Year Two

This has been a long, hard year. We have now been without Jack for two years. I had hoped it would feel better, a little easier to breathe, a little less crying. However, it hasn't been that way at all. The breathing is still hard, the crying is still going on, only I've learned to hide it better. I don't want to bring others down or make every day all about me. So, I hide it and say, "I'm good, how are you?' 

Actually, it isn't all about me. It's really all about him. How much we all miss him, and want him back here with us. I'm very selfish; I want my grandson back. I've never known that such heartache was even possible. It's always with me, always here, always. Weighing me down, hurting my heart, and making me sad. The only thing I do is try to outrun it. I stay very busy. Going, going, busy, busy. 

This past weekend was bittersweet for our family. That word never really meant much to me before. It does now, though. It means a lot because it explains a lot. Jack died just a few days before his little sister's birthday. So, as a family, we celebrate her. And, as a family, we mourn the loss of Jack. Bittersweet, two-fold. We all hate it. We want to make it a special day for our granddaughter. Taking her out to eat, shop, laugh, and have fun, and then reality sets in. We wish Jack were here. But he's not, so we do the best we can. 

We arrived at our daughter's house this past Friday afternoon, unpacked, and went to our favorite Mexican restaurant. We had a birthday to celebrate! Our granddaughter was turning 21. We had them bring out that big, beautiful sombrero, and we all sang and clapped for her, my granddaughter. The entire restaurant was involved. And oh yes, I got pictures. Lots of them. We had fun that night. We laughed. And that was important for healing. This wound we all carry around in so many different ways is still here. I really wish that it would just heal up. It's so hard, so painful, and so debilitating. I hurt for my family.

Saturday, we took our granddaughter shopping for her birthday. We put on our party-shopping faces, our let's-have-fun faces, and our let's-eat-fun-food faces, and away we went. Yes, it was hard. However, periodically, we'd laugh and have fun. And that's an important step for us all. 

Sunday was a little harder; we shopped for food, BBQ'ed the ribs (well, my son-in-law did), made sides, and all of Jack's good friends came over. All the while wishing it was just a regular old BBQ, without thinking about the whys that we were all together. My grandson was fortunate. He had a great group of friends. They are the kind that show up. They came to the hospital, came to the house, brought flowers and food, came to the funeral, and came back to the house afterward. They helped with anything we asked. They are amazing. And every few weeks, those boys show up, and they have dinner with my kids. I hope they know how much that means to them. To keep in close contact with those kids, those friends of Jack's, we even pretend, for a short time, that Jack is in there with them, laughing away. We feel him during those times. We made it through Sunday; we were exhausted afterward, and the adrenaline from that day was just crazy. I think we all pretty much collapsed that evening. 

The real challenge, though, was Monday. The exact date, the 13th, the 2-year date, and the "on this day" date. It was hard. I felt like a clown juggling balls. I wanted to keep their attention —again, with shopping and eating — you know the drill. I think I succeeded; others may disagree. I tried, though, I really tried really hard. I just wanted everyone to be happy again.

So, yes, we survived. And I am praying hard that as each year passes, it gets easier for us all. I just want the broken-heart feeling to be a little less acute. A little less pain, and just more love. We all loved him so much. 

Yes, I'm praying for that day. The day when we can all say, "Not my will, but your will be done, God." 

I need to accept this. this change in our lives, this new way of living. I hope in some small way, it changes my heart and makes me a better friend, grandma, mom, wife...I hope it changes me, I really do. And I hope that it makes me a better follower of Jesus. 

Grandma's Jobs

My 17-year-old granddaughter was surprised by something that her grandpa told her. He mentioned a job that I had years ago. She was dumbfounded. Grandma, did that? I didn't know. So, I decided to tell my grandkids about my life before them, job-wise, that is.

To begin with, I started at about 15 years old with a non-paying job. As I've mentioned before, I was into horses, had 2 of my own, and used to ride and show. Well, at the academy that I attended, we had a veterinarian and a horse farrier. Oh, those poor men. I followed them everywhere. I asked, of course, and, being the quiet type, they always said yes. They let me tag along. I wanted to know everything the vet was doing. From worming to vaccinations, I wanted to watch. I also wanted to become a vet one day. That didn't happen, however, something else did. 

In between the something else, I had an under-the-table job. I was paid cash. My father owned his own business and let me work as a receptionist in his office on the weekends. I was paid $100 per weekend. I loved it. Mall money!

My next job, which was my absolute dream job, was working in a veterinarian's office. I worked in the back office, where I handled the dog stuff. All of it. I cleaned the cages and dog runs, held the dogs for their shots, and helped out in surgery. I did this for about a year, and still, vet school was on my mind. Unfortunately, money was not in my future, so I had to find another job. 

I began work in a podiatrist's office. I had experience working in the back office (x-rays, surgery, etc.), which is what I was hired for. I really liked that job; I had a great boss, and I earned my X-ray technician license. All paid for by him. Like I said, great boss. It was interesting work; again, I took X-rays, assisted in surgery, and learned a lot of medical jargon. I was sad when I had to quit my job, but a little baby girl was about to be born. I worked there until I was 8 months pregnant. 

Thus began my stay-at-home mommy years. It wasn't until my last little one began kindergarten that I decided that I wanted to go back to work. It was kind of funny, actually. We were out shopping one day at the local mall, and as we were walking through a big department store, my husband said, "I could see you working here." I had never worked retail, but I sure knew my way around the mall. So, I interviewed, got the job, went through customer training, and began working part-time while my kids were in school. I did that for 7 years. I loved it. I would have worked for free. Being able to help people with picking out clothes for vacations, etc., well, it was my dream job. I was and still am a master shopper. I was made for that job.

At the end of my mall dream job, it was time for me to get serious. I had, at that point, only finished two years of college and 3 1/2 years of Bible college (can't forget that), so my education needed to be addressed. And, back to school I went. I thought I loved retail. Well, I loved college even more. I loved learning, and I absorbed it like a sponge. I loved being with the kids and felt like I was there to protect them and pray for them. I ended up with 2 majors and 3 minors, and I would still be going if I weren't so old.

My jobs after that were working in counseling, working with rape survivors, and the mentally, physically, and sexually abused. It did take its toll on me. I was ready to retire. I needed to "air out my brain". I could only hear so much before I had to call it quits.

I'm glad I fulfilled my passions in each of these jobs. I felt useful and full of knowledge. I would not change anything about my job experience. I learned so much and had a great, fulfilling work life.

My next job after that was to be the best grandma ever. I spoil my grandkids, take them shopping, and feed them rubbish. I love it. And, I hope they do too.

Forgiveness

For the past several months, the topic of forgiveness has come up. Once in a group Bible study and once in a secular book club. I didn't expect that. I could not stop analyzing what was said. I didn't participate either time, as I was processing. It took me a while, and by the time I felt like I had something to share, the topic had moved on.

Now that I have processed the word forgiveness, I want to write about it. My processing has taken me to four types so far. I'm sure there are more.

1) There is a forgiveness that never forgets. 2) And a forgiveness that reaches deep down into your very soul.

3) There is forgiveness of oneself, and then 4) forgiveness of God. Don't worry about the last one, I'll explain later.

For years, I counseled sexual abuse and rape survivors. We were taught to call them survivors rather than victims. I like that. It gives them more power. During those years, I think I have heard just about everything that can be done to a child or woman. For me, hearing their stories affected me in ways that are really too hard to explain. It changed not only my worldview but also the way I view humanity. And, not in a good way. How are they supposed to forgive? In the book of Mathew in the Bible, Jesus says to forgive 7 x 70, or 490 times. That's a lot. It means that forgiveness should be/could be limitless. So, is it a conscious process? Is it something that comes over time? Is it something to be worked on or strived for? Let's say you do make that conscious effort to forgive your abuser; however, you are unable to forget. Have you really forgiven them?

There was one thing I never said in counseling, which is that they must forgive their abuser. I believe it's something worked out between them and God. There are many steps to walk them through their process that are very helpful; however, they don't always work. Honestly, they don't. Some might say they have a hardened heart. Wouldn't you? As a Christian myself, I pray for them. I don't give them platitudes; I pray and let God sort it out. He is a better teacher and healer than I am. I used my schooling, my training, my tools, and my belief in God to help. I did my best. That's all that God asks. This is the type that never forgets.

I heard about this on the news one day, about an Amish woman and her family. A couple of decades ago, there was a big news story about a horrific accident. A drunk driver struck and killed an Amish family. The father and seven children died, but the mother survived. How does one forgive that? Well, she did. She went to court, spoke on the driver's behalf, and told him she forgave him. As I watched it play out on TV, there was not a dry eye in the house. I remember thinking—that's true forgiveness. It was so pure and kind. She will never forget the loss of her family, but I do believe that God turned her heart softly toward that man. Maybe she put herself in his place and did what she would want someone to do for her. I will never forget that story when others hurt me, whether a little or a lot, I ask God to give me a heart like hers. This is reaching deep down into your soul.

Forgiveness of self—that's not too hard for me. I am constantly asking God to show me when I do something displeasing to him. When I say or do the wrong thing, I ask him to forgive me, and it's instantaneous. This is a challenging concept for me to understand. And that's because I am not God; I see and feel through human eyes. I love that about God, that he is not a man. He is God. I might, however, still suffer the consequences of my actions, but God forgives me. There is so much in the Bible about forgiveness. I don't want to preach at anyone, but look it up sometime. Watch how Jesus does it. This is forgiving oneself.

Lastly, there is my forgiveness of God. I've written a lot about the death of my grandson. I wrote about my grief and about how angry I was towards God. I was so angry. The things I said to God, some would deem unforgivable. However, his love is unconditional. That means you can let it rip. You can tell him anything. You can shout your anger from the rooftops. He knows what's in your heart anyway; you might as well say it out loud. And so I did. That was healing in and of itself. I had to be real before God. I had to get to a place where I forgave God, where I could lay down the anger. I'll never forget his accident, and I'll never get over it. And really, I don't want to. I want to cultivate compassion for others who have lost loved ones. I now have a deeper understanding than I ever had before. The accident that killed my grandson happened just like the Amish family's. Sadly, it really did happen. And as a Christian who loves God with all my heart, I had to come to a place of forgiveness. I still work on it every day. I pray a lot, and I listen even more. I am now in a place where I want to hear from him. That was a huge turning point for me. It took a while, but I got there. This is the type of forgiving God.

Grief, anger, and hurt are inevitable; however, it's what we do with them that matters. Can we forgive? I pray that I can. All of these acts of forgiveness happen all the time without us even being aware of them. I do know one thing: I would not know how to forgive without having God in my life. He shows me that all the time, in little ways. He lets me know that he's in control. He leads me every step of the way. Showing me, teaching me, working on my tired old heart. I will get there, you will get there. If we trust in Jesus, miracles can happen, right before our very eyes. It happened to me. And, I'm praying for you.

On Mother's Day

I'll start backward. I had an awesome mom. I loved being her daughter. I loved her personality, her great sense of humor, and her laugh. She was every girl's dream mother. She listened. That fact alone was so important to me. She taught me how to be a good mom to my own children. I lost her two years ago. Really, I lost her a couple of years before that, as she had dementia for the last few years of her life. Fortunately, she maintained that great sense of humor of hers, still making me laugh until the end. Being a mom for her was easy, she was only 20 years older than me, had a great sense of style, and could relate to having a teenager like no buddy's business. She'd drive me by boys' houses, you know, the ones I liked. She listened as I cried with a broken heart over those who didn't like me back. She would teach me the words to the new pop music. And, she helped me to attain my one and only teenage dream. Horses. She'd drive me to the stables to ride and exercise my horses every weekend, and also sometimes during the week, even though she worked full-time. She taught me how to cook, clean, and run a home. She was awesome.

When I had my first child, I so wanted a girl. God answered my prayer. I was so excited to imprint my daughter with the same love, kindness, and teaching that my mother did for me. I wanted my relationship with her to be just like my mom and me. And, I believe I accomplished that task. I then had two sons, and I pretty much raised them the same way. I wanted to be more than a mom; I wanted to be their friend, confidant, and counselor, and I do believe that my children felt that. They could share without condemnation. 

When my children married, my wish was that we would always remain close. I prayed hard over their marriages, their homes, and their children. I prayed as my own mother did, that they would serve God all the days of their lives. That they would raise their children like they were raised. Be a listener, be kind, love much. I was then blessed with 9 grandchildren. To say that I was overjoyed is a gross understatement. No one told me how much I would love them. That I would view them as my own, and that I would give my life for them. I thought that was reserved for my own children. Wow, was I wrong. It's the same for grandchildren. Who knew that there could ever be that much love inside of me? 

I found out just how much love lived inside my heart. Just a mere 2 months after the death of my mom, my grandson (my only daughter's son) was in a horrific car accident that took his life. He was only 22 years old and was my very first grandchild. That day, I realized that my heart could be shattered and yet keep on beating. If my heart had stopped beating that very day, I would have been ok with that. That day, I had never prayed harder in my life that God would allow him to keep living. Almost two years have gone by now, I have gone through the grief steps, and I accept his death. I don't understand it; however, I accept it. I have prayed so hard that God would give me some insight as to why. He has somewhat. I do hope and pray that as the years roll by, I will have a better understanding of the reason. Why my grandson? 

Oh, how I love them all. My children and my grandchildren. I would give my life for them all. They made me a mom and a grandma, and I will be forever grateful. I think a lot about Jesus on the cross, with his mother crying at his feet. I understand that now. Even though she knew he was the son of God, she cried. 

So, it's ok that we love our children and our grandchildren as much as we do. It's ok that we think they are God's gift to society because they are. They are the salt and light. They are the ones who will continue the work on earth as we have. I think that's why it is innate in us mothers to love as deeply as we do. To teach, to love, and to pray.

This Mother's Day, I will let myself love and mourn. I will remind myself that that is how God designed it. And I will be forever thankful and grateful that, even though there is a chance that I will (and did) experience a broken heart, I will always have the reminder that I had the privilege of loving. 

To my family and friends, don't be afraid to love. Don't miss out on loving your children and grandchildren. Even though my heart is still aching, I would not trade that time with my grandson. He was an amazing young man, and I got to love him and have him as my very own grandson.

 I look forward to seeing him again one day. I feel extremely blessed beyond measure. 

Happy Mother's Day

I Surrender All

I can't seem to get a certain song out of my head. I wake up hearing it and go to sleep hearing it. I used to sing it in church. It's an older song, not quite a hymn, but similar. 

A little background for you. Churches often hold retreats. It could be a women's retreat, a youth retreat, or something similar. I hate them. Kind of. I actually met my husband on one. I went to retreats as a teenager and also as an adult. They were, I admit, sometimes monumental moments in my life. As mentioned, I met my husband at one. 

Over the years, I ended up at a few. I have memories of them all. However, here is what I don't like. Remember, I am persnickety. I don't like sharing a room with four other women on bunk beds and listening to them snore. I don't like large bathrooms with many showers. And, probably my biggest complaint is that I don't like the food, as most of it is geared towards teenagers. And we all know what their pallit is like. 

However, every so often, I signed up and went along with a hundred or so other women to these retreats. I went through the hours, counting down until I could go home and be with my husband and kids. I did not realize at the time that God had a very specific reason for me attending. He had a plan. 

At a retreat one year ago, we sang a song that brought back memories. It was the song I mentioned earlier. The name of it was "I surrender all". Heard of it?

As I sang along with my friends, I began to hear something else. There were sentences in between the stanzas that didn't belong there. For example, as we sang the words of I surrender all,

I heard, but don't take my kids. Again, the words: "I surrender all, but don't take my husband." This went on and on throughout the entire song until I was in tears. God had brought to my attention that I had not surrendered all to him; I was only surrendering what was easy and convenient to me. 

If you are not a Christian, you might not understand this concept at all. God asks for total surrender. We are supposed to rely on him for everything. Total trust, we offer it all to him. 

I had a decision to make that day. Do I or don't I surrender all to God? Well, you know who I chose. It really was a life-changing time for me. That day, I surrendered it all. So, this morning it got me thinking—what about this day? Today. Do I still surrender all? I had to think and pray about this for a bit. As the song kept playing over and over in my head, I asked myself, "Do I?" I was no longer mad at God for taking my grandson. I was healing quite well and feeling almost like my old self again. However, was I surrendering to him? This is what I've brought before God this morning. Have I fully surrendered? Do I trust him with my future? Am I afraid that something bad is around the corner? Am I strong enough to withstand it? 

These are the things I am grappling with today. Have I once again surrendered all? I'll let you know. 

Pray Them Home

It's going to be difficult for me to write this. It's extremely hard to write about spiritual things. If you are not a Christian, then you might have trouble even believing a word I say. However, I will try. I told you, a couple of blogs back, that I had something to tell you. I just needed time to process. I'm one of those. 

This is what happened to me, this is how I remember it. A few Wednesday nights ago, I was at our church. We have a small group that meets, has dinner together, and then studies the Bible in some fashion. Sometimes a book of the Bible, sometimes a study guide. My heart and mind truly have not been in tune with this. I went through. Mainly because my husband thought we should. I went for him. While there, we share what we call God Moments and also prayer requests. I haven't shared much of anything since Jack died. I was always so afraid of breaking down. But, on this particular Wednesday night, someone asked me how I was doing. I wasn't in a particularly good mood that evening. I just wanted to say, fine, I'm doing fine. I did not, though. 

My worst nightmare happened, and I broke. I started crying and said that I wasn't doing well at all. I told them a couple of things that God had shown me in my own prayer time. I was extremely honest and very vulnerable. I think they were all kind of shocked when I began speaking because I didn't hold back. I mentioned that I had thought it was my fault that Jack died, that I wanted him in heaven no matter what. So God took him home. It was very hard on me emotionally. By the time I got home, I was done. I did not pray that night; I told God I needed a night off. Yes, I do pray every night. That night I talked to God, but I didn't pray. I guess it never dawned on me that that was praying! 

The next day was horrible. I cried on and off all day. I was so angry. But then, something happened. I could feel my friends praying. I sensed God's arms around me. Holding me and telling me that I was going to be OK. Slowly, the vice loosened around my heart. And in one particular instant, I was me again. I was a daughter of the Most High God. And He loved me, and understood all that I had been going through. I continued to pray and thank God, telling Him over and over how thankful and grateful I was. I prayed much of the night. 

Something changed in me that night. Friends prayed, and I could feel those prayers. So God answered them, He heard them, and I was back. So weird, so very strange. And now I had a job, an assignment from God. That night, I heard it loud and clear. I knew instantly what God was telling me to do and began to pray earnestly. Do you want to know what God spoke to me that very night? He said, "Pray them home". How He knew that I knew just who He meant was a little freaky to me. But I knew. People that I loved began to flood my heart and mind, and I think I prayed for hours. I could see them like photographs flying through my brain. Again, so weird. 

That phrase "Pray them home" means so many things. Salvation, growth, healing, trust, love, obedience,  mercy, and on and on. Each person He brought to my mind fell into a category. Even me. So I prayed, and prayed and prayed. The next day, I felt like I was floating on a cloud, as if all was well with the world. But then, of course, I became fearful that maybe it hadn't really happened and that my sadness and hurt would come back. I tiptoed through the day. Hopeful, wishing, praying that God really did heal my broken heart. That's why it took me a few weeks to write about this. I had to make sure it really happened. Some might see this as a lack of trust in God. Maybe it was; however, he was OK with it. That much I know for sure.

To feel God's love for me has completely changed my attitude. I feel lighter, happier, and prayerful. I find myself praying all the time. When I think of someone or run into someone, I pray for them. I don't pretend to know what they're going through, but God knows. Just like He knew about me. He knows. 

I'm excited now. I am praying them home. All those who've wandered away from God, who are in a mess, hurting, and wanting God to show himself to them--I want to tell you something--He will. It's all about timing. It's so simple. He knows when we are ready. He knows our thoughts before we think them. And, when the moment is just right, well, a miracle happens, and we are back.

So know this: if you are a friend, relative, or acquaintance of mine, I am praying for you to come home. And I won't stop until God lets me know that you're OK, too. 

Grandpa Robbie

 I first met him 25 years ago. We began attending a new church after moving to Ohio. We wanted one with a good youth and college-age ministry. One of the first Sundays there, we were asked to turn around and introduce ourselves. He turned around and said, Hi! I'm Robbie, and this is my wife Phyllis. They were very nice, and we then found out that they were the pastor's parents, visiting from Dayton. A few months later, Robbie's wife passed away. Sadly, we never saw her again. 

After that, my memories of Robbie were mostly of him driving up to Cleveland in his convertible. He looked so cute. I had always hoped that Robbie would one day meet a pretty lady and remarry. He never did; he was a one-woman man, never to love another. It made me sad; however, I had to accept it. After all, he wasn't my dad! 

Not long after I met Robbie and got to know him, his only granddaughter met my oldest son. It was love at first sight for them. And just like that, Robbie became part of my family. 

We waited patiently—all of us, the other parents, my daughter-in-law's parents —for the moment when we would become grandparents. It took a long time, right about 6 or 7 years. Geez, it felt like a long time! However, that day finally arrived, and our little granddaughter was born. I became a grandma, and Grandpa Robbie became a great-grandpa. At that point, he was just Grandpa Robbie to everyone! He also, once again, was tied to our family; he was the great-grandpa of my granddaughter.

Over the years, I watched as our family became more and more integrated, our family to his, his family to ours. Another grandchild was born, so one more tie. Our family to his, his to ours. Generation to generation. We were now bonded to Grandpa Robbie through eternity.

As I pondered this, it dawned on me that because of this one man's love for his God, we would be entwined throughout all time. Grandpa Robbie was a Christian, as were his sons, his grandchildren, and my son. I think God had a plan. It seems that way to me, anyway. 

I wonder now if that is God's big plan. One person serves God, and a chain reaction affects all of eternity. That's almost too much for me to comprehend, all because of one person's choice to follow God. That is a very heavy thought. And again, I wonder, is my choice affecting my future generations? Have I changed the course of my children's lives? And, what about their children's, and so on? Just by serving God, is the future changed?

It seems to me that Grandpa Robbie had a lot of responsibility. I wonder if he knew? I wonder if he ever thought about the day we would all reflect on his life and the prayer he poured into all he encountered along life's way. I wonder if he knew? I wonder if he thought that, because of his service to God, one day he would bind our family to his? 

And now I wonder—do I have the same responsibility? Do I spend time praying for others? Do I pour into others the way he did? I sure hope so. 

Grandpa Robbie, I say goodbye to you in this life. You have challenged me. And when I see you next, we will sit and reminisce about how our family became your family, and so on. Eternity awaits the rest of us, and in the meantime, you enjoy heaven, we will see you again soon.