Grieving on Mother's Day

Unless you live under a rock, I'm sure you're aware that Mother's Day is tomorrow.

I'm glad our country celebrates mothers. I'm glad that their endless dedication, love and guidance is noticed and appreciated.

But this year, Mother's Day is hard.

Its actually my second mother's day without a mom to celebrate, but I have absolutely zero memories of the first. I suspect my brain blocked it out, or I was still in a grieving head fog and that is why I cannot remember last year. But this year, it seems like I can't escape it. I feel bad even writing that, because again, I think Mother's Day is a wonderful holiday and I'm so glad that my friends and family get to give a special shout out to their deserving mothers.

But to me, it just feels like a painful reminder of what I don't have.

Seeing advertisements, cards, gifts, hearing people talk about it... its quite the buzz and honestly, I want to hide until its over. Its not like my family ever did anything monumental for Mother's Day, but I think now I treasure even the simple things that I don't get to do anymore.

I feel like the kid that got left out. The one that doesn't get to join the party.

One of my precious co-workers asked me how Mother's Day would be for me. She asked if our family would do anything to remember mom together. I explained that we probably won't do anything organized (because, if you know my family, doing anything that requires half an ounce of organization and planning is a success)... but I told her that its been hard. That it is a weird feeling to not have a mom to celebrate this year. I suppose I celebrate the woman and mother that she was, but even that involves bitterness because I cannot celebrate her life here and now, with her.

Losing someone close to you does things... its made me far more sentimental and its also made me protective in an odd way. Protective of other people's moms. I hung out with a friend a while back and I asked him what he was doing for his mom for mom's day, and he said he would show up and tell her that he loved her. I encouraged him to buy her a card because mom's like that kind of stuff. But I realize its also, because, its what I wish I were able to do this year and can't. I realize the paradox of it all, but for some reason, it became very important to me that this friend get his mom a card. And that all moms are lavishly celebrated this year.

So I guess my hope is this, that you will celebrate your mother with enthusiasm. That she will feel so loved, valued and appreciated (not just on mother's day, by the way....) and that you will be able to revel in the mother you were given.

But don't be offended if I don't show up to the party. Its a hard day for me, and for others that have lost mothers (or children) and sometimes, we just need to stay in, grieve and make it through the day.

And that is ok.

Happy, Hard Mothers Day to all the moms out there.

Bless and Do not Curse.

I teach preschoolers.

Its a tough job. Its also a rewarding job.

Today was particularly rough. A lot of misplaced energy and a lot of breaking up fights. A lot of tears and a lot of talks.

The same child had to take a break from recess twice for the same offense.
Another child as well.

I felt like a broken record. And found myself frustrated that it felt like those children were not understanding that the rules were designed to keep them and others safe.

As I was walking home from work, pondering some of this, I realized that perhaps our Heavenly Father feels similarly when his children stumble and disobey in the same way over and over again.

I wonder if he thinks 'If only they understood that I am not saying this to take away their fun, but rather, to protect them.' I was convicted by that thought. How many times have I taken situations into my own hands because I felt like I knew best (better than God)?! How many times have I made the same mistake or committed the same sin after being forgiven and warned? More times than I can count.

Sometimes the desires of this world are so strong. Sometimes unhealthy things seem so appetizing... at least in the moment. In the end, however, they lead to more hurt, pain, humiliation and brokenness.

I got a small taste today of maybe how the Lord feels when we disobey. I was reminded that he gently, yet firmly gives us rules because he knows without them our lives would be in complete shambles. Our actions only selfish and our words cutting and hurtful.

Do not have idols-- because they will never fill the void in your life. They're not worth it. I am.

Love other people-- because they are made in my image and they are reflections of me. And because I love them. When you love, you are being Jesus to that person.

Do not lie-- because it breaks relationship. It tears down trust. It causes you to lose intimacy. And I am a God that desires healthy relationships.

Do not covet-- It causes discontent and bitterness and resentment. In the end, you're hurting yourself by carrying such a heavy weight. I will give you what you need.

And really, all of God's rules come down to one thing-- love God, love others. But is that ever a doozey of a command. 

I hear the Father's voice beckoning his children back to him, reminding us that He is a God that loves vulnerability and intimacy. He gives rules because he wants us to live healthy lives.

What a good, good Father he is.

Reflections on Grief (1.5 years in)

A year and a half of living life without my mother by my side has come and gone.

I was aware of the day when it came, and I was intentional about thinking and reflecting on mom, my grief and this part year and a half.

But I didn't say much about it.
I didn't know what to say.

As I've thought about it I've realized a few things.

First off, its still hard. Really hard. I don't notice the grief breathing down my neck constantly, like I did right after she died. But in the moments of quiet reflection my heart still misses her immensely. Our family of three now has to fill in the gaps and do all of the little things that she used to do, like grocery shopping and dishes and making sure we check in with the relatives even when life is busy.

Who do I go to when I have a question about our family tree? Mom knew everything about our family, and if she didn't know, she knew where to find it.

Who do I go to when I am hungry but so don't want to make myself anything? Mom always had something prepared, even if it was just a cheese sandwich.

Who do I share my odd love and curiosity about celebrities lives with? Mom never thought me weird when I bought 'People' magazine because a favorite singer/actor/famous person was featured on the front.

Its the little things that I miss. The things that were so easy to overlook while she was here have now become precious memories.

Second, I still have to explain her death to people.

Its not anyone's fault.

Starting a new job I knew it would come up sooner or later and I dreaded having to explain that my mom is gone. Because my emotions in the moment of explanation are often unpredictable.

I ran into an old neighbor that I haven't seen in years the other day. Naturally, she asked how my parents were. I hemmed and hawed and said '...well my mom passed away about a year and a half ago... cancer had spread...' and I got choked up.

Its awkward explaining that 'I live with my dad and sister'... there is an obvious missing piece. And I explain once again that mom is gone.

I suppose I've grown accustomed to it over the last 18 months, but its still difficult and awkward to explain. And yet, there is also a relief in explaining my situation. I feel vulnerable and yet deeply known. And that is what we all want, isn't it?

Third, sharing my story somehow heals (myself and others).

I don't understand the way God designed it all, but there is a definite healing and intimacy that comes when we authentically share our lives, even the awful parts with others.

So many times I've wanted to hide my story, not out of shame necessarily but mostly out of a supposed 'self preservation.' I didn't want to relive the hurt. But oddly enough, I never hurt more when I shared. Rather, it has always placed a little healing touch into my heart. It has always been the thing that connected me most to other people. Pain has a way of doing that. Maybe its because we all have it, and its refreshing to see someone who understands. 

I suppose, at the end of the day I have learned that 'no man is an island' (thank you Tenth Avenue North). We're NOT meant to do this life alone.
Even when it feels like sharing will only bring more pain.
Even when it is scary and takes every ounce of courage and boldness.

Life is richer when we live as we were created to live and when we share our pain and brokenness. Because together, we can look to the one who holds the whole world in His hands.

Wonderful counselor.
Everlasting Father.
Prince of Peace.

I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be, than in His arms of love.

Sheep Without a Shepherd

I saw him on the side of the road as I drove by, holding a sign that read 'Anything Helps.'

I looked away, pretended not to notice. I shoved down feelings of empathy. What did I have to give him, anyway?

I parked, stepped inside of the local Department Store, got what I needed and came back out. I strategically planned the way I would exit the parking lot, so as to avoid an uncomfortable encounter with said man. Much to my surprise, there was another man at the other end of the the parking lot, holding a similar sign.

I did the same thing. Pretended like I was looking for oncoming traffic, all the while fighting knots in my stomach. Should I help? Should I continue driving? Should I pray?

Pan handlers have never been common in my hometown-- its small enough that its just not seen a lot, but it has been increasing over the past year or so. And having lived in a much larger city while I attended University, one would think that I had learned how to interact when I saw them. Perhaps it wasn't as difficult there because I expected it. I don't expect it in my hometown of 25,000.

And quite honestly, it makes me uncomfortable.
It makes me feel awkward.
And it forces me to ask myself hard questions that I'd rather avoid.
I don't like the knots that arise and the tightness in my chest and the conviction to do something.

Its those times that the Lord reminds me of what Jesus' life looked like. It was marked with compassion, empathy and seeing and responding to those around him in need. I sometimes think, if Jesus lived in our world today, how would he live his life? Would he drive by the man or woman on the street corner, asking for help? Or would he look at them and see more than his own discomfort? Would he look at them and have compassion upon them, as sheep without a shepherd?

Yes.
Yes, that is his nature. His heart. His goodness. The good shepherd that lays down his life for his sheep. The one who sees man's heart and loves him anyway. The one who sees the broken mess of humanity and still chose to come, live a sinless life and die in our place.

It astounds me.

It challenges me.

It compels me to respond.

It convicts me to love others well.

I much prefer my comfort. But the Lord, in His goodness, does not allow me to wallow in comfort. He constantly asks me to take His hand as we journey into scary, uncharted territory. And he gives me His perspective to see those around me as beloved sheep, seeking for their shepherd.

And sometimes I have compassion, as He does.

And sometimes I have courage.

And sometimes I can see the marginalized and push past my discomfort, toward action.

And when I fail, He picks me up, wipes off my scraped knees, and takes my hand once again, teaching me about how to love others a whole lot better than I do.

This season I am grateful that He chose to come to this sinful, screwed up, broken world. I am glad that He saw what I often cannot see, and that He had compassion. 

I am grateful that He suffered and died so that me, and the man on the corner, equal at the foot of the cross, could know Him intimately.

"She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins". Matthew 1:21

There is reason to celebrate this marvelous love. The true reason for the season.

When Pre-Schoolers Teach You.

When I love someone, I want everyone to know them.

I feel that way about my sister and dad. I feel that way about my R.A. team from last year. I feel that way about my good friends. I just want everyone else to know them, because they're too darn awesome for others not to know them. I feel as though others are missing out if they don't meet these people I love. Like their life will be better after meeting those I care about.

And it is no different with my pre-schoolers. I've only been a pre school teacher for 3.5 months-- that doesn't seem like very long when I write it out, but it feels like its been much longer. I feel comfortable, confident and I've made some really sweet connections with some of the kiddos.

And I think they're awesome. It can be chaotic. It can be challenging. It can be frustrating. But it is always, always rewarding and worth it.

I find myself coming home, sharing funny stories about the kids. Wanting those that I love to meet my sweet pre-schoolers, because, well, they're so worth knowing. And because my life is better with them in it. I laugh all the time because of their imaginative minds and their funny stories. I am challenged by their simple faith, humility, and their ability to apologize and forgive quickly.

I am reminded of the fact that Jesus really loved children, and it makes perfect sense-- their hearts are pure and their faith genuine and uncomplicated. They know how to live beautifully in the simplicity of life.

They find worms on the playground and collect them in little buckets. It is their favorite game to play. They're not afraid of getting their fingers slimy or dirty. They are just thrilled to find worms or 'lerms' as one little girl calls them. And they're all named 'Anna' and 'Elsa.' I mean, really, what else would they be named?

They are proud of themselves when they do the monkey bars all by themselves. Or when they write their names unassisted. They still think burping is funny. They are so affectionate-- they still like hugs and band-aids still make everything better. They are unashamed to express their true emotions. I pray they don't lose that as they grow and the world tries to form them into its own mold. I pray they don't lose their ability to celebrate often. Love fully. Express themselves. Be Assertive. And believe with all that they are that Jesus is present, He is with them and He loves them.

I wish I could introduce these kids that have captured my heart to each of my friends and family. I know that they would agree that their lives were better simply because of the presence of these kids...

I am thankful, so so thankful that the Lord placed me at a pre-school, and has used that to shape me, teach me and grow me. Who knew kids were such great teachers?

Content and Grateful.

More than Enough.

I am a twenty-something, recent University grad with a job that I love and a community that I am grateful for, and I am single.

And I am okay with that.

In fact, I am more than okay with it.

For so long I was anything but okay with it. The word 'single' felt like a death sentence. It felt like an awful disease that I needed to heal from as soon as possible. Actually, most of my life it has felt that way.

But recently the Lord has shown me that this whole 'single' thing is not, in fact, a death sentence. And it is not a disease. It is a good  thing (I know, hold onto your hat...).

I was born single.
You were born single.
And the Lord says that we are created good.

In our single state, the Lord declared that we, in our essence and being, were good. Very good, in fact.

There is life to be had before and after marriage. There is life to be had outside of marriage (which, by the way is also good).

But the lie that Christian culture has bought into is that marriage is better than singleness. That marriage means you have somehow reached an 'elite' level in your spirituality. Or you are desirable (finally). Or that you are better than all of those single folk. They just haven't quite gotten there yet. They need more refining. They need better control of their emotions, temper, laziness, gluttony, addictions... They just need to be better. To do better.

Bull crap.

That is not the Gospel. It is not what the Lord says. Some of the heroes of the faith, the men and women we read about and esteem in the Bible were single. Paul the apostle. Jesus. 

So please, my friend, stop making your worth about whether or not you're in a relationship/engaged/married. Your worth has never, ever, ever been about that. And it never will be. Not in the eyes of God.

You have purpose now. I have purpose now. And even if I never get married, my life is still good. My convictions and passions and gifts are still being used (by the grace of God) and I it doesn't mean I am extra broken. It just means that our stories look different.

And that is okay. Beautiful, in fact.

Today you are of value. Tomorrow you are of value. Forever you are of value. Because you're His. May that be enough. {More than enough}.

A Letter to My Grieving Self, One Year Later

Dear Hannah,

I am writing this letter to you a year out-- you're still in the grips of intense grief, but I am here to tell you that it won't always feel the way it feels right now. You don't sleep well. You don't eat well. Sometimes your appetite is ravaging and sometimes its a chore just to eat at all. Tears don't come when they should-- they come at all the wrong times. Unexpectedly as you watch a movie. While you drive by yourself and in class when something reminds you of your mother. This is normal. Your heart needs to be free to grieve at will, so don't try to squelch it when the tears and sorrow bubbles up to the surface.

Hannah, have grace with those who don't know how to respond. They care a lot. But grief isn't something that is taught in school, the family or in church. People don't know what to do with it any more than you know what to do with it, so remember to embrace the awkward silences and those that want to ask you about it, but simply don't know how. Know that these people are your support system, your lifeblood in helping you to heal and they will become some of your closest friends.

You lack words to describe what you feel and you are unable to describe the emotion that wells up inside, but writing will become therapy for you. Write as much as you need to. It will bring healing, perspective and will connect you closer and closer with the Lord and with friends who will get a glimpse into your heart.

Don't be embarrassed about crying when you told yourself you wouldn't. And don't feel like you should be 'over it' after the cards and phone calls have ceased. Grief isn't on a time frame like that, and you can't force it to be. Talk when you need to, and be silent when you need to. People might tell you how to grieve, or what to expect. Know that your grief may look different than theirs. Grief is not something that can be put in a box.

Hannah, the most important thing that I want to share with you is this: Right now, at times it feels like you're drowning, like you're barely keeping your head above water. School, your job and grieving are all full time jobs and it feels like you can't stay on top of all of them. Grief is scary, terrifying at times. But it will not always feel this way. You've heard a thousand times, it gets easier, and it does. This might not bring you comfort now, but later you will look back and see that it was true. And Hannah, a year later, you are doing really, really well. You still have hard days and hard moments, but your heart is at peace and your spirit at rest. Your grief journey has been used to speak to other people and meet them where they are, helping them through their own grief. That is a priceless gift. You are going to be just fine. So grieve as you need to. You will always remember and love your mother, and you won't probably ever 'get over' her loss. But you can still thrive. You can still live a full life. You can still be joyful. And you are.

Hang in there. You've got the perfect people around you, hand picked by the Father himself.

Love, Hannah in a year.