Patience to Endure

Tag: Easter

  • Out of the Grave

    Out of the Grave

    Sweet boy, today is our first holiday without you. It is one of those days I fiercely fight the tears because if they begin, they will not end. And that isn’t fair to your baby brother Nathan. Holidays can be tinged with grief and not tainted.

    We went to church this morning. I did cry during worship. It was such a strange mixture of tears.

    Sadness.

    Rejoicing.

    Awe.

    Sorrow.

    Hope.

    Gratitude.

    Celebration.

    All of those coalesced into tears I struggled to control. Crying during worship isn’t unusual for me, but today was different. With a still tender heart, I raised my hand in praise. Steve grasped my other hand and Nathan put his arm around me. I was held on all sides.

    Dead things come alive….

    Where, oh death, is your sting?

    The last one got me…

    “Right here,” I thought.

    Something comes out of the grave every time I call You, Jesus…

    “Come out of the grave,” my soul whispered.

    I am the dead thing that needs to come alive.

    Sweet boy, you are alive where it is eternally Easter Sunday. There is never-ending joyful celebration, and it is never hopeful. Hope needs no existence where you are. It is already perfect beyond imagination.

    If God were to, in all His power, allow me to decide – if you stay with Him or come back to me – what would I choose?

    For me, I would want you back.
    I miss my buddy and my entire soul craves your smile, your hug, your laugh.
    You were my ever-present companion and reason for living.
    Being your mom was my highest honor. It always will be.
    Caring for you felt like my Divine purpose.

    And it was, for a while.

    But having you here with me would be entirely selfish. Your ‘here’ included doctors’ appointments and surgeries and medical complexities. It had pain and discomfort. Your body worked so hard. Even though there was so much love, I humbly know it is nothing compared to the tangible, faultless love you now have. Your ‘there’ is glorious. Your body no longer struggles to compensate. Everyone understands you and there is no need for words. There is no sickness. You are with the Great Healer.

    Dead things come alive.

    Something comes out of the grave.

    I will, sweet boy. It will not be as dramatic as standing up and walking out. It will be more like when you got sick three and a half years ago. Critical illness followed by two surgeries including open-heart left you lying in an ICU bed for a month. Your muscles became weak. When you finally came home you couldn’t sit up by yourself. So we started by trying to get you to move your legs in bed. Do you remember we would put on the Wii Fit Dance and stomp our feet? We just wanted you to move even if only a little.

    Once you could move your legs, we dangled them off the side of the bed and tried to get you to sit without support. The first time you flopped right over as if you never sat up before. It took weeks. Just sitting was our victory. I would transfer you from the bed to your wheelchair. You needed my complete support and trusted me to not let go. Eventually, strength returned enough to stand and you only needed me for balance. Months later you learned to walk again with support. Your muscles needed time to recover, strengthen, and to remember. We didn’t listen when the experts said you probably wouldn’t walk again. You were so resilient and persistent. It wasn’t the same as before you got sick, but it was functional and you were proud. I was too. We found a new normal.

    I miss you.

    When you left, sweet boy, my heart got sick.

    My soul was hurt.

    The best parts of me disappeared.
    They are still here.
    I will find them again.

    I am weak.
    But just in the last few days I have started to move my legs.
    I need some time to recover, strengthen, and to remember.
    You taught me how to never give up.
    I still need so much support but eventually I will walk again.

    I will walk right out of the grave.

  • Hunt for the Good

    Hunt for the Good

    Sweet boy, we are approaching six weeks since the loss of you. At first I counted time by days and now in weeks. I don’t know why I mark the time from the day you died – only that I do. Just as we tell a baby’s age at first by days, then weeks, then months, then years so goes the marking of death.

    I have storages of unpacking to do including medical trauma interlocked with grief. Once the unpacking begins, I suspect other traumatic losses will rear their unhealing, so I enlisted help. I started therapy. The therapist said many studies have been performed regarding grief with soldiers because they are a unique population and have endured extensive losses. One of the tactics used that seemed to help was

    “Hunt for the good.”

    At first I started thinking about hunting in terms of the sport. It requires active seeking, difficult landscape, going undetected, and waiting. This didn’t sit quite right with me especially because the object being hunted does not want to be found.

    The good which I seek wants to be known.

    Easter is in a few days, sweet boy. Thankfully, your brother, though 13, still wants to do an Easter egg hunt with your cousin. I will stuff some eggs with candy and others with money. As you know, traditionally, the golden egg has a twenty dollar bill and is extra hidden but not impossible to find. The hands that hide the eggs are hopeful they will all be found – and gently assists to be sure they are.

    I will hunt for the good, the hidden treasures, as a child with an empty basket on the morning of celebration dedicated to divine hope and promise.

    The eggs will seem like ordinary things. A warm cup of coffee… the morning sun.. your brother’s smile.. Grandma’s laugh… new leaves on my plants.. Steve’s hugs… Emerson’s phone calls… a full moon… a hot shower…

    The very skill I need to survive your death was taught to me by you through your life.

    When you were six months old you lifted your own head for two seconds. I cheered and cried. It didn’t matter it was months later than typical. What mattered was that you did.

    You were diagnosed “failure to thrive” and had a feeding tube placed when you were one. Your first birthday was celebrated in the hospital. The doctors thought we would have to always tube feed you and did for a couple years. Then, through a lot of work with speech therapy, you began to eat pureed food. Once again, I cheered and cried. You learned to eat.

    A lifetime of witnessing you, sweet boy, work incredibly hard to accomplish what others did naturally formed me into a mom able to find the good – even in delayed or absent milestones, missing pieces of chromosomes, and hospital rooms. I will find the good in living each day.

    I am still here. It cannot be for nothing.

    Living and loving you led me to take nothing for granted. Not only because of your accomplishments that were never supposed to happen to be but because that is how you lived. You laughed at the littlest things – an inflection or word. Sometimes ordinary words would make you laugh hysterically. Like feet. And focus. And not sorry. It was beautiful.

    Hunt for the good. Desperately find it. Crack it open. And with a grateful – even if broken heart – cherish the treasures.

    Ever so slowly, my basket will fill.

    The Hands that hid the eggs will help me find them. Even after the basket is full, I will continue to hunt for the good. But, sweet boy, that is how we lived wasn’t it? Not just in loss. We did it in life. The little things didn’t just matter, they were everything. That skill is now my saving grace. The very thing you taught me through your life will save me from your death.

    I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness – secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the Lord. (Isaiah 45:3)

  • Two Crosses

    Two Crosses

    As Easter approaches I have been thinking about the Cross. To the Romans, at that time, it was a means to inflict the most shame and send a resounding message of defeat. They had several methods of capital punishment but reserved crucifixion to leave a lingering message to their enemies. It was the most painful and disgraceful punishment in an arsenal that included strangulation, stoning, and burning.

    Yet the lingering message the crucifixion of Jesus was not what the Romans intended. As Christians we do not see shame, defeat, or disgrace when we look at a Cross, the symbol of our faith. We see redemption and resurrection. We see victory. We see love so great that even death could not consume it.

    Growing up in the Christian world I have heard, “we all have our cross to bear” countless times. In Luke 9:23 Jesus says “And He said to all, If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

    However, “we all have our cross to bear” was almost always said to me with a negative connotation. We use it when discussing hardship or challenge. The image it would immediately bring to my mind is Jesus carrying His cross up that hill to die.

    But what if that is the wrong image of the cross I bear? Am I thinking of the Roman cross or Jesus’ Cross? Upon the Roman cross is nailed a punishment but upon my Jesus’ cross there is an invitation, the sweetest of proposals. What man meant for torture and shame only by the power of God was transformed to give life and promises both for now and eternity. What was meant to kill a movement changed the entire world and every heart for those who truly believe.

    My thoughts about the cross of Jesus turn to my own personal cross. What is that one thing that was meant to, or could have, destroyed me but by the power and Grace of a loving God became my triumph?

    I live in a complicated, beautiful world of special needs and autism. I can’t recall the specific moment I went from being a timid, frightened mother to a banner waving, “wohoo special needs is awesome” kind of mom. It was a natural progression and at some indescribable moment the cross I carried was transformed from a death sentence to a life promise. I discovered that the cross I bear doesn’t have to be the one society gave me but must be the one God intended for me.

    My mind and my heart made the decision that my cross would represent life and love and power. My faith allowed God the opportunity to give me the ability to accomplish this. Special needs could have destroyed who I was instead of transforming me into who I was meant to be.

    Make no mistake, it is a difficult world in which we who love someone with special needs live. We often feel isolated and different because we are. Other mother’s of teenagers are busy going to basketball games or track meets. I am going to every sensory friendly event offered and doctor appointments with every specialist. I am often exhausted. Everything others take for granted can be and often is an overwhelming challenge to my family.

    It is not easy. It is impossible to not be changed by living in the world of special needs. It is possible to decide what sort of change will take place.

    The world in which we live is colorful. It is filled with hugs and joy. It isn’t about the fact that my son cannot speak, it is about the fact that he speaks with no words. Everything others take for granted can be and often is an overwhelming victory for my family. It is life amplified. The lows are heartbreaking but the highs are found in heights I could only appreciate by having a child like mine.

    I do not choose whether or not I will bear a cross, I choose what my cross looks like and how I carry it. I decide whether or not it will represent shame and disgrace or the glorious promise that God works all things for good. I alone can cast my eyes down in despair or raise my chin and hold my head high.

    What is the cross you must bear? Is it abandonment? Your addiction? The death of a loved one? A medical diagnosis? Mental health struggles? Guilt? Will it be a cross of shame that you hang upon despondent and alone? Or will it be a cross of promise for all to see and perhaps extract hope for themselves?

    The important part to remember is the cross you bear doesn’t have to be a cross of disgrace just because society deems it so. It can become the cross of redemption, resurrection, and victory because God deems it so. He deemed it on Calvery and He deems it in your situation.

    It is entirely up to you to choose which cross you will carry. The rest is up to God and He never fails.