Ryan died that God teach me to heal and that God use this horrific situation for good.  But I truly do not think I have been in a place to let God do that yet.  I just knew He COULD and I prayed He WOULD.  But I think I have prayed that prayer selfishly, because I do not want to feel this despair and this sorrow any longer, I do not want to be “stuck” in this spot.  But I now realize, with an explosion of emotions, that God has been using my pain all along for blessings and, for lack of a better word, abundant-ness.

First I think of my children.  My heart has been so incredibly heavy for my Katherine.  She (very reluctantly) started a homeschool charter school here where she attends two days a week.  The fear and anxiety she felt about beginning school made me feel guilty and question if sending her was indeed the right thing to do.  I really feel strongly that it will be in the long run, but I was not sure my heart and her heart could take the transition.  She at first seemed scared and miserable being the new kid – and as a teenager, a grieving teenager at that, her emotions came out as anger.  But I have slowly seen her smile return.  Like a real, actual, joyful smile.  I have talked a lot with her homeroom teacher and even though it is a public charter school and religion can not be part of the program, her teacher is a Christian.  He reached out to me to let me know he was watching out for Katherine (and praying for her!).  He said she very discerningly picked the “good girls” to be her friends and that she was doing well.  How quickly I went from despair to relief and joy.  The funny thing too is that I wanted Katherine to be in the other class for her grade (I thought it seemed to have more girls) and I was disappointed she got the teacher she did.  I almost pushed for her to be moved to the other class – but God knew what He was doing.  He put her in the right class, with the right teacher, and the right kids.  

And then another mom from Katherine’s Nutcracker ballet group contacted me about getting the girls together – and I got to see Katherine settling into having friends again.  Like giggling, teenage silliness, BFF type friends.  And this particular new friend from ballet is a fellow homeschooler, a Christian, and is also struggling with not having a dad in the home anymore.  Seriously, God?  You would bless my little girl with someone she can relate to so quickly?  Thank you.  Thank you. That same week Katherine's ballet teacher contacted me to let me know that Katherine had broken down a bit in class when the teacher had shared about her brother's struggle with brain cancer.  When I shared our story with her instructor, she immediately said her best friend growing up lost her dad the same way, so she could relate and that she was there for Katherine, to talk, to listen, to hug, whatever she needed.  Another safe place for my little girl to grieve and heal.  Katherine is making friends and is surrounded by adults that care about her and bring the joyful, sweet, and talkative Katherine I know back.  Because God has this – He has Katherine in his grip.  He is protecting her and healing her.  Oh, my heart could just burst with this blessing – and how quickly and specifically it was given!

And my Charlie man.  When life gets overwhelming or stressful, in his shy nature, he tends to shut down and withdraw.  It has been how he always is.  In some ways he is so much Ryan’s “mini me” (in blonde) that it provides me great comfort, but also scares me just a bit.  I worry what is going on inside when he is quiet and withdrawn.  So my prayer for Charlie has been to see him be happy out loud and participating fully in life.  My first glimpse of this answer to prayer was at the Cub Scout Thanksgiving feast last month – it was the whole pack and it was loud and chaotic and, for most, joyful.  Normally in a situation that over stimulating, Charlie will just watch.  But that night I saw him giggling and playing and being “all boy,” full of mischief and silliness.  He stopped looking over his shoulder to see where I was and was fully engaged with the other boys in his den.  And, oh, it made my heart swell with happiness.  And I think a lot of this newfound (and hopefully not rare) confidence and outgoing spirit has come from my nephew.  My oldest nephew and Charlie are such polar opposites that we used to have to “monitor” their time together so they didn’t annoy each other or unintentionally hurt each other’s feelings.  But in the last few months, having lived in the same house, and now just a few houses apart, spending endless hours in the backyard together when Charlie had not yet made any other friends, they bonded.  They play make believe “defend the fort” and “attack the girls” games.  And they are silly.  So silly.  My nephew has been a blessing to Charlie, bringing out that side that Char needed.  It is so funny to me that what once was almost a source of stress, having the two boys together for too long, became not only a good situation, but a necessary situation.  I am so thankful for my nephew’s role in Charlie’s healthy healing.  God is so good – He truly takes any situation and uses it.  For good.  Charlie, in his new found confidence, even befriended the neighbor boy next door, and now the two of them have spent winter break bounding back and forth between the two houses, playing Lego, video games, and having light saber battles on the trampoline. 

And actually at my Grief Share meeting earlier this month, I shared how God is beginning to work in my children’s lives and some of the dear sweet ladies that pray for me said that those were exactly the things they had been praying – for Katherine’s transition in school (new friends, the right teacher, etc) and for Charlie to find his “place” here.  I had not even expressed how heavy those things were on my heart, but God knew and these others were led to pray for those specific things - and God delivered, specifically and quickly.  His goodness and His timing just amazes me.  My heart is so full.

The other thing that happened this past month was also at my Grief Share meeting.  Two new women joined our group.  They came in, tears stinging their eyes, their grief heavy and raw and new.  Their beloved had taken his own life as well – it was the wife and the mother that came in, grieving.  My heart just is so heavy for them.  I know that raw, searing, new pain, how overwhelming it is and how you feel you cannot even take the next breathe.  How you do not want to wake up the next day or do this life anymore.  I know that pain intimately and all I could do was hug these women and hold them and cry with them.  But I saw how much healing God has done in me during these past months.  The fact that I could go from that place of deep and utter despair to being the one even thinking about reaching out to be a presence to another is a miracle.  A true miracle.  I could feel their pain and their deep sorrow, but I also saw a want to know how to heal and a desperate need for hope that so mirrored mine such a short time ago and I realized I am not in that deep despair anymore.  I am sad, yes.  I feel the pain of loss, daily, yes.  But I am not CONSUMED by my grief.  I can breathe.  I have hope.  And I even have joy.  Not joy in the loss of my Ryan, but joy in knowing that God can use the pain of my loss to relate to others.  Joy in knowing that defeat is not how this story ends.  Oh, the emotions I felt that night – such deep heartache and pain for these two women but also such praise for the overwhelming abundance of comfort that is our God.  I am not sure my heart can contain such emotion – it feels like it will all just come bursting right out of me.

And just when I thought God could not possibly bless me or be nearer to me that He had been that week, I had two other recent blessings that overwhelm me with the abundance of God’s presence.  One has been getting to know another widower who has been caring enough to talk with me about faith, God, and parenting our children through loss.  God uses others to heal us and brings us joy.  And I am so thankful when another person will heed God’s still small voice and openly share their pains and their scars and their sorrows.  For it is in the opening up and the sharing of our most authentic emotions and feelings that we let compassion and love wash over the pain, covering it with joy.  Having safe places to share, and conversely to listen, is blessing that I am so thankful for. 

The other event was at the dentist, of all places.  I went in for my six month cleaning at a new dentist here.  I have always disliked how we have to find a new dentist, eye doctor, etc. with each move.  So that day I was not particularly excited to show up for my cleaning, but the dentist was very nice and kind of chatty.  He asked if I was new to the area.  At that question I always tense up and start to panic inside – am I going to have to explain my situation?  Or will they just let me be?  I answered that we had moved here over the summer.  But, as I mentioned, the dentist was chatty and he asked me what brought us here.  I simply answered “family,” as I usually do and then inwardly began to pray, “please don’t let him ask, please don’t let him ask, please don’t make me have to have this conversation again now.”  But he did ask.  “So is your husband military then?”  Sigh.  “Yes, he was,” I answer.  “Oh, did he retire?”  There it is, the question that requires an explanation and things will get awkward…  It happens almost daily, every time I meet new people.  Sometimes knowing I do not have the energy to share my story makes me not want to leave the house.  Ever.  But I answered, “no, he didn’t retire.”  Then there is that awkward silence where the dentist is waiting for me to elaborate and I sigh and I do.  “My husband passed away over the summer.”  There, I said it.  Now I wait while the listener processes what I just said and I wait for the standard, “oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”  This is usually then followed by one of two responses – either a complete change in subject or a cliché attempt at words of comfort.  The more rare response is when someone keeps asking – “what happened?  Was he sick?”  That day the dang dentist surprised me and chose option number three.

To be honest, this man seemed to genuinely care about my response so I began to explain how Ryan struggled and died by suicide.  I kept talking and the dentist kept asking.  I ended up sitting in a dentist chair that morning, crying and sharing my story.  Then this sweet man tells me that his daughter recently attempted suicide and is battling depression and he is praying for her.  We began to talk about the disease of depression and faith and God’s goodness.  I did not see that coming, I was just hoping to get in and out with whiter teeth and hopefully a “no cavity” report.  And then, as we are talking, I hear sniffling and realize the dental hygienist has been sitting behind me listening this whole time.  She leans forward and tells me that both her brother and her husband took their own lives.  She says she cannot tell most people because they don’t know how to respond to that or they look at her funny.  I look at the tears in her eyes, the tears in the dentist’s eyes, and in the background the office radio is softly playing, “The First Noel.”  And so I am sitting there is this dentist chair with two people I have just met and we have instantly bonded over this issue of mental illness and suicide that is everywhere.  It is literally everywhere.  Every time I share my story someone leans in and whispers to me, “me too, I know someone…”  But why, oh why, do we whisper it?  Why do we all keep this “secret,” this pain, to ourselves?  Why do we wait for someone to press us into sharing our story, exposing our scars?  Because when we do share, something beautiful, something healing, something holy seems to occur. 

Below is an excerpt I wanted to share from a book called “The Scars That Have Shaped Me: How God Meets Us in Suffering” by Vaneetha Rendall Risner.
http://danceintherain.com/

I hid my wound marks and was comfortable doing so for decades. But one day, I noticed this in the Gospel of John: “Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord” (John 20:19b-20).

The disciples recognized Jesus when they saw His scars.

And Thomas needed to feel the Lord’s nail wounds to verify that the risen Savior was before him. Jesus didn’t need to have scars on his resurrected body. His body could have been perfect, unblemished, unscarred. But he chose to keep his scars so his disciples could validate his identity. And even more importantly, so they could be assured that he had conquered death.

Michael Card’s song, “Known by the Scars,” expresses this truth so beautifully:
The marks of death that God chose never to erase
The wounds of loves eternal war
When the kingdom comes with its perfected sons
He will be known by the scars

God chose not to erase these marks of death – the wounds of His love for us – so our Savior will always be known by His scars.

Rather than physical imperfections, Jesus’ scars are breathtakingly beautiful. They represent His love and our salvation.

As I considered these truths, something stirred in me.

My scars are significant and precious. I shouldn’t keep hiding them. I am recognizable by them; they make me unique.

They are an integral part of who I am. They show that through Christ I am a conqueror. That I have suffered and by the power of the Holy Spirit have overcome.

My scars remind me that God is sufficient. And that physical perfection is not our goal. A life lived to God’s glory is infinitely more valuable.

Scars represent more than I ever realized.  They can be beautiful.  The dictionary says “a scar is a mark left by a healed wound.” A healed wound. My scars signify healing. And even though my initial flesh wounds have healed, there is yet a deeper healing in acceptance.  

I started to notice scars more as I looked around.

There was something captivating about people who were unafraid to be themselves: authentic, unmasked, and unashamed of the wounds that shaped them. Their vulnerability was magnetic. I was drawn to them. To learn from their self- acceptance. To hear their stories. To see their courage.

I learned it is often a good thing to ask people about their scars. As long as I do it respectfully. And lovingly.

Asking demystifies scars. And allows people to share what has shaped them. Because all scars have a story.

I saw that when we display our scars, we inspire others to do the same. 

Those of us with scars should wear them like jewels, treasured reminders of what we’ve endured. 

It’s okay to show our imperfections. It is even courageous.

And perhaps we’ll discover the beauty in our scars. 

If anything, I think 2017 is a year where I stop whispering.  I stop holding emotions inside.  I stop praying that the new year be comfortable or simply “better than the last year.”  Instead, I want to stand up and let God boldly use my story, use my pain, use my scars, use my voice to do His will.  The emotions of that journey may continue to completely overwhelm me – the relationships and the answers to prayers and the bonds with complete strangers may indeed stretch my heart to the point that it hurts and it bursts – but really my heart was already broken and split wide open last June.  So as I enter 2017, I am not fearful of what lies ahead or the heartache it may entail.  Grief and heartache are a byproduct of love.  I want to love out loud this coming year.  I am overwhelmed with awe that God would enter my busted, bruised, and wounded heart and that He would use it.  But I choose to embrace God’s way - that instead of healing my wounds up to be whole and complete again, He uses the raw pieces left behind and the scars I have to feel.  For when we feel, we reach out.  To be His hands and feet.  To embrace others.  To be thankful.  To praise.  To love.  And love deeply.