The Grief Invitation

When we were in the hospital, shortly after learning that our daughter would likely never come home, I remember having a conversation. My husband and I stood in the muted colors of the Ronald McDonald asking each other.

Should we let them in?

Neither of us wanted to. Letting in our small group from church felt too raw, too personal. Not because we didn’t love them or know they loved us, but because it was absolutely terrifying. They’d never seen us this way. We had never seen ourselves this way: utterly broken, completely stripped to the barest most vulnerable version of ourselves.

The past week in the hospital, we couldn’t eat, barely slept. My entire body buzzed with adrenaline and yet felt hollow with fatigue. I was weak with heartache and physical pain from surgery. Our eyes were bloodshot from constant crying. Our bodies physically shrunk; our strength paper thin.

In this place it felt (feels) easiest to hide. Yet despite all this, a thought came clearly into the fog of my mind: to invite them in—literally, putting their names on that front desk list—and of course, figuratively, was the only way we wouldn’t walk alone.

These are the people who are going to walk with us…after.

That night some of our friends came to meet our daughter for the first and last time. They saw her covered in tubes and connected to machines and somehow still beautiful. They came and wrapped themselves around us and saw our tears and cried their own. They filled the hospital chapel and prayed. They touched her sweet face. I wish I could say it was wonderful, but it was also terrible. It probably would’ve been easier to hide, to be alone, to stay concealed in our own bubble of fear and pain. And yet now we had a small army of people who could fathom a slice of our grief.

We left the hospital a few days later without our daughter. She was gone from this earth. We will never be the same.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d decided to do it all alone. Yet, I believe that somehow letting them in became essential to keep on living. These friends knew they were on the metaphorical list. So after, they wouldn’t let us walk alone; and they didn’t let us walk alone.

I tell this story today with the sky white with clouds and the ground wet with rain. It’s cold and quiet. It’s a day for remembering. I tell this story because I think I needed to and because I sincerely believe we are not meant to hide in our deepest pain.

Even in the darkest, most confusing moments, when truly no one can truly grasp what is happening inside us, we can invite someone in. Not only to see the vulnerable and hurt parts, but to allow them a chance to comfort us, to be Jesus to us—”to be near to the brokenhearted and the crushed in spirit.” They will not do it perfectly, but if they are true and loving, they will accept the call to walk with us in the years of grieving and healing to come.

Fear & Hope: United by Both

Photo by Kristopher Roller on Unsplash

As many of you know, our youngest daughter recently passed away not quite two months ago. Her brief life and death marred us, messed with us, is still not a puzzle solved or mountain climbed. Considering this monstrous life event and alllll that is happening globally with coronavirus, I’ve been thinking about many of the things that happen behind the scenes of grief and as a result of awful life events. One such thing is fear.

How is fear first conceived? What makes it grow? How does fear develop into a fully formed, living thing with fists that can grip us, rip us to and fro, nearly control us?

I’m not talking about the fight/flight response we need when there is imminent danger like a fire or car coming toward us. I’m talking about the fear that lingers there long after any imminent danger is present. The anxious, constantly-present fear. The dormant yet- strong-as-ever fear.

I think these types of fears are founded on something true or partially true. Some piece of scientific or historical (even personally historical) information. A few facts or events that we can point to. Then, to become a fear and not just a factoid or two, our emotion comes into play. Our own sadness, anger, regret, confusion, shame. The fear grows.

But as I thought about this, I realized that beneath it, or maybe if we follow it to its end, most fears are not really that different. We may fear the rising sea levels, the pollution, the natural disasters, but the base layer of this fear is existential: the ending of life as we know it. We may fear different people groups with very different, sometimes backwards ideals coming into our cities, but the base of this fear is once again, the ending of life as we know it. We may fear our loved ones or ourselves getting hurt, sick, even dying and, once again, following that fear to its end is also the end of life as we know it. We may fear what we are taught to fear by our parents, politicians, teachers, media-outlet-of-choice, but I challenge you to follow that fear and it will most-likely end in the place the rest of these fears do.

I don’t know if thinking this way brings you any sort of comfort, but for me it’s kind of refreshing. Maybe we are not really that different after all. We all are united by our deepest fear. Perhaps that’s a bit unpleasant for you. Fear is not something we want to own. We’d rather own logic, wisdom, morality, knowledge. We’d rather think an emotion like fear has nothing to do with us. Maybe you think you just care. You don’t fear. But if this ‘care’ leads you on to the same destination, this end to life as you know it, it may still hold a pinch or even gallon of unseen fear.

One of my greatest, most unlikely fears came true. One of those dormant-swirling fears. The kind you have automatically and must always always fight. Death. My daughter died. My physical flesh and blood, my ethereal hope and love was in this person, and she died.

The worst happened. Fear became reality.

But I don’t want to live in fear that the worst will happen again and again just because it did. Because we can probably all agree, that fearing all the time is a horrible way to live.

My fear came true. There is an end to life as I knew it. But there is something else there too: hope.

Hope that THIS isn’t it for us. This death, this imperfection, this virus, this iffy science we worship, this messy morality we cling to, this failing humanity and flailing earth. There IS something greater, more perfect, more lovely, more kind, more lasting than THIS. Or why and how can we know it deeply–feel it in the unseen places of our soul? We are built for it, and I have hope it’s still coming.

Hope. Hope can unite us too.

Lord I pray that during this tumultuous time, we are united by the hope. That fearing sickness and death is not our calling and brings no change to our lives. Take our fears that we grip on to and those that grip onto us. Replace them with hope.

Romans 8:24
For in this hope we were saved; but hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he can already see?

2 Corinthians 4:18
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 5:7
For we walk by faith, not by sight.

Real Love: love is kind

image1 (1) — Big thanks to my friend, Catie, who inspired me with this gem to keep writing & thinking about real love.

I looked at my wordpress stats from this past year, and I posted a meager four times! Sure, I posted on my website, for work and for a collaborative blog from time to time, but here, just. four. times.

The reason this is so not okay (with me) is because this site has been the home to my mental wanderings and spiritual searchings since college. This is the place where I spread paint on the paper, explore ideas, and share bits of my craft.

I began the real love series with an intent to finish it week by week… annnddd only got through week one. But 2016 is my year! I am committing to post (at least!) the 11 times it takes to cover this series with the hopes that I leave 2016 a better person and a more consistent writer.

How it began

It all started with a journey through Corinthians with some of the best people around and one of the most beloved, over-quoted and under-practiced passages of the bible–a passage even that even the ‘secular’ world can’t help but quote.

⁴^(A)Love is patient and ^(B)kind; love ^(C)does not envy or boast; it ^(D)is not arrogant ⁵or rude. It^(E)does not insist on its own way; it ^(F)is not irritable or resentful;^[a] ⁶it ^(G)does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but ^(H)rejoices with the truth. ⁷^(I)Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, ^(J)endures all things.- Corinthians 13:4-7.

I want to dig into this, get it under my fingernails and stop taking it for granted. Because, quite simply, love is worth it.

I hope this journey is one you’ll join because my perspective is just a pinprick of light on a topic that deserves illumination. Check out the first post, fishermen lovers (love is patient) if you like, and join in to share your stories, comments, and wisdom on real love.

Continue reading “Real Love: love is kind” →

Soul Love and Honey I Shrunk The Kids

Ants

A few weeks back when the evenings were still warm and hazy with leftover sun, E and I were walking and I stopped to bend close to earth, watch an ant shudder with the weight of a burden ten times it’s size.

There was no hill in sight. And I wondered aloud how far into the stubby grass it’s home was hidden.

Isn’t it amazing that most of their homes we can’t see, E said.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Today I flatten three monstrous ant mounds in attempt to uncover–I soon realize– an unessential piece of plastic. I feel bad. First I haphazardly destroyed their homes. Then I only retrieved some ineffective ant-poisoning kit. (I feel less bad for the world of insects when I think the giant horsefly that psychotically circled my head during my entire run earlier that day.) Then I am additionally comforted by E’s words about ant homes.

There’s labyrinth beneath the earth.

People

It’s been said that you can never really know someone. And though I wish it weren’t true, I think it mostly is. There is so much to us–our minds, souls, spirits, desires, emotions, fears, dreams, experiences. There are miles of underground yearnings to uncover.

But this is the hard part. Because to uncover is hard work. Because to uncover haphazardly is to hurt, to be careless in our digging is to be destructive to the ones we want to love most.

And at the same time, to leave it all buried is to ignore the intricacy and beauty with which our loved one is built, to deny our call to find it out and love them better.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

There are places in a soul that cannot be discovered or much less explored, and yet there are beautiful and sacred paths we must travel to fully love a person well. But we cannot simply swipe away at what we easily see to get beneath the surface. We must enter as the experts do, by becoming as small to our “self” so we can travel beneath the surface as the ants.

Now it’s getting weird, you’re thinking. she’s talking about shrinking to ant-size to do soul-cavern travel. I’ve got to admit, it is weird, and it makes me laugh. It also hearkens happy memories of Honey I shrunk the kids and the ant who made us all cry.

a still from the epic 1989 movie Honey I shrunk the Kids

But it’s crazy how true it is! (the shrinking, not the teary ant-goodbye.)
We need to shrink, to become less. Not less of who we truly are. Not to pervert a healthy relationship into an unhealthy worship/affinity of someone else. But to be truly and rightly less, I think, is is to let go of the things that cause us to be enraptured by ourselves, that cause me to have me as the biggest thing occupying my mind.

And to be less.
self-seeking, self-worthy, self-dependent
is to become more.

More able to travel in the shoes of our soul-mate. More able to understand and relish the unique beauty of our loved one’s soul labyrinth. Able to identify where their weaknesses and fears stem from. Able to spur them on in their dreams and desires. And finally, able to love more completely. More wildly.

To love like one divine man who became less to love the world.
~ MR

>>>>>>>>>>>
i love you E

Truth, Tears, Anger, and Grace

It’s been a blah day. Did I say day?–month. January is notorious as “divorce” month, and it is undoubtably the coldest month for northerners to endure. So yes… blah. Picture the adults from Charlie Brown kind of blah. Everything a blur of garbled words, of unconscious motion. And the sense that the -11 temp had somehow seeped into my heart. Trying to turn up it’s heat only fogged up my mind.

I needed truth and grace when all I seemed to have was tears and anger.
This lovely exposition popped up in my google search; since then, I’ve been reeling.
It’s a talk given by a speaker whom I love, only days after 9/11.

First the prayers. Individuals from different backgrounds and cultures praying for a hurting nation after the greatest tragedy since Pearl Harbor. A city and nation which prided itself with accomplishment and power was left unhinged. And the grieving began.

And.. so did the lame-sauce “answers” for the tragedy:
1. We are being judged–for (Democrats) our lack of care for global justice (Republicans) our lack of moral values.
2. THEY are the evil ones (even subhuman.) WE are the good.

In the midst of this, the best leaders spoke not of answers. They spoke of hope– a hope to see new life come blazing from the ashes.

And then this story

Jesus hears a good friend of His is dying. So he hits the road and on the way into Bethany, meets up with both of the sisters of his now dead friend, Lazaras. Though Jesus is intending to (and later does) raise Lazarus from the dead, he also responds very acutely to what he’s hearing from Lazarus’ sisters.

the first sister

Martha said to Him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give you.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to Him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.”

There’s the truth that no one was expecting. Jesus claims not only to hold the power to raise the dead, but claims to embody that power–to be new life for anyone who believes. But he doesn’t stop with speaking the truth…

the second sister

“Then when Mary came where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying to Him, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” Therefore, when Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her weeping, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled. And He said, Where have you laid him?” They said to Him, “Lord come and see. Jesus wept.

Truth, Tears, Anger, & Grace Why is it that out of those four all I really hear about from Christians are the two bookends–truth & grace.
Though it’s translated “He groaned in the spirit and was troubled” the actual Greek words used refer much more to the emotion of anger. He was angry. Angry at death and the havoc it had already caused. And though he knew he would conquer it, death was still worth being mad at.
And then He was sorrowful, and in his tears he didn’t just weep out of sorrow for His own loss. I believe His own grief was for not just the temporary loss his friend’s life, but the lives of countless others before and after. The sting of death was felt by God even before the cross, and He wept.

grace, a gift undeserved

While still grieving, Jesus told the people to roll away the stone over the tomb where they’d placed Lazarus. Four days his corpse had been rotting, so with some convincing, they consented.

Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead man was lying. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said. “Father I thank you that You have heard Me. And I know that you always hear Me, but because of the people who are standing by I said this. that they may believe that you sent Me.” Now when He had said these things, He cried with a loud voice. “Lazarus come forth!” And he who had died came out bound hand and foot with grave clothes. Then many of the Jews who had come to Mary and had seen the things Jesus did, believed in Him. But some of them went away to the religious leaders and told them the things Jesus did… Then from that day on they plotted to put him to death.

Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead knowing this would eventually lead to his own death– all as a prequel of what he did for the rest of humanity on the cross. He knew pain, injustice, tragedy more deeply than any human to walk this planet. And he did not stop there; to prove that suffering is never a waste, He made a way to God through His own. He died so that real death would never have to touch anyone again.

Whether or not you can believe this story to be historical truth, the process with which Jesus grieved–truth, tears, anger & grace will always be the only complete way to find hope amidst evil, tragedy, and death. This kind of hope doesn’t seek cheap answers. This hope weeps, curses loss, and yet rubs the joy of new life in the face of death.

**this is my own mini-recap of a talk given by Tim Keller entitled “Truth, Tears, Anger, and Grace” props to him.

the bible passage can be found in the book of John, chapter 11.

trying to write

Sometimes I just need to listen.

To the Spirit, first,
who is always whispering
Come, Rest
and today is saying
I am always the river, running through
your dry riverbed

To the lake, hushing itself in the breeze.
And the four year old, who takes my hand before she sleeps, holds it to her cheek

To people…

“sometimes God seems so far away i feel i have to yell myself hoarse to get him to hear me. and other times, he seems as close as a bird on my shoulder, singing beautiful songs to me, and softly touching my face with his feathers.”
-emily wierenga- inked…

our very bodies bear the mark of our interdependence.

permanently pressed into our skin is the sign that we belong to one another,
by

–tara pohlkotte- intertwined: on why we have bellybuttons

Candlelight

“Your word is a lamp onto my feet and a light unto my path.”
“Sometimes all we’re given is a crappy Bic lighter…”

The blood in my cheeks rises to kiss the water in my eyes.
We are all sitting in this tight wood-paneled room. We’ve come for six weeks to explore our personality, gifts, and strengths.
Finally, it’s the end.
And I still don’t know where I’m going. Still. Even knowing who I am.

“I was hoping to fix myself. Or at least know myself…so I could fix the situation.
And be happy.”
I say it and realize it all at once.
The frustration feels like a rope coiled in my chest.

Haven’t I been here before?

Our facilitator looks at me, knowingly. Nodding. She tells us a story of her father’s 1,000 candle floodlight. How it was so bright she could send signals in the sky to her neighbors. That’s what we want, she says.
I know that’s what I want. Something simple, strong, and luminous.

And then she says, “But sometimes all God gives us is that crappy Bic lighter. You know?–the one that doesn’t always start right.” Yes, I know. The one that sends a single candle of flame to burst open the dark. And it’s just long enough—barely long enough—to see your fingers, the tips of your tennis shoes, the shadowed face of Someone next to you.

Prayer: In sparks God, You say to follow in darkness is the only true trust. Help me.

Meditation:

Thanks, Naty of HopeCC, my home away from home.

Thick Layers

You can’t wonder why love’s wearing thin when you’re wearing a thick layer of self.- a holy experience

There are few articles of clothing I have dearly loved in my life. I guess there’s my favorite jeans that I finally retired to the goodwill bag (2 years too late, I’m afraid.) Then there’s the softest, most cuddly shirt on earth (a giant hammy down Cubs t-shirt from 1980-something), and finally the silky purple basketball warm-up my auntie gave me (and I recently returned so she could give it to her daughter).

So although Cubs is still with me, most of my favies have left me to my stiff and starchy wardrobe. Boo.

And then! Present from Jesus! I discovered the softest, gigantuan, most enveloping coat of all time!!!

It’s my brothers old Air Force-issued parka and it lives in my parents closet. How did I discover this little gem, you ask? Well,… my coat smelled like a Catholic fish-fry (literally) and I desperately needed to air out, so I went a-digging. Alas! Behold! The glory of swimming in puff and silk. Parka-coat, I love you.

In this coat, I am impenetrable. Truly. Try to touch me (I won’t feel it), grab me (fist full of coaty), or even see me (the hood kind of eats up my entire face), and no cigar!! I am elusive. I am sheltered. I am confident I could do very bad things and get away with it.

Soooooo. Thick layers. Yep, good stuff. Except. When it’s thick layers of self. YUCK. (I’m picturing my skin just layering and layering until my whole body looks like one giant, calloused, big toe. Ewww. I do it though. Put my self on. I hide. I protect. I introspect-to-death. I think “ME ME ME ME ME. you. MEEEEEE!” And feel good about the little “you” I threw in there.
BLECH.

Let’s be real. Selfish people sicken us. But we are never the selfish ones. “Gahh, not me! I tithe. I bake things for people. I sometimes share my favorite bag of all-natural wheat crackers. Sometimes.” The truth is it’s freaking natural for us to think about ourselves, because we think within our own minds. It’s downright unnatural to think of others first, to be self-sacrificing. Pooh. Sometimes I just want to quit this Jesus thing because nothing is easy.

But I’m glad we have a pretty rad and divine Helper. Okay, Holy Spirit, I need your help. So thanks for this verse and the reminder that you love in a self-less, vulnerable way. We can too.

“[Wake Up from Your Sleep]Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper behavior from their parents. Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn’t love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that.” Ephesians 5:1 MSG

peace!

Rest

This story could be about suffering or pain. To me it’s about rest. I pray we all learn to truly–body, heart and soul– rest.

I will make them lie down…

My father sits with his head down next to the hospital bed. His hand rests lightly on my forearm. It is just us, so when he speaks of his mother—her restfulness in life—he allows his eyes to run over.

I can feel where the synthetic tubes enter and leave me, can feel the cold fluids pass into me, the constant thrum of pain behind my skin, in tandem with my heart.
I can also feel his thumb. Moving slowly, moving in circles on my arm.
He will comfort me. This man without a mother.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “for the pain.”
I cannot speak, so together, we weep.

Come lie down in meadows green. Come lie
as only lovers
and those dying do.

She dies when I lie, fever beating behind my eyes, face and neck and eyelids swollen to shine red. She feels the expand—this earth’s air—filling her lungs for the last time.
I am glad for her going.

I will lie here and let all my bones–all my strength and sorrow– melt into you.

I have a choice, now. I can fight to speak, fight to swallow without shuddering. I can let thoughts of golden streets distract me–so I am never really here, never really hurting.
Or I can slip out of my tattered facade, leave it in a heap on the floor and own
my heavy robe of weakness.
I decide.
Feel my body and mind unravel into His chest. Feel the fraility of my simple, changing frame. He is always true,
today, in weakness, I am too.
I find my rest.

Things on rest (that I love): Hibernation, thoughts on rest from a friend, AND
this great poem by Mary Karr

Living Free From Addictions: Step 3: Entering the Process

I’m not much of an “answers” person. So I don’t have the final answer, and won’t even try to, when it comes to living completely free.

But I do know in absolute surety, it’s a process.

If I’ve acknowledged the addiction, named it, (step 1) and then admitted what I really want and desire and chase after–happiness (step 2). Then I still have to go through the process of free living. Your process will probably be different than mine.

Here’s a few steps we can all take…
1. Tell somebody, even if it seems stupid. e.g. “I’m addicted to my phone. Don’t want to be. Can you keep me accountable?”
2.Watch for the whole ditch and switch. Sometimes we ditch one addiction and switch it out for another. Be mindful.
3. Dwell on truth: Real happiness (what we really) is found where our roots are.

I don’t need to be doing something “meaningful.” I need to be rooted where all streams, fountains, and waters coalesce. Jesus. He’s my living water. He’s yours. Even if you don’t know Him yet.

I’m in a drought. But, as my buddy Keller said, There’s something about a drought… that makes you reach your roots down even deeper.

And I know where my roots are reaching, there is no end to His depth.

Love and peace.

Meg Writes Life

stories & essays on life and living with loss

Tag: Jesus