Feeble & Broken

About a year ago, I copied this in my journal. And now it gives voice--not so much to my own searing pain (as it did last year), but to the pain of another. Dear friends whose life hold the most daunting unknowns and fears. A great storm.

I am feeble and severely broken; I groan because of the turmoil of my heart. Lord, all my desire is before You; and my sighing is not hidden from You. (Psalm 38:8-9)

C.H. Spurgeon, in his Treasury of David, discusses this passage:

Deep, hoarse, inarticulate is the voice of sorrow. The heart learns groanings that cannot be uttered; the voice fails to tone and tune to human speech. When our prayers seem more animal than spiritual, they nonetheless prevail with the pitiful Father of Mercy. He hears the murmur of the heart and the roaring of the soul, and in due time He comes to relieve the afflicted.

Words fail. The heart throbs, but lips are silent. No one--not even our dearest friends--can decifer our groans. We run--with all of our undone-ness--to our Soul Reader. Our Father of Mercy.

Burial

Last night we buried Chris' ashes.

Chris' family and mine, along with Jeff (Chris' very best friend) and Jodi, gathered for an informal ceremony. We buried the last of Chris' earthly existence in the ground on the property of my parents in Afton. Rob, (Chris' brother) and his family were in town, and it was important for to have them present.

I was glad for the time to consider how best do this. In the end, I decided on something very different than I originally planned. And I'm so very happy with it.

I will let the pictures tell the story.



Jeff prayed and read some Scripture

Steve & Rob (Chris' brothers) buried the ashes

Above the ashes, we planted Chris' favorite tree--a Russian Olive

A picture of the grave marker that has been ordered

By Daddy's tree

S'mores all around

yep...Emily even had a s'more--Chris would be SO proud

Separation

As I make plans for Chris' remains--his ashes--I have also been trying to prepare Erika for what will be happening when we bury the last earthly evidence of her daddy. And it seems she is taking it all in.

Yesterday in the car, she told me she was thinking about her daddy and when he could come back.

I told her, "Baby, remember that when someone's body dies, they can't come back. Daddy's soul is with Jesus. He will stay there. But we will see him again when our bodies die."

She wondered, "Mom, maybe our bodies will die soon? Will my body and your body die at the same time?"

"I don't know when, sweetheart. Only God knows. And our bodies probably won't die at the same time."

She hopefully disagreed. "Yeah, I think they will."

How painful it is to me that my daughter knows and understands the awful separation that death brings! She has had this separation with her daddy, and she surely doesn't want it again with her mommy.

And so I pray that God would redeem all this pain. That He would work in my girl in a very powerful way because of all of this loss. And I pray too, that her little heart would be spared--at least for a long time--any more painful separations.

Lincoln

I finally got around to seeing Lincoln, which I missed when it was in theatres (I don't get to a lot of movies lately). I was overcome by a few scenes in particular.

President and Mrs. Lincoln argued bitterly and mourned separately. Their son had died in his childhood three years before. And this husband and wife did not understand each other.

Mr. Lincoln says this to his broken wife--the wife who nearly lost her mind with the pain of it all:
"I couldn't tolerate you grieving so for Willy because I couldn't tolerate it in myself--though I wanted to, Mary. I wanted to crawl under earth. Into the vault with his coffin. And I still do--every day I do. Don't speak to me about grief."

And there is another scene in which the bereaved father--our President Lincoln--finds his other young son asleep on the floor with a picture of his dead brother beside him. And that father curls next to him on the floor for a moment and then tenderly carries the boy to bed.

And finally, we see the utter anguish on the faces of this man's wife and young son when they learn that their principled, broken, exhausted man--the man dearest to them--has been struck down...

The movie is about emancipation. The Civil War.

But, these scenes gripped me most (my history teacher husband would perhaps be sorely disappointed in me). Because grief is so very different in people. BUT it breaks the heart--no matter what.

Good Morning!

I opened my eyes and was greeted by this sight--a little girl with sleepy eyes and a big grin, all suited up in her cowgirl hat and boots.

Aren't little kids such a great reminder to enjoy the moment, wear fun clothes, and smile in the morning? A reminder that each day holds some excitement--and our perspective and choices have much to do with our experience?

We don't need coffee or a full 8 hours or sunshine or a day off or obedient kids to experience joy in today. What we need is the nearness of God.

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16:11)

Choosing to draw near to Him.

Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you... (James 4:8)

May your Friday hold joy. Nearness to God. And maybe some cowboy(or girl) boots...

Dream Come True

Last week, I met with a dear friend for a very long-awaited "play date." (I guess that's the term moms use when they get together and bring the kids.) We met at a park.
 

Erika & Ava


When we loaded our girls into their strollers for a walk around the small lake, I looked at the four of us. I was almost overcome. Was this for real? We looked like regular moms.
 And we are regular moms. With extraordinary stories.  You see, neither of us became moms in the "regular" way.

This friend is so dear to me partly because her heart understood mine--and mine hers. We ached for the pain of the other. And she has allowed her great pain to inform her ministry. She has eyes to see breaking hearts. And I love her dearly for it.

And so, there we were. A dream come true. Moms. With our sweet girls. Our great gifts.

The Drawer

So, I've got this drawer. It's sort of like a graveyard. If you are yarn, you never want to end up there. This drawer holds both my disaster knitting projects and my unfinished ones.

The unfinished projects I placed in the drawer because I knew almost without a doubt that they would surely end in disaster--and I couldn't quite bear to see it come to that. There is still some glimmer of hope that just maybe they will miraculously transform and be more beautiful than I could ever imagine. But the doubts win the day. So they stay in the drawer and off my needles.

And somehow I couldn't quite bear to tear out these particular projects. Maybe it's because I felt so demoralized by the whole pursuit. Yes, I think that's it--because when I flip through the book that holds the sweater pattern that I loved and attempted, I break out into a cold sweat. I feel sick when I see that unfinished orange sweater in the drawer. The one for which I had such hopes.

You non-knitters think I'm exaggerating. I'm not.

But it's good. The drawer keeps us humble.

The other day though, when I opened that drawer and felt the little pricks of nausea that I always feel when I see that orange sweater, I was overwhelmed by this thought:

God has no unfinished projects

He doesn't retire any life to a drawer. He doesn't intend one for a purpose--only to make a mistake and ashamedly tuck it away.

Sometimes we feel tucked away. I wonder if it is because we are being made into something we did not expect. Or maybe we are being re-purposed?

I have my ideas of how I'd liked to be "purposed", but many of my life events haven't followed those plans. And ever so slowly, I find myself more and more "okay" with that.

I can trust the Divine Knitter. He holds the pattern. He is the pattern designer too! I cannot trust myself--with my drawer full of failure (and I couldn't write a pattern to save my life).

So now, I think, my drawer can become a reminder of my HOPE. My hope that I will never end up in a failure drawer.