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.
