Reverse Hypocrisy

Recently, one of my incredible and amazing high-school Young Life girls from years past received an engagement ring and is getting married. I'm thrilled for her; she has been blessed with a God-fearing young man to pursue her hand and they have been nothing but diligent in pursuing His will for their lives together. I feel like a proud mother, so invested in her life for a compact period of her high school career, that her joys and happiness make me feel giddy and joy-filled myself. 

As I've been reflecting on those former years of our our friendship, I'm reminded of regular truth-processing conversations; me instilling in her a knowledge of God's love, his assurance of salvation for those who trust in Jesus and how deeply he cares for her and all the details of her life. 

Truth. It is the truth. I know and understand His deep promises, that is I seem to understand them for those I love. But, as I sit here in a quiet Starbucks reflecting on whether or not I really, truly believe my God cares that deeply for me or knows intimately every detail of my life, my anxieties, my failures, my family....I don't know if I can claim the same assurance of such a love. 

I feel like a wounded child. I'm hurting and broken, untrusting and uncertain if my life's details really matter to God anymore. The hardest part of this Internal Spiritual battle is that I know how God responds to my fears and wavering faith. I can hear myself reassuring a hurting friend or young believer of how God sometimes uses trials to strengthen us, that we may never understand or truly know while on this earth the reasons why, but that God does intend these sufferings for His Glory. I can recall the scriptures and memory verses reminding me of the truth, but alone in my pain the temptation to shrug my shoulders and say, "I just don't know, anymore" is overwhelming. 

How can I know and believe the incredible truth of God's story of rescue and redemption for others, but not count these promises valid for myself? Who am I that I believe God doesn't write bogus promises for others but cannot trust his promises for myself? What type of backwards hypocrisy is that? 

Rule Breaker

It would be easier if there were rules. For me, anyway. Or maybe not. I'm not sure about much anymore. Grief has no recipe, no instruction although many have tried to give me the correct timeline and guide for how to do this journey properly.  Suggested books, gifts of workbooks, planned steps...and I guess at first I was excited to have a plan.  I'm a type A, oldest; following steps and guided instruction is my thing.

Until I realized there are no rules when it comes to grief.  Yes there are "stages," maybe, if you can recognize them when you're in them and you go through all five of them.  There are plenty of resources, definitely. But, everyone's personal grief journey is drastically different because each person has a separate relationship to their lost. I tried following the proper plan.  I was hopeful that it would draw this process to a swift, thorough close and we could all go on with our happy lives knowing that I did the hard work.  I put the time in, went through all five stages, finished the workbook and completed the journey.

But, I'm learning this journey is more complicated than that. I have my own grief journey workbook to write, and it's not for anyone else. I find great comfort in talking to other friends who have had similar losses, but my grief process may not work for them. Can we gather together, talk about our feelings, empathize with each other? Or course! I want that desperately. But, I will not push my personal grief journey upon them, as if we all have the same missing piece from our hearts. Theirs may be deeper, wider, more shallow, or obtuse.  Mine might be fresher, more razor sharp.

In the beginning, to borrow an illustration from a friend, I thought my canvas of grief would look precise, all colors would be coordinating and of course, stay in the lines. Almost like a paint by number.  But, now almost six months later, I can see that my piece is dark, abstract, messy and definitely outside of the lines.  I feel like painting far less than I expected I would.  I thought I would compose this grief canvas in a class with other artists, but I find myself creating this personal masterpiece much on my own, silently, away from the comforts of family and home.

I'm trying to be okay with breaking the rules.  It feels scary, very uncertain and unfamiliar.  What if I don't do this the right way? What if I miss a step and find myself having to go through it all over again in one year, five years, thirty years?  I guess, it doesn't have to mean I didn't do it right the first time. It could just mean that my heart needed to back to the studio and paint again.

Silver Lining

There is great humility in this season. This season of grief and pain when others who care about me in varying degrees are asking of me, pursuing me, considering my feelings.  I'm so very appreciative of this, the fact that these people even care to ask, because the alternative is worse: ignoring the obvious recent devastating loss of such an important figure in my life.  But, I'm finding that these interactions with others who do brave the unknown of my tumultuous emotions are tricky, at best, as people are kind enough to not ignore, yet uncomfortable enough that they cannot fully listen, either.

I usually hear something along these lines, quite clean and silver they are: "well, we can at least be thankful she isn't suffering any longer."  Or, "You can find comfort in the promise that you will see her again."  Or, "You have to just remember the good memories, and reflect on those when you are feeling sad."  Oh, and my favorite so far, "It's okay to to take a moment to cry, as long as you are alone and away from the kids."

Well, Hello, Grief. I didn't recognize you.

Two times now, a piece of me has left leaving a crushingly empty space in my soul.  I guess I thought I was familiar enough with grief that this wouldn't be that hard.  But, it is.  In a way, it's comforting for me to know how difficult this grief journey is for me; it means I really did intensely love my mom, that she really was an integral and permanent piece of who I am and who I will be.  That for as hard as our relationship felt at times,

Grieving What Wasn't

As mom's illness continues to evolve, my imaginations about her future can take a life of their own. Some nights I can find myself sitting at her dining room table with only my husband & kids, my sister and brother, and Dad celebrating a holiday feast.  Empty Chair.  Other afternoons, I imagine her healthy with a new head of freshly grown hair, and we're out shopping at Pottery Barn or some small local shop downtown Crystal Lake and she's bugging me about whether or not I want some of their furniture for our own house or asking me if I read the newspaper clipping about an old high school flame.  Depending on her health each day, I can find my mind going either direction, but to be truthful, I still end up grieving at the end of each story.

Mom and I haven't had the closest of relationships.

Distracted Grief

Emotions are hard.  I can't believe I'm actually writing that. I've always been a person very in tune with my feelings; I can feel my emotions and sometimes I even try to feel the emotions of people around me, although, I asure you, I have learned that's not really a good idea.  So, navigating this journey through my mom's illness has been extremely weird.  Things and people and family dynamics, they all get in the way of me being able to process all of my emotions, and then I'm just left going, "what is happening, here?"

I know I'm terribly sad, I know I'm angry and exhausted and confused and crushed, but why can't I let it out somewhere?  Why is that when I'm ready to cry my eyes out,