Missing God's will

As I was going through some things on my desk in our classroom recently, preparing for a new school year, I found something I had written several months ago. I had neglected to put a date on it, but it was on a scrap of paper folded within a church bulletin dated January 23, 2011.

It begins, "We will always miss God's will if we look from human eyes."  Those  words came from Pastor Kevin's sermon that morning and certainly bear repeating.  

We will always miss God's will if we look from human eyes.

I'll include the rest just as it was written:

God often chooses unlikely people to help us through difficult situations.  In the same way, He often does NOT use people we think He will.

Some of the people I expected to be there for support after Kristen's death were quite absent.  Oh, they were at her funeral, and some of them called a time or two in the days that followed, but they were not a part of my healing.  Or maybe they were, just not in the way I expected.

Days that were especially hard for me --Christmas, Kristen's birthday, Mother's Day, the 1st anniversary of her surgery and of her death-- I heard nothing.  In addition to feeling so sad, so hurt, I also felt forgotten.  Selfish?  Maybe, but absolutely real.

Sadly, I allowed those hurt feelings to become a hard, dark knot in my already aching heart.  Only in these last few weeks have I begun to loose that knot.  I've had to do a lot of forgiving, time and time again.  Only now, do I really feel like I've let those feelings go.

How timely that God would bring these words back to me now.  After having gone through the hurt from family members months ago, I am now dealing with similar issues from friends.  Not just any friends, but some that I considered among my closest of friends.

As I recently muddled my way through the 2nd anniversaries, I faced silence from some that I never expected.  Days later, I let them know that I genuinely missed their friendship on such difficult days.  In all fairness, the relationships have been a bit strained over the last several months, but I just wasn't willing to give up on them completely.  One responded with a willingness to listen.  The other, I'm not so sure about.  There's a definite price to friendship with a grieving mother if you've not walked that road yourself.  Not everyone is willing to invest.

I've no doubt been looking at the situation with human eyes.  And in doing so, perhaps I've been missing what God is trying to show me.  It's so hard NOT to see this with human eyes, to feel this in the flesh.  There are just times when I'm more sensitive, more emotional.  August is one of those times.

It's most certainly true that people I fully expected to "be there" just aren't.  It's equally true, however, that people I didn't have an extremely close relationship with (or in some cases, much of a relationship at all) before Kristen died have been courageous enough to press into my life in a big way.  Have they done big things?  One in particular, yes, but most have not.  The impact they have made in my life is big because they took a small amount of time on significant days to simply let me know they are thinking of me.  Maybe it was a card, or a short e-mail, or a facebook wall post, even just a silent hug.  I am so very grateful for those who have reached out to me (and continue to do so).

Grief is a very lonely journey.  It's as unique as each individual and can often leave a person feeling very isolated and alone.  And though loved ones are likely not setting out to hurt us, they do let us down, sometimes in ways that seem enormous.

I suppose it's fair to say that my focus has narrowed over the last number of weeks.  In the midst of my humanness and painful anniversaries, I've neglected to keep my focus on the only One who will never, ever let me down.  My heavenly Father.  God has not failed me.  He has not abandoned me nor forsaken me.

Perhaps the good He is bringing out of these most recent hurts is a reminder that He is all I need.  It's a reminder that, in all honesty, still stings.

I do want to know God's will.  I want to rejoice in seeing it accomplished.  I don't want to miss it because I can't get past my human sight.  I just feel very torn.  It's almost like I have to choose between the right-here-in-front-of-my-face support of fallable people or the sometimes-it's-so-hard-to-feel-that-He's-there support of an almighty God.  Wow.  Just writing that out gives me a different perspective.  It's a heart vs. head thing, I guess.

I remember writing very early on in my grief that I felt like there was a huge canyon between what I knew in my head and what I felt in my heart.  That distance has narrowed at times, then widened again as I've journeyed through my grief.  I guess it's just the way it is...the way it will be.  The key to navigating this road in a productive way is keeping your eye on the Father.  I'm so thankful that He picks me up when I stumble along the path, even if the reminders, like scraped elbows and knees, sting like crazy.

August

Dear August,

You are a month that is so very bittersweet for me.  It was on your 22nd day that I became a mom 13 years ago.  Having gone into labor at 35 weeks, I was so very scared.  But my firstborn, a beautiful daughter, arrived perfectly healthy, and we became a family of three.  August, we shared some great times.

Two years ago, you brought me devastating news, August.  Twice.  After having heard so many heartbreaking words from the doctors.  "She coded during surgery."  "She has no brain activity."  We said goodbye to our littlest girl.  Three months and ten days just doesn't equate to the lifetime I envisioned for her.

Then 5 days later, as we tried our best to celebrate our firstborn's birthday in the midst of such sorrow, I received news of my mom's death the day before.  Really, August?  You nearly crushed me that year.

Last year, you brought us Max.  He's the black and white fluff ball of a dog that you brought to us as we reached the first anniversary of Kristen's death.  The girls adore him, and honestly, he's been good for all of us.  He's brought some joy back into our lives, smiles to our faces.  Despite the occasional accidents on the floor, the trips to the groomer every 6 weeks, the mess he makes when he eats (because he takes a mouthful of food and walks a foot away from his bowl to eat it, leaving crumbs everywhere), and the wet beard he uses to mop the kitchen floor after he takes a drink, he's been very good for each one of us.

When I've been missing Kristen so much and the tears start to fall, he's there.  Even though there are times I look at him and think that if she were here, he wouldn't be.  And I'm glad (that he is), but I'm not (that she isn't).  And I don't want to even go there.  He lays on my lap and seems to sense all that's on my heart.

August, you now bring to a close our first year with Max and our second year without Kristen.  I guess that's just what you hold for me.  Happy and sad.  Joy and pain.  You bring the "stuff" that builds character...and leads to hope.

...but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  --Romans 5:3-4

Just one frog

I've been working on cleaning out Kristen's room.  It's been a difficult process, one that I've had to work through in small doses.  Tiny clothes and blankets and stuffed animals have all been packed into plastic tubs.  Special mementos have been stored for now.  So many tears have been shed.

I removed the last of the wallpaper border tonight.  The cute little frogs and turtles no longer dance their way around the room.

 

I picked out the crib set before we knew Kristen was a girl.  There was just something sweet and calming about those frogs and turtles.  There wasn't much girly about them, but they just seemed right.  The set went perfectly with the light blue ceiling and yellow gingham wall treatment I had done for Emily's "Tweety" room years before.  (One of the few hand-me-downs that Kristen got from either of her sisters was her room!)

I sat countless times in the rocking chair in Kristen's room before she was born, soaking in the soft hues of blue, yellow and green, praying that she would be okay.  I had no idea that 2 years later I would be scraping from the walls the border that a dear friend helped me put up.

Her room is now my office/sewing room/craft room.  I can actually leave the door open, and I don't fall apart every time I enter.  My computer desk now sits near where "Peppermint" the rocking horse used to sit.  I still have painting to do and more organizing of all the things that have found their way into this room.  The room color is going to be a very, very light shade of green.  It's called "Lil' Sprout."  I was drawn to the color because it gave me the same feeling that the crib set did.  When I turned the paint sample over and read the name, I knew it was the one.  (One of my nicknames for Kristen was "Lil' Stuff.")

There's a section of the border tucked into my memory box, but just one frog remains as it was:

Some days, he makes me smile.  Other days, he triggers an ache in my soul.  Even so, just one frog stays.

I miss you, Lil' Stuff. ♥

Right Where I Am: One Year, Ten Months

A while back, I came across a project at Still Life with Circles that I thought was worthy of some serious thought.  It's basically a look at where you are right now in your grief.

Wow.  To try to nail down where I am in my grief seemed just too hard at first.  Grief is such an ever-changing process, full of things that jump up out of nowhere and knock you down again.  But as I thought it through, I realized the beauty of such a project.  Taking a snapshot of where I am now (and even in the months and years ahead) will no doubt highlight some things that might otherwise be overlooked as one day slides into the next.

Right now, I am feeling the weight of all that makes no sense falling hard on my shoulders again.  For the second time in just over two weeks, I've watched a friend bury her child.  The first is a friend I've known for decades.  Her third daughter shares Kristen's exact birthday.  The second is a friend I met not long after Kristen died.  My heart breaks for both of these women.  I wish I didn't know the ache and the longing, the sadness and the tears, the brokenness that accompanies the death of a child.  And I most certainly wish my friends didn't know, either.

And yet, here I am, now facing opportunities to live out God's Word in such a real way and so very close to home.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. 

-2 Corinthians 1:3-4 

In all honesty, part of me wants to run away screaming.  It's just too much.  These situations bring back a flood of my own memories and emotions.  Even so, I feel stronger.  I don't feel like the wind and waves of these storms bend me to the breaking point like they once did.  I've been able to share with these mothers on a level that I've not been able to with even the closest of my friends.  That in itself breaks my heart a little more.

Just this week, I led my first GriefShare session.  God, in His mercy, led me through it because I certainly didn't feel up to the task, especially given the fact that this particular session was one that dealt with the death of a child.  It felt a little strange to be in the leader role rather than the participant role, but it somehow seemed "right."

I still get teary-eyed when I talk about Kristen.  I just miss her so very much.  No matter how many years and months pass, that will never change.  In the same way, the God who gave her to me, the God who has caught every tear, He will never change.  He is good, all the time.  All the time, He is good.

Waves from a different storm

Earlier this week, I attended the funeral service of a friend's infant son.  There are many things that are just not right with this world, but burying a child definitely tops my list.  I grieve with this family, even as I still grieve for my own daughter.

Like many aspects of life, grief has an ebb and flow to it.  In its early stages, it can feel like a massive storm with waves crashing all around.  It's hard to catch your breath before the next wave rolls over you.  My own storm has calmed, but now I'm feeling the ripples of another's.  It's not my storm, yet its effects reach deep into my own soul, bringing back a flood of memories and emotions.

The difference?  I feel stronger now. 

I remember a custodian at Children's Mercy sharing some words of comfort with us as we prepared to say goodbye to Kristen.  I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do recall his kind words portraying so beautifully the very heart of 2 Corinthians 1:3-4:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

It seems that I have an opportunity to live out the last part of that passage in a very real way, a way that goes far beyond the words of any sympathy card.  As I pray for comfort for my friend and her family, I also pray that God will minister to their shattered hearts.  If I am an ongoing part of that process, I can think of no better way to honor both my daughter, Kristen, and the gracious Lord who gave her to me.

The pain of losing a child is one like I have never known in my life.  Even so, it's been an avenue for knowing God in a way that I might never have known Him otherwise.  Understandably, I know that is not what is on my friend's mind right now, but I pray that, in time, she will come to find that to be true in her own life as well.

Kristen's 2nd Heavenly Birthday

I've wanted to get all the details of Kristen's birthday written down, but have had a hard time getting it done.  The days leading up to May 7th were tough ones.  Then to be followed so closely by Mother's Day...it left me emotionally tuckered out.

I'll start with something I ordered earlier this year...a Baby be Blessed doll.  Ever since I found out about this ministry, I've wanted to get a doll for Kristen.  Each doll is handmade and includes a scripture on its tummy.  They have lots of colors and styles to choose from and are truly a joy to work with.  Sweet Laura from BbB contacted me after I submitted my order to let me know that since it was a memory doll, they could include a photo or handprints/footprints along with the scripture patch.  This preview was made into two patches to actually fit on the doll:

I love that Kristen's name and the scripture form a heart shape.  The doll is just precious, too.

My oldest daughter is an amazing combination of technical and creative.  She folded a garden full of tiny purple origami tulips and arranged them in the shape of a 2 for Kristen's birthday.  After adding some fun effects to the photo, she included it in a collage print to frame as a surprise for the rest of the family.

Then she created a Basic program on her computer that, pixel by pixel, spelled out "Happy Birthday Kristen" and played the birthday song. 

I was very touched to have a friend of Grace's bring me this pretty yellow rose in honor of Kristen's birthday.

Her mom sent a yummy cheesecake to work for us to enjoy during our Wednesday afternoon staff meeting.  It was such a thoughtful thing to do!  Though the flower and the cheesecake are both gone, they remain a beautiful reminder of how loved we are and that Kristen is not forgotten.

I was finally able to get the pink geraniums planted around Kristen's tree a couple of days before her birthday.  In all honesty, geraniums have never been my favorite flower, but I wanted to have something pink around her tree that would look pretty on her birthday and continue to bloom throughout the summer.  Geraniums fit the bill!  The ones I planted last year were a solid pink.  We went with a "designer" variety this year that are two-toned.

 

We woke Saturday morning to find a birthday balloon, some yellow and pink potted daisies and a beautiful stained glass purple solar light around Kristen's tree.  I made a pink and white balloon wreath for the tree and hung it at 6:25 a.m. - the exact time of her birth.  Someone brought a lovely bouquet by sometime while we were gone.  The little tree looked beautiful!

The four of us released some bright pink balloons a little later.  It was a beautiful morning, with just enough breeze to take the balloons up and away with a few notes.

 
We headed to Tanganyika Wildlife Park in Goddard, KS for a family day.  We enjoyed seeing and interacting with a variety of animals, from penguins and armadillos to kangaroos and kookaburras.  Grace fed a giraffe and a ring-tailed lemur, and Emily rode a camel.  We drove out by Lake Afton and watched some remote control airplanes for a while.  They even have a landing strip for them.  We capped off the day with a delicious meal at Carriage Crossing in Yoder with my dad and step-mom.

This little guy loved the craisins Grace fed him.
He even grabbed her hand!

Camels are good at bumpy rides...

This giraffe loved lettuce leaves.

Since we were gone most of the day (and had splurged on dessert at Carriage Crossing), we decided to hold the birthday treats over to Sunday.  Will's parents joined us at church, then came back to the house for lunch.  Will's younger sister and her family joined us, too, and we enjoyed BBQ brisket, baked potatoes, sweet green bean bundles and Mel's yummy pea salad, all followed by birthday cake and bread pudding.

We are a family of chocoholics.  The requests for birthday cakes are always for chocolate cake.  For whatever reason, though, whenever I think of Kristen's cake, it's always white cake.  I frosted the two round layers with bright pink buttercream frosting, trimmed them in white and added a big monogram-type "K" to the center.  It was a new cake recipe (definitely one I will make again), and it turned out beautifully.  And I didn't get one single picture of it!

Bread pudding is also a "must-do" tradition for Kristen's birthday.  I'll save that story for another post, but suffice it to say that bread pudding makes me smile.

By the time Sunday evening arrived, I was feeling an odd sense of relief at having made it through another of Kristen's birthdays and another Mother's Day, too.  The days before had been such hard ones.  The highs were not especially high, but the lows were extremely low.  Extremes and tears at nearly every turn.  And God continues to be faithful.  He provided comfort, yet again, through loved ones who remembered us, and remembered Kristen.  The support of my dear Respite Retreat friends was (and is) such a blessing.  The sweet thoughts and prayers from friends that I've never even met in person are like a warm embrace.  Thank you, one and all.

Dear Sweet Kristen,

I don't know what birthdays in heaven are like.  Every day is beautiful and perfect, so maybe birthdays are just like any other day there.  Here, however, your birthday is a tough one for me.  I know it's a celebration of your birth, and that is absolutely a joyous occasion.  But that joyous day has a line attached to the saddest day of my life.  It's like a beautiful balloon with an ugly weight tied to it.  Though I can't separate them, I can set my eyes on that balloon.  You taught so many of us to look up, Little One.  I'm doing my best to follow your lead. 

All my love, Mommy

Focus

There are still days that I feel utterly stunned over the events of the last couple of years.  There are moments that it all seems so unreal, like a bad dream.  A really, really bad dream.  Yet, I know all too well the very sad reality of  missing my youngest daughter every minute of every day.

I made it through her first birthday without her, and now I face her second one on Saturday.  And I'm still having trouble keeping a wider angle on my perspective.  When I stay focused on my hurts, they sting all the more.  It's only in pulling back and looking at the bigger picture that I feel any lightening of my spirit, any joy.  I'm able to do that, but I'm having a hard time keeping it there.  I feel like I have a faulty zoom lens...it goes in, and stays, and stays, zooms out briefly, then goes right back in again.

I'm sad that she's not here to celebrate with us, to tell me what kind of cake she would like, to delight in the balloons and decorations, to smile and pose for pictures with her sisters.  It breaks my heart that we have to celebrate another birthday without her.  It's just not the same.  And it hurts.  As overwhelming and painful as it is, that's the small picture.

She gets to celebrate every single day in the glorious presence of our Lord and Savior!  Oh, the beauty that surrounds her!  Anything I could ever imagine absolutely pales in comparison to what she's experiencing.  She's perfect and happy right where she is. 
That's the big picture.

Why is it so hard to stay focused on THAT picture?  It's certainly one that is full of happiness and joy, rather than sorrow and tears.  It's a struggle, one that I feel I'm on the losing end of most of the time.  Perhaps I've gotten lax in my grieving.  It requires one to be very intentional in many areas.  If I'm completely honest, I have to say that I don't always make the effort.

I'm working on that.  I pour out my heart to God knowing full well that He understands like no one else can.  I'm praying for His strength and for patience as I figure out how to work this lens.  He's a willing instructor just waiting for His student to be teachable.  And it's hard to be teachable when your focus is off.