13 years ago we had to say goodbye to a piece of our heart and soul. Even though I had a peace about her returning to her Father’s arms, there was still a part of me that felt like she had been ripped from our arms. I wondered how we would ever be ok. How we would face each day with the crushing weight of having watched our youngest, beautiful daughter be laid deep in the ground.
Tracing back over the time that has passed since her death it is clear that even when I have lost myself in indescribable grief, I have always been held by the One I can never lose.
When I have thought I cannot go on He gives me incredibly meaningful reasons to keep showing up.
When I have thought the pain is too intense, He has given me important distractions to take my eyes off of my own pain.
This day will always hold some painful memories remembering the events of losing our girl, but it will also hold the hope of our reunion with her someday, and the remembrance of how God has carried us each and every step of the way.
“Why do we even believe in God if He doesn’t help us?” The words sliced through the sweltering afternoon air with razor intensity as hot tears dropped dark shapes onto my 11 year old’s gray T-shirt. He had just finished lying a sharpie-labeled headstone over the dented ground in a shade-protected corner of our yard where he had buried a tiny baby bunny for the second time that day.
“God could have saved that bunny. I prayed so hard for that. If He can do whatever He wants to, why didn’t He save him? Why doesn’t He make you well? Why does He let bad things happen to the best people?”
I sucked in a breath as my chest squeezed with the painful questions that seemed to bounce back off the canopy of leaves above us, unanswered. I was watching my boy reckon with one of the deepest struggles we all wrestle with at times; the ones that can strengthen your faith immeasurably, or send it crumbling into nothingness with the verdict that God can’t be trusted.
As strange as it might sound, these are some of the most sacred moments in parenting. Moments so heart-wrenching, yet so utterly priceless you can almost feel God’s hands on your shoulders as you tenderly walk your children through despair and into hope, reminding them the thing you need so desperately to remember yourself; this life is just a blink, and tomorrow has been promised to none of us. This day is a gift, and if it is full of suffering, it is because God loves us too much to let us waste our lives on earth’s pitiful indulgences. He wants to give us astonishing abundance that lasts forever—and suffering is often the means by which He gives it.
I don’t know if I would have become a parent if someone had told me that I would have to watch my children suffer immeasurable pain that I could do nothing about. I don’t like that; I’m a fixer. But even today I am still learning that the only way through is a repeated opening of my hands and surrendering my children to the Only One who can make good of their pain. He promises not to waste it, so I trust that somehow each of these hurts will be used for good.
As I’ve considered the things I’d really like to do before my illness progresses enough to eliminate possibilities, I’ve kept kind of a bucket list of sorts in my mind of things I hope to get to do. At the top of the list was going to the beach with my family again. As time has slipped away though that has seemed out of reach, so when I discovered we essentially have a beach and sand dunes just a few hours from us by Lake Michigan, I jumped all over making it happen.
For months I saved up the earnings from my Etsy store so I could pay for us to rent a campsite and a comfortable RV that could power all the medical equipment that has to trail along behind me. I managed to snatch one of the last groups of days left for the popular camp spots at Indiana Dunes State Park, and started harping on my family to black out the days and make sure their bosses knew they wouldn’t be working. When one of my kids got pushback from their boss about taking the days off I even composed a carefully written letter about how important this was to our family, and praise Jesus he consented to approving the vacation days.
We planned for months… meal planning, gathering up our boogie boards, kites, and buckets for the beach, and rounding up sleds we could use to fly down the nearby sand dunes. Lists of medicine and machines I needed to have with me. I found an amazing RV nearby for us to rent, and got everything settled. I was so excited and looking forward to this time for all of us to escape our busyness and make memories together.
I don’t know if it’s sad humor or irony or what, but a few days before our trip I landed in the hospital as the result of a mistake made by the healthcare professionals. It was serious, and my hopes for a quick prescription and release were dashed as I was admitted and prepped for surgery the same night. Buckets of tears later I had begged and pleaded with each doctor, explaining the significance of the trip, urging them to let me go. It was not to be.
Father’s Day morning (and also my son’s birthday) was the day we were set to leave. The rest of my clan packed up the RV and came to the hospital to have a makeshift celebration with me before they hit the road for our vacation. There were to be no refunds for what we had paid, and by then there were no other days available to rent camp spots, so it made the most sense for them to go ahead without me.
The disappointment mixed with excitement in my hospital room that morning was palpable, and I felt genuinely joyful they were still getting to go, while at the same time deeply disappointed I would have to stay behind. There was a flurry of hugs and kisses as I sent them on their way, demanding many photos.
In the stillness of a familiar hospital room my frustration burned hot rivers down my cheeks. All the things I have lost to this disease, Lord, why did this trip have to be one of them too? The whole point was for it to possibly be one of my “lasts.”
In the painful silence of a room that overlooked a brick wall, I remembered the story of Nehemiah. A man who had worked so hard for something, and then had seen it come crumbling down. He says he sat down on the ground and cried. He mourned for several days and refused to eat. Then he got up and dusted himself off. He thanked God for keeping His promises, and he prayed for restoration. This is the heart posture I desire to have.
Charles Stanley said, “Taking time to lament what we have lost can be an act of worship. Nehemiah allowed his distress to lead him into deeper communion with God. Offer your tears as devotion to Him.”
I pray that through the many disappointments and missing outs of this disease that I will learn more and more to press into Jesus through my frustration and discouragement. I know He sees far beyond what I am able to, and I trust that He knows how to write more good into my story.
Here I am again to share a few of my favorite things that you don’t want to be missing out on!
If you are a pickle lover, these are the best! I used to think Claussen pickles were the end all be all for crunchy, flavorful pickles, but once on a whim I grabbed one of these at a gas station pit stop on a road trip, and my life was changed! They are perfectly pickley, have an incredible crunch, and the serving size and convenient package makes eating a pickle in the middle of well, anything a pretty convenient and enjoyable snack. Oh, and Kroger often runs sales on them. Winning.
Perhaps I’ve mentioned it before… oh well, I’m mentioning it again. Mega Stuf are the superior Oreos. These are especially handy for the genius hack my son recently taught me, which is to slide the tines of a fork into the creme and use it as an instrument to fully submerge your Oreo in a satisfying dunk of milk. You just can’t do that when there isn’t enough icing in the middle. End of story.
Dollar Book Swap. It hasn’t been that long since we were let in on this secret, and we are irreparably hooked. Located on Webster street in downtown Dayton this hidden gem kind of throws you for a loop as you are creeping through dented metal doors and abandoned-looking warehouse rooms wondering if you’ve been duped for something sinister, but all of a sudden you turn the corner and your eyes cannot even soak in the goodness of how many treasures await you on shelf after shelf of gently used books marked up to a whole dollar twenty five. Yep, that’s what I said. $1.25. I have mentioned my appreciation for it being a hike across town for us, otherwise we would be running out of shelf space at home from too frequent trips to this magical hideaway. If you haven’t been there, put it on your summer bucket list.
Squeezy peanut butter. This one may seem strange to you, but I’m telling you I have cracked a code for dog owners everywhere. You know how when it’s time to clip your dog’s nails (again) and you find yourself doing some sort of jujitsu style yoga/stretching exercises to stabilize the paw you’re clipping while attempting to corral the other three legs, and you start doubting your life choices in getting a pet in the first place? Well no more. You don’t even have to get it on your hands or your good silverware; just squeeze a swirl of this oddly packaged peanut butter on your shower wall, and then enjoy the smacking noises as you expertly snip all five toes without so much as a pulled muscle before your dog even knows what has happened. Reapply as needed. You’re welcome.
Annnnd we are back to pickles. I had been tipped off about this mouthwatering delicacy right before my little sister came for a quick visit recently. In the 3 days that she was here, the two of us went from a new bottle to about a quarter of a bottle remaining. I don’t even care that every single thing I tasted that weekend was pickle flavored, because it was like living in the little world I created in my head when I was kid where everything was just the way I wanted it. We had it on popcorn, we had it on scrambled eggs, we tried it on cottage cheese, on cooked carrots, on mashed potatoes, pizza, and pretzels. There has literally not been a single thing I have regretted dousing in this stuff, and my salivary glands are currently wholeheartedly agreeing. If you are a pickle person get to Trader Joe’s, because you have not lived until your plate has disappeared beneath a cloud of this stuff.
Last night in my Growth Group we came across a verse in 2nd Timothy 4 that gave a charge to “endure suffering.” It was such a simple statement, tucked in among a small list of things we are called to do as believers in Jesus. I found irony in how matter-of-fact the command was.
Suffering has barged in on our most important dreams and deepest desires. We try to avoid it at all costs- dodging this way and that to ensure our happiness, comfort, and contentment. Enduring suffering is probably not at the top of our to-do list every morning. What if Christians believed what we preach though; that God is enough?
Psalm 146:5 says, “But joyful are those who have the God of Israel as their helper, whose hope is in the Lord their God.” He is enough to bring us joy, to make us happy, regardless of our circumstances, but we need to lean into Him.
Leaning into Him is something I have to practice hard at daily. I am sloppy in my suffering. However, I realize the gift that it is to me, because suffering easily strips away the things that become substitutes for my happiness, and it opens me up to the indestructible happiness found in God. When my hope is in Him I find I can more freely enjoy the good things He gives me, because I am not dependent on those things to make me happy.
When our lives are spinning along without the interruption of pain or sadness it’s easy not to feel a need to seek God’s help; He often doesn’t hear from us until we are weary and crying out for mercy. When suffering comes along we realize He is our only hope, which sends us running to Him. This is why I can be grateful for the suffering He has called me to; it keeps me dependent on Him.
What about you? When the burdens you carry have made you weary and sad, are you able to find happiness and contentment by letting God fill up your empty places? It can be hard, but it’s also liberating. Let’s do it together today. Wherever you are in your suffering, lean into Him. Give Him the chance to show you that He is enough.
Daily I live with a certain amount of lasting, chronic pain. My doctors have worked long and hard to try to manage it enough that I can function as much as possible. This week has brought difficult new challenges though. Regardless of what I do in a day, sometime around 4 or 5pm I’ve started having the most unbearable pain. My medications don’t touch it, neither do the handful of topical rubs I apply, or the essential oils I take by the capsule full. Obviously sleep evades me during this time, as I can do little to get comfortable with my muscles and bones screaming at me that something is very wrong.
There are a lot of effects of this disease that I can push through. I can go from puking to putting on a smile and showing up at church on a Sunday morning. I can be super short of breath and hook up to my vent and still make it to my babies’ concerts and ball games. I can go from fainting to re-orienting myself and carrying on with the responsibilities of my day. But this pain. Sometimes I don’t know how to push through.
After working in healthcare for so many years I’ve always tried to be really realistic when asked to rate my pain. I have the best chart ever, and often I refer to it to make sure the number I’m blurting out is on par with how I’m really feeling.
Most of time I’m sitting around a 6 or a 7. Nighttime lately is an 8-9. I find myself anxiety-ridden and begging for mercy. There are times I feel like I can push through anything but this pain, and I think to myself that if pain alone could kill, I would surely die.
I beg God that if He can take one thing away it would be my pain, because I feel like it’s the thing that makes my world stop turning. It’s the thing that prevents me from meeting my people.
Then I remember that pain is the thing that most brings me to my Father’s arms. It is what ushers me into the sacred places of other’s suffering, allowing me to be a channel of Christ’s compassion, comfort, and love. This season has been long and intense and piercing— but all of these tears and pain and desperate prayers have been not only for my own good, but for the good of other individuals entrenched in suffering. It is 2 Corinthians 1:3 in action:
“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”
Even living in the cruel agony of a terminal illness God is continually showing me how He turns my pain into lasting and eternal gifts. And so I find a way to cling to the shreds of hope and the miracles He works on behalf of His suffering children, and I can trust that He will hold me together and work these wonders together for the good of my soul.
Ever the entrepreneur, my boy is an experienced lemonade slinger. His delicious recipe and adorable smile keep people stopping , and most days he turns an impressive profit for a 11 year old.
As he started gearing up for the first sales of the season he said, “hey mom, you know how I was going to save up my lemonade money and buy a motor bike? Is it possible for me to save up all my money and use it for a cure for your sickness? Utterly humbled by his compassion and thoughtfulness, I did my best to explain that there is no cure; it’s just doing things to try to make my body as comfortable as it can be.
Flash forward to today- he was setting up his lemonade stand, and he paused to come talk to me. “You know how you said there is no cure for your sickness? Is it ok if I use my lemonade money to pay for the next few medicines you need?
There are few things in life that prepare your heart to be absolutely melted and shattered and hugged and twisted all at once like that. I’m so thankful for the empathy and gentleness that my boy is learning, even in the midst of such heartache.
When I became friends with Kara, we discovered our mutual love for Johnny Cash and even when she was in miserable pain we would sit on her bed and crank up the music and giggle-sing along to his lyrics, trying to imagine the events that let him to write them. Then Kara shared with me another of her favorite artists, and I fell in love with the surprisingly deep, gravelly voice of Ellie Holcomb as she sang about the power of God’s love, and the purpose within each one of us. She is relatable and honest, and her vocal range is perfect for me to sing along with.
Then Ellie surprised us all when she heard about Kara and she hopped on a plane to fly out and put on a personal coffee shop concert just for Kara and her friends. If she hadn’t reeled me in with her catchy tunes and honest lyrics, she certainly did with her giant heart and her selflessness. I mean, it was something beautiful to behold.
Kara meeting Ellie
In the years that have followed since that amazing night, I have hoped and searched and watched for the opportunity to get to see Ellie in concert again. Well guess what… it’s happening!!
In June Lauren Daigle will be touring nearby, and she just happens to have partnered up with Ellie Holcomb. I mean… I really like Lauren Daigle, but I am definitely there for the opening act, and the headliner is a bonus! I am a little kid jumping up and down excited to get to see this incredible woman again; to hear her soulful words of truth and beam back at that beautiful ear to ear smile that never seems to fade. She may never know my name, or that I was there in that intimate coffee shop setting that night not long before my friend passed away, but I will relish getting to be in the same room again, singing along to some of the best praise music this side of the Mississippi. I can’t wait!
There is not much I feel like saying about Mother’s Day this year, and that makes me feel like it’s more important than ever to say it.
Mothering, as well as having relationships with our mothers can be really hard. Yes, there are blissful moments, like when that baby is first placed in your arms, when they say their first “I wuv you,” and when they run inside from school desperate to find you for that unforgettable hug.
There are memories of mom being the smiling face in the crowd at all of your performances, the one you could come home and spill all of your emotions to while she quietly listened, the late night back rubs, early morning hair braids, and the countless times she came to your rescue when you forgot your homework, said something you regretted to your best friend, or really weren’t sick but she knew you just needed a day home from school.
There are also a whole lot of hurts wrapped up in being a mom, having a mom, or wanting a mom. There are empty wombs and empty cribs. There are sleepless nights and bone-tired days you don’t know how to push through. There are arguments because you just wish she could see things the way you do, and there are painful gaps where you needed a mom and didn’t have one there. There is pain and fear over children who have walked away and you don’t know if they are coming back.
This Mother’s Day, close to my heart are thoughts of my sister trying to balance the joy of the homemade cards from her littles with the deep grief of feeling the sharp edge of her first Mother’s Day without one of her cherished sons with her earth-side. How does one fully celebrate the gift of motherhood after watching one of her children draw their final breath? Just like a house of cards needs at least 8 cards to stand, does not one child missing make a mother struggle to build herself back to who she once was?
Heavy in my thoughts are the lives of my own littles. Two at the edge, ready to fly from the nest they’ve always shared with me. Each one of my birdies fighting hard battles that this broken world has thrown in their path, and myself, sitting practically on the sidelines, crippled and nearly motionless from the ravages of a rare disease that steals many of our moments together.
So yes, this Mother’s Day I am having trouble hyping myself up, but I think that’s ok. There are seasons for jumping up and down with excitement, and seasons for quiet reflection, and I’m sure each one of us is at a different place on that continuum. Wherever you are, I’d like to meet you there; in your joyous celebration, or in your silent weeping.
Tomorrow we will wake on a day meant for mothers. I will be thankful for my own mom, and for the women that have filled spaces I’ve needed filled along the way. I will celebrate and smooch on the children I have here with me, and I will take time to think upon each of my treasures in Heaven, and how they furthered me in who I am as a mom. I will rejoice with those who rejoice, and I will grieve with those who grieve, and somehow through it all I hope the littles who made me a mama will feel my love and appreciation for them, and see the reality and okay-ness of taking each day from right where you’re standing. Of being real and kind and tender and aware of those around you, and able to ride these ever-changing waves with grace and enthusiasm.
Choosing Hope 