Dying to self

I don't know if these thoughts make any sense together, but they've been on my heart for several days now.  The last couple of Sundays have been doozies!  I'm praying for a gentler day tomorrow...

The sudden deaths of both Kristen and my mom were events for which I was not prepared.  They were not wanted or welcomed, but rather thrust upon me in heartbreaking succession.  I am not silly enough to think that I am, or ever was, in control—I know Who is, and it’s not me.  My recent frustrations are not the result of trying to exert control over anything in my turned-upside-down life.  Rather, I think that they are directly related to a heightened sensitivity to order.  I am (mostly) an organized person, but I’m not a fanatic about it.  I don’t have to have my finger on every tiny detail, but I do like to know what’s going on.  I like to be "in the loop."

My involvement with many things outside of home and (home) school has been scaled back a lot over the last couple of years.  Initially, it was due to a difficult pregnancy, then because I had a new baby, then there was the anticipation of Kristen’s surgery, then her subsequent death.  It's been a blur of emotional events.  I am grateful for others who were (and still are) so very willing and capable to take up my slack.  As I’ve tried to work my way back into the swing of things, I have felt much like an outsider – a puzzle piece that no longer fits.  I suppose that’s to be expected.  I am not the person I was two years ago.

Perhaps because I've felt like I had so little order (or at least, not the order of my choosing) in my life over these past 17 months, I seem to be seeking it all the more.

Last Sunday morning, my pastor referenced the following text from John MacArthur's writing:

“When you are forgotten or neglected or purposely set at naught, and you sting and hurt with the insult of the oversight, but your heart is happy, being counted worthy to suffer for Christ—that is dying to self.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart, or even defend yourself, but take it all in patient loving silence—that is dying to self.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, or any annoyance, when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility, and endure it as Jesus endured it—that is dying to self.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any climate, any society, any attitude, any interruption by the will of God—that is dying to self.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or to record your own good works, or itch after commendation, when you can truly love to be unknown—that is dying to self.

When you see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God, while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstances—that is dying to self.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself, can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly, finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart—that is dying to self.” —Anonymous

Based on just the first part of that, I have a very long way to go in dying to self.  Even last week, I was stung and hurt with the insult of an oversight and my heart was NOT happy.  Following times when I have taken things in patient (though not necessarily loving) silence, I HAVE let anger rise in my heart.  That anger was a temporary guest, but one that seems to return now and again.

This molding of me that God is doing is very uncomfortable, even painful at times.  It would certainly seem that losing my daughter is loss enough; also losing the "me" I knew seems to add insult to injury.  I know it must be necessary, but oh, is it hard.

I know it won't always feel this way.  This heaviness in my heart won't always be such a shroud over me.  I am trying to see the joy and embrace the beauty in my life, I really am.  And I see glimpses.  I'm just missing my youngest daughter so very much right now.

Tightly in His grasp

I truly appreciate all the comments and personal messages that my last post prompted.  Each one has given me things to think about.  I've spent much of this week praying and pondering the conversation that caused me to wonder if I was truly relying on God as I should be.

As much as my life sometimes feels out of control, I know Who holds my hand through it all.  I am grateful for a heavenly Father who cares for me in spite of myself, who continues to love me in my most unlovable moments, who never tires of listening to me.

Much of what I heard from you sweet ladies is nothing I haven't heard before.  Goodness, I've even written about it myself!  I guess I just needed to be reminded.  There are, indeed, many layers of grief, and no one's journey through them is exactly like anyone else's.  No one, no matter how prettily they package it, can tell me how I should be doing this.  Even the most well-intentioned words can cause pain.  It's when they come from someone you trust and care about that they can become a stumbling block.

If I pull back the focus, however, and zoom in on the most important relationship, the one I have with God, those words just don't have any weight.

And just so I'm clear on the whole "people are watching" subject...my only concern is that I allow Christ to be seen through my actions.  My tears of grief fall freely.  I don't apologize for them.  Sometimes, I don't even wipe them away.  There's no facade here.  My pastor's warning was really a message to "keep it real," even as messy and ugly and uncomfortable as "real" is sometimes.

Should I ever again feel like I'm being judged or rushed through my grief, I have a simple reply:  "Thank you for your concern, but I am right where I need to be...tightly in His grasp."

Perhaps this week was all about solidifying that for me.  My husband's fancy GPS can tell me in one of several different voices where I'm located, but it can't tell me where I AM.  Thankfully, I already know.

Through another's eyes

I had an interesting conversation with someone over the weekend.  I was a little taken aback at first, even a tiny bit angry.  As I've pondered it over the last few days, however, I have to wonder if God is trying to tell me something.

I walked away from the conversation feeling like I was being judged.  Someone with a limited look into my life basically expressed that I wasn't letting God carry me through my grief, that I was (apparently, not very successfully) trying to get through it on my own.  It wasn't done in a mean or malicious manner, and frankly, I'm having a hard time truly believing that was the intention.  Nevertheless, that is how it came across.  (I come back to some of the very best advice I received not long after Kristen's death...Listen for what people MEAN, not necessarily to what they SAY.)

It's very hard to know how I'm supposed to act.  I've spent the last 17 months being bossed around by my emotions.  They have been so raw and so overwhelming, I feel like I haven't had much, if any control over them.  There are days I feel like I'm doing better.  The "crushing" days are fewer and farther in between.  They've turned into moments (sometimes very long moments) rather than days.  There's an ebb and flow to my grief, but it never fully recedes.

I have been letting God carry me.  Goodness knows I certainly can't make this journey on my own.  Maybe my reliance on my Lord isn't apparent to anyone else.  Even with Him, I am sad --beyond sad-- that I don't have Kristen with me right now.  I miss her to my very core, and I will until I draw my last breath on this earth.

God is still very much right here with me.  I talk to Him throughout each and every day and am doing my best to listen more intently.  I've wrestled with Him over forgiving some family members for some very deep hurts.  My grudges are gone, but those tender spots still sting sometimes.  I would have never gotten to that place without Him!

My pastor cautioned me months ago that people would be watching to see how I respond in the face of the tragic loss of my daughter.  I've known that, and I've done my best to be the person God intends for me to be.  I want nothing more than to allow Christ to show Himself through me.  Perhaps this glimpse through another set of eyes will help me to look deeper into my own heart.

Quilts and tears

Several months back, we received from Children's Mercy Hospital an invitation to create a quilt square for a memorial quilt that will be dedicated at their 2011 Memorial Service.  The invitation was set aside for many weeks.  It laid on my desk for a while.  Then I moved it to Kristen's room.  Occasionally, I would get it out to check again on the specifications as I contemplated what to do for Kristen's square.

I really hadn't come up with any ideas that I liked.  Then, earlier this month, one of my very dearest friends in this entire world presented me with such a precious gift...and the inspiration I needed.  She used photos of Kristen to create the most beautiful little quilt.  I know she spent hours and hours working on it, and each stitch was made with love.  The moment I saw it, the tears came.  Tears of gratitude, tears of remembrance, tears of joy.

This same friend dropped everything to bring Emily and Grace to Kansas City in May 2009 to meet their new baby sister.  She took the only photo we have of all five of us together.  She was the first person I called when we got the news that Kristen had coded during surgery.  She dropped everything again to drive 4 hours to KC just because I wanted needed her there.  With a smile and determination, she smuggled hamburgers into the PICU for Will and I because she was worried that we hadn't eaten.  She sat beside me as the doctors told us that Kristen had no brain activity.  She shared Dippin' Dots with Emily and Grace as we made our very surreal trip home without our baby girl.  She insisted on driving back to up KC to bring Kristen home because she couldn't bear the thought of strangers from the funeral home doing it.  She is very simply, amazing.  She walks out her faith in everything she does and allows herself to be the hands and feet of Jesus.  Though there's certainly nothing I could have ever done to deserve a friend like that, I am incredibly grateful to have her in my life.

It seems only fitting that this dear friend would be the one who inspired me to create this quilt square for Kristen.

 

Though very simple, this quilt square was not an easy project.  It laid on my cutting mat for days and days and days.  I knew what I wanted to do with it, but I just couldn't seem to get it done.  It wasn't because I didn't have time.  It didn't really take that long to do, and honestly, I probably spent more time moving the cutting mat from one "safe" spot to another than I did getting the square finished.  Even as I ripped out decorative stitches that just didn't look right this afternoon, I shed tears of frustration and sadness at even needing to make such a quilt square.  Still, I'm glad to be able to share my sweet baby girl in this way.

The inspiration gift quilt is pictured below.  We've always (lovingly) referred to all our girls as "monkeys" and joked that Kristen had monkey toes because they were so long.  The monkey print material was a perfect choice.  Thank you, my dear, sweet friend for a gift that does more than provide a physical warmth.  It touches the depths of my heart. ♥

 

I'm still here...

Wow, it's been a while since I've written much of anything anywhere!  In case you were wondering, though, I'm still here. :)

God's very much at work in some areas of my life that I've neglected.  When the time is right, I hope to be able to share some of that.

I feel like there's been a bit of a turning point in this grief journey of mine, though I've not been able to put it into words just yet.  There was a time that the words to describe my heart flowed so easily.  Lately, they just don't seem to be there.

Even so, I'm still here.  What's most encouraging to me is that I hear those same words whispered to me over and over from my gracious and merciful heavenly Father...

"I'm still here, my child.  I'm still here."

Hanging On and Letting Go

In writing that last post (and in searching through boxes of Christmas stuff for a bone-shaped stocking for Max), I thought about all the decorations that remain in their boxes downstairs. In over 20 years of marriage, we've accumulated a lot of Christmas things!  As I thought about what I pulled out to display and what I left in boxes in the laundry room, I discovered something...

I'm hanging on tightly to what's important and letting a lot of the "fluff" go.  I don't know that I even realized it until just now, but from Christmas decorations to relationships to how I spend my time--that's what I've been doing.  Hanging on to what's important and letting go of the fluff.

Maybe that's a speck of beauty from the ashes of the last 16 months...the realization that some things (both tangible and intangible) are important and need to be hung onto, while others are just fluff and can--and should--be let go.

Trust me, there's still more "fluff" in my life than I'd like, but suddenly, I have some clarity regarding what to do with it.

O, Christmas Tree

and the memories of Christmases past...

In 2008, I remember spending hours sitting near the Christmas tree, staring into the lovely multi-colored lights that lined its branches.  I had been so sick with my third pregnancy, I hadn't had the energy to put up the tree.  My Emily, however, was eager to show me how "big" she was by doing it herself.  (This is the same child that, as a toddler, would climb back down out of the van before I got her strapped into her seat just so she could climb in by herself!)

As I directed her on how the tree went together and shared my special "trick" for putting the lights on as you go, she was so pleased to see the final result as it stood in our living room.  We added our very favorite ornaments, each one with its own place in our family story.  From ornaments we received as wedding gifts to "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornaments for both Emily and Grace to sweet homemade ornaments made with little handprints to little bells and tiny stockings knit by my great-aunt, we had a tree covered with a story.

I spent many hours praying as I lost myself in the branches of that tree.  I prayed my baby would be okay.  I prayed for strength to make it through all the uncertainties.  I often wept as I prayed, my tears conveying what I could not find the words to express.  We hadn't planned on this baby.  The timing was undeniably God's.  He just had to make things right, didn't He?

After Christmas, I was excited to find some red plaid flannel pajamas for Emily and Grace--in sizes that would surely work the next Christmas.  Amid visions of an adorable Christmas picture of my big girls with their new baby brother or sister, I tucked those pajamas away, having no idea of the emotions that would one day be tied to red plaid flannel.

The details of Christmas 2009 aren't so clear.  I muddled my way through it, still in a such a state of sorrow, shock and disbelief.  I was engulfed in wonder at how this could now be my life...how I could go from safely delivering a beautiful baby girl in May to losing her in the last moments of lung surgery in August.

I remember not wanting to put up the tree and not wanting anyone else to put it up, either.  I didn't want to hang the stockings.  I didn't want to "do" Christmas.  Deciding that it wasn't fair to my family to ignore the holiday, I asked Will to find us an "easy" tree...one that wouldn't take up so much of the living room, one that already had lights on it, one that wasn't covered in memories.

He and Emily brought home as perfect a tree as could be found in our small town.  Its branches had white lights already attached and became home for the memorial ornaments we had received.  I had some ornaments made, too, using photos of each one of us with Kristen.  The girls and I strung popcorn to hang as garland.  I bought some new red ornaments that were a beautiful complement to the white lights.  Like my life, it was very different.

And now, faced with another December, I've had to consciously make decisions about how we will celebrate Christmas 2010.  Our Advent wreath adorns the dining table.  The girls still love to light those candles.  I love that it keeps us all focused on the right things...the hope, the love, the joy and the peace of Christmas.

This year, we have not one, but three Christmas trees!  Upstairs, we have the old one I love. 

Downstairs, we have "Kristen's Christmas Tree" (the "easy" tree Will bought last year). 

There's certainly nothing "easy" about what it represents, but what began last year as an attempt to have a little bit of Christmas continues as a new tradition.  Even though Kristen isn't here with us, and she never got to be a part of our old Christmas traditions, she's become a part of our new ones. 

The third tree is a little 4-foot pre-lit Walgreens special (formerly our classroom Jesse tree) that I let the girls decorate with some of their own special ornaments.

Each of those trees tells its own story. 
Certain chapters bring smiles and warm feelings.  Others bring tears. 
Yet others sing with the promise of hope!

I can't say that anything this Christmas season has been easy...because it hasn't.  I've had to be very intentional about many things.  I can't say that I've not wanted to just crawl into bed and stay there with the covers over my head until January...because I have.  But, I also can't say that I haven't felt the true meaning of Christmas more deeply this year than in years past...because I have.  And I can't say that I don't know what it's like to be held by my heavenly Father...because I do.  He continues to carry me day by day.