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.

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!