Unavoidable

written for our friends

Grief.

I try to get around this uninvited, unplanned for, unwanted guest. Press the fast forward button, hurtle over the discomfort quickly, pain pain go away. But I can’t. It’s unavoidable, around every corner, the low A of my piano, the scent that lingers around the door to his room.

Up ahead, a flashing road sign. DETOUR, DETOUR, DETOUR. I want to get off this road, find another way on the map. I’ve looked. There’s no alternate route, no way around, no escaping the deepest pain I’ve ever felt.  

Before this, I was good at steering clear of discomfort, tiptoeing away from situations that would bring me down. Skirt the issue, stay out of the way. Protected.

 ———————But—————————

This. Is. Unavoidable. Never experienced this kind of suffering–there’s no way back to how it used to be. I feel it in my gut when I wake up, try to convince myself this is all a bad dream. Oh, God, it’s not. It’s real. He’s gone. I don’t think I’ll heal this time.

Satan thought my child was untouchable. Tormenting words, hurling lies, all day, every night. That disgusting evil darkness of a voice isn’t easily drowned out–deception that sounds like truth midst confusion. A forgery.

But.

But.

And I mean BUT. God showed up like a lion just in time. King of Kings roared into the darkness. No longer the prey, but the lamb who’d gone astray. The 1 He left the 99 for. Snatched him from the jaws of death, from the hands of the tormentor who would not have final rites. Now I know what it means, this kind of love, reckless and willing to do whatever it takes, messy or not. Evil did not win. God assured me that evil did not win and my son is with Him, waiting for us. Whole. Finally whole.

Still, it hurts when you’re the one left behind. Left to make sense of a story that won’t ever make sense. Left to sobs and pain and grief that shows no sign of leaving. I wish pain would take the detour this time.

But.

But.

But something good happened in that same moment. 

Our unavoidable grief met His Unavoidable Love. And Unavoidable Mercy. And now, Unavoidable Grace rests on our weary hearts like a fleece blanket on a cold night; unobtrusive, holding each of our tears. He’s willing to tear down walls to get to us during our pain. Because He’s a lion, He’s mighty, He does what no one else can.

We will get through this. Eventually. I don’t know when, but one day. Not alone, but with the help of God, with the prayer of others. One day at a time, inching our way to unrecognized strengths and greater wisdom for the rest of our journey. 

For now, we grieve. And for now, He grieves with us.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, there are 132 suicides a day. In 2018 alone, there were 1.4 million suicide attempts with 48,344 American deaths by suicide. Globally 800,000 people die every year by suicide. 

We must be aware, willing. We must love harder, listen more intently. If you need help, seek help. You are never alone. 

What can you do now? Pray. For our friends affected by this tragedy and the many others who are left to heal after a suicide. The Lord is near to the broken hearted. 

Do you or someone you know need help?

https://afsp.org/suicide-prevention-resources

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml

https://lonesurvivorfoundation.org

https://www.biblegateway.com

Romans 8: 27 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.
Matthew 18:12 What do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly, I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-ninethat never went astray.

Off We Go, Into the Wild Blue…

I love riding my bike on a sunny day. I go about a hundred yards from our garage to the county road, fat bike tires spitting gravel,  my legs warming up to the exercise ahead. At the end of our driveway, it’s another football field to the main road where four wheelers and tractors outnumber the F150s on most days.

There’s a yield sign at the end and as I approach it I squeeze my right hand-brake without coming to a complete stop. I’m familiar with this way. My route is the same as the many times before and I know how far it is point to point. Two miles. Four miles. Six miles. Take your pick, choose your course, go.

Once on the half-gravel half-paved road, I coast. This is the fun part of my ride. I take my hands off the brake and enjoy the entire first half of my so-called exercise ride because it’s all downhill. But what a beautiful ride it is. It’s a two lane country road surrounded by pastures of hay where long steel pipes and massive wheels of side roll sprinklers inch along, water shooting out 24/7 during the summer. It’s all about farming here, and preparing for the onslaught of winter and keeping the cattle fed. Thus the miles and miles of hay fields that light up with yellow and purple all summer long.

Leaving where we’ve been planted for the last four years in beautiful Wyoming feels like we’re on our bikes again–pedaling pedaling pedaling–watching the scenery in our peripheral as we go. We came here for many reasons, arriving a bit empty but leaving so very full. Like the many side roads along the main highway of life, this has been the season of all seasons in our lives. I realize more than ever how this quiet, small town has been the best place to navigate our little family during the transition of teenage to adult years. Away from the draw of congested highways and populous school districts to the land of few stop lights and little travelled roads. I have no question it’s where we were meant to be, just like I have no question that it’s time to move on. It’s difficult explaining the uproot to people who’ve never left their comfort zone, their job, their childhood home. Often friends tell me how they’d love to explore a new expanse where they’ve never stepped foot, and often I relay how I envy their roots planted deep in rich soil.

I don’t know why, but we recently felt a release from Jackson, a letting go, a gentle prodding to a different pasture. After praying and questioning, talking and praying some more, Regi and I knew it was time. And one thing that doesn’t scare us is looking ahead and embarking on a new adventure. To where? We don’t know. Oddly enough that’s the part of the journey we rest in because it’s what grows our reliance on God. What would our faith life be if we only released our grip when we were confident of what awaited us on the other end of a decision? I wish it were as easy as saying we heard God’s voice in the middle of the night and here’s the exact plan for what’s ahead. Nope, that’s not the way it happened. So, we’re back on our bikes at the part of the journey where we let off the brake and coast along until we reach our next destination. This part of the ride is where not much is required of us except trust. We don’t have to do the pedaling right now because we’re being pushed along by an unseen hand to a place He has yet to reveal. But, we rest knowing He knows, and that’s all that matters.

 

And now a word for you who brashly announce, “Today—at the latest, tomorrow—we’re off to such and such a city for the year. We’re going to start a business and make a lot of money.” You don’t know the first thing about tomorrow. You’re nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing. Instead, make it a habit to say, “If God wills it and we’re still alive, we’ll do this or that.” James 4:13, 14

 

The Good News

My phone swooshed around 5 am today–I tried to pull myself out of bed because I felt good and rested. I chose not to check the text and forced myself back to sleep. Then, in the middle of a weird dream, my phone made the swoosh sound again telling me to check my phone. Regi was downstairs, I’d developed a headache from oversleep, and I remained as still as possible so that the dogs would stay asleep while hoping Regi would magically appear with a hot coffee. I looked outside and saw it snowed a couple inches and that made me wish I was still dreaming and on a sunny island where it would never ever snow again.

I fumbled to the side table to see who texted. It was my aunt. Before bed the night before, she and I got into a conversation about something she’d discussed at her Bible study. I told her I wanted to discuss it more the next day and asked her to send me the scripture verse. That text that came through at 5 am; the first one I ignored. However, it was her next text, the one that woke me at 6:49 that alarmed me:

Have you heard the NEWS THIS MORNING?

I sat up immediately. What was she talking about? With the corona virus infiltrating my every thought, the difficulty separating fact from fiction, my heart sunk a bit. This was it, the big one, so I braced myself. A friend of mine told me that whenever the phone rings in the middle of the night, she’s already figuring out what she’ll wear to the funeral before even seeing who’s on the other end. That was me this morning.

Lying in bed, still groggy, head hurting, tooth still sensitive from last week’s root canal re-do, and no coffee, I went to the half glass empty scenario. I was afraid to ask too much. Did I even want to know bad news this morning? Instead of texting, I’d rather hear the bad news than read it. I took a deep breath.

“Did you hear the news this morning,” she asked.

“Is everything ok? What is it?” I didn’t want to say what I was really thinking. Who died? Who’s sick? What are you gonna wear to the funeral?

She laughed a little. Then with a voice that was full of hope and excitement, she said:

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to look at the grave. 2 And behold, a severe earthquake had occurred, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled away the stone and sat upon it. 3 And his appearance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow. 4 The guards shook for fear of him and became like dead men. 5 The angel said to the women, “[a]Do not be afraid; for I know that you are looking for Jesus who has been crucified. 6 He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying. 7 Go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead; and behold, He is going ahead of you into Galilee, there you will see Him; behold, I have told you.”

8 And they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to report it to His disciples. 9 And behold, Jesus met them [b]and greeted them. And they came up and took hold of His feet and worshiped Him. 10 Then Jesus *said to them, “[c]Do not be afraid; go and take word to My brethren to leave for Galilee, and there they will see Me.”

Suddenly, I calmed down. We laughed and she said, “You went for it!”

“I don’t know why but I assumed you were gonna say something I didn’t want to hear. Thank you, Jesus. Finally some good news!”

I’m so thankful that today believers all over are celebrating Jesus’ life. Pastor’s are bringing messages to empty buildings, their message echoing over empty pews, yet The Story they tell will penetrate more hearts than ever before. This news is not a hoax. It’s from the Bible, the only true media you’re gonna find. And it holds the only good news you’re gonna ever hear. He is the remedy that the medical community cannot give. He is truth that goes beyond what politicians will attempt to speak. He surpasses what our President can convey. He isn’t a conspiracy theory either. He is life everlasting and I’m grateful His death has brought me life!

Happy Resurrection Day.

 

 

Risking All To Walk On Water

We put our house on the market Thursday. By Sunday, we had two offers. Monday brought one more. I’m reminded of my pastor’s sermon two weeks ago on Risk Faith and Courage—was he talking about For Sale signs as well? MY plan was: find out about a change in schools by Friday, put the house on the market the following Monday, and then by the end of next week, have the house sold! However, in spite of the first answer taking longer than planned, we decided to go ahead and stake the sign in the front. I liken it to sticking my toe into a creek to see the temperature, not ready to jump in yet.

For the first time in years we aren’t sure of where we’ll land after our house sells. We’ve talked about, wanted to, and had a purpose for moving (all while staying in Nashville) for over a year. You know the “stuff” we worry about? None of it has lined up and that has been my signal to keep waiting for a break from the perfect storm before doing anything. Then I heard those words from the platform. Until then I assumed risk, faith and courage was for couples wanting to move to far off lands and open orphanages. Not reasonably normal people looking to make a few changes in life.

So many emotions bubble over with the sale of a home.

I think I’m okay with moving in thirty days if the buyer wants. I think I’m okay with leaving the Japanese Maple and River Burch, two beautiful trees I’ve managed not to kill these last ten years. I think I’m okay leaving the light fixtures we went over budget on. I’d like to say I’m okay leaving here and going…Oh wait, we have no idea where we’re going.

I’m not one to cling to my stuff (there’s that word again), but lately it has been difficult to loosen my grip. To let go of the excess frying pans I’ve collected over the years, the chandeliers on dimmer switches, the pergola built with the sweat of Uncle George and my cousin, Josh.

And therein lies the problem with many of us. It’s this inability to let go that gets us stuck trying to take the car from second to third gear…as though everything we have at this current place in life is the best we’ll ever have. I say things like, “Here we go again. I’ve worked hard for this. You want me give it all up now?”

What careless faith. Don’t I trust Him to give me just what I need at just the right moment? Do you? Then why do we say things like: “I’ll do it…If You give me a better house; If I get that promotion; If I find that perfect spouse; If you fix my marriage. If not, all bets are off.”

Read this with me from Matthew 14:

Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them and they were battered by the waves. At about four o’clock in the morning, Jesus came toward them walking on the water. They were scared out of their wits. “A ghost!” they said, crying out in terror.  27But Jesus was quick to comfort them. “Courage, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.” 28Peter, suddenly bold, said, “Master, if it’s really you, call me to come to you on the water.” 29-30He said, “Come ahead.” Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost his nerve and started to sink. He cried, “Master, save me!” 31Jesus didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his hand. Then he said, “Faint-heart, what got into you?” 32-33The two of them climbed into the boat, and the wind died down. The disciples in the boat, having watched the whole thing, worshiped Jesus, saying, “This is it! You are God’s Son for sure!”

The part that strikes me is, “The two of them climbed into the boat, and [then] the wind died down.” Jesus, who had just walked on water and had already calmed one squall for His disciples, could have said, “Hang on a second, Pete. Let me take care of the storm before you start your journey.” But he didn’t. He called to Peter through the storm, as though Peter needed to learn that Easy Street is not the only open road.

Then he walked straight towards Jesus on the water. Maybe Pete, realizing the storm wasn’t letting up, got scared and decided he was more comfortable in the safety of the familiar boat. Do you know the kind of familiarity I’m talking about? That mediocre place where we get stuck doing it the way we’ve always done because we can’t fathom that there is anything better for us? It hardly seems possibly that God would call us out of our comfort zone, and still be ALL the provision we need.

“Courage!” He calls me by that name through the heavy downpour, so can he teach my faint heart how to maneuver through the wind. He gives courage when it’s time to move, time to change, time to let go. Just like he did for Peter, Jesus wants to show us that He is our sufficiency; but we have to be willing to take a risk—in courage and in faith.

Sometimes He says, “Go,” without giving you an address to log into Google maps. I know it’s risky, like you’re a blind man with no cane to tap the pavement, trusting completely in a still small whisper. But if God is in charge of everything, then He is also in charge of that storm. Some times He will take it out of your path, and some times He will tell you to slip on a life jacket and send you straight into the choppy waters.

I say it’s time to test the waters.