Category: grief blessings

experiences of loss, grief journey and blessings along the way

The Path of Least Resistance

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“When your life is on course with its purpose, you are your most powerful.” —  Oprah

 

Over the past four years since my daughter’s death, I have found that healing comes when I have moved with it, leaned into it and accepted it. I know this because when I have chosen at times to fight it, to avoid it or be angry about it, my healing became stagnant as if I’d taken the wrong turn.

In retrospect I guess it’s what we all do as grievers, we move through our journey at different speeds. Traveling along the path of either “least resistance” or worst a powerful resistance. I can see times when I moved along the path of least resistance and when I did I found that I coped better with life. That the joy could return to my life. For me that was a true gift. No one could  have told me that I would ever see joy again in the early days, weeks and months after Brittany’s death.

At the times when I saw myself struggling to breathe, to move, to exist – those were the times when I chose the road of powerful resistance. Perhaps believing that if I fought it, her death, the feelings that came from seeing her die would somehow leave me. The nightmares that ensued for months and months just kept pursing me night after night during those times. But as I began to see that I was creating the atmosphere of resistance to something that was out of my control, I was able to let it go.

In letting go, I was able to follow a path that led me to a place of acceptance of what had occurred. Now I’m not saying that I it made all the pain go away; but I am saying that it created an outlet for my pain. Fighting something that  you  have no control over is exhausting. Trust me when I say I found myself tired and at the end of the day unable to do anything.  Always in a constant battle with what had happened right before me on October 13th, 2006 made it virtually impossible to see that it was all out of my control.

Once I gave up the fight and began to follow the path of least resistance I was able to release my pain and use my energy to help others. I believe following the path of least resistance allows you, me, anyone who is grieving to allow the ebbs and flows of sorrow come and go with little or no resistance, thereby allowing yourself to release it and in doing so you create a place that allows healing to begin.

until next time

m

Thoughts and Feelings

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So yeah it’s October. Damn I hate this time of year. I have so many thoughts and feelings that come and go in my mind, so many that I don’t know if I can think straight. My mind is filled with so many memories. Times that I would give anything to have back. A life that I took for granted. A life I miss more than I can say.

So where do I go from there. I still don’t know. I’m still searching for that road, that idea, that concept….it’s still elusive to me.  As much as I think that for the most part I got this; I really don’t always. This is the time of year when my vulnerability shows. When the cracks begin to appear and my pain breaks through. This time of year I just can’t seem to hold it in any longer. It’s exhausting to keep it all in check.

Here is what I knew…. Four years ago I knew I had purpose. I knew that my daughter loved me unconditionally and made me the happiest person on earth. Even on the days when I thought I would go crazy when she’d act like the teenager she was, I knew my life was on the right track. That life with her, all be it crazy at times, was making me feel complete.

Then in 12 hours it was all over…..

Here is what I knew….One day your life is going along and the next day the rug gets pulled out from under you and you don’t even know who you are. You can’t figure out what to do next. You don’t know what to say, what to feel – because all you feel is a numbness that is all-consuming. You try to get through every minute because looking at your life by the hour seems to daunting.

Then the first year came and went…..

Here is what I knew….That first year was the worst. Nothing mattered. I couldn’t eat because I spent most of my waking hours choking back the pain. No way you can get food past that. I walked around with a lump in my throat that was a constant reminder of the pain that lie just beneath it. In looking back I was just existing because I had to but not because I wanted to. I was going through the motions of life because that is what I was told to do. It will get better they said.

Then the second year came and went…..

I started my life over so to speak and moved back to my hometown. Thinking that moving home would be a good thing because living in Michigan was so hard. It was if my old life was being thrown back in my face every single day. Every day that I drove up to the house where we lived, I would park my car in the drive and then break down and cry because I knew walking in that house would be another reminder that my life just plain sucked. But moving away proved not to be as healing as I had hoped.  I read that the 18th month – 24th month was a crucial time in a grievers life. I felt a sense of relief when I read that because I felt as if I was falling apart during that time. Just when I thought I was making progress – it all came crashing down.

Then the third year came and went…..

By now I have gotten into a routine. I call it a routine because in reality it is what my life has become – a routine. I get up and go to work and I come home and exist. I go to sleep and get up the next day and do it again. That is what my reality had become. The third year seemed to take a toll on me. I feel like the 3rd year aged me significantly. I remember looking in the mirror and thinking what the hell has happened to you? Who are you? I just didn’t know any more. The answers to all my questions still unanswered. The purpose in my life still yet to be determined. Or so I thought.

And now the fourth year is about to begin…..

I still don’t have any idea where I am going or how I will get there. So much has changed, but my heart still aches the same way. The pain that exists in my heart is just as strong today as it was on October 13th 2006. The reality of that day is still as palpable today. The emptiness of my life is so profound – it’s hard to breathe. Some days I let you all in just so you know it’s still real. It will always be a part of who I am.

I know that I am changing or maybe a better term would be “evolving”. Perhaps for the first time in my life I am becoming who I was meant to  be all along. And I do know that this change will be better for me, but I imagine there will be those who will not agree with that. But that will all work itself out eventually. One thing I know is that I have to figure that out first before anyone else can understand it.

until next time

m

The Long Goodbye

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This is the time of year when I find myself saying goodbye all over again to my late daughter Brittany. I call it the “long goodbye” because it just never seems to stop. Every October without fail it comes, the wave of opportunity to say goodbye all over again. Does it get any easier? Maybe, in a different way than you might imagine or that I could have ever imagined.

I think it gets easier because the distance from the event to now is creating some space for healing. But that moment, that one moment when it all floods back and I’m right back in that hospital room – it’s new, it’s fresh and it’s hurts so bad it takes my breath away.

But what is different is that it doesn’t last as long. I now consider myself an “experienced griever”. What I mean is you learn how to grieve and then you move on. Understanding that it comes and goes like the high tide. Ebbs and flows with the new moon. Just underneath the surface lurks the rip currents. Those are the times when the lights are dim and future doesn’t look so bright.

As an experienced griever, you know you have to be careful of those “rip currents”. You have to wear your life jacket out there in the water of grief. For me it’s God. Some times I feel as if I’m drowning in grief and I am reaching up out of the water stretching my hand up to God because I know He will save me. He will pull me from the depths of my despair.

Even knowing that, the long goodbye is a tough time. It’s a time of remembering her. Her hair, her laugh, her uncanny way of knowing just when her mom needed a hug or a laugh. The way she moved about the world faced with everyday challenges with a smile and a song in her heart. Yes indeed the long goodbye is rough. And it’s time again to remember and to reflect on the many great things I miss about my girl.

until next time,

m

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Reminders

Her life was my purpose. In forgetting her I begin to lose myself.

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As I ponder my next blog topic I felt the need to write. As some of you may realize I am entering the “dark times” as I’ve so fondly called it. The dark times I have come to know oh so well are the months from September through December. Every August I get the since that the dark times are almost here.

I begin to notice subtle changes in my mood. I become more withdrawn, less social because I don’t want to see all the reminders of what I have lost. When I see a woman out in public having dinner or shopping and she is with her mother – I am reminded that my mother is no longer here with me. When I see a woman out in public having dinner or shopping and she is with her daughter – I am reminded that  my daughter is no longer here with me. And when I see women together out in public with young children, I am reminded that I have lost so much.

I keep a picture of my mother on my dresser. It’s one of my favorites. It is from a family picnic from long ago. It is a four-generation picture of my great grandmother Lovina, my grandmother Martha, my mother Judie and me. I treasure it for it reminds me of the great women I have had in my life that are now gone. The sorrow of their absence in my life overwhelms me.

I also keep pictures of my sweet girl Brittany. I have them at work, and pretty much in every room in my home. I had once entertained the thought of removing them because seeing them brought such pain, more pain than joy. But I have now come to a place that I can see them and smile. But this time of year it’s more difficult to hide the pain. More difficult to smile. Because the emptiness is so very present.

I have saved some very special treasures that I keep in a cloth covered storage box that is about 3 feet long by 2 feet wide. It contains some great memories of my daughter. I have her American Girl doll from our trip to Chicago that we made one summer with another mom and her two daughters. It was a fun time. The doll she picked was the one where they designed it to look like her. So yeah it reminds me of her. I placed Brittany’s christening dress on the doll and laid her upon Brittany’s baby blanket which my mom began to crochet before her death. The one I found sitting behind her chair after her funeral. I finished it just in time to bring Brittany home again.

Some of the other things in the box are Brittany’s favorite blanket, her stuffed bear from Andy, her boyfriend at the time of her death and several photos. But the most difficult thing that box for me to see or hold are her glasses. Shortly after her death I picked them up and felt such a feeling of sorrow – it was unexplainable. All I knew is that I could somehow feel what she saw before she had her seizure. It was as if I could feel her pain or her aura before the seizure took her away from me. To this day I cannot pick them up without experiencing that horrible feeling.

I keep that box out of my sight for it brings more pain than joy – but on October 13th I open that box and let the sorrow take over – it is my way of letting the whole year of missing her flow out of me. I feel so alone during this time as I cannnot share it with anyone. No one can possibly understand this type of pain unless you’ve lived it. Yeah I can move on, I can work, I can laugh and enjoy life, but this small part of me – it’s never leaving. It’s always there and it’s always haunting me.

I have the most precious memory book I created that helped me throughout the first two years after her death. Don’t get me wrong it was so very painful to sit and look at pictures of her during such happy times. Knowing I’d never see her again. But I am so glad I took the time and created such a book. I can now look at it and share it with others in hopes that we don’t forget her. To my dying day I will not let her life be forgotten. Her life was my purpose. In forgetting her I begin to lose myself.

So my dear friends, the dark time is about to arrive and I ask you to pray for me, to love me and to understand that this to shall pass come January 1, 2011.

Until next time

m

Goodbye

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Well my friends we have reached the end of Traveling Light by Max Lucado. It’s been a great ride and I’m so very grateful you all came along with me. I hope you learned something with each post. I know I did. So as I write the conclusion I am reminded of what a gift life is and we waste so much time carrying around the burdens were never meant to carry.

 

The Conclusion

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give  you rest.” Matthew 11:28 NLT

I tell  you I found Lucado’s conclusion to be hilariously funny and emotionally challenging. Why? Well first off I so identified with his falling asleep during a visit to the Louvre in Paris. While I was in Paris in 1999 we weren’t able to make it to the Louvre, a bucket list item, but we did go to many places of interest. One place in particular was the Museum de Picasso. Brittany had fallen in love with Picasso many years before. I believe in large part because we had a table book of Picasso’s work in our living room for years.

As we walked in, she ran off in wide-eyed wonder to see what she could find. She took it all in calling my name every other second to come and see what she had found. In looking back I can see I did what I always do when I go sight-seeing. I look but I don’t see. What I mean is I can look at something and say “that’s beautiful” but I don’t really see it. I don’t spend the time to absorb its beauty. Basically I take a passing glance and keep moving on. But Brittany, she understood what it meant to just sit in awe of spectacular beauty. Oh how I was annoyed by that then.

Now I have slowed down a little and stop to say thank you to God for creating such a beautiful gift that we call earth. I stop now and have learned to appreciate the small things. To take in the breath-taking view that for so long I passed by. Just like my life. I’ve been in such a hurry to get somewhere I have managed to see my life flash before me and there are some great moments, however, there are more moments filled with pain and sorrow. And now I say enough to that.

Lucado has throughout his book referred to our “baggage” that we carry around. Carrying around our lives carrying yesterday’s disappointments, life’s pain, dissatisfaction and many more. Carrying all that baggage is something I know I’ve done all my life. It’s hard to let it go. I think in large part because I let it define who I am. Or who I thought I was. But I am beginning to see that Lucado is right when he says that carrying around all that baggage causes us to miss what God has to offer. That we should be wide-awake. That we are missing the magic of life.

So that takes us back to the original scripture that carried us this far:

The Lord is my shepherd
I shall not want
He makes me to lie down.
He leads me.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in the paths of righteousness.
His name’s sake.
He walks me through it.
He guides me.
His presence comforts me.
He is with me.
He has prepared a place for me in the presence of my enemies.
He anoints me.
My cup overflows.
He follows me.
I will dwell in the house of my Lord forever.

So my dear friends, put down your baggage and take a deep breath – take in all that is magical about life and let God overflow your cup. I know that today my cup is overflowing and I’m going to do what I can to enjoy every last drop.

until next time

m

The Burden of Homesickness

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Chapter 18 – Almost Heaven

The Burden of Homesickness

Continuing in my series of blogging through Max Lucado’s book “Traveling Light”.

I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. Psalm 23:6 NKJV

Please note that this chapter may be difficult to read but I’m sure some of you will understand.

In this chapter Lucado talks about his love and desire for a big dog. And although his wife was against having a big dog, he was eventually allowed to get one. He compared his search for just the perfect dog was like God’s way of chosing us as His own. We belong to Him and this world we live in is not our home.

Homesickness has been a friend of mine for quite some time now. When I chose to move away from Indiana and venture out into the “big” world as I called it back then; at times I was so homesick for my family. So much so I almost moved back. But I’m glad I didn’t because I would have never had my sweet baby Brittany.

When Brittany died I too became homesick. Not homesick like you might understand it in the context of missing my hometown like above, but rather homesick for the home I just lost. Home can mean many things, but at that time “home” meant to me “life”. I felt like my life had been torn apart and every waking minute all I wanted was to go “home”. Back to the life I had just days before. When everything seemed ok.

We were planning for homecoming. Picking out dresses, coloring hair, making plans for the football game. Despite the news we had received a few short weeks before that she was having more and more seizure activity – life went on. We just went back to what we knew how to do – live. Then it all came crashing down on the eve of homecoming and in just 12 short hours she was gone.

She had gone home. Her eternal home. The home I now long for. That homesickness that Lucado eludes to in this chapter is the homesickness I felt so dramatically during those first few months. I longed to be with her. So much so I contemplated taking my own life. I missed her with every ounce of my soul. She was my everything. I wanted to go home.

Often when Brittany was upset about something, she’d say “I just wanna go home”. I always thought that was funny. But in looking back I have a better understanding because home to her meant a place of comfort. A place where she felt safe. I wanted that so much after her death. I just wanted to go home.

I replaced my sense of homesickness with believing it could be relieved by moving back to my home state of Indiana to be by my family about 6 months after Brittany’s death. I had nothing left in Michigan. Even my home had become a prison because I couldn’t bear to live there a minute longer. Every day after work when I came home, I walked into the door and fell to my knees because I could still smell her, feel her presence and knowing she was gone was too much to bear.

At night I couldn’t even go into my bedroom to sleep because over the years since her father and I had divorced I always made sure when I went to bed, I would check on her. I would open the door to her room, kiss her on the forehead and tell her “sweet dreams”. But in the months after her death, I couldn’t even walk to my bedroom because I had to pass her room first. It was incredibly painful to know she wasn’t in there. I couldn’t go and kiss her goodnight. So I slept on the couch for more than three months. I just wanted to go home.

Now as I approach the 4th year of her passing, I still long for home. I still long to be with her. I realize I cannot yet go home as my God is not ready for me to come home yet. In as much as I’d like to think he wants me home, he needs me to  be here doing his work. But I must tell you I have no desire to be here and I think that is because I haven’t had a real reason to want to be here. Maybe until now.

It seems as though my job and my friends have made an impression upon me that I need to stay a little longer. That I should want to stay a little longer. So I shall I guess, because really it is out of my hands. Because it is written that our days are numbered and our time on this earth is very short. One day I will see my girl again. Until then I know that God has her safely in his arms and He waits my return just in time.

until next time

m

The Burden of Doubt

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Chapter 17 – God’s Loving Pursuit

The Burden of Doubt

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” Psalm 23:4 NKJV

Continuing my series on blogging through Max Lucado’s book “Traveling Light” – and how it relates to the grieving heart. This has been quite the journey and one I hope touches your heart has it has mine.

Our moods may shift, but God’s doesn’t. Our minds may change, but God’s doesn’t. Our devotion may falter, but God’s never does. Even if we are faithless, he is faithful, for he cannot betray himself (2 Tim. 2:13). He is a sure God. And because he is a sure God, we can state confidently. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” – Max Lucado “Traveling Light”

In reading this chapter several things came to me about the story Lucado shares to demonstrate the fact that God follows us. Relentlessly. He follows us. Here is where I will tell you I know without a shadow of a doubt that God has relentlessly followed me, chased me down, spoke to me though dreams, through people, through death and through life. Because why? Because He is God.

After Brittany’s death I longed for answers from God about why. Why would I have to endure such suffering. Why would he allow such a horrible thing happen in my life. Brittany’s death wasn’t the first horrible event in my life – just so you know. There have been many, too many to share. I have written about them – but they remain contained in the private part of my blog. They are still too painful to see.

Yet through it all God relentlessly came after me. Time and time again. Showing me that despite all the loss and pain – he loved me. He loved me enough to send just the right message when I needed it. People came into my life that I would have never thought would be. And people left the same way.

God doesn’t always use the methods we would to run after, chase or at some point, stalk someone. I like to think of it as a flower arrangement that God is creating in one’s life. Always refreshing the bouquet in order to keep the beauty alive, fresh and new. When one flower is about to fall away – he takes it and put another in its place. That is how my life has been. God has always showed up.

Now I’m not saying God showed up when I wanted him to. He choses when and decides how he will move in and out of one’s life. That’s what I love about God the most. No matter how lonely I feel or how hurt I am – he loves me so much that he will refresh my life if only I will not get in the way. Because you know we do like to mess it up. With thoughts of “I got this” or “I can fix this” – but really it should be more like “God – I give it to you” – because God has got it covered already. So why work so hard? Right.

Have you ever felt like someone is watching you? I get that some times. Now as my faith has grown I believe it’s God in his relentless watch over me and his desire to keep me close. In this chapter Lucado refers to the word “follow” – God is following us. I laughed out loud at that statement, because as many of you know I am on Twitter a lot. And on Twitter people “follow” you so they can see what you have to say.

Ironically I always think it’s so funny that people want to know what I have to say. But in thinking about God as a follower of me – just felt so weird. So I envisoned seeing my follow list and seeing God there. And I got sense that God is following me. Sometimes feverishly following me, pushing me, pulling me here and there. Giving me life. Keeping me vulnerable to Him.

I love that about God. Because without his relentless pursuit – life wouldn’t be worth living. So the next time you think someone is following you, turn around and envision God – because He is there and will be there anytime you need him. I know. Boy do I know.

until next time

m

 

The Burden of Envy

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Chapter 16 of Max Lucado’s Traveling Light

The Burden of Envy

My cup overflows with blessings. – Psalm 23:5 NLT

 

In this chapter Lucado writes a little about envy, the measure of our cup thrown in with a little grace and mercy. So as I began to formulate how I would speak to this as it plays out in a grieving parents life; I will start with envy and how it distorted my perception.

Shortly after my mother died I gave birth to my only child Brittany. I was so angry because my mother didn’t make it long enough to see her only daughter give birth. She died September 16th just 2-1/2 months before Brittany’s birth. I recall sitting in Brittany’s nursery just rocking and rocking, my  mind somewhere in a place that I couldn’t crawl out of. I was so very sad and so very mad at God.

In the months after Brittany’s birth I would be out with Brittany and I would see the new mothers with their mothers walking at the mall, or at a restaurant and the wave of jealousy would well up inside me. I would cry uncontrollably because my mom was not with me and I envied them. I would think “they don’t know how lucky they are to have their mother”. Sometimes I would hear the young mothers getting angry because their mother was telling them what to do and all I wanted was for my mamma to be there to tell me what to do. I just wanted to scream at them “you don’t know how lucky you are to have your mom with you” – but I didn’t, I just held it all in.

Little did I know that 17 1/2 years later I’d lose my daughter and the pain would come rushing back like I’d just lost my mom and my daughter all at once. I needed my mother more than ever when Brittany died. Yet she was gone too. Both too soon. God chose to take them, and it took a huge measure of faith to believe there was a reason that I might never know, but could have peace with. Just like the early months after my mom died, I again found myself feeling envious of my friends whose daughters were Brittany’s age and they were experiencing all the wonderful things like prom, homecoming, etc. and I was left with nothing.

The pain and emptiness was simply unbearable. I really don’t think anyone ever really understood what I was going through. I stayed at home and never really went out because when I did I saw moms and daughters together and my heart would break all over again. Over and over and over again. And sometimes I would hear moms complaining about their daughters and I would just want to again, scream – ” you are so lucky you still have your daughter”. It made me crazy.

These days I don’t find myself experiencing those feelings much, on a rare occasion, when I get a hug from a dear friend who had a perfume much like my moms I get a little teary eyed because that smell brings back such great memories of being hugged by my mom. A feeling that has been absent from my life for over 22 years. How crappy is that? There is nothing like the love of a mother. The hug that makes everything alright. And that was robbed from at a critical time in my life. My best friend gone. I was so angry with God.

So you can imagine when Brittany died, I struggled with why, how, what possible purpose was it that God felt He needed her more than me. You have to understand that my daughter was everything to me. As I sit here writing this, tears streaming down my face, I am still so very sad at the emptiness in my heart that has been left by her absence. I try very hard to not be envious of my friends, my family anybody that has a daughter. I try very hard to see that even in the midst of my horrendous grief, I can see God’s mercy. To see His grace given to me to comfort me even when I feel so terrible. When my heart hurts and the pain is unbearable I can still see that God loves me and that he wants to bestow his grace and mercy on my life. To fill up that cup so it runneth over.

It’s a daily process my friends to keep moving forward and it begins with gratitude. In a recent leadership summit at my church I heard a speaker say “make a list of what you are grateful for and don’t stop until you get to 100 things” – I’m thinking wow how tough will that be. Although it seems to be a daunting task to list more than 100 things, I will say that when I do stop and see what great things he had done for me these past few years, I cannot help but believe that, although the pain in my heart is hard to bear, the love God bestows me daily takes away the sting.

Lucado ends this chapter with a message that reminds us that we need to keep our cups extended out and to believe and not worry that he will continue to keep them full and overflowing.

Until  next time,

m

Burden of Guilt

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Continuing series on blogging through Max Lucado’s “Traveling Light” – Chapter Eight: The Heavenly Exchange – The Burden of Guilt.

He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name sake. – Psalm 23:3 NKJV

So admittedly I will tell you that I struggled with this chapter more than any other.  In some ways I agree with the author that guilt can plaque you and stifle you to a point where you cannot function. However the parts about righteousness, well I have to say that ruffled my feathers a bit.

Throughout this whole chapter the word righteous or righteousness came up so many times I began to feel guilty about my position on this. So in saying that I will move on and talk about how guilt can take a grieving person by the neck and can keep a firm grip on them for as long as that person will let it.

Guilt comes in so many ways. In grief, guilt often comes to the griever because they may have what they call survivor’s guilt. The kind of guilt that one might experience if they lived, but the other one died. Survivor’s guilt can keep a person from moving forward because their thoughts can be consumed with “why me” “why didn’t I die and they live” – believe me it happens. It’s real to them.

For me guilt came with a couple of different faces. At one time I felt guilty because perhaps I hadn’t done enough to take care of my daughter. I didn’t insist on better care. I should’ve kept calling the doctors and demanding better care. But I didn’t. At least I didn’t feel like I had. And I’ll forget Brittany’s PICU nurse that night, Jennifer was her name, she was at my side when I was sobbing over my daughter’s dead body and I said “I’m so sorry Brittany, I should have fought harder, I should’ve yelled louder and Jennifer said to me: Malissa you did all and more than most parents they’d seen for their children. You see Brittany had been a regular at Devos Children’s Hospital over the years.

She had many friends who had taken care of her over the years there. In fact, the ER staff had come up in the middle of the night to see how she was doing. And much to the dismay of their hopes – they saw a picture that no one had anticipated – she was failing. She was slowly slipping away from us and no one – not one doctor knew why.

As I stood there sobbing uncontrollably believing I had failed her – I heard the words that made me feel I did do all I could from a nurse who, for me, encompasses the role of a nurse on a level many do not ever achieve. PICU nurses are a special breed of nurse. I know because I’m a nurse, a pediatric anesthesia care nurse and I know – it’s a love of children that keeps you in such a field that shows you over and over a kind of death that brings you to your knees. The deaths of little innocent children and their grieving parents left in the wake.

Over the years after her death, I have dealt with little episodes of guilt, but over all I feel I did my best. But the guilt didn’t stop there. It came in another form, one that I still to this day feel from time to time and that is this: I am here now and she is not. That guilt is paralyzing. It keeps me from moving into a life that God intended for me to have.

Listen. The weight of weariness pulls you down. Self reliance misleads you. Disappointment discourages you. Anxiety plagues you. But guilt? Guilt consumes you. – Max Lucado

If I let it my guilt would consume me, but I am able to keep it at a distance. It rears its ugly head from time to time but I give it over the God and let Him handle it. Because I am just too tired of the battle. That burden of guilt I have carried for so long is now God’s burden. I have become too weary to carry it another day, another minute.

One last thought about righteousness and guilt from the book that I did see as a glimmering sign of hope and that is this; “The path of righteousness is a narrow, winding trail up a steep hill. At the top of the hill is a cross. At the base of the cross are bags. Countless bags full of innumerable sins. Calvary is the compost pile for guilt. Would you like to leave yours there as well?”

I know I have and will continue to if I am to survive this burden of guilt.

until  next time,

m

 

Hope vs Hopelessness

Grief BlessingsLeave a comment

Continuing journey through Max Lucado’s “Traveling Light” – Chapter 7
It’s a Jungle Out There – The Burden of Hopelessness

He restores my soul – Psalm 23:3 NKJV

So after reading Chapter 7 I came to a few conclusions about how I thought this chapter might relate to the grief journey. In thinking back to a time early in my journey I couldn’t see any hope. I don’t even think I could define hope. So what did I do? I read every piece of scripture I could so that I envision what hope might feel like.

I have read numerous books by authors who have gone before me in this journey and there always seemed to be one clear similarity and that is hope is rooted in the faith that gives you strength to hold on.

By holding on I mean through the darkest of hours, the most searing pain, the moments when the light at the end of the tunnel seems too far to reach, that life seems meaningless in the face of grief; you can find hope.

In the book Lucado compares hopelessness like an “odd bag” unlike other bags that are full, he describes the bag of hopelessness as a bag that is empty. More importantly he relates that the empty bag creates an “exhausting burden”.  I get that. I see that. I have felt that.

Have you ever turned your purse or bag upside down looking for your keys, your glasses, your lipstick but to no avail you cannot find it. No matter how hard you shake it – nothing. But the bag of hopelessness is empty – very empty – painfully empty.

It’s hard to see hope when you are filled with emptiness. Right. So what can you do until your hope returns? You need someone in your life that can hold  you accountable. Who is not afraid to hang with you. Who can handle spending the time and energy it takes to create a sense of fellowship that will make a grieving person feel safe.

Safe enough to have this person look them straight in the eyes and say “hang on”. Because when you are blinded by grief, no matter the cause, you can’t see the road in front of you. All that is illuminated is the sorrow that fills your heart. The path of darkness is narrow and winding.

I recently heard that a person without a vision is lost. That comment was made to a describe a person without goals or a plan. But it can also be used to describe a grieving heart. The capacity to see past the pain is severely limited. Finding, having and keep hope alive is key to opening the heart to see the way out.

In those early days – I spent many hours looking at scripture because it was my only comfort. I was looking earnestly for any crumb of hope to hang on to. God’s word can and did bring such comfort. I know because it has gotten me to this point. The point where I can remain hopeful.

Even though you remain in your situation. Your loss is still painfully there. In my case living a life without my daughter, I have hope; direction and restoration because I took that bag of hopelessness and let God fill it up with many things. God can do that for you too.

Things like: scripture, friends, family, vision and hope. Having hope has led me on my personal journey to find my purpose. But here’s the kick – it doesn’t happen over night. Some days it’s as if I have been temporarily blinded to the hope. But as I return to what I know works – God – I am renewed again.

That the best hope of all.

Until next time,

m