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. 

     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.

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!

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.

Eric and I visit Grace’s graveside often. To explain why we go there would be futile to those who don’t understand. But then trying to understand the incompressible was the whole reason I started blogging in the first place. It seems I haven’t made much progress since the time of Grace’s tragic death and her glorious “Heavenly Homecoming”. I suppose where I am right now in this process is trying to bridge the chasm between the knowledge of my head versus the hurt of my heart.

We leave her graveside and every time I am struggling to breathe and think straight. I just keep muttering to myself, “Our child died. Our firstborn died. Our Grace died!” It remains incomprehensible. As I walk away, holding on to Eric, the pain in my heart is almost unbearable. And I shouldn’t say ‘heart’ because that is just one tiny space within your chest. That place just left of the middle of your chest. I should say, “The pain that starts in the back of my throat as I choke back hot tears, collides with a rolling acid wave of stabbing pain pulling upward from the bottom of my lungs. The two forces meet somewhere in the middle of the entirety of my chest which causes me to lose my breath”. I have to actually remind myself to breath. At that point with every beat of my heart, my deafened ears ring. All I am really aware of is the pulse of my heart ringing in my stinging and burning ears mixed with intense and consuming pain.  

Still, with the shake of my head I know that is an inept description. There is no way to really convey the depth, intensity and hollowness of the unbelievable pain and sadness that fills my being, numbs my brain and disarms my senses at the realization that “Grace is gone”.

As we drive off, with my world coming back into focus, I realize I was not prepared for this kind of pain and loss. I suppose there is no way one could prepare for it. But, still, I know I am being “unreasonable”. My head says the pain I feel is “unreasonable.” I remember holding Grace in my arms hours before she passed telling her, “Baby, if God gives you what you deserve He will give you Heaven. Don’t stay here for me or dad! Choose Heaven. Receive your reward! You have fought so hard and so well, you deserve Heaven.” My head knows Heaven is the best place for her. A place where there is no pain or tears. Grace was about to leave for college and start her own life apart from me and her dad. Our time together was coming to a drastic change. Children leave home to make their own path and go their own way. Change was coming either way. "You know Heaven is the best place for her"…..This is what my head says.

But my heart, well, my heart is another story. My heart cannot understand, accept or fathom such reasoning. My heart hurts at the loss of Grace. It implodes and bursts with searing pain at the memory of her face, the sound of her laugh, the sight of her picture or the remembrance of plans made for her future.

At the moment, I find I cannot bridge the chasm between my reasonable head that understands Grace is in a better place and my unreasonable heart that feels only her bitter absence. My head reasons that with the passing of time, (Come on Laura it’s been five months!) my heart shouldn’t hurt so badly, (Come on Laura it’s only been five months!). My head cannot comprehend my heart. My heart doesn’t listen to my head. But it hopes. My heart still hopes for the strength to bear the loss of our Grace well. My heart hopes not in the lessening of the pain of losing Grace but rather in endurance until the chasm between my head and heart is bridged.

My heart remains in hope until my head and my heart are one again.

Today is five months since our Grace passed. Yes, it seems I am still counting the days and months without her. I wish I could say the pain is gone, my heart has healed and all is well but that would not be the truth, not even close. 

It was a choice to enjoy her birthday Sunday, October 6. Many of my closest friends and family joined me and my family Sunday to honor Grace by dedicating “Grace Park” behind our, and her, church building in her memory. It was a choice as we gathered beside her grave to celebrate her life with love and laughter as Alese spray painted a purple rose on her grave while her brothers watched, her dad sang and friends stood close by.

Grace was and is the epitome of inspiration. I marvel at her courage, faith and spirit all the time. When I am at my worst, I remember Grace at her best. I wish I could say her best was when she was footloose and fancy free without a care in the world, acting like most spontaneous and erratic 19 year olds, but that is not true and very short-sighted.  Grace’s best, her most excellent of heart, was when she had every reason to be angry with God, angry with the world and bitter with her life but chose to love God instead, embrace her life and fight the never ending pain. She did this all with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. Grace saw and understood the beauty of choice.

It was Grace’s choice not to be a victim of cancer and that made her a victor in life. The dark seasons of our life seems to want to dictate and whittle down our choices until we feel we have no choices left to make at all. It is those times we become victims- victims of life, victims of circumstance, victims of the very thing we hate. Grace made a choice early on in her journey not to be a victim. Her dark season came and with it she saw the Light and Beauty of choice. And once she made her choice, she never changed her mind or direction!

Grace’s choice is made, mine seems to waver more than I would like. If Grace’s choices were based on how she felt, she would have never left her bed. And her infamous smile would have faded into crumbling tears. There is no doubt she had every reason to cry but she chose to laugh, love and live instead. When a heart chooses to live above the circumstance and stand in Faith, I believe the grace of God abounds and helps to sustain our choice. Grace understood the grace, power and sustenance of choice.

I am still looking at her life and learning from it. I wish I could say the dark season of my life is over, but I see the heavy black clouds that hang low and dense and I sense the eerie stillness of the air around my heart. But at the same time, I see Light stabbing and piercing through those ominous clouds and I understand the beauty and victory of the day is contained in the power of my choice.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I stood there crying…

He was taunting me as we stood vigil outside her surgery room door. I thought we traded her reddened scars, blonde hair and sickened time on the bathroom floor for his promised vanishing act.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I knelt there praying…

The stench of him filled my nostrils as I offered my humble prayers for her strength and healing. We stood as one unflinching and empowered from Above bound together by the cords of love.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as she lay there dying…

But this time it was my sweet Grace laughing and the joy of her heart filled my own. She stood strong in the One who gave her Life. Never would she be a victim or an excuse just pure love, effervescent joy and unexplainable peace.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I stood there weeping…

But this time it was my weeping that had turned to laughter when I realized my sweet Grace had just traded her cancer ravaged body for a brand spanking new one. Her time of suffering was over and all her pain was gone.

I thought I heard Cancer weeping as I stood there laughing…

In the end all he got was a used up body while Grace gain Heaven. I laugh harder through my tears and pain knowing Grace won and I will see her again.

I thought I heard our voices and our banner raised high. Never will we give in! Never will we give up! We stand together and we fight!

It seems I cried the entirety of last week! It started Monday with a wonderful group of hearts that allowed me to give them a glimpse of Grace. The tears continued….on and on….Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday was no exception. A dear friend and I travelled all over our great community Thursday promoting the Day of Grace and I had the pleasure to encounter many people who talked about our dear and beloved daughter.

The tears wanted to come but I tried my best to keep them away. I so desperately wanted to hear everything these dear fellow citizens had to say about Grace’s life and her impact on them personally.  Some talked openly with me. Some walked carefully and tenderly, not wanting to rush in and cause tears. Others wiped their eyes while I wiped mine. My cup was being filled up.

It is amazing how empty you can feel one moment. When I say empty, I mean that feeling of being utterly alone, feeling small, hollow and insignificant. Teetering on the brink of despair you draw yourself up into the furthermost corner of the darkened room of your soul, willing the thickened air to cover over and erase you like a hand wipes over a chalkboard and all memory of what once was there is not only forgotten but absolutely irretrievable.  Pain and tragedy can take a person to rooms like that.

But then, with something as simple as a smile or a kind word of another person, your spirit lifts.  When I say lifts, I mean the feeling of having a hundred pound weight cut loose from the ropes wound tightly around your chest, blood and life fills that hollow cavity of your chest once again and you experience the warm glow of the beat of hope. You actually feel the gentle breeze of the wing of a smile itching at the corners of your heart and slowly your mouth. And when you realize what that person has truly given you, you feel that smile dance and float its way to your eyes. That is when you know your soul has been released from that darkened prison and given permission to breath in the sweet air of freedom and you realize you have been given the honor of being truly touched by the kindness of another person.  

You have felt their impact and you become full again…your cup becomes full again.

To me that is what this week was all about. I am acutely aware with every fiber of my being of the loss of Grace. And still the pain of losing her is at times more than I can bear.   At the end of the day Thursday, after an emotional roller-coaster ride of a week, I came upon a poem that really summed up how I was feeling. I found it as I was sitting in the City Hall of Lumber City waiting to speak with the Mayor.

I was sitting there soaking up the stillness of the room and the lovely conversation I was having with my dear friend. During the quiet moments, I was rehearsing in my heart every word said to me that day, every hug offered to me, smile given, every tear shed. And it was like two tsunamis collided within my chest, heart and thoroughly throughout my being. The violent overwhelming sense of extreme loss and grief was met with the fierce force of human kindness, love and care. My cup was filled up. It is only after experiencing the deprivation of choice that you truly understand the value of freedom.

The same is true of inexplicable loss and grief. Anyone who has experienced disheartening tragedy knows the value of the hands that bring the fragrant ointment of comfort and healing.  I sat there feeling all these emotions and that is when I read the poem that brought pointed clarity to the churned mixture of memories new and old, notions that make my heart conflict with my head, and feelings that are too deep and sharp to fully comprehend. I understood that at the end of the day, after all is said and done, when my grief is weighed against my blessing, I can honestly say, “I am drinking from the saucer because my cup has overflowed!” **

There is no doubt true healing only comes from above. To experience the love of the Father, to know His love, fills the heart to overflowing and the soul can’t help but be glad. He made us and He knows exactly what we need, spirit, soul and body. As great as our God is I have come to realize, He is not enough. I know that sounds odd. Please bear with me.  He is God, our Father, and of course He is enough. But in His extreme love for us, His thought is MORE not just “enough”!  In His wisdom and perfection, He gave us the gift and light of each other.  His design is that we would not be alone.

His commandment was that He be FIRST! Not that He would be our all in all and not need one another. 

It is easy to get caught up in our everyday lives and forget the divine purpose placed within us. By God’s design we are needful to each other. The kind word spoken or the warm smile offered is no small thing. To the person dwelling in the dark corners, what may seem trivial and small is actually a window of light and hope. Within us is a contained treasure chest of wealth we cannot understand.
 
I look into the faces of strangers who are telling me about Grace, wiping their eyes and I know they cannot understand what they are giving me. It is a treasure more precious than gold. In that moment I am humbled by their kindness. My cup overflows. The light of their words and actions has pulled me up and out and I thank them, to the best of my ability.

I thank my Heavenly Father and I know I am now drinking from my saucer because my cup has overflowed.

As I sit here now, going back over my entire week, Friday was just like Thursday. Another dear friend sent me a picture first thing Friday morning of our Trojan High School Football Team’s helmet. And there in a gold circle is the name of our Grace. The image of that golden circle with her name on it worn proudly by those players still reverberates in the depths my mind and heart. The dear friend and Coach both tell me the players are honored to wear her name. But it is I who am honored. So much love and kindness has been given to me and my family. My cup is filled up once again. Many tears run unchecked down my cheeks but these are not tears of grief but of genuine thankfulness. My cup is running over. The existence of my life has changed with the passing of our Grace. She taught me so much through her life and the ones around me have taught me so much through her death.  You have taught me the importance of kindness and the value of what our words and actions can do inside a person. Because of you I am humbled and honored to say,” I am drinking from the saucer because my cup overflows!”  **(Drinking from the Saucer Poem ~ Author Unknown)

I read a blog recently about a family pet that wandered off and broke the heart of the young daughter which in turn broke the heart of the whole family. There was one portion of the story that caught my attention and brought my still healing heart to a sudden standstill.

The pet had been missing for a few days and while the mother clutched her child close to her breast, their hearts beating as one, the little girl lets it out, “God does loves us, doesn’t He, Mama?” (When you just want God to show up and answer your prayers by Ann Voskamp)

And I sat there holding my breath and gulped. What this young girl breathed from her innermost being from the place of her utmost pain, is what I believe we all question time to time. I noticed it was a question the young girl asked, not a statement she made. Oh, the goodness and innocence of the young heart. She did not state, “God does not love us Mama!” She did not place a judgment on God but rather revealed a vital component of our fragile heart and human condition. She wondered, am I lovable? Do I matter at all to God? Does He see me and my broken heart? I certainly have pondered this very sentiment. And, I have uttered this very question, many times, after Grace left us to be with her Lord and Savior. “God, do you love me? Because at this moment I do not feel loved at all.”

I read the next few words of the blog very slowly. Sure this sensitive, deep and discerning mother had just the right words to comfort her child’s broken yet hopeful heart. And maybe give me a glimpse or spark synapses of understanding to give vision and light into the fathoms of darkness I can’t seem to navigate or comprehend.  I am glad for the happy ending of the pet’s return and the little girl’s experience of God’s love for her, her family and pet, but what about when the end can’t be deemed “happy” in human terms?  What about when the answer to our deepest question, “Does God love me?” seems to be, “No”? “No” and your pet dies, “No” and you lose your job, your health, the relationship. “No” and you lose your spouse, parent, grandchild….or daughter. “No, and you lose your faith and trust in a God you cannot see or touch. What happens when there isn’t a bow at the end of your story but only weeping, darkness and a heart shattered on the floor?

This is when knowing the answer is different than understanding the answer. Of course we know the answer is always a loud and emphatic, “YES!” “Yes, God loves me!” Those of us who have tasted of His goodness and made to be partakers of His divine nature understand who He is. He, the creator of the Heavens and Earth and everything good in it, is Love. He doesn’t just love. He IS love. Understanding, not just knowing the answer is vital if I am to make it through the seasons of “No, you will not get what you are asking but Yes, I DO STILL LOVE YOU!”

Eric and I purposed in our hearts after Grace died not to ask why. But, ‘Why’ stayed at the forefront of my brain anyway. I kept ignoring it and stepping over it like a dirty penny in a parking lot. With resilience that dirty thought kept turning up so I kept looking the other way. When I contemplated asking “why?” to God, the only thought that kept resounding in my head was the memory of sitting down at the table trying to reason with my 14 year old upon hearing, “No, you can’t have that or do that”. I know firsthand what it is like to have your heart and motives challenged and questioned. I just refused go there with God. I understand from my time of being a parent that if someone or God Himself, sat at my dining room table, and tried to give me the answer of why, it would be like listening to someone speaking in a different language or listening to words that can only be heard at a certain decibel. And I would sit there, my head cocked to the side, trying to understand the foreign language but instead only howling at the unheard and misunderstood syllables that pierced my aching ears but did nothing for my aching heart.

No child likes to hear the words, “You will understand when you are older.” But, as adults, we know there is fundamental truth to those words. Sometimes the answers to our deepest questions cannot be contained in one tiny fragment of space and time, no matter how big it seems at the time. No matter how badly we want the answer…plead for it. Not surprisingly, it is the best of answers that unfold themselves, quietly and gently, mending our hearts as we walk with the ones we trust, the One in whom we trust, the One who loves us most.

Understanding the love God has for me has helped my navigation through the dark seasons of not feeling His love for me. Even when the answer is “No” I understand it is for my good and I choose trust. I do not walk away from the conversation like a rebellious teenager to go my own way, but rather sit at the table and commune, not asking why, but simply waiting and yielding my way to His way and His timing. Knowing His love is good. Understanding His love is better and has helped to conquer the very real but temporary feelings of my fragile heart.

Walking through this season, I have come to understand looking for answers to my deepest questions is like trying to find tiny pearl beads that have scattered from a very long but broken necklace- which at times resembles my broken life. The pieces have hit the ground, bounced and disappeared. And there I am, scurrying about trying to put it back together again, hoping nothing is lost. Searching and asking, crying or angry as I look underneath furniture and lift up rugs.  Frantically scouring the dark and dusty corners as I try not to lose the tiny beads I have found and gathered.   In those mired and tiresome moments I have forgotten there are not multiple answers to my multiple questions. And I certainly will not find them looking down or around. There is but one answer. And He is not as fragile as my beaded necklace nor broken life. Neither is He as complicated. He is simple. He is beautiful. Grace died and I did not get the answer I wanted and the feeling of God’s love for me shattered to jeweled bits as my heart was crushed with the weight of losing her. Regardless of the multitude of questions I could ask, I do not go to Him for the answers, I have come to understand through His love and grace, He is “The Answer”.

Months ago I sat down with Alan, Grace’s boyfriend, and talked with him about what was next. Something big was about to happen. It was evident to all. The tension was building, like the approaching apprehension of watching all the animals fleeing in one direction as you are rushing and falling toward the culminating unknown. Something massive, life-changing, is just out of sight. You try with all your might to prepare for the unpreparable. If I talked with Alan like I knew what was about to happen, it was a lie. I certainly didn’t know. I only knew of what I believed and hoped. It was easy to look at their life together and know neither had a clue of what was going to be. Even in their wildest dreams they could not comprehend the 90 degree turn their life was about to take. I wanted to help prepare him for what was coming. He had not seen Grace in a couple of days as she had been in the hospital. Also, Grace had chosen to go under hospice care and I knew the weight that would carry with him. My heart was broken for what Alan was about to face and I wanted desperately to try and help prepare him for her current condition. My own clarity, if I had any at the time, is eroded now. I will be the first to say the fork in the road has been taken and the bend has proven to be more challenging and diverse than I could have ever imagined. The change in my life has overwhelmed me, humbled me and there are times I feel completely lost and insignificant as I try to navigate on this new road.

Grief has many components. Few things in life are flat, without dimension, certainly nothing of value. Grief, like love, is multi-layered. Each layer comes with its own crispness of memories, mind numbing pain, confusion or understanding. Staring me in the face like a mannequin through a shop window is the vision of being at peace with the fork in the road. The thought of Grace is ever constant. Thoughts of our first moments together as she was freshly born and crying and I was out of breath and our last moments together when I was crying and she was out of breath. Random thoughts hold my attention of her childhood while my mind wanders as I wash dishes. My brow furrows with the knowledge of the college graduation never to come or the wedding dress never tried on or the grand-children never held. And I grieve. I wonder with quiet indignity when it will all go back like it was once before. In simple terms, I grieve for the fork in the road. Time marches on and I wonder again with rage and tears when it will all go back like it once was before?? I grieve for the loss of our Grace but I also grieve to be stuck on a path taken in which there is no turn around. I had become so accustomed to loving the forward progression of life. When the kids are little you look forward to the approaching years. You glory for each new step taken or driver’s license earned. And you marvel in wonder for what is next. But, now it seems, I want to get off this ride and go back. “Please, someone, turn this thing off and let me go back!! I feel sick and dizzy and I just want to get off!” And still the sun crosses the sky and the moon rises. And the fork in the gets further and further behind and you suddenly realize as the knot in your stomach grows and tightens, there is no going back. Life as you knew it is over. Who you were then when she was alive is gone. Mother of four is now mother of three. So, I grieve for the fork in the road because I have the understanding there is no option but to let the thoughts of who I was before the fork, die. The picture of what I had in my head of my family and myself and our future together has changed. I can grieve that understanding but in the end, if I am to have a future, I must choose to let go. It is one thing to grieve the loss of Grace and another to grieve the loss of the road I cannot get back to. Life changes. Sometimes that change is hard. Sometime that change is out of our hands. Both usually go hand in hand like rain and weeds. I miss Grace, but I know I will see her again and my grief lessens. I see her healthy and whole and I am joyful. The bend in the road is not hateful or bitter or against me, it is just a bend in my road. How I choose to walk out this bend or fork is up to me. I believe I could grieve the fork in the road for the rest of my life. I have seen people do it. I have seen no one do it well. So, the choice is mine. How do I walk out this road, knowing there is no getting back to what once was. Can I let those thoughts and hopes of “what once could be” go?

Slowly but methodically, I am coming to terms with the fork in the road. The past wants to hold us to waste away but certainly I can see there is no future in the past. I can not move forward wishing to go back. What a shame it would be to forsake a bright future for a past that can never be claimed. There are no clear and perfect roads for any of us. But, together we forge ahead and do not stumble to look behind. Together, we take one step forward at a time and choose to joy in the road we are currently walking.

Before I talk about my worst day before Grace died, I have to tell you about the few days that preceded it.

It started on a Thursday. I had been sitting at Hospice with Grace all day. It was not a good day. She was back to hurting and I was back to not doing well with it at all. To the point, that when her dad showed around 5:00 p.m. at Hospice I met him in the parking lot, my bags in hand ready to head home. He was shocked at my demeanor but I couldn’t help it. I was doing so badly that I couldn’t even bear to speak to a dear friend who had come from McRae to visit with us. I left Eric with the visitor and the care of Grace and headed home. I cried all the way home. Upon entering the city limits of McRae I dried my tears because I didn’t want my other 2 kids to have to bear the weight I was carrying. Later that evening when I was alone I let it all out. I kept asking God all kinds of questions, just pouring out my heart and my hurt and my anger and frustration. My heart was broken and I was tired. A precious friend had texted me earlier in the day and given me a word concerning Grace. I could not even bear to consider it. I read the text, closed my phone and cried myself into the oblivion of sleep. The next morning I received another text from another friend that mentioned the previous text so I went back and re-read first text. It read, “God will show Himself strong on Grace’s behalf on her third day.” I texted her back and asked, “When will that be?” She texted back, “Sunday.” I jumped in the shower to prepare myself for the day. It was now Friday. I told God I could hold on to Him for another two days. I could make it with peace in my heart and strength in my soul for two more days. I put a smile on my face, washed my tears away and walked into Hospice with new found hope and confidence.

I shared with Grace what the text said and we both waited patiently and with great expectation for Sunday. Friday passed much like Thursday. Saturday was a little better. Eric went home Saturday night so he could lead worship Sunday morning. So, it was just me and Grace. We chatted Saturday evening, watched tv and got ready for bed. I pulled my bed right next to hers. I made our beds the same height so we could hold hands during the night. As I was doing all of this Grace kept hearing things. She’d ask, “Did you hear that loud noise? Or, “Do you hear all that talking?” I kept replying no. But, I started a journal of all the things she was hearing. Mostly she heard people talking and children laughing. I went to bed holding her hand excited about what tomorrow had to bring. I also went to bed pushing her morphine pain pump button every 15 minutes as was our custom.

She awoke at 6:00 a.m. the next morning. She sat up in bed. I followed suit. As any care taker can testify, when the one you love stirs and move you are right there tending to any need they may have. She looked at me with great big eyes and said, “Today is the day!” I enthusiastically agreed with her. She stated out of the blue she wanted to take a bath. So, I moved her cords, found some smell good body wash and lotion her dear friend and Aunt had brought her and helped her to the bathroom. She ,of course, didn’t want my help and endeavored to do everything by herself. She looked in the bathroom mirror and commented on how small she looked and that she didn’t like it. Her tiny arms and legs didn’t match her swollen belly. We chatted easily through the shower curtained as she bathed and I stood there waiting and ready to help. She dressed in a shirt her Aunt Angel had recently brought her and climbed back into her bed. I had just changed out her sheets so they were nice, clean and crisp feeling. I slathered her in Paris lotion as we talked and listened to music. I went to the bathroom to ready myself for the day. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some praise and worship music. It was about the same time her dad would have been leading at service. She readily agreed. The music blared as the windows were opened to the outside so Grace could see out. (My mom had put a bird feeder right next to the window facing Grace’s bed so she could easily watch the birds. But actually, we watched the squirrels climb the feeder and do somersaults to the ground.) I peeped at her from the bathroom doorway and watched as she was sitting cross-legged in the bed, staring out the window, as she conducted the music with her hands in the air with a huge smile on her face. PRICELESS! I thought again, “Today is the day!” “Her miracle is coming today!” I asked if she felt up to me putting make-up on her. She grinned and said, “Yeah! That would be awesome.” She even let me fix her super-fine short hair. I sprayed it and spiked it best I could. Soon, she was taking pictures and posting on Facebook.

The morning faded and early afternoon was upon us. Alan was there visiting with Grace. Other visitors were coming and going. During a certain episode, it was just Grace and me in the room; she could tell I was becoming impatient with the whole, “God is going to show Himself strong” part. She told me, “Mom, you just can’t rush it. You have to be patient.” I smiled and nodded that she was right. The late afternoon came and went and now it was early evening. And I started to feel the bitterness wanting to rise. With large amounts of sarcasm, I thanked God that He waited until the day was almost over before doing anything. And still we waited. 8:00 p.m. turned into 9:00 turned into 10:00. Grace prepared herself for bed and with great peace she said, “Goodnight.” As I took her hand to hold through the night I felt sick to my stomach. Nothing had happened. I was angry and disappointed and bewildered. I watched the clock as it passed from 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. and the hope of Sunday and greatness was gone. Her miracle had never come. I was to the point of retching I felt so sick in my stomach. I passed the night in great sadness, watching Grace and pushing her pain button every 15 minutes, just as I had done the night before.

Later, Monday morning as Grace and I were chatting she stated, “I don’t know how God showed Himself strong yesterday.” I grimly stated I didn’t either. But, then she looked at me, cocked her head sideways and said, “Well, actually Mom, you don’t know how bad off I would have been yesterday if God had not shown Himself strong for me.” In that moment, with her revelation given with such peace and tenderness, I nodded my head in humble agreement. “No, baby, we sure don’t know.” But, under the surface, violence was tearing my insides apart. On the one hand I was amazed and proud and humbled by Grace’s great faith and perspective and wisdom. On the other hand my fists were beating the floors and walls and doors of my own soul with anger and frustration at my own lack of understanding, perspective, wisdom and faith. And the fact she was good with her Sunday. In her there was found no regret of anticipation, no anxiety about still hurting, just calm and peace with her understanding, that just doubled my own hurt and exacerbation with God. So, much like the Thursday before, I am waiting and watching for Eric so I can head home and find some relief from the burden of my soul. I head home around 2:00 p.m. so I can be home when the other two kids get home from school. We decided when I left that I would return later that night. Grace wanted me there with her even though Alan was spending the night at Hospice as well. So, I would return after I put Alese and Jared to bed. Needless to say, again I cried myself all the way home. Dried my tears at the city limits and enjoyed my time with my kids. Alese and I lay on the sofa together. I play with her hair as she dozes resting on me.

My personal time is usually my shower time. Music is on; water is running so I can cry undisturbed. Usually, I end up on my knees in the bottom of the tub pouring my heart out to my Father, water mixed with tears while I am covered in soap. Baths have always made me feel better. I have some of my best talks with God in the shower. This night was no exception. As I poured my heart out to Him of my anger and frustration and brokenness, He softly began to speak understanding into my heart. I had been begging for His perspective and wisdom. My own was getting me nowhere but deeper in the hole. He gently began to talk to me about my yesterday, Sunday. He said, “Laura, when was the last time Grace was able to get out of bed and shower?” My response was, “Weeks and weeks, Lord.” “When was the last time she felt up to putting make up on?” “Weeks and Weeks”, came my response again. “How about taking pictures and chatting with people on Facebook?” By now I was getting His point. I was humbled by His goodness and kindness. But most of all I was undone by His gentleness with me after I had been so ill and upset with not only Him but also the dear friend who had sent me the text in the first place. I cried tears of repentance and shame and love. I had been so busy looking for His great power demonstrated through a great miracle. I wanted to see something big and ‘super-natural’ so badly I had missed His goodness and presence in the small things He was doing all day long.

Now, when I look back at that Sunday, it is one of the days I hold most dear. Grace was right. She had it right all along. It took me a while to catch up. I just didn’t know how bad her Sunday would have been if God hadn’t shown Himself strong. The time we shared doing mother/daughter stuff that day means everything to me now. I will never forget the sight of her sitting in bed crossed-legged as Casting Crowns played, grinning ear to ear as she literally bounced with the music, her hands dancing in the air. Seeing her like that, full of hope and peace and love, is the closest picture of her in heaven I can imagine.

The last picture she posted on Facebook was from that Sunday. She was bright-eyed, hopeful and smiling, her inner beauty radiating for all to see. She died four short days later, the following Thursday morning. God is merciful and kind. By His grace, my worst day imaginable became one of the dearest and most cherished days of the last days with my Grace.