Hidden Sorrow

You would think this time of year would be lifting this winter fog off my mind. Everything is greening, everything is warming, life is emerging everywhere. My bulbs and wild flowers are faithful to send up jade leaves, slowly unfurling.

There will be flowers.

My flowers come in seasons. First the Daffodils, then Primrose (we call them “ I love you” flowers- a cherished memory of courtship), quickly the Irises will don purple bonnets, and lastly the Daylillies and Canalillies will explode the yard with orange and yellow.

And yet with all this promise of visual food for my soul, there is a fog that lies heavy on my heart. It is strange that my grief consumes me even when I am not conscious of it. I wake up in the morning wondering: what is wrong with me? Am I just overwhelmed by the clutter that marks my calendar… the constant “hither and yon” of children and church and just ordinary responsibilities? Is it that undone task that is nagging at the back of my brain? Why can’t I button up just one simple thing in my life? Why can’t I complete something? I want to line all my accomplishments in a row and prove to the world or just prove to myself that I have finished SOMETHING.

As usual, I want to be more than the Special Chicken that I am.

I look again at the calendar. I know why I am foggy. The answer probably lies on April 8^th.

I don’t know exactly what time she died. I know it was after midnight on a Tuesday. It’s funny how: not knowing the exact date has troubled me. I know it doesn’t really matter but it has pestered me a little. I wonder if she lay there unconscious for hours as her breathing slowed and death drew near. I wonder how long the window of salvation stood open as she lay there un-rescued.

Salvation… that word nags at me too. I had saved my mother from death many a time. But I am not the one who saves souls, am I? I could save her from tasting the grave for a time but I could not save her from standing at the judgment seat. We all stand before the Lord someday.

They call us survivors. When they write out the obituary, they list the immediate (and sometimes the extended) family. The person is survived by… For years I felt like I was just trying to survive. I am finally in a place where I feel like I can actually live. It doesn’t keep me from wishing that she could have found a good reason to live. I still battle guilt that floods in for a moment and I pray to my God to swallow up my grief. He has swallowed up a mighty river before.

I met a woman once that called herself a survivor of suicide and she noted the difference between this kind of death and natural or even accidental death. I think that the difference is the human factor. It was not God’s decision to take. The person made the decision. Then there is the “if it was in human hands, then why couldn’t I have prevented it” factor.

After that, I met two more women who had lost their own mothers to suicide in the same year I lost mine. I wanted to reach out and comfort them. I wanted to clearly state the answers the Lord had shown me, and yet my grief still plagues me. It is not a paralyzing grief that shuts me down and incapacitates me (most days) but a hum in the back of my mind that seeks to distract me or make me seek distraction. I want to flip on the TV or really loud music that will drown out doubt and fear and uncertainty.

In the quiet, the tears slip out. I see my departed loved one in the soft notes on the piano… my sweet boy reflects his grandmother in musical genius. I knew this before she died. He carries on her song.

Within the silence I feel my grief loud and yet in facing it, I find a peace that surpasses understanding. Within the deafening sorrow, a light shines. I know this is not a worldly venture. It is a holy quest. I am not one who is ignorant of Holy Pilgrimage and so I press on.

Maybe I am trail blazing and other survivors of suicide will be encouraged to blaze their own trails through the valley of grief. Maybe this is just another Refining Fire. Either way, I am awed at the hand of The Creator on my life.

As the second anniversary of my mother’s death draws near, I feel another link in my chains of flesh broken, another layer is cut off my uncircumcised heart…

Not Simply Surviving, Thriving

I don't really have it all figured out... there's no step by step to healing... I did spend many months and even years spinning my wheels, going around in circles. My journey has been full of steep slopes, slips and falls, bumps and bruises, wallowing in the mud, cursing the enemy, cursing my Maker, repenting, rejoicing, hiding from God and from believers, being alone, being in a crowd of people and still being alone, feeling that hand of God as the only one who could hold me, feeling the hand of God through the Body, finding "The God Who Sees Me" and like the Woman at the Well, rejoicing that he knows "everything I ever did."

This one thing I know. I did not suffer in vain. All my trials had a purpose. God did not call me to the desert to punish me. He brought me out here to the wilderness to sing. And this is what I sing: There is a God who sees me and you (just as we are) and he LOVES us. I stand here today after being torn up, pushed down, and thrown away to tell you: There is hope. You may not see it. You may not know it yet but I stand in the blood of the Lamb and by the power of my testimony to tell you that Hope is real! Healing IS possible.

I still have bad days. Yes! I still struggle with sin and temptation but it does NOT rule me anymore. My fears do not drive my life as they used to. There is a band of believers who can testify to the goodness of God and you can no longer plug your ears and refuse to listen! Stop listening to the lies of the enemy and stand up and fight! Fight for your freedom by getting on your knees! Seek God in your desert. Find a true believer and tell them your struggle. It doesn’t have to be me.

When I did find things that helped I was advised to take note and remember when something worked. The more I took notes, the more I saw the hand of God on my life. Therefore, I will sing all the more! I have a journal, just as many of you do, it is the story of the goodness of God. One of the greatest discoveries was of my gifting. The gifting that (when not being used by the Lord) was being used to beat me up. Imagine that! I asked God why… why… for so long. I know this to be true: we are all going to be used. The question is: by whom? Then I asked God: What is my gift for? He told me through his word:

Each of you has been blessed with one of God's many wonderful gifts to be used in the service of others. So use your gift well. (1Pe 4:10 CEV)

A body isn't really a body, unless there is more than one part. It takes many parts to make a single body. That's why the eyes cannot say they don't need the hands. That's also why the head cannot say it doesn't need the feet. In fact, we cannot get along without the parts of the body that seem to be the weakest. (1Co 12:19-22 CEV)

But God chose the foolish things of this world to put the wise to shame. He chose the weak things of this world to put the powerful to shame. What the world thinks is worthless, useless, and nothing at all is what God has used to destroy what the world considers important. (1Co 1:27-28 CEV)

Why did God make me “weak” (in the world’s eyes)? Why is it that world sees me as: worthless, useless… nothing? Because God’s world does not operate by the same standards! If I were a strong person and could do things all on my own, GOD would not get the glory! But I stand here to day telling you: I was cracked and broken, torn apart and I SURVIVED! And not just survived to tell the tale… I THRIVE! God has given me contentment and goodness and REST. God has cradled me in his loving arms and given me hands to hold. It was God! Nothing else. I did not accomplish this on my own! It was GOD!