Inspecting the pain blossoming in my soul,  I
Have tenacity that is nonsense in society’s chatter.
After all that I have experienced in my
Very short life, I have developed an
Eternal perspective that refuses to be held down! Jesus,
He was not a victim of sin, so I am not a victim of infliction! Helping others–my balm.
Opening my heart to infinite possibilities keeps me
Pressing through–pain is but a speck on my timeline and I
Expect good things from a God who hears.
John 10:10 The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.–Jesus
“Sorry, my ADD is kicking in.” I apologized, acknowledging that I was distracted from listening because my attention was focused on the beautiful flower bouquets she had in her office. I was delighted by how well they coordinated with her purple blazer.
She smiled and laughed, “That’s your creativity shining through, certainly not something to apologize for.” My eyes widened, I had never thought of my distraction like that.
“Those flowers were here yesterday and you are the first person to mention noticing them. And probably the only person who will notice them. I hadn’t even noticed that my blazer coordinated with them. I take the expansion of your attention to the room as a sign of healing, not weakness.” She encouraged. “Most people when they first come into my office look down and can’t even look at me. As they begin to heal they begin looking at me and then beyond.”
How depression shrinks our world. Until the only thing that we smell, hear, taste, see, feel, is the sweat of our own fear, hear the loud ramblings of our own thoughts, taste the bitterness of our failures, see that we are alone, and feel disconnected from a huge world of possibilities. If you are in that place, may my testimony encourage you! It is because of one step, and then another, and then another that I came to place that even when my worst nightmare came true I can still declare that life is worth living.
May we journey together in looking up and seeing the beauty beyond our nightmares. Talk with me and let me know how you are doing.
The kids and I were itching to plant some flowers, so a quick stop at our local garden center yielded some beautiful flower booty. I don’t usually get blue flowers, but I was craving some blue. Maybe because it was Jonathan’s favorite color. Blue was slim pickings this early in the season, but I managed to find some and when I pulled out the tab, this is what I read:
REALLY! Is this some sick joke or simply a product namer (could have been me) who thought up a clever double meaning for these blue morning glories. If it weren’t for the way my son died, I might have actually have found this clever and funny. Instead, I stood there numb and reliving my son’s death.
When someone has had a severe physically injury, and the nerve endings begin to grow back they are super sensitive to touch. The brain and nerves have to work together to properly interpret what is really felt. If you have emotional trauma, or PTSD it is very similar, you may not interpret what’s happening correctly. My brain has a tendency to relive trauma and I have to take those thoughts captive and speak truth over them. Yes, my son used a gun, and it hurts like hell to know he felt so hopeless, but that has nothing to do with this moment of picking out flowers. This is about living! These are blue morning glories, and a symbol of God making all things new! God, thank you for the beauty of Spring and the delight of planning flowers with my children. This is truly a special moment I am choosing to turn the page!
Dreams–dusty realities
removing time and distance
Like a movement of dissidence, tucked into a symphony of
reason. You are a memory that makes no sense, resurrected by heartache,
sewn together by longing, until the persistent alarm shatters my dreams
to a heavy concrete world without you.
Impossible Circumstances are no match for
Edgar Allen Poe dug up Annabel Lee . . . or so the ghost tour guide in Charleston, South Carolina wanted us to believe. Often times we take bits of truth, such as Poe wrote a lot about dying women and he is shrouded in mystery and blow them up into legends.
Behind Poe’s poetry on death was a real person, who himself may have been stuck in grieving and trying to figure out, is death the final blow. His father abandoned him, and his mother died when he was only 3. His siblings were split up and his foster family was tumultuous at best.
He did not have guidance into firm and secure adulthood and, I believe, became stuck in an impulsive and impetuous childhood as an adult. He tended to alienate others because he had a sharp tongue and used it often. Drinking and gambling became two of his fallbacks when life was not going his way. He could neither manage success nor enjoy it. Poe’s life seemed destined to fail. His final words were reported to be, “Lord, help my poor soul.”
We have a real enemy who loves to attack our children. Jesus warns that the punishment is severe for those who harm our children (Matthew 18). Some of us have been born into abusive families, some of us endure hardship after hardship, and some of us have chosen our own destructive path. I am working on reading the Bible cover to cover this year and one thing is clear: GOD IS NOT LIMITED BY OUR CIRCUMSTANCES! From Adam to the end God turns the darkest of circumstances around. Rahab the prostitute is in the lineage of Jesus, Joseph the slave, saves his family who sold him into slavery, Roman occupation into the stage for a cross, a death, and a resurrection.
Poe, like many of us, could not see the possibilities beyond his circumstances. I tell you the truth, not even death can stop us! Jesus’ enemies thought that by cutting off the head the disciples would fall apart. They were almost right, the disciples could not see past their fears or the grave. But, when Jesus arose and continued ministering and preparing the disciples, this band of rag-a-muffins became a powerhouse of restoration to the sick, poor, lost, hungry and all those whose circumstances seemed impossible! So, don’t think for a second that what you are experiencing is beyond hope.
“It is Only for the Weekend” was the sermon title at my in-laws church. God, who is not limited, doesn’t even operate in the limits of time, takes our circumstances whether good or bad and declares that they are temporary. Even death is now an unpredictable outcome for those who believe.
On our drive home Brian and I agreed that the heartache of missing Jonathan sure didn’t feel like only a weekend. “Feels like we are stuck on Saturday.” Brian said. Maybe your circumstances are like ours and you feel stuck in pain, your job, your life, your loss. The resurrection hasn’t happened or become an active part of our thinking, living, and dying. We are confused and reeling from plans not of our own making. We want to hide away, cry out, shake our fist at a God for allowing such agony into our lives. We would not map out the same path.
This is exactly how the disciples behaved after the crucifixion, the Romans guarded the tomb just in case the disciples tried to steal the body. They needn’t worry–the disciples were stuck on Saturday. When they started getting reports that Jesus was alive, most of the 12Â did not go running to the tomb to confirm that it was empty and that Christ was indeed resurrected. They were in disbelief, and that was where they were likely going to stay if Jesus himself hadn’t walked through the door. I mean that literally, he waked through the closed and locked door.
Does Jesus have to walk through the closed and locked door of my heart for me to accept that his plan for my future is a good one? Or do I declare with my hands open to the heavens “BUT, SUNDAY!” The resurrection isn’t just an event that happened in history, it happens today when believers see the risen Christ in their lives and are transformed.
Lord, open my mind, heart, and soul to Sunday and help me to Turn the Page on Saturday! Amen.
Children’s laughter
echoes Spring into
the window of my wintered heart.
Never quite thawed, never
shaking myself of the death that keeps my hands
cold.
I cannot bring to life that which I long for
I resurrect dreams until they are nightmares
and hold tight, until Edgar Allen Poe is not quite
so frightening.
Yet, I cannot spring to life that which I long for
Not quite a year since you were planted in
soil that would bear no fruit.
Yet I refuse a baron field
Death is filled with stubborn seeds of potential
I tend the garden of my grief
until Winter loosens its grip and I reap a good harvest of hope
that will warm my soul.
Grief, a dance partner I did not
choose, puts me on display
for a waltz I have not learned.
He does not care that my ankles
are unlocked or that I am an unwilling
to follow his lead.
His grip is tight on my hand and weighty on my
shoulder.
Demanding elegance he holds his head
with the confidence of centuries of one-two-threes.
I rise when I should fall, and fall when
I should rise.
Slowly, I realize that the waltz will play on
until I follow Grief’s lead. Back right foot,
slide the left . . .
A repeated pattern of elegant sadness,
Until the crowd gasps in awe. I have
found joy in this pattern of sadness.
Isaiah 43:19 For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.
How many of you need to see God do something new? I do! I need to see that he is making a pathway through the wilderness of grief and that I have a gushing river to quench my thirst, in a place where there should be no hope. This year is one of firsts that no parent wants to have. Jonathan’s 19th birthday is fast approaching and my sorrow deepens.
Lord, I see the first of my flowers peaking through the earth. They were there throughout the winter, but hidden and the sight of them fills me with the hope of new life. Father I cry out to you, may the seeds that have remained dormant in my life blossom so that I can see that you are at work. May the day of my son’s birth produce new life, so that the glory of your plan is revealed! Help me to trust your provision! Amen
A bottle of memories
Sparkling with your laughter, sipped
slowly by my broken heart.
Silly sombrero on your head,
Inviting life with your dimpled smile
as cheeks puff to blow out candles.
I walk by the Mexican soda at the grocery store
and you make my sorrow smile.
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/