Triggering Event

So I don't know if I've hidden it well or not, but this whole Tornado Event on April 27th has thrown me for an emotional loop.  Which sounds so selfish when I actually say it out loud.  Here I sit in my comfortable home, my babies and husband snoozing the night away; while the victims of the tornados have no home to be in and some will never have their loved ones in the next room again.  

The shear amount of grief overtakes me when something tragic like this happens.  It's as if the scab of my own wound is ripped off once again as I'm filled with empathy for these victims.

No, I've never had all of my material things virtually wiped off the face of the earth.

But I do know the feeling that comes with Life As You've Planned It suddenly going completely off course.

The feeling of standing at the crossroads and having to decide--will this swallow me whole or will I overcome?  

The feeling of having your heart completely emptied so that it can be filled to overflowing with God Himself.  

My heart goes out to these families who have a long journey ahead.  The long journey to a "new normal."  If there even is such a thing.  Because here I am ten years out and I'm still obviously searching for a way to navigate around the pain.

But I just don't think it can be avoided sometimes.

So I find myself hitting it head on and crying the tears.

Again.  

Eventually cycling back into the routines of life as the wound begins to heal over once more.  

Why I Still Go to the Cemetery

When Shawn died, I knew that his soul was immediately in the presence of our God.  I instinctively knew that his body had simply been an earthly vessel that was temporary to this life.

But that didn't stop me from loving that physical body . . . one of the three little bodies that is a unique combination of the love that Brian and I share.  

Even in the beginning of my grief, I never made it a habit to visit the cemetery often.  The intellectual part of my being couldn't rationalize spending much of any time at his graveside, and my faith still holds that he is with the Father.

But then there are those days.  Those days when the momma in me needs to mother him.  Needs to do something for him!  Just as I do the small things for Clayton and Jackson, the mother in me craves to do those tasks for Shawn.   But there are no tasks to be done.

No shirt collar to be turned down.  

No mouth to be wiped.  

No boo-boo to kiss.  

No high-five to be given after a job well done.  

No "I love you's" passed in conversation.  

Just nothing.  

Simply put, he doesn't need me where he is at.  He is with the Almighty Caretaker of the universe!

But his momma needs him.  Needs to care for him in the physical ways that mommas do.  I was so desperate in the early years.  I literally pictured myself digging the grave up just so I could hold and touch him one last time.  Just one last "let me make sure you're okay before I leave you on your own" moment. 

I'm certainly past those desperate moments these days, but my idle hands still must do.

For eight years, my Grandmother faithfully renewed the flowers on Shawn's grave.  I asked her in the very beginning to be my stand in because emotionally I simply couldn't handle the task. However, a couple of years ago I felt like I was finally ready to take on the job of keeping his flowers refreshed.  I cried the whole time I was in Hobby Lobby buying the flowers.  But once I was done, I felt a renewed sense of spirit.  I polished his marker and cleaned up the neglected ones around it.  And every few months, I repeat the same little routine.  A time when I can reflect while I let my hands do a mother's work.  

When Grief Brings Silence

There comes a point in extreme crisis when the silence becomes deafening.  Clayton was still in the NICU when that moment came for me.  I sat in the ACH cafeteria watching the interstate traffic, and I realized that I had absolutely nothing to say to my God.  And the silence reverberating back was just as poignant.  It was like this big black hole between the two of us, and I couldn't step forward for fear of falling into it.  It was a scary realization.   I didn't know how to deal with my anger and grief over Shawn's death.  I didn't know how to pray for Clayton.  I was literally stuck in this chasm of wanting to pray, but not having anything to say to the Father.  Day after day, I repeated over and over, "Lord, you know my heart."  I depended on others to intercede more specifically on our behalf.  I simply didn't have the words to pray.

 ". . . for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance."  (Philippians 1:19)

What of this "black hole?"  Is it a good thing to have such a silence between us and God?  After years of reflection, I think it was indeed a necessary part of my grieving.  I heard a song just this last week with the lyric, "God is big enough for the whys."  And you know what?  He's big enough for the silence as well!  He is the Almighty; but he is also Abba . . . Father.   This is the same Father who watched as His newly created man chose disobedience.  The Father who watched time and again as His people chose to depart from Him.  The Father who watched His Son die horrifically on a cross. . .

He is truly "acquainted with grief!"  (Isaiah 53:3)

If anyone is familiar with A Change in Plans, it is our Father in Heaven, whose entire plan for this world was wrecked by sin.  And as He watches us live out life after The Fall, I can't help but think He grieves anew each time one of His children is hurting.  This wasn't His plan--wasn't His design!  The resulting hurts of this world must grieve His heart!  "The Lord said, 'I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt, I have heard them crying out . . . and I am concerned about their suffering.'" (Exodus 3:7)  Moreover, the God-Man Himself was grieved when His friend Lazarus died:  "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled . . . Jesus wept . . ." (John 11:33-35)

I think it is because of this "acquaintance with grief" that the Father knew we would require a supernatural helper to speak on our behalf.   When we have no words for prayer, when we know not how to utter our needs, "the [Holy] Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.  And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will."  (Romans 8:26-27)  Because of this intercession, we can rest knowing the Father is still working for our good, even when we don't know how to express our need.  

For me, the silence was a time of renewing.  It was as if the Lord was sitting across the room from me, quietly waiting for me to join Him at His table once again.  The important key was that I didn't choose to get up and walk away from Him for good.  After months of silence, I began to slowly utter prayers of thanksgiving, and even prayers on behalf of others.  It was those small basic prayers that eventually led me back to a true conversation with God, a conversation that was deeper than ever before.  And almost ten years later, I have come full circle as I intercede in prayer for the needs of others.

These full circles?  That's the way the Lord works in our lives.  Nothing is without purpose.  Even a period of silence and heartache can yield a renewed hope and resolve.  A resolve to live for Him, and a resolve to bring others into His arms.