The Overwhelming Weight of Grief

 Grief and I have become well acquainted. Over the last few years, life has presented me with multiple opportunities to feel the burden of grief. In less than three calendar years, I have grieved for:

the loss of my family and the future I had planned and worked toward for years, as a result of a pending divorce because my husband left; 

the loss of our “baseball family” and “homeschool family”, the loss of people I had counted as friends, and the loss of positions of service I found purpose and identity in, all losses of a cruel ripple effect of said pending divorce;

the slow death of my mother, as I have had to watch her fade away under the cruel hand of Early-Onset Alzheimer’s Disease;

the loss of my youngest brother to suicide; and

the brokenness in my family in the wake of my brother’s suicide.

(And these are not even counting the many moments of grief caused by the general state of the world during these last few years..) 

Don't get me wrong, I have joy in my life. I am insanely blessed with two incredible sons who give me reason to keep fighting every day. I have family that has my back. I have a few friendships that have withstood the storms of my life and have proven to be some of the dearest relationships I’ll ever have. I have a faith that gives me hope I can cling to.  I have an incredible career that is an answer to so many prayers. I have dogs and cats who drive me crazy but fill my life with love when my boys are at their father’s house. I could go on and on, because I truly do have so much cause to be joyful.

But grief doesn’t care. Because that heifer will rear her ugly head whenever she darn well pleases and catch me off guard when I least expect it. Most days, I can keep all my grief compartmentalized. This helps in managing the overwhelming weight of it all, but some days, things get all messy inside and all of a sudden grief is spilling out all over the place and sometimes I am not even sure exactly what triggered it or which grief I am actually grieving in that moment. The worst days are when they all compound together into this giant, suffocating mess of grief that feels like it will swallow me whole. 

Those are the days when the headaches come. 

Those are a blessing in a way, though; because then I am forced to shut down and disconnect. And it is only on the headache days when I don’t feel the guilt. The headaches are the only relief from the guilt for not being stronger for my boys; for not being able to support my friends and family members who are grieving their own griefs; for not even reading, let alone responding to texts and messages from people I truly care about and love; for feeling so completely helpless in so many areas of my life...

But, eventually the headaches subside, and I am left with nothing else but to continue marching forward in this life, seeking joy while the overwhelming weight of grief grabs hold of me and drags along for the journey.  

This Bridge

Sometimes, the words we need to express can only be illustrated through poetry. As such, though I have not written poetry in years, I thought I'd give it a go for some thoughts I have been processing lately.

This Bridge

And crossing this bridge,

oh how it terrifies me,

as my inner child remembers

the words you used to scream.

And my throat tightens

with the fear of losing control,

as the lies you enforced

root deeper in my soul.

And my heart shudders—

no, pounds!—in my chest,

as I push away the reminders

of why I am such a mess.

And I have to choke back

all the tears I never cried

as I focus only

on the safety of the other side.

And fearfully I cross, praying

the bottom stays this time,

as I stare ahead, petrified

of veering outside the lines.

And I try to remember

in Whom am supposed to trust,

as I breathe slowly and go,

because crossing is a must.

Testimony (a piece of it) and Triggers (a book review)

A couple years ago, I finally admitted to myself that I struggle with anger. Before I was able to admit it, I would NEVER have used the word “angry” to describe myself. I wasn’t angry, I was upset, frustrated, annoyed, passionate, but not angry. Then, God started doing some hard work on my angry little heart and I was able to finally confess my weakness and sins relating to my anger battle.

After having confessed that I was angry, I was on the hunt for tools, books, tricks, etc. to deal with this issue. However, I still struggled with fully owning my problem and looked to my exterior triggers to point the blame: if my house weren’t so dirty, if my husband were more present, if my kids weren’t so stubborn... In my quest of materials to help me “fix” my problems, I stumbled across a link on The MOB Society for a Facebook group dedicated to helping moms of boys deal with “mommy-anger.” I clicked the link to join the private group, hoping there I would find something that would teach me how to “fix” my boys, so I could quit being such an angry mom.

For months, I was in the group, but never really present or active. Then, one day I commented on a post and before I knew it, I had changed the notifications of the group to notify me of every post and was catapulted deeper into this journey than I had ever imagined I would be. Amber and Wendy faithfully and lovingly presented convicting, Scripture-based truths which began to revolutionize my mothering and my anger journey. I had grown up in an “angry home” and knew I didn’t want yelling to be the soundtrack of my children’s lives, so I kept pushing into Jesus and using the group as a tool to help keep my focus on the issue.

In the summer of 2015, they started a series, based on “triggers”, in the group which pushed me even deeper. It was a tumultuous time in my life anyway, and this series was like a lifeline. Realizing all my “triggers” were opportunities to push deeper into my Savior and become further refined in His image changed everything.

I was no longer on this journey to fix my kids’ irritating behaviors. I was no longer on this journey to learn “tricks” to help me stop yelling (I had tried many, they all failed because they weren’t addressing the real issue: my heart.) I am now on this journey to grow closer to the Lord and allow Him to create in me a new heart, which will, in-turn, create a new legacy for my children. That is some powerful stuff, I tell you what.

When I heard that Amber and Wendy had decided to take that “triggers” series and use it as the grounds for a book, I was ecstatic. When I received my pre-release PDF copy of Triggers by Amber Lia and Wendy Speake, I instantly started using it as a daily devotional. It was convicting, but encouraging, and has stirred in me a desire to parent my children the way my Good, Good Father has parented me through all my years of immaturity and behavioral issues toward Him.

I am halfway through my second time in the book, this time helping to lead a wonderful international group of women through a study of it. I am planning on hosting a book study for moms local to me. I want to buy copies for every mom I know, because it is just.that.good. It is like no other parenting book I have ever read. I cannot urge you enough to get yourself a copy, it will be money very well spent and your children and your children’s children will thank you for it. (You can click on the banners on the side bar or the footer of my page, or find it on Amazon!)

Strong

As I have mentioned before, there are parts of my story which are painful to me. Growing up, one of the ways I learned to cope with these things was by pretending they either didn’t exist or didn't bother me. I was stronger, braver, smarter. I could handle this, and more, on my own, because I was not a victim, I was an over-comer. When I thought of the kind of woman I wanted to be when I grew up, I knew wanted to be one who could "keep it all together." The one who managed to take life in stride, with a smile on my face, ignoring the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I’ve been seeing a thing going around Facebook lately which expresses pretty much this same thought, “Strong women know how to keep their life in order. Even with tears in their eyes, they still manage to say, ‘I’m ok’ with a smile.” (Some of the ones I see credit Joyce Meyers, some credit an unknown source, personally, whoever said it first doesn't make a hill of beans to me...)

The last few years of my life have been quite trying, with 2015 topping them all. Years ago, I would have plastered on a beautiful, but fake smile, lifted up my chin and pretended like it wasn’t phasing me. Life happens, you put on your big girl panties and go on. But God has been using the last few years of trials and hurts to help me see and understand a lot about myself and Him, and I am quite convinced that pretending I have it all together is not what makes me a strong woman. What makes me a strong woman is being able to admit that I can’t do it on my own, and allowing God’s strength to show up and compensate for my weakness.

Once I  stopped hiding behind the pretense of keeping it together, and started being able to confess my weakness, I started receiving healing for so many things, many of which I didn’t even realize I needed healing for! I have come to realize one very important truth which proves how very wrong my coping-mechanism was: God can’t heal what I am not willing to confess is broken. For years, I cried out for God to change things in me and my life, but still couldn’t confess my weakness, because in doing so, I was admitting I didn't have it all together and I was broken by things. When I was finally able to stand before Him and admit all my pride and efforts to keep my life in in order were vanity, I was able to move out of the way and let Him do His much needed work in my life.

I still have a long way to go with my healing/restoration process. God is still working out a lot of old junk that I had crammed away in my pretense of keeping it all together. However, I have no doubts that I would not be where I am today, and would not have the experienced healing I have, if I kept plastering on a smile and pretending I was "ok."

Now, when I think about the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up, I know I don’t want to be a woman people look at and see as having it all together, I want to be a woman people look at and see God holding it all together. Because, honestly, I can’t do this on my own and I know the only way I can keep a real smile on my face is if I let God have it all.

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9

Because sometimes the holidays are hard.

Confession: I sort of loathe the time of year between Thanksgiving and New Year's. December has been a difficult month for me for years, made worse so by my Nana's passing away 5 years ago, on my 26th birthday. I'd be lying if I said many of my December memories are not laced with hurt and disappointment. This coming December is promising to be the most difficult yet. Already I am an emotional mess (seriously, I cried in the Walmart parking lot the other day when my boys put their coins in the Salvation Army buckets.) 
As I try to brace myself for the emotions, I find myself wanting to fall asleep in a Turkey-coma, not waking up until New Year's day. Unfortunately, I have a life which demands my consciousness every day of the year, including the hard ones. I also have a huge desire to provide my boys with happy December memories. So what do I do?
I cling tightly to the only real reason to celebrate anything, Jesus. His love is the greatest gift in my life. He is my reason for breathing, for getting out of bed each day and pouring out all the love I can.
I know December 2015 will be hard for me. I am certain there will be many days I cry out to God to just give me the strength to breathe. But I am confident Jesus will meet me smack dab in the middle of all my hurt and carry me through, just as He has been faithful to do for years.





"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
 I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Christ who gives me strength." Philippians 4:4-13

The Vase (a metaphor)

It was a favorite of mine. It was beautiful and precious and oh-so fragile. I had treasured it from the moment it was “mine.” I had done my best to protect it and keep it beautiful. A handful times over the years, it had fallen and suffered damage. Once it even split right in two. Every time it was damaged, I gently tended to it, trying to restore it, but it was never quite the same.

Then, one morning, I watched as he picked it up and slammed it to the floor. It shattered everywhere and I felt the hot burn of angry tears sting at my eyes. For a moment, I just looked at the mess, seething in anger at him for being so cruel. Then, my heart broke over the brokenness which surrounded me and I got to my knees and began working.

I vainly tried to locate and identify each broken piece, to figure out how to put back together the shards which vaguely reminded me of one of the most precious things in my life. I cried and I cursed and I gently tried to mend it. My hands slowly became covered in cuts as the thing I once loved somehow turned into a weapon against me.

As the blood began to cover my hands, I looked at my work to see what I had thought was slowly being put back together, was actually just an ugly mess. I became infuriated as I looked back and forth from my bloody hands to the mess before me. I had tried so hard. I had done everything I could. But this? This was now nothing more than a painful mess.

The anger burned hot, deep inside my gut, and my head became foggy. I picked up the “fixed” part of the mess and hurled it at the wall as I screamed loud and crazy, “I HATE YOU!”

I crumpled to the floor, amidst the shards and blood and reminders of my failed attempts to fix it, and I cried. I cried for what was, but can never be again. I cried at the realization of my futility. I cried at the mess I was going to have to clean. I cried because I let this broken thing bring me to a point of hatred. I cried, because sometimes, it's the only thing left to do.