​This October 6, 2018, I will celebrate Grace’s 26th birthday. But, I will not be celebrating with candles, cake or sweet birthday wishes. I will celebrate her birthday by remembering her bubbly smile, her huge heart, high heels and gaudy earrings. I will celebrate her “bigness”. Although she was short (one of her favorite tees stated, “I’m fun sized!), in my heart and on this Earth she lived LARGE!! And, when she died, she left a massive hole in my heart and life.

Most days, I try not to miss her, but rather, remember her. I can think of her and my heart is filled with wonder, joy and the promise of seeing her again. But, on the days I find myself missing her, I am overcome by profound sadness. Does that describe adequately how I feel? No. There is no way to explain the depth of my dissatisfaction of her death, or the wretchedness of my Being with the reality of her absence. There remains an epic battle within me to fill the sad empty hole  of “missing Grace” with love, light and happy memories of “remembering Grace”. On these difficult days, it is easy to imagine myself sitting in a sinking boat in the middle of the ocean. I furiously work to dump buckets and buckets out of the boat, only to know deep within my heart the same water is destined to come rushing back in.

The heartache and fighting is gut wrenching. Which brought me to the question- Can I Overcome This Sadness? Optimism would joyously scream, “Absolutely!!” Pessimism would murmur, “Absolutely Not!” And a person whose heart is weighed down by deep love and extreme sadness is caught between the war of both debatable truths. Severe, intense sadness that does not evaporate with the turning of the sun or find hope with the changing of the moons is a hard journey to navigate.

When I’m with my other three children, I revel at the highest peaks of joy for their successes, hopes, dreams and future. I make sure I laugh with them, enjoy their adventures and listen with love and compassion when they confront and share their fears with me. And I love them with all the width, breadth and height my heart can muster. The stark contrast of devastation, loss and anxiety I feel when I miss Grace tears me apart.
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The trivially simplistic answer to my question would direct me to just not miss her, shut that door and don’t enter.  “If you want to overcome sadness, then don’t be sad. When those thoughts come, simply think of something else”. But that tiring statement and mindset, quite frankly, makes… me… sad.

The bit of hope I have found during my journey to answer the question posed in my grief stricken heart- Can I Overcome This Sadness? is the word…Sacrifice. I know that’s weird, it was for me as well. What the heck does sacrifice have to do with my question at all?  Before the word sacrifice there was an internal, deep but simple question, “Do I want to miss Grace?” For me the answer is yes. In my heart, mind and soul, I believe Grace deserves to be continually loved, sharply remembered and, yes, deeply, deeply missed. So, with that settled, I then understand… “Sacrifice”. I must sacrifice my “happiness” to miss her. I have to make peace with the rising water in my boat and marvel at the wonder of the vastness of how I feel.  And in keeping, I must sacrifice my “sadness” to be happy with myself and the people around me. I have to play hard with the ones I love and belly laugh at the wonderful good things in my life and the lives of those around me. I am coming to the realization that the right offering of sacrifice at the right time makes for a life well balanced and worth living.

There is nothing wrong with being “profoundly sad”. And I shouldn’t feel guilty or less than when I find myself sitting in the middle of the ocean of grief. For my heart knows the height of utter bliss, happiness and joy, as well as the darkest abyss of mournful sadness and grief. For me, both are needful and good. So, to answer my question- Can I Overcome This Sadness? the answer is yes, maybe I can, but more importantly, why would I want to?
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Morning breaks to find me sitting at the edge of the horizon waiting patiently. As the warmth of the light filled particles warms my face, bones, and heart I can’t help but feel hopeful that today is the day. My eyes hold steady in focus the winding road leading to my door. He is coming today! I knew it yesterday in the underneath of my belly, that “knowing” place deep inside beyond reason and doubt. So, I made myself ready before dawn, before light awakened the sleeping and unassuming. Eagerly, I position myself in the best vantage point to see his arrival. Oh! How my eyes have hungered for his face and touch! Oh! The tears I have cried for him to remember me and set himself to the pathway to my door.

As the morning turns to late afternoon, my heart never wavers, my eyes never cease their searching. My heart quickens with the evening breeze as I listen for the rustle of his footsteps. Twilight approaches and with it the lonely song of the mockingbird. As his whistled tune reverberates through the cavern of my mind and echoes through the tunnels of my heart, I catch movement down the path. As my eyes tightened to adjust to the great distance and dimming light, one thing is certain. This isn’t the friend I longed for. This is a stranger who approaches.

More frightening than the knowledge of the stranger is the assurance that he is no friend but a supposed enemy. The blow to my heart is doubly felt. I scarce can take in all that is affronting me. The realization that my friend isn’t coming is hard enough to deal with, but the knowledge that someone I don’t know is now standing in front of me, as to take hold of me, drives me to my knees in devastation and sadness.

The stranger is not put off by my tears nor screams. He is indifferent to my suffering of his presence. Easily and gently he slowly settles himself on the ground beside me. And there we sit, all night, all day, all night. Again and again the 24-hour cycle comes and goes and the stranger shadow never leaves me.
In the days upon his arrival, I am changed. My blood has turned to lead and it’s all I can do to stand up and move from one spot to another. The air around me is stale and putrid. There is no appetite in me. My thoughts swirl around me in confusion, anger and nothingness. Oh, how I hate the stranger! I hate that he’s come to my door. And I tell him. I scream my bitterness to him. My cold eyes hold his gaze and I bathe in the hatred I have for him. But, still he stays. And never is he forgotten.

The hours have turned to days, weeks, months, and now years. My hatred for him ebbed into a loathsome acceptance of his presence. We became silent dance partners, moving in tensioned unison, my head always turned away from his. After all these years, the heaviness of his presence hasn’t changed. I’ve learned to breathe the new air without my lungs rebelling and my thickened blood moves coarsely through my veins unnoticed by my other organs.

For the first time after four and half years since his first appearance, I decided to look at him, the stranger. He never had hands to help me or to lift me up. He never had answers for me or comfort to offer. He only ever brought me heartache, devastation, and loss. I couldn’t abide his presence much less want to engage in a look. But now, with my head lifted, my heart steady and my mind focused, I found his face. And his hand found mine.

That which startled me most about the engagement was what was revealed in my heart… gratitude.

It is unspeakable what transpired in that millisecond of exchange. Why in the world would I feel gratitude for him? Especially when all I ever felt was anger and hatred for him. How I longed for Miracle that day, four and half years ago. I sat eagerly waiting for his arrival. He was meant to make my life better again. For weeks and months, I sat at the edge of the dawn eagerly awaiting his coming. Foolish is what I felt after his refusal and betrayal, foolishness clumped together with jagged edges of emotion and a bleeding heart. Miracle didn’t come that day but instead, Tragedy was sent on his journey to find my front door. Tragedy, not Miracle, found me. And his visit is the hardest thing I’ve ever endured.

We move together through the house now. We are life-long companions. I accept that now without tasting bile in the back of my throat. Tragedy is not my enemy any more than he is my friend. He is and we are and there is nothing I can do about our “togetherness”. I’ve stopped asking, “Why didn’t Miracle?” and “Why did Tragedy?”. Those are circular thoughts eating their own tails, never satisfied, only exhausted.

Though I have hated Tragedy, I’ve come to learn he doesn’t hate me. Through him there is opportunity to see and experience a different world. I was brought low through his visit. I know what it is to breathe only dust and lose life’s dreams. My body has rebelled as wildly as my soul for his visit. There is not one aspect of me that Tragedy has left unchanged. And yet, in our exchange, gratitude is what I unexpectedly experienced.
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Miracle and Tragedy aren’t opposites of good and bad or ministers of blessing and judgement; they are kindred spirits revealing hearts and exposing truths.
Only the mended heart can experience the honor of mending the broken hearted. To have a heart mended is to know the price of having your heart broken.
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The dark waters writhed and raged and worked themselves like the jaws of a ravenous beast. I fell head long and heavy into its jagged mouth. Immediately, with its hunger satiated, the waters fell still and quiet. The black sea was hungry no more. As I sank deep, I knew justice was served. My disobedience recognized. My punishment deserved. Sinking further down still, I look up to glimpse the light of grace and freedom cover the horizon above me, moving quickly beyond the hope of my grasp. ​

I thought to run from His sight. My running gave courage and peace to my deceived, arrogant and unlearned heart. As I am cast out of His sight, my feet dragging the bottom of the abyss to make the trench for my watery grave, I am filled with regret and remorse. His presence is all I long for. The dark waters of my punishment cover my head and weigh my soul like iron prison bars. In that place I remembered You. In the desperation of my guilt and shame, through the pain of my spirit and soul, I cried out. I cried out for the only One who could hear me. I reached for the One who had done this to me. Would You hear me? ​

From a lowly and contrite heart, I murmured a prayer. As the seaweeds greeted me with open arms and wrapped themselves around my cold body, my prayer ascended from the dark pit to rise swiftly and gently like a white feathered dove to nest earnestly in Your Most Holy place.
 
You heard me.
 
You answered me.
 
It's been three days since Your mercy sought me out and found me. Your mercy swallowed me up and covered me completely. I have not seen the light yet.  I have not tasted warmth yet. It is still cold and wet and dark where I sit, but now I know- I am not alone. You see me. You hold me in the palm of your hand. By His grace I have been saved and I know I will be delivered. My Deliverance is Coming!!

​– supposed excerpt from Jonah’s Diary while inside the whale
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​“The tender petals of a beautiful flower young in time wither and fall from the green stalk only to litter the ground with the memory of what once was. Poems, stories and songs illustrate this very natural cycle and romanticize the notion of all the wonder contained therein.
​This picture of “death” is one dimensional and is as easily forgettable as the trampled upon dust of those fallen petals which now dance unnoticed on the top of avoided mud puddles.”
 
Current definitions hold that death is simply the permanent ending of a vital process in a cell or tissue.   From my experience there are infinitely more dimensions of death.  My understanding defines Death as the state which allows us to be (re)birthed into a life other than our current state of being. Of course, I cannot speak of my own physical death. In that case, I can only speculate to describe the process, transportation and (re)discovery of oneself as a new being who is suddenly awakened into a new realm. As if anything I could conjure in my tiny mind could really fathom the experience that this kind of death can bring. No, the dimension of death to which I am referring is experiencing the tragic loss of someone close to you, and that being YOURSELF, as. you. still. live.  And here let me stop. Some have said, I know your pain of death, I’ve lost a ----. You can fill in whatever you think I’m talking about. But, let this help guide you into what I am really inferring. Death, as can be described by, a rebirth of a new you. Period. The worst, and I shouldn’t say “worst” because that isn’t quite right, but rather the hardest, most difficult rebirth is the one you didn’t ask for, the one you didn’t plan for. This kind of death could be divorce, financial hardship, or yes, even the loss of your beloved child. You can’t pinpoint when it happened, certainly not the moment the event punched you in the gut, grabbed your bleeding heart, ripped it out of your chest, and left you gasping for air that could no longer fill your imploding lungs. No, that moment and the ones that follow closely, find you focusing on feeble attempts to stop the ringing in your ears, comprehending your surroundings and trying to be strong for those closest to you. No, death hasn’t deepened in you yet. You haven’t died quite yet. But, slowly as the days, weeks, months, maybe years pass, you realize you are bent in your thinking. Your view of the world has changed as well as your view of the people in it. You are new; and you are shocked at your transformation. Death sat you down, looked you in the eye and started a long-deep conversation. You can’t help but be changed. And as you emerge from your “cocoon” you are stunned to realize you are a different person. If this hasn’t happened to you, if you don’t understand the depth of unauthorized change to which I am speaking, stop wasting your time by reading these trivial nonsensical words. You simply won’t get it. To those of you who have experienced the gradual, stumbling, mind-numbing evolution/de-evolution/re-evolution of your being, my hat very humbly goes off to you and your brave choice to live in the midst of a brand-new you and in an incomprehensible new world.
Earlier, I couldn’t say “worst thing” when speaking about what we have experienced, only difficult and hard. The reason being, as death has deepened inside of me, I can rightly say life has too. There is a struggle to see the “new” you without seeing the horridly torturous transformation process thrust upon you. It was something you didn’t ask for or really want. Death did that, changed us, transformed us and watched us to see how we would react, what we would do. But, did you know? Death never sits alone. In my experience, Life sits right next to him. The change Death brings when I see him alone is just that- death and all the colors he brings into my world which is destruction. As I continue to gaze at him eventually the only colors that exist in my world are levels upon levels of death, nothingness and unrelenting pain. However, when I realize Death does not sit alone, the colors of my world begin to drastically change. The law of this current world is, “There cannot be life without death”, so, then, the opposite must be true. “There cannot be death without life.” Both sit with us. But, Death- he’s loud and flamboyant and with the pain of this world lodged deep within my heart I am attracted to him, even though I can’t stand or understand him. And Life, well, He is quiet and patient and He waits. He doesn’t come without permission. He doesn’t do and undo my life without my consent. So much happens to me that I didn’t ask for; it’s odd to be loved and respected enough to have to ask for His involvement. As I think about that statement, and feel the weight of this truth as it settles into the marrow of my bones, I am reminded of a toddler playing with a “fit the right shape into the right hole” game. While my heart knows this deep abiding truth of giving permission to Life, my soul fights with the awkwardness of the rightness of it. I’m not accustomed to asking for Life’s involvement. Sadly, I’ve grown so used to just trying to dodge all the bad- run from death, hide from pain, and cast all negativity behind and away from me- because it all comes unbidden, unannounced and unwelcomed.
Losing Grace scarred me and the journey thereafter has transformed me. And I’m learning to be ok with that. I didn’t turn my head, cough, and “get over” it, like it was a normal albeit uncomfortable personal assault or accepted natural cycle. What a waste of a tragic event! It was the death of me. But, like the cocoon for the butterfly, is it death or is it new life? The truth is, Life and Death is set before me, has sat with me. To sit with Death, not run or hide from his presence has transported me into transformation as I have leaned into and held onto Life. To absorb, wait, and wait and wait and possibly make mistakes and wait some more …has made me realize there is no perfect cocoon of transformation of life. We are fumbling around with our “new” selves bumping into things and people-perhaps even hurting them and ourselves in the process. But, when Life is seen and experienced in the same depth as Death, I learn… I grow. And I am at peace with the death of me and am learning to love the emerging “new” me.

When they heard these things they were cut to the heart, and they gnashed at         him with their teeth.
 
But he, being full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God,
and Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and said,
 
“Look! I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”
 
Then they cried out with a loud voice, stopped their ears, and ran at him with one accord; and they cast him out of the city and stoned him. Acts 7:54-58

     The dust is stirred so thick and dense you cannot take a clean breath, so you force yourself to adjust to smaller shallower breaths. The breeze is hot and thick and so pungent with the scent of fear it makes your stomach churn with disgust. The atmosphere is charged with the sharp edge of violence. Neurons in your brain are electrified as time slows and lengthens as you interpret every twitch of their eye in a millisecond. As you look into the crowd, you register every body movement, every turn of the head, every hand motion, and each step of the foot. The hairs on your arm and the back of your neck stand at attention, prickled with anticipation. Even in the heat you feel chilled. It’s like every part of you stands tall, like readied soldiers, alert and reflexive. But while your body is ready to defend and conquer, your spirit is calm, assured and ready with a peace only heaven can offer.

     What it must have been like to be Stephen. He is categorized as “The First Martyr” of the Christian faith. His account by all purposes is grand and glorious even with its most violent and bloodied end. What faith he must have possessed! What grand and glorious faith to see him through to the end. I can hardly imagine it!! I wonder what it might have been like for him. What it is to have your faith tested to the point of death? Would I have been on the side against Stephen? Sometimes I contemplate if I would have measured the weight of the cold rock in my hand, studied its shape and exchanged it for another one…a better one. But, where my thoughts always seem to end up, circling and whirling like a leaf caught in the bustling breeze is what it must have been like for his loved ones. Did such a one watch from a distance as he addressed the crowds? Did they watch in terror and horror as the first stone was thrown? Was it they who first to ran to his side to pick up his bloodied, bruised and mangled body? What were they thinking? How did they feel? Did their view of God change in the observance of Stephen’s death? Was their faith built or shaken?

     It is one thing to face your own battle, to struggle, and fight and then hopefully learn through all you faced. But, as I have come to know, it is quite another to stand helpless as you watch someone you love struggle and fight, even unto death. You can glory in God that He was with them. You can marvel at their level of faith and sustaining peace. But, there is no getting over, as you stand close to hold their hand, wipe their sweat and hear their prayers as well as the groans of never abating pain, you are transformed during the process. And, the greater their battle, the greater their suffering and agony the greater you are challenged with a perplexing new sight of your God. With a heart wide open, fully enduring and engaging in all their moments whether you want it or not, ready or not, willing or not, you are forever changed.      

     You try to piece in your mind a loving God who allows righteous souls such violent pain and agonizing suffering. This is the God of Stephen. I have an idea of what Stephen’s loved ones might have felt, the questions they might have addressed and challenged to their God. Or perhaps I have no clue at all. Maybe I am soft and unlearned in the ways of God and Heaven when it comes to practical Christian living here on this earth. Maybe it is a combination of both. Maybe in these circumstances our faith is shaken and it is built.     

     Grief is common to all. Grief is like hunger or sexual drive. It is neutral. It is just a feeling. Like hunger, I must confine my grief, master it or it will inevitably define and master me. I have grieved not only the loss of Grace but more importantly I have grieved my belief about God. I lost both and it has felt like great punishment. If I was being punished I didn’t know what for. My great grief about God can be likened to the child who is taken from his play pen and put in the highchair at the dinner table. He wails and cries at the loss of his favorite toy. But the loving parent knows playtime is over. It is now time for lunch. The wailing child, not yet suspecting his coming hunger refuses to be satisfied with the unexpected change. I am certain my “grief” is like that. We are assured our Father does not take one thing away from us only to replace it with a thing of equal value. Because He is good, He always gives us something greater than the thing we supposedly “lost”.

     The deepest blackest fear that has plagued me through my grief is, “Will my faith endure this?” There is no doubt I have struggled with grief, the ones closest to me know this too well. But my greatest grief struggle hasn’t been with the loss of Grace, but rather being changed through the process around her death. I watched a peaceful soul in the hands of God die a wretched, painful, horrible death. It has proved to be more than my mind about my view of God can comprehend, absorb or even allow. But, then I reason, for this, faith has been given. Faith is to learn God, to know Him and be one with Him. Faith, when confronted with life’s challenge of uncertainty, is not a lobotomy to eradicate our fears or natural urges nor is it a sponge to erase the chalk board of our circumstances whether mental, physical, external or internal. Faith is not given to become a broom with which to sweep all of life’s “stuff” under the proverbial “Christian” rug.

     Some have said because of faith I will not look at this or that, as if it doesn’t really exist. As if refusing to acknowledge a natural fact somehow diminishes its power or existence. Is the child exercising faith when he closes his eyes and says, “If I can’t see you then you can’t see me”? Or is he merely dealing with his problem as only a child can. While that might be the beginnings of faith, I won’t disallow that, I certainly don’t want that to be the end of my faith. I could say how easy that could have been, to just pick up and move on, erase the last few weeks of Grace’s life and death and pretend I didn’t watch her suffering, pretend I didn’t believe for her healing. Pretend I was not devastated with her end. It may have been easy, but for me it seemed impossible. I am not ok with any of it, but I want to be. I do not understand the God of Stephen, but I want to. It seems to me that by ignoring my raging questions and the raw internal challenge I have with the outcome is to constrict my God and actually requires no faith at all. God to me, through all I have witnessed, has become bigger not smaller. And I have been challenged and stretched more than I thought possible at my perception of His growth.   

     This perplexity with my many questions and concerns about her death and all that surrounded it has made me question my “lack of faith”. It’s like my hands have held two pieces of God that just wouldn’t fit together. He is a good Father and yet, He will allow great suffering. (It seems the pieces fit perfectly on the page, that is, until they are applied directly to my life or my prayers for deliverance or my intended easy living.) Is it that my disheartened spirit is angry with God? These are some of the grueling questions that have attacked my faith during the last two and half years. I can rightfully say it was a huge factor in my feelings of “failure” and has only served to plague me further. With my unanswered questions about a God I couldn’t understand coupled with my guilt for the churning unrelenting questions, I feel I have bled out faith little by little for the past two years. I bled faith because I have not understood the “God of Stephen”, but I want to. What I am at last learning is my struggle of grief with God does not mean I have lacked or have lost faith.

     “…for the greater the love the greater the grief, and the stronger the faith the more savagely will Satan storm its fortress.” (Douglas Gresham)  

​Because of the words of a dear friend, I now look back at our confidence of faith to see Grace raised and I see no defeat of my faith. I do not see little faith, quiet faith or failed faith. I see faith and all the strong glorious substance that it contains- hope in God, who He is and what He was doing. What we believed we believed with our whole hearts. I will never regret that depth nor will I allow the outcome to hinder the power of living and believing with my whole heart now. Her death was not a lack of faith nor a battle lost concerning my faith. What I am coming to understand is that it takes faith to look steadfast into doubt to see it turn into understanding. It takes faith to look into the darkness of nothing and search for the light of new growth. This experience, as heart breaking, hard and tedious as it has been, has not pushed me away from God but actually has caused me to search deeper for Him. My “grief” of lost belief and many questions has caused an expansion of new spiritual sight and has helped me “misunderstand a little less completely” (C.S. Lewis) the God of Stephen. 

     Fables and stories of old still circulate and thrive today because there is an ounce of truth within them that fascinates us. In the dark recess of our minds we crave that truth. We want something to hate or be frightened of so we can more aptly know what it is to love and find safety. It should be the other way around. But, let’s face it. Sometimes we get twisted.

     Monsters and goblins are very real; they just look different to each one of us. Bankruptcy is a very real monster so some. That misshapen creature shrieking through jagged wet teeth chasing the innocent soul through the dark thick woods may look like addiction to others.

                                         The monster that is real to me…the Vampire.

     Although today they have been romanticized and idolized, the vampires of old were scary and considered monsters to be feared, hated and defeated. The movie scenes of the biggest sensations were those with beautiful women who had hearts that beat wildly for the debonair man with the pronounced widow’s peak. But, vampires in general, were not that choosy. They simply wanted to “feed”. They just wanted blood. They didn’t care about beauty or hair color, age or ethnicity. Their nature was to drain their victim of life. I state this fact with disdain, vivid disgust and vile hatred. Many religions and most of science state, life is in the blood. To take the right amount of blood is to take life.

     So yes, the vampire. This is the monster that stares at me with mocking eyes when I visit my friends, waiting in wicked splendor for his name to be mention. When I stumble across a random conversation with a stranger, it seems the vampire is there, lurking in the background, gloating and taunting wanting reverie and awe. Who doesn’t hear the word cancer at least once a day? Anyone who has seen this vampire called Cancer or watched him work knows how quickly he desires to drain the blood, force life out of the body and push terror to the surface of not only the “victim” but those helpless souls who stand in horror and loneliness watching it play out like a scene from a movie script. The horror is…this is real life.

     Things in the hospital were not going well, but we had a good direction and were looking at a relatively “happy” ending. They would open up my daughter, take out the “cyst” and all would heal up quite nicely. Then the doctors took a picture of it. And with the simple words, “It’s not what we thought. It has a blood supply”, everything changed.

     The monster inside her actually drained the life from her. We watched our nineteen year old daughter turn into an eighty year old woman in a matter of ten months. She began her journey in August, 2012, at 160 lbs. She died in May, 2013, at 90 lbs. For Christmas I bought my previously size 11 teenage daughter a size 0 skinny jean from Rue 21. Holding them up into the light, turning them over and over again in my shaking hands, fighting back tears, I focused on all the bling. She would simply ADORE the bling! It was the hardest clothes shopping trip of my life!!

     The vampire tumor inside her was sucking her blood, swallowing it up and ferociously going back for more. And with every bite, he grew bigger. Its appetite was insatiable. The first time she was on her “death bed” they gave her several pints of blood, giving her more life. She rallied; it would take that damned beast two more times on her “death bed” before her sweet precious life would find ultimate glory.

     But, let me tell you how this life scene played out. She wasn’t that frail beauty dressed in the white gown, running through the dark woods, tripping and falling over limbs and debris. Oh no! This beauty was fighting back every step of the way. She laughed harder every time he attacked. She loved fiercer than he hated. And, she became sweeter the more he took. She did not give him reverie or awe. Better yet, she never gave him fear. She feared only the One, the One who gave her life. She never spoke of death, only the promise of light, laughter and love. Though he took her blood, the vampire could not take her life. She had already given her life to her Father long before the threat of it being taken. So, in the midst of his idle threats she laughed!! She would never be his victim. She knew she was something he couldn’t touch!

To know your beginning, to understand your middle chapters and be at peace with your ending is the hope in all our hearts. It is your life story, years written on the pages of your life, crafted in your heart, penned by your soul and scripted by your thoughts, beliefs and words. And it screams to be told, shared and marveled upon.
It’s amazing how heavy your heart becomes when you hear the sad news of another’s difficulty in life. I walked away from such a conversation just yesterday. It weighed so heavy on my heart I couldn’t sleep last night. I awoke at 2:00 a.m. just wishing I could talk to her, hold her hand and reassure her with comforting words. She would probably think me weird since we’re not that close of friends. But such intimate heartfelt hope and prayers seem to stand worthy in that time of morning regardless of relation. She is one of the many that stood beside us when Grace was writing her own story. She and her son offered us great love, solid connection and I’m sure many pure and wondrous prayers during our time of difficulty.
Eric and I have wondered at the complexity of Grace’s life being an uplifting and inspirational story but at the same time, being a difficult journey. But, isn’t that where inspiration and hope lie? Inspiration is found in the light beam of hope as it shines brightly during the darkness of stormy weather. The lighthouse can be a majestic sight during the day and one might wonder at its grandeur. But it is only the haggard and wayward sailors, saved by its direction and light when dark clouds cover the stars and no other light can be seen, who truly know of the magnificence and significance of its light. It is the heart, who in great difficulty finds hope, peace and love to stand strong, not bent by the damaging winds, who offers the great light of inspiration. It is that heart, through difficulty and challenge that can truly inspire and encourage others. Grace’s life and story is inspiring because of the great challenge she not only endured, but overcame. Just yesterday Eric was told it takes great courage to read Grace’s story, but you always leave inspired.
It is on my friend’s behalf that I write this today. This dear heart, who is finding a very difficult chapter added to her life story. It is she who is keeping me up at night. I am wondering how she is handling having her life story altered and changed without her permission, without her consent and against her will. Don’t we all adore the surprises in our life chapters that bring elation? What is better than chapters added to our story that bring happiness we never thought possible? The twists and turns even we didn’t expect but find ourselves marveling upon in the warmth of the sun as we sit in the garden bloom of our pages. Coffee in hand we smile as we recall each glorious internal revelation of elation. But, where is the inspiration in those memories? What strength does it take to live or read the chapters of happiness and perfection? It is in the quiet of our heart as our coffee cools that we hear the whisper, “Who we are, who we truly are, cannot be revealed through only those light airy chapters.
We find we are dangling preposterously within the unfinished paragraph as unexpected pages are added to our story, pages that describe the sun as it fades behind dark clouds and the chill we feel as its warmth of life separates itself from us. In our suspension we are haunted by the grueling question, “What now?” But, within those pages of uncertainty, and doubt, when we are living a life unscripted and unknown, it is our faith that valiantly confronts the vapors of doubt and discouragement. It is strength of courage that arises from the dark words as they are being etched within our soul or on our body. It is within these fog filled chapters that our true character is revealed. And inspiration erupts.
We must remember these chapters of darkness and uncertainty, which are added while we were busy making other plans, remain incomplete. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves, what is written is not the whole story, just a portion of the outline. It is up to us to fill in the missing gaps with faith, peace and hope. Yes, we are responsible for our own story, but we also know when others need our hope filled words of encouragement and strength. What an honor it is to be able to write, in our own hand, upon the heart of another. Sometimes the gaps in our story aren’t for us to fill in alone, but rather a precious opportunity for others to play a vital role in our story. It is amazing to watch the seeds of inspiration and love we plant in another’s heart to germinate, grow and bloom in our own.
At 2:00 in the morning I would hold this lovely mother close and tell her to hold on to hope, laughter and love. With heartfelt support I would whisper into her heart that she is not alone, that she does not face any of this alone. She would hear that the strength she needs to endure what is to come is already inside her, she brims with the wonder of courage yet untold and faith yet unrevealed. She would know she and her family are covered in the support, love, care and prayers of many. She did not ask for this chapter to be added to her life and she certainly would not have chosen it for herself, but never the less, the truest of her wonderful self will be revealed. And we will all marvel at the revelation.

Grave yards. Cemeteries. Memorial Gardens. Final Resting Place. Each word deserves the punctuation of a period because each word contains the weight of the severity of life and the abrupt halt to it all. What more can be added? The words themselves hold a finality of thought and being. For us who are still living, it seems like the end. No more talks. No more laughs. No more dreams of the future. No more dread of the past. No more time. Just…no more…

I would say that is one of my greatest fears in life. Let me pause here a bit. As I think about it, it seems my greatest fears are always centered on my children. Fears do no gather about myself, but rather target my children. Such is the life, the battle, of parenthood. It seems natural to battle fear when you love something so much and that something or someone is beyond your control. I’ve heard it said our children are our hearts beating outside our chests. I believe that’s true. We hurt when they hurt. We cry with them. We laugh with them. We work so very diligently to ensure they have the best of what we can give. If our thoughts, prayers, words of affirmation, instruction, and correction, if all of the weight we carry concerning the welfare, happiness and direction of our children could be quantified, counted and aligned like stepping stones, I’m sure our children could walk to the moon and back each day with stones still left untouched. 

But, what if, all of a sudden, all those stones fell to the earth? What do you do with all the unspent dreams of the future? What direction do you go when direction is no longer needed. How do you cope when your prayers cease to matter?  What if there was no more time. Just…no more…?

How odd the realization that your child remains your “child”, whether in life or in death. It is true; I still “fear” over Grace. She is still my child. There was never a doubt my love for her would remain. Because of the depth of love, I have not minded the hurt so deeply carved in my chest from missing her that I literally cannot think, move or breathe. And where you love, you hold concern; you pause your life, stop for a moment and give thought and chunks of yourself and time to the one you love. Whether they be of this world or the next.  One of my greatest fears is that Grace will be forgotten. Not forgotten by me or anyone who really loved her, but rather that “time” would become a thief who steals her name from people’s hearts and lips. Or that in time, Grace’s memory and legacy will be covered over and masked like landscape draped in kudzu. As you pass by you gaze passively over the landscape, your mind trying recover what you forgot. You know something used to be there but now, all that remains is the blurred, faint silhouetted lines of whatever lies beneath. So, not remembering, and with little concern, you move on.

I went to the Grave Yard. The Cemetery.  The Memorial Gardens. The Final Resting Place earlier this week. What I am trying to convey is the level of gratitude and peace I felt when I saw the long stem roses on Grace’s grave. “THANK YOU!” to the person, or persons who left the purple roses in her vase. I wish I could communicate effectively the effect seeing those roses had on me and what it did for my aching heart. How do you convey with mere words what is felt so deeply within your bones? How do I capture the ABC’s of the alphabet soup that is my mind and emotions when it comes to living without Grace? Going to visit Grace’s grave is still the hardest thing for me to do. But, I go just to sit with her memory for a while. I sit and remember her as a child loving Barney and picking wild flowers with her pudgy little pink fist. I remember her smile and the determination of her will. I remember her laughs and twinkling eyes and her hurts, fears and tears. I go and hope that now she is happier than ever in her new place. And I hope she can’t see what is going on here. I hope there is no past in heaven, just the hope and light of the present moment. And, I go to change out the dead flowers on her headstone for fresh ones.  I know fresh flowers don’t last long, especially now with the sun scorching all it touches. Needless to say, her gravesite always looks pitiful, dead and bare, especially compared to the others around it, but I don’t really care. It looks how I feel when I visit. But, Sunday’s visit held a beautiful surprise. In amongst my dead flowers were three un-expectant long-stem mystery roses.  I knew they were there in honor of the anniversary of her passing. The roses were long since dead, but all I saw was gorgeous, fragrant, alive beating love. My Grace was remembered. Not forgetting is not the same thing as remembering. Grace was remembered; I held the proof in my hands. As I sat there, holding those withered petals, captivated by the motivation of their existence and appearance in the vase,  my soul felt a little less withered, a little less scorched by the heat of death. I discovered as I left that day, my heart was lighter and I could breathe a little better. My fears were eased; Grace was more than not forgotten. Grace was remembered!

Again, from a mother’s heart,“Thank You!”

Startling realization yesterday....

In order to deliver a child into this world it takes an enormous amount of resource! To ensure the health of the mother and child, much time is given to research, teaching, help, direction and conversations with total strangers. Most even take "Lamaze" classes to help further prepare the new mother and father for what is to come and how to handle the unseen.

In the same way, to ensure health... It takes no less time, effort, resources, direction and help to support the mother and father when their child leaves this world...

For me, I have been plagued by guilt that I am not progressing in (just a fancy term for getting over) the death of my child. Yes, I know it's been over a year. Yes, I am a Christian. Yes, I know Grace is in a much better place. Yes, I do believe I will see her again. But, still, knowing all that, I am heart-broken she is not here with me anymore. My heart aches to hear her voice and see her face, kiss her brow and hear her annoyance at my overbearing motherly advice. It has been a year and three months since Grace passed and the pain in my heart is no less severe and I am not any happier about it today than I was 15 months ago! And no, I don’t see that just disappearing in the next few hours, days, weeks or months.

So, no, I realize, I am not “progressing” very well. I need help.

I open my eyes each morning… I eat my lunch…I answer phone calls and buy groceries and smile politely all while swatting at that swarm of buzzing gnats beating my soul with the same rhythmic incessant thought, “A Christain who is full of faith should not be feeling these soulish emotions. People are tired of you being such a “downer” during celebratory events and casual conversations. You should be ashamed of your deep anger, bitter doubt, mounting frustration and depressing brokenness.” Which, in turn, only makes me more angry, more frustrated and more depressed! I need help!

What I am discovering is that it is not about the efficiency or depth of faith that makes this journey of burying a child more successful or quicker or less painful. But rather, what direction I apply my faith. That is the key. It is easy to see that the new mother is not negating her faith (or in fact it really has anything to do with faith) when she seeks out help and resources to bring her newborn into this world. We call that wisdom. And that is exactly where our faith should lead us…into wise council from ones who have experienced what we are going through. It is through process, wise counsel and experienced help we deliver our child into this world and it is through process, wise counsel and experienced help that we find our way back to a healthy life when our child leaves this world.

(I speak as one who lost a child, but I believe the guilt free faith of “getting help” would be beneficial through any traumatic or devastating event in our lives.)

Joy, as defined by Webster’s Dictionary, is the “state or feeling of great happiness”, as if the only way to find joy is to top the scale of happiness. If that were the case very few of us would ever find “Joy”. Maybe in the truest sense of the word, very few of us do.

I remember shortly after my dad died Eric and I, along with our four small children, were out “joy” riding. There is something about dirt roads that sing to me. They are the sweetest lullabies that draw out the deepest of hidden memories and unfurled dreams inside of me. Something elusive makes me yearn for the courageous and reckless spirit of dirt roads. The woods, in all their mystery and fortitude, stand guard and hold their ground at the very edge of this “path” that has been purposefully and rebelliously cut through them like winding scars. And oh my! What an olfactory buffet. You can smell dirt from the newly planted fields. Or fresh water on newly cut grass. The jasmine calls in sweet fragrance as it drapes graciously over fence rows. And honeysuckle as it hangs in trumpets of honey gold from overgrown trees. The children are singing and laughing as they bounce around in the back of the slow moving truck. Eric and I are holding hands, saying little as random dogs bark and chase our tires. And I am thinking of my dad. Missing him so much I can hardly breathe. And then it hits me. This thing so slight but solid hits me out of the blue. In the depth of my sorrow and grief comes this awakening of the moment, unfolding in heaviness but quickness before my very eyes. I look at my tenderly held hand and the back seat full of our love manifested in dirt smeared, giggling faces. Out of the midst of the belly of grief blooms not pleasure or happiness but rather the whisper of an indescribable idea or reality. I sense it in its beauty and depth and am instantly confused but grateful by its presence. It can only be described as J O Y. It only came to rest like a butterfly, but as it lit, I was filled with a desire so great and so overwhelming I knew it did not come from me. The reality of it sits within me to this day, some ten years later.

Joy is different from any other emotion. So much is the difference that I would say joy is not an emotion at all and therefore cannot be associated with the “height” of an emotion. Saying that joy is the “state of great happiness” is like saying a big hill is a tiny mountain. In the description you may have been referring to scale but missed the majesty of the greater, thus reducing the true nature of the most grand to a thing that could easily be handled and explained. A mountain is seen as a creation of grandeur and glory. To use in comparison the mountain to a hill will only reduce the notion of the mountain, not elevate the reality of a hill.

To my understanding, joy and happiness are not to be pieced together, to do so will only reduce the glory of joy to merely just” a good time.”

Bitterness, pain, sorrow and grief are all emotions. And, in my reasoning, an emotion cannot overcome another emotion. Pleasure can replace pain, but as soon as pleasure is gone the pain will immediately come back. The emotion of bitterness, pain, sorrow and grief can only be overcome by joy. I have been plagued by these emotions this past year. I have felt the depth of a broken heart and have contended with the emotions that ravage the tender soul like swarms of hungry and careless locust.  I have been crying out for J O Y! But the mystery of joy is that you cannot achieve it or find it like you find pleasure, comfort and happiness. The awesomeness of joy is that it finds you. The secret of joy is to recognize it when comes to rest upon you. God said His kingdom is a place filled with righteousness, peace and joy.  Thankfully, He did not say happiness. Who would be happy to die on a cross? What kind of God would expect it? But like righteousness and peace, joy is not achieved. It is given. And it is given in the most bitter of natural circumstances. That is the goodness of God for my sake! (And for the sake of my hurt and ravaged soul.)  In a heart filled with peace and righteousness, the reality of joy comes to rest. It matters not that I am not happy, or that my soul is tormented. In fact I am finding that it is these times when I sense most clearly the touch of joy. With tears on my face, in the bitterness of heartfelt pain, my God answers me. He gives me a reality bigger than my temporary being. He gives me…  J O Y. 

The blast goes off and your ears start ringing. People are moving around you. They are speaking…their mouths are moving but the sound is muffled. You try to press forward but the ground is tilted in a way that throws you off balance. You strain to focus, really concentrate on what is being asked of you. “Do you need cash back?” And you realize with aching clarity that no one else’s world has stopped spinning or moving or speeding ahead.  And you can’t help but be jealous for just a moment. You toy with the notion of anger and bitterness.  My child is gone…my world turned upside down and inside out. This should matter to you, stranger cashier lady. The fact that my world has stopped while yours continues to spin should matter to you… You shake your head dumbly, reach for your receipt and numbly walk out of the store, tears streaming down your face. You wonder darkly, not when but if, your world will ever be right again. “When will the blast of heart wrenching ache stop hitting me and bringing me to my bloodied and bruised knees?”

It is good to report, that after one year, the above scenario happens less and less, but with no less severity. When the blast comes, it still hits just as hard and ugly and I am still left completely undone.  The year has sneaked up on me and yet it seems I have been counting down the days, hours and minutes to the anniversary. I know that sounds crazy and morbid….but true. The one year mark was like that huge rock in the middle of the ocean I swam toward every day. “Just one more hand stroke in front of the other, come on girl, you can do it. That’s it…one more time now.” Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours turned to days, days to weeks and weeks to months and now...one year. So here we are. Tomorrow marks the day. May 9th, 2014, at 5:33 am, Grace Erin Smith passed from this world to the glorious next!

I do not refer to this day with the thoughts of death or dying…but rather re-birth. Grace was born into Heaven at 5:33 am on May 9th! We purpose in our hearts to mark tomorrow with celebration and anticipation of seeing her again. Yes, we will remember her through smiles, laughter and tears.

 I feel every 31,557,600 second of her separation in my bones, in my heart, in my teeth and my hair. Her life and departure has become such a part of my existence. My DNA. Grace changed my life. And that change has only grown in the past year. Yes, her life changed mine and I will forever be thankful I had the chance to know Grace and sit in the front row seat of her life!

A year has almost past since Grace’s death. And I am unnerved by it. How is my life supposed to look after a year? How am I supposed to feel after a year? I never made a mental or physical check list of where I thought I would be a year after her death. But, still, by no work of my own conscience, there are un-adventured roads of unspoken and un-formed expectations shoved into the back of my mind, like fragmented and deformed sculptures by a distracted but gifted artist who can’t see his creations through to fruition. The bottom line, the only fully formed concept that has held my attention, etched below of all the unreadable and mostly illegible fine print of the ‘mental death contract’ in bold and highlighted lettering, “In a year, you will be better than you are today.” 

As I look around our bedroom I see the stack of bags and papers that still sit right where we put them almost a year ago when we brought them home from hospice. And it reverberates inside me, “We brought them home instead of Grace.” All of her belongings cluttered the back of our car, but sadly, devastatingly, no Grace. I learned to ignore the “in plain sight” Grace clutter like one learns to ignore the sound of fingernails scraping a chalkboard. Yeah, it’s kind of like that, but, much, much worse. Each day they greeted me with hostility, paralleling their miserable orphaned and exiled existence beside my bed with the miserable abandoned pain I felt, reminding me again, “Grace is gone.” Each day I heard their irritating scratching and grinding from the solemn place they commanded, but I remained helpless to do anything about the piercing and stabbing sound. I just turned my head, averted my eyes and reminded myself to ignore the sound. Some days when I caught the clutter unaware, I would brush my fingertips over the journals and cards, believing today was the day to go through it all and put it in its proper place.  I tried several times. I failed each time.
“I’ll get to it.” “I have time. It hasn’t been a year yet.” I thought that for 340 days. Some days I thought that exact thought more than once. Still, it all sits, sleeps and screams. 

The year mark is fast approaching and my apprehension is rising. And I don’t really know what to think or what to expect. That day, like all the 365 days before it, will consist of 24 hours.  Twenty-four ordinary hours. And, I hate the thought of the “ordinary-ness” that day will carry with it. The seconds will turn into minutes, the minutes into hours, ordinary, unexpressive hours. And the day will be gone. 

Will the counter start again? Will I have another perspective that can only come after 365 days? The year mark is coming. I have no answers. I have no expectations. And tomorrow is another day.


     Since Grace’s death, I have really changed my mind about many things, faced a lot of difficult questions and statements and endured more emotional pain than I ever imagined I would. Some of the things I have faced are, “Grace got what she deserved. Because of sin, she deserved death.” “Because of your lack of faith, Grace never really had a chance.” “Because of what she would have done in the future…” No need to go further, you get the point. And I have given a lot of thought to such statements and observations. Certainly, I am not the only person who has heard such things upon the loss of a loved one. It’s funny how we as humans HAVE to have a reason. And when you don’t get one from God, you want to make up your own. I have been relentless to gather my own answers and have been impatient with God upon not hearing any. I can remember shortly after her death, as I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I was talking to God about how He really missed it. (I share this to my own shame!) And I meant it! So many people were believing and praying. Wouldn't it have been awesome for us all to see such a great miracle? “How many people could have been saved by her marvelous testimony of healing? I mean it God, You really missed it big time! I don’t like or understand any of this at all.” His response to me immediately was, “Laura, I don’t need to prove Myself to anyone.” “I don’t need to justify My actions to you or any man.” 

     Now, you reading this can’t understand how that came across to me because you didn't hear His voice and experience His touch. We know how we humans talk when we say such things like that to each other. (With the head snap and attitude.) But, it was not like that at all. The feeling was like when you watch a child stumbling with his newly found feet and the watchful father lunges, arms spread long and wide for him as he is teetering toward a nasty fall. It was the words of a loving Father, who very tenderly lifted up a child’s tear-streaked face to look into His earnest and loving eyes. What He was giving me opportunity for was, “Come up here, child.” “Let Me show you life, and death, from My perspective.” And in an instant I understood and I felt His outstretched arms toward me. His ways are not my ways. He doesn't need to defend His actions to anyone. He knows it all and sees the ultimate end. He doesn't need to justify Himself to me or anyone else. So, needless to say, I don’t have many answers to the ‘why’ of it all. But, I am grateful to say He is revealing Himself to me in ways that ease the fire in my head and the burning in my heart.      

     From the beginning I have struggled with viewing Grace’s death as a defeat and failure. She’s gone. My faith didn't work. My prayers didn't avail. SHE IS GONE! But, slowly, with His finger under my chin, my head and sight have been lifted upward, to see life, and death, from His perspective. His provocation to me is, “What was the point?”  Was the point of it all (my prayers, fasting and faith) to get Grace healed? If it was, then her death can only be seen as defeat and failure. Or was the point of our prayers and faith to see Grace strong in the middle of her storm and to see God move on her behalf and on our behalf? To see His will accomplished through our lives no matter the outcome? If that was the ultimate point, then, yes, the only thing you can see in the end is victory. 

     But I still question. "Should her death equal failure?"  “Laura, is death ever a part of My kingdom?” “No, Father, You are only about life and light.” “Laura, would you like for me to bring My Son, the One who died on the cross, into this conversation?”  And I gasp with the realization of how much He wills for me to understand, not about the ins and outs of Grace’s outcome. But, rather, He wants me to understand Him and His ways. 

     The input of a dear friend upon hearing all this from my heart was this observation. “Our destinies are not wrought for this time and dimension only, but rather, for eternity. Grace is still fulfilling her destiny!” How much of my sight and understanding is earthly bound! Death does not equal failure. Death does not mean the end. There is no way I would ever see the death of Christ as a failure!! Christ’s destiny did not begin on this earth and it did not end when He ascended into heaven! There is so much more to come! And I have so much more to learn.

Victory or Failure can only be defined from the position from which I stand. Earthly understanding will always lead me astray and cause me to live less than. And Heavenly understanding can never be gained from looking downward. Victory or failure? That really is the question isn't it? Grace finished her race victoriously. She finished her race with a heart full of strength, peace, faith and love. Her faith endured to the end. Grace’s life and her death can only be seen as victory as long as I’m looking through eyes that have been lifted upward by the love and grace of God.

Each time I walk the track at the Recreational Department I usually end undone. It is an unfortunate blessing that the Memorial Gardens and the walking track in Telfair County are so close in proximity. Half the track gives me full view of where Grace’s body is laid. I walk and I cry…I run and I cry. Some days it varies. I run and cry….cry and walk. But the end is always the same. By the time I am finished, I am exhausted-physically, emotionally and spiritually. Most days I end better than I start, some days not at all.

The other day as I walked, as usual, I spotted her flowers. That mocking floral exclamation point of red, white and green madness protruding from the ground right above her covered head. They glare at me while coyly screaming, “Look at me, don’t I look as pretty as before? I haven’t changed a bit!” And I fight hatred for them in all their petty goodness and beauty. I glare right back at them and scowl. I want to run over there and make them look like I feel, so I do my best to ignore them, to rise above their whispers of plastic perfection.

Most times, I end my walking routine by marching over and sitting at Grace’s gravesite. Sometimes Alese joins me when she finishes her tennis practice. And that was my mind this particular day. I thought to myself, “Ok, just two more laps to finish and then I can so sit with Grace.” As I started on the last two laps, my mind wandered to all the things I would never get to do with Grace. No college graduation, no first real job or apartment or house. No wedding to have to scrap up money for….no this and no that… … As I went on with my list, I could not believe all the blessings of which I was being deprived. And with each deprived thought of the future, each turn of the wheel of my brain, the ache in my tortured heart grew wider and deeper. No one can bear the burden of a life of deprivation without slowly dying themselves.

As I brought all these thoughts of deprivation to the One who was walking with me, softly but quickly and ferociously, like a humming bird to a crowded nectar feeder, His question speared me, knocking the breath and life back into me. My walking Companion asked, “Why are you going to sit with Grace when you have two children playing at the tennis court?” “Don’t you think it would be better to watch them play and enjoy life than sit with the dead and feel deprived?”

I was stunned and silent. But my internal working was being shaken like an Etch A Sketch. And slowly the lines of reasoning I had drawn were being knocked down and erased. “Why do I feel deprived?” I really have no right. How unfair and selfish of me. In that moment, I was humbled and ashamed but so grateful to the One who walks with me for His truth and honesty. So, I decided to change my mind. I addressed the guilt I felt about being so close to the gravesite and yet not visiting. I reasoned to myself that I would not visit Grace every time I went by her house if she were still alive. In life, you know there are boundaries you do not cross if you are to have successful healthy relationships. The same is true in death. There are boundaries that you must see and adhere to if you are to have a successful life and maintain healthy relationships. So, I did, I embraced the shaking and changed my heart and mind. I finished my walk by heading in the opposite direction of the grave site toward the tennis courts to cheer on Jared and Alese.

Feeling deprived is a mindset that does nothing but bring despair and heartache. If it is indulged often enough and long enough it will be hard to distinguish the grave from the living. We find ourselves living statues bent over the grave weeping for lost dreams doing little but mourn our lives of loss. Becoming healthy, whole and happy is not an overnight process when you experience devastating life changing events, but with consistent work, diligence, desire and a Good Walking Friend, I find myself hopeful to get there, one step at a time.

A Thousand Candles

Psalm 23 (A Psalm of David- As Engraved on my Heart)

1              In moments of clarity, when reason of spirit eclipses all natural thought, feeling and being, I know I am not my own. I belong to Someone else. You watch over me. You give me all I will ever need. I will never do without. I call You my Lord. I call You my Shepherd.

2              On my own, it seems I find myself full of fret and worry. Anxiety chases me all the time. I am give out! But in an intimacy only You know, You calm me with Your private, textured words and gentle but direct touch. You make me slow down and breathe again. You make me take time to rest and revel in all the beauty that surrounds me, from the fragile green shoots of swaying grass to the stillness of the deep, crystal blue, reflecting waters. When my heart and soul are dry as winter, You give me refreshing warm drink that melts the edge of the inward knife till all my sharpness and stiff angles are melted, puddled and poured out.

3              You remind me of what is right, what is good and what is pure. I am reminded of Your honor, integrity and truth. Your name is Your promise.

4              Yes, the cold grave has come close and I am caught in the shadow of death and devastation. But You never leave me. We have stood still for days in this place, yes even months and wept together, mourned together. And still You stay. When whispers of darkness, smells of sulfur and putrid thoughts swirl darkly around me, You stand strong beside me, never letting go of my hand, or my heart, commanding me, “Do not fear! Do not doubt! Do not let go of Me!” Your word of encouragement lifts the weight of fear off my soul and gives my heart courage. It is Your sure direction and humble leading that brings me through this wasteful and bitter valley. With You by my side the hollowed out void inside my damaged chest is satisfied. And, I am comforted.

5              You do not beat up those blasphemous bullies that torment me nor do you shut their mouths. Rather, bizarrely, You invite me to dine with You at Your table as they stand nearby, wickedly watching as they sneer and spit at us. But oh my! What a feast You have for me! We linger at the table, enjoying the food and drink You made just for us. In the middle of our feasting and pleasure it dawns on me I don’t hear those malevolent bullies anymore. I look up and they are still here but because Your love so enraptures me, all I can hear is You. You tell me I am special. I am Your favorite. Your one and Your only. As I look around and take in all that is before me, I know I am blessed. My heart cannot be contained. I am ready to burst with love.

6              You said I belong to You and You belong to me. Because of this, there is nothing but good ahead for me. Because of Your love for me, You understand all my short comings. You help me in my imperfections and strengthen me through my frailties. Because I experience Your extravagant love for me, wherever I go I show others Your goodness, kindness and forgiveness. My heart burns like the light from a thousand candles!  It cannot be put out or diminished only shared. And it shines wherever I go!  This light will never go out.  Regardless of where I am, in this life or the next, we will live so many days together they cannot be numbered. Oh, please let it be so!  

The glitter has fallen
And I with it.


Sparkles of white, silver and gold,


Subdued to hues of blue, black and red,


Platitudes, latitudes and longitudes,


You are sure of where you stand, of where you stood.

But, it is not the stand nor the stance but the bow.

The bow, the bend, the break,

Broken, face down, humbled, contrite,
Melted soul poured thin but deep.

Deep is revealed down low, on callused knees,

Truth and grace gather in still places, solemn moments,


Head and soul breathe dust, wind bends the mind,
Spirit and heart inhale heaven, Fire refines the life,


Sight perfected in meek reflection, senses gained,
Strength attained in buckled knees, Wisdom summoned,

I stood…Sure, confident and steady

Blurred, dull, full of fantasy


With glittered abrasion I fell…broken, dizzy and sorrowful

Awake, sharp, full of clarity

Forehead, face, shoulder, belly, knees, toes… laid flat...kissing the ground
Sight, healing, understanding abound ….heaven touching earth.

As I remain...Bowed Down

I've sat in front of my keyboard numerous times over the course of the last few weeks waiting for the words to come. Words to describe what I am feeling and going through. But the words, they sat stubborn, muddled and huddled together like a hive of bees with no pollen to gather…swarming, moving, but no place to go. It’s been seven months this past Monday since Grace died and our faith shaken, stirred and poured out. But, still, the ray of light, hope and ease seem imprisoned, held in solitary confinement with only whispers of time to be let out of the dank room to spread wide and drink in the warmth and pleasure of fresh air.

 It’s like looking up from the ship wreckage at the bottom of the ocean.  You are struggling to swim away from the broken remains of twisted metal and sunken dreams. Through the thick dark water to the top of the lighted surface you aim but with every muscled kick and perfect stroke there is no progress.  The only change you know for certain as you look upward in tempered hope is the burning and stinging in your lungs is ever increasing. Dismayed, you wonder if you’ll break the sparkling surface before your lungs burst and the dark water fills you and receives you gladly as his prisoner forever…one with the wreckage.

The whispers of hope come to me in the form of reading, rehearsing and absorbing the writings of David, the man after God’s own heart. He speaks of his own hurt, devastation, anger and indignation and I am laid bare in agreement and tears. But he always ends with hope and trust in his Father and overwhelming love for his God. With his words I am comforted and renewed in my fight and resolve to reach the top, to experience the joy of breaking through into the sparkling surface.  

One Psalm that has reached out its tender arms to me, pulled me in close and refused to let me go is Psalms 40:1-3

I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me,
And heard my cry.
2 He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock,
And established my steps.
3 He has put a new song in my mouth--
Praise to our God;
Many will see it and fear,
And will trust in the Lord.

It doesn’t take the death of a loved one to make one long for God’s favor, to desire more than anything to be held in the grasp of God’s hand, to endure His judgment and ultimately find His heart.  Anytime our faith is tested for a extended length of time…when we have wept on our pillows in the night season and all during the day…when we are so distraught we can count all our bones…when our heart is melted like wax and there seems no breath left in us, when no one gathers around us but our enemies in their prosperity…how we long for God’s favor.  I know I will have entered into His favor and found His heart when there is sustained joy in my heart instead of this horrible, heavy, crushing weight in my chest that expands and constricts with every breath I take.   

With all of my faith gathered, I rehearse His holy words…”I wait patiently on the Lord. With the peace of His word in my heart I sit before Him, I kneel before Him, I stand before Him.  And He sees me, He leans toward me, He turns toward me and gives me His ear and He hears every one of my muffled, grunted, screamed and tormented cries. He is bringing me out of this horrible pit of devastation. He is pulling me up and calling me out of this mucky, sticky, slick red clay and He is setting my feet on level, sure and trustworthy ground, which is His word.  And He is showing me how to walk and live every day in His word. Today He has taught me a new song and I sing it in my heart, a melody taught to me by Jesus, Himself. He hums it to me as I sleep and beckons me with it when I am awake. He is teaching me to worship my God no matter my circumstance or the mess of my soul. With the praise that rises from the ash of a contrite heart, a suffering heart, a broken and mangled heart, I worship Him! People will see and hear it. They will notice and be moved. They will know God hears them in their anguish and torment of soul and they will worship Him and put their trust in Him!”

It has been seven months…and I don’t seem much closer to the surface than when this all began. Recently, it has seemed I am deeper than ever. I am saddened at the acknowledgement that the pain and devastation is getting worse not better. But, each day I know He hears my cries and brings me up. He sets me on His Rock and shows me how to live. And each day there is a “new song” to be learned and sung. Praise to our God!

“Death is like the horizon. It is only as far as the human eye can see.” This was one quote the chaplain used Saturday during the Community Hospice Memorial Service honoring all the loved ones under their care who have transitioned from this life into the next. I liked the quote immediately and deeply. It is a beautiful expression of hope and understanding of the world that lies beyond our natural sight. 

Not long ago as I was laying my heavy heart bare before my Father, He spoke gently and sweetly into my ache and lifted a bit of the stifling grief out of my chest. This is what He showed me. 

The fetus inside his mother’s womb experiences the glory of where he is. All his needs are met instantaneously. He is always warm and “held” by his mother. The beat of his heart is returned to him by the steady, solid and loud echo from his mother’s heart. Intimacy, connection, nurturing, oneness…the essence of what we value most in life is formed and created in the existence and containment of the womb. The fetus inside this atmosphere of life, love and being would never leave this “home” if he didn’t have to. If he understood what was about to happen during transition he would be horrified! With great pain and sorrow he is born into this world. But we who have experienced this “birth” rejoice! We know the sorrow of transition is for but a season. The joy and glory of being born far outweighs the pain and ache of child birth. Soon, both mother and child would agree! Neither would long to go back to life before birth. Who, after tasting the wonder of this life, would crawl back into his mother’s womb? We do not cry for the child being born, even if it is with great pain, but rather rejoice because we know and have experienced the glory outside the womb. 

If I can see the immeasurable difference of the weight of glory going from fetus to infant, how much more glorious is our transition from the womb of this earth to heaven? “But Grace was so young, Father. There was so much she didn’t get to experience. Our time was cut short”, my bleeding heart sighs and cries. But God the Father is tender and patient. He continues to show me and explain. As I remain in the womb of this earth, I can not hear what is on the other side. I am encapsulated by the boundaries of this natural world. I can not know how Grace, if she could see us, would be saying, “Why are you crying for me?? Don’t you know it is far better here? The dark existence on earth is nothing compared with the glory and light of being here!” “Do you not understand your “home” is cramped, dark and constrictive?”

What fetus would long for one more day inside his “home” if he knew the glory, wonder and light that awaited him on the other side? What I am coming to see more clearly and with greater understanding is Grace is living more alive, more joyful and with more earth shattering wisdom than I can possibly imagine. Why go back, long or weep for the womb of this earth when the glory of truly living and Home is beckoning?

Death, like natural child birth, comes with tears, pain and sorrow. But the sorrow lasts for only a short season. Death does not mean life is over. Death is only the transition from the womb of this world into what can be called truly living for those who call Him Father! On the other side of the horizon no one is weeping or shedding sorrowful tears, only rejoicing for the life that has been “born”.

The sunny day is perfect for playing near the water. You have your picnic basket in one hand as you skip stones across the peaceful lake with the other. All is right with the world and you praise God. You look around and your heart easily soaks and pleasures in thankfulness for all His blessings and goodness toward you and all those you love. “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”


The next moment your world is turned upside down and spread apart. As you work to right yourself and clear your head, you realize you are drowning, bobbing up and down in the churning and turning lonely stars and treading aimlessly within the vast expanse of the dying galaxies. Day has abruptly turned into icy night and no matter where you look there is nothing recognizable or tangible. There is nothing to help you gain perspective, nothing to reveal true north.  You are lost. You are cold.  You know you are alive only by the deep ache inside your heart at the loss of everything you had and knew.

When your feet lose traction, your hand loses grip and you are unable to change course or direction, there are no words to describe the helplessness and devastation that wants to consume your soul. The question arises,”What now?”

“What now?”, when the present of here and now can’t be tied up all pretty with a giant bow like the tidiness of a half hour sitcom? “What now?”, when it’s been shaken down to the drawing board and you find the drawing board is empty and there are no other solutions or viable outcomes? “What now?”, when I look to the days ahead and all I see is night  and affliction? Do my hands hang feebly and weak by my sides in anger, frustration or bewilderment? Or do I gather strength and raise them to the One who is still worthy to be praised? Do I find my will and offer it freely with thanksgiving from my heart to the One who still holds me and my entire world, both day and night, in His hand?

I am not made by my circumstances. Who I am is revealed through my response to my circumstances. Is praise found in my heart and on my lips when it is sunny and bright and the world is spinning the way I want?  When the night time and chill of winter comes and the voices of the creatures that love the dark echo in my ears, what will be my response?

This song is dedicated to all who have endured the dark season of the night and wait with patience for the joy of sunrise. We do not wish foolishly for the hurrying of the morning sun and all its warmth but rather ask for the strength to endure with faith through the cold of the night in all its glory. “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”  

Dark Tomorrow

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

Song written by Eric and Laura Smith

Sometimes change comes fast like lightening. You weren’t expecting it. But it hits you out of the blue and you are left quaking in your skin. You know you are forever changed into the person you’d rather be.

 “Take my hand and lead me through….. glorious fields to be with You…… I am Yours.”  Powerful lyrics! Beautiful song! (Heather Clark- Undivided Focus)  What has cut me to the core and changed my mind and existence is what a young dear heart shared with me about a week ago. She sat me down and expressed her feelings about “Glorious Fields”. In an instant, I was undone in the presence of my King.

You see, what I am visualizing, as I am singing these profound lyrics, is the Father leading me through fields imagined by a romantic lover. The sky is a golden purple haze. The flowers are dazzling in vibrant and soft colors of purple, yellow, pink and white as they dance in the cool summer breeze. The air is full and heady with pungently sweet fragrance. And my Lover and I are walking hand in hand as He smiles at me and we enjoy each other’s company. The green hills roll before us and there is no other place I’d rather be.  

The words this young, dear friend shared with me, slaps me out of my revelry and forces me to awaken to a deeper and more profound awareness. I am humbled by her sight. More than humbled I am grateful. She simply and gently says, “You know Laura, some battlefields are called ‘Glorious’.” And just that quickly I know Truth has pierced my heart and a part of me has been set free. I weep for the joy and understanding that overwhelms me. Yes, battlefields are glorious. Battlefields are fraught with the blood, sweat and tears of our hopes, dreams, crowning victories and devastating losses. I realize with sharp clarity the folly of my first imagined “glorious fields”. How shallow and unrealistic of me. It seems most of our lives are lived on the battlefield. The last year and half has been the most intense battle of my life so it seems.  When I view in retrospect the past few days, weeks, months, I know I stand in the middle of a great battlefield. When I survey my bloody wounds and healing scars and see the charred ground around me, I know I stand in the middle of a battlefield. But when I look to see Who holds my hand, and all the friends that stand beside me, I say with surety, where I am is glorious. With newly defined understanding and focus I say, “This battlefield is Glorious!”

I believe my Father wants to walk with me through fields of dancing flowers and whisper Lover’s words into my yearning heart and I also believe He wants to stand with me on the burning and tumultuous battlefield and teach me how to fight as He speaks instructions into my weary and bleeding heart. In the end it is not about the “field” that determines the glory. It is all about who holds your hand and walks with you and Who leads you through.

Thank you to all who hold my hand and walk with me.  Some days we will walk together beside the still waters and know peace.  Other nights we will walk through the valley of the shadow of death and we will know peace. No matter where we walk, our wake proclaims as much as the ground that lies before us proclaim, “Glorious Fields”! For He is leading our way and as we look to the left and to the right we know, we are never alone.

Helen Victoria Cason, Upright Warrior and True of Heart, this post is dedicated to you.

Vivid. Raw. Life changing. During our journey beside Grace there are several memories that with the passing of time only reverberate louder, resonate deeper and ring with crystal clarity like a chiming steeple full of bells on a cool crisp morning. You stand there in awe and listen; sure it is heaven you are hearing. And you, with all of your being, reach out with feeble hands but determined heart to capture every ring, every chime, echo and chorus, willing it to never stop.

Eric and I were staying with Grace in hospice. We had been there by her bedside for a couple of agonizing but glorious weeks. She awakened in the early morning hours in extreme pain and asked us to pray for her. (As was ever increasing, some hours the morphine pump every 15 minutes was just not enough). Eric gathered on one side of her and I on the other. We held her hands as we prayed for the pain to leave. Relief from the wretchedly extreme pain was immediate and she laid back against her pillow and closed her eyes. After some time of praying, I looked over at Eric and through gritted teeth I spit out the words, “Isn’t it time yet?” I barely whispered the words but the venom behind them was no less vile. The words boiled out hot from a heart that could no longer bear to see Grace, my beloved child, in so much violent and consistent pain. I spoke, rather hissed, these words across Grace, to Eric as he sat quietly and prayed.  He looked over at me, but before he could address me, Grace opened her eyes, leaned up out of the bed and with such peace-(let me explain what I mean by peace. Her body was not tense, just in extreme pain, her breathing was labored but pure, she leaned forward gracefully like cool water gathering itself and turned her head slightly toward me and with calm assurance she spoke quietly and gently) with that kind of tangible and aggressive peace she turned toward her “hissing” mother and answered my demanding and angry question which wasn’t really pointed toward her or Eric.

I had ultimately aimed this barbed question to my God. What was pouring out of my heart was, “When God are You going to do something good here? When are You going to take this sweet child out of this intense and undeserved, never ending pain? When God are You going to show up?  When God are You going to answer our quest for a miracle? Don’t You think we have waited long enough? Isn’t it time yet?!” My heart still breaks at the remembering of these shameful questions, shameful, yes, but real just the same. I suppose it is not the question or the intent that reveal my shame. But rather it is Grace’s response that brings such clarity to the stark contrast of my shameful lack of faith and patience with her enduring faith, patience and kind heart.

“Isn’t it time yet?” Her answer to my searing hot demanding and angry question was the cool, quiet release of gentle faith and powerful calm. “No, mom, I think we‘ve got a little ways to go.” My surprised eyes darted from Eric’s serene face to Grace’s tired but divine eyes as she looked directly into my tortured soul.  “You don’t think it’s time yet, baby?” I offered incredulously into her sweet and smiling face as I choked back the wave of acid tears seeping from my raw and melting impatient heart. “Nope, I’ve got a little ways yet to go.” With that easily spoken proclamation and a nod of her head, she laid back down, closed her eyes and found sweet sleep. It was a quick encounter, lasting no more than a couple of minutes. But the depth of what transpired in those seconds holds me together to this day. I didn’t just learn, I experienced, regardless of the situation or the circumstance, the truest and most simple form of faith can be found in active and aggressive patience coupled with violent and determined peace. I glimpsed, through Grace, heaven on earth.