The Face of Suffering

In moments of deep sorrow and grieving the loss of my dear mother, there is a memory that has come to haunt my heart. Every detail is etched into my brain, though a small portion of me wants to cease remembering this moment. On January 18, 2015 my mom lay in a hospital bed, her body straining for a breath as she lay unconscious. Death is nothing like the movies portray; even a 'peaceful death' is quite brutal to watch and hear. When we knew my mom's time was drawing near to leave us and be with the One who formed her, I held her hand and repeatedly told her to let go, to stop fighting, and to just go home to be with Jesus. These last nine months, that is so hard for me to recall because every fiber in my being misses my mom. It seems absurd to have begged to her to give up...

And then times, like this evening, clarity flashes before my heart. I remember what I was thinking and feeling in that moment and all the other moments in the twenty-one years prior as I sat front row to the horrific suffering of one I hold so dear. It was time...

As a child, it was a normal occurrence to stay with neighbors and friends for weeks on end while my mom was in the hospital. It was simply part of life to don surgical gloves, use needles, or change dressings in my parents' bedroom. I knew how to quickly pack a hospital bag after my mom, once again, threw up blood. While my mother was so strong, there were often times when she'd had enough of the pain, and deep sobs filled the air vents in our house. I learned how to listen, ask questions, and be the right amount of silly to bring a needed smile or laugh. As bad as the suffering for my mom was when I was a child, it was nothing compared to what lay ahead in my adult years. Of course, all this I remember with much more vivid detail...

Late one evening three years ago, my dad carried my mom, just like all the times before, into the emergency room. Unlike all the times before, my mom didn't know who she was or who he was or anything at all. As much as hospitals have been a way of life for me, something broke in me that night. It was the first time I had to leave my mom, go out into the hall sobbing, and call a friend to come be with me. My mom had looked me in the eye and told me she didn't know who I was. There weren't categories in my brain for this! Little did I know that my brain would form so many more unwanted categories before the week was finished. My mom's internal bleeding had poisoned her brain to the point that she was like a small child and had to be 'handcuffed' to the bed. Days passed as I sat next to her bed, lying to the nurses about my cold, watching her already frail body not eat for a week, and reading Psalm after Psalm until she would stop thrashing and rest. I was hoarse by the time she started to come back to us, but there was no sweeter moment than when I asked if she knew who I was and she responded with my nickname, confused why I'd ask that.

A year later the situation repeated itself, this time worse. She'd never regained the lost weight from before, and her body was weaker. She had to be put on a respirator, so she was unable to talk. Her eyes just floated to me helplessly, pleading for help to go home, anywhere out of this pain and confusion. By God's grace she recovered enough to go home and leave the doctors scratching their head with what happened. But God hadn't healed her, just given her and us more time together...

This has been a blog written about suffering, but even though I could fill dozens of posts on that topic, I don't want to miss another element that always seems linked to suffering in the Bible: that of joy. While what I wrote above hasn't even touched the horrors of all that my mom suffered, there has come to be a sweetness and joy found in these memories. Not dismissing the grieving or pain of it all, but instead fixing my eyes to see beyond the darkness to the light on the other side of the fog of this world. I can't speak for my mom, but I do know that who I am is richer and fuller having faced such enormous suffering in my life. Yes, I wish I could close my eyes and see a healthy mom in my memory, but so much of life isn't health, wealth, or happiness. This lesson I learned at a very young age. The suffering I watched my mom walk in helped me know Jesus and His resurrection so much more fully. The fullness of the Gospel collides with this world's and my own brokenness...

When life slows for a moment, and I find myself quiet and alone, my mind often wanders to that evening in January nine months ago. As much as I hate that it represents that my mom is no longer part of my earthly life, I rejoice that it happened. She is free. She is home. She has no more pain. No more tears. There is the fullness of joy in His presence, and all suffering has been erased from her mind!

Be Still, My Soul

This song has been encouraging to me as of late, so I thought I'd share a piece of my heart through someone else's pen.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart
And all is darkened in the vale of tears;
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay
From His own fulness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul; the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul; when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

by Catharina von Schlegel

Marriage & Wildflower Meadows

For my 30th birthday this past summer, I went backpacking with two friends in the Colorado wilderness. I'd definitely recommend doing this if you haven't ever done so! There's something so sweet and special about being far away from all that is familiar and tamed.

 Being the turning of a decade for me, my heart felt very fragile and contemplative. I don't think many teenagers picture themselves turning 30 and still being single. While it has been a gift from the Lord in many ways, it's definitely not typically been a well received present from God on my part a lot of the time. Singleness became a topic of prayer, journal entries, and Scriptural searches during my time up in the mountains. On my last morning there, I sat with my Bible closed and my heart heavy. The wilderness often feels 'home' in so many ways that a big city never will for me. I wasn't ready to return home yet, and I definitely felt weighed down over the thought of going back to my hometown where I felt there were no men of any sort of interest to me (and vice versa).

As I gazed around the large rock I was laying on, I beheld the cascading waterfall, the dozens of varieties of wildflowers, assortment of pine-type trees, and other unique features to this special place. God gently and softly spoke to my heart: "This is you. You are a wildflower meadow. Unique. Wild. Untamed. Rare. But Beautiful, nonetheless. You are living in a world right now where the women surrounding you are manicured, very tamed and controllable lawns. And that is what you often see and feel from the men around you. They want someone predictable and manageable. You feel like you're too much for them, because you are. However, there is a type of man that prefers a wildflower field on a remote mountain peak in the middle of nowhere. Just because he's not been by yet doesn't mean he's not real. And it most definitely means you should stop comparing yourself to other women- I designed you very different from them for My plans and reasons. You, My beloved, are just how I made and designed you. Find rest in this truth!"

It's so hard being back in the US again, living in my hometown that's also a big city, and being surrounded by men that aren't 'rugged, mountain men' (I am meaning that figuratively, but it could definitely be realistic too, ha!). But whenever I recall this sweet truth back to mind, it brings peace and rest to my soul.

The words of Bethany Dillon's song bring freedom as well:
"You can do more in my waiting than in my doing I can do. So I won't run anymore. I am waiting on You."

How to Mourn

This winter I have been pretty absent from the blogging world. It has been a season of great sorrow and deep heart grief. Pawpaw, a close friend from the community I live in, had a stroke mid-November, was taken off life support two weeks later, and buried two weeks after that (once we were able to raise the needed funds). Two days after his burial, his wife, Big Granny, collapsed from a heart attack, was put on life support, and passed away a week and a half later in the hospital. We, once again gathered the needed funds, and she was buried at the end of December. A week later my own mother went into the hospital, and two weeks later, after a decision was made to stop all care but that which relieved the pain, she was gone within a day. The funeral was planned, family came in town, a ceremony took place, everyone left, and life went back to 'normal'. However, the odd thing was that the day after the funeral I became sick... and have been sick since- that's close to 4 months now. Sinus infection, pink eye, loss of voice, coughing, ear infections, etc. You name it, I've had it! I've tried every natural remedy there is, and even finally broke down and took an antibiotic. I'm still pretty sick, which has made me extremely angry often, but more so contemplative now. What if my external sickness is simply a manifestation of the internal sickness of heart I'm experiencing?

As I've been thinking about this topic, Google has become my friend in researching how other cultures grieve loss. And the Bible has been really interesting in looking up the topic of mourning. A week or two ago, my pastor talked about our generation being one of extreme entertainment and valuing 'levity' above all else. That has definitely been how I have been handling this process. I come home from my often emotionally exhausting job, to my house that is across from a brothel and next to a drug house, and there is nothing more overwhelming than the thought of thinking about how much I miss my mom or my dear friends. My life feels so serious and often painful, why in the world would I want to choose to mourn or grieve if I don't have to? So, instead, I turn to funny TV shows on Netflix or I watch 'Whose Line is it Anyway?' (something I'd watched with my mom) episodes on Youtube. I just want to laugh and feel light and jovial. I don't want heavy, and I most assuredly don't want to go to the places of deep pain. But could it be that I need to?

In the US, we have definitely done away with nearly all traditions. I think a lot of that is due to us being a 'melting pot' of different ethnicities, but it could also be due to us not valuing them. When I was looking up mourning on Wikipedia, it listed out the various countries and how they mourned. In the US, pretty much our only tradition is to wear black to funerals... which we also wear to weddings and formal dinners. There's nothing set aside for those that grieve to cling to or hold as sacred. Whereas, in most other countries it is either expected or required for a person who has lost someone close to them to spend 40 days, 6 months, or even a year in mourning. Not just wearing black, but not attending parties or weddings, having time off of work, fasting, or participating in other religious ceremonies. There is actual recognition that they are hurting and should be mourning and grieving. It is understood and even promoted. I am sure this alleviates the pressure I feel every day to act like I'm fine and pretend to be okay when I feel like I'm just going through the motions of life with my arm chopped off. There's been nothing for me to cling to or even have to acknowledge something is missing and vastly different in my life now.

So, the challenge God has laid over my heart has been that of entering into a season of mourning. Allowing myself to grieve, feel the pain that's there, and stop pretending I am fine. This feels very strange and scary to me. It feels like I'm signing up to be depressed on purpose- a place God rescued me from long ago, and I vowed to never return... I have no idea how one goes about mourning. But I guess the Bible will be my starting point: Be wretched, weep, fast, sit in silence, go about in sackcloth and ashes, tear your clothes... I am pretty sure I won't participate in all of those, but, then again, I don't have a clue what this season is going to look like or how long it's going to last! So, if you see me sitting on the curb in burlap, looking like I've just escaped from a fire, be sure to stop by and give me a hug- I'm sure I'm going to need one!