You want real? Here it is...
No fewer than 5 different blog posts have been composed in my head, and never put down in print. The main reason is the lack of energy to sit down and put my thoughts into words fit for human consumption. The secondary reason is fear. I've always been very aware of how I present myself to people. It's a hazard of growing up a Pastor's Kid. This past month, Pastor Joe (the Senior Pastor of our church, Grace Fellowship) has been doing a sermon series on "I'm fine." The first week, he implored the congregation to stop using the word "fine." He is clearly not from Minnesota. Maybe I should send him a copy of the post "How ARE You?" to educate him on the finer points of being Minnesotan. Nevertheless, despite my initial misgivings about eliminating the most descriptive phrase in the Minnesota language, I have been consciously avoiding using the phrase, "I'm fine." On one hand, its a relief to not have to lie to everyone (because anyone who is aware of my life throughout the past 3 months knows I am anything but fine), but it also makes me very...real. And real is scary. One tiny bonus to my current reality? I'm waaaaaaaaaay too tired to be anything but real. It just keeps flying out of my mouth. Therefore, I will warn you: what follows is my real. Those who truly want to know how I am, you are welcome to keep reading. To the rest: I'm NOT fine.
First question I get a lot is, how are my kids? My kids are beautiful, wonderful, fascinatingly exhausting creatures who desperately miss their daddy. My son, my Mr. M, doesn't understand the magnitude of what he is feeling. He only knows he is feeling big feelings and he misses daddy. In those moments, he becomes aggressive. Mostly he is aggressive toward his sister. She, my Little Miss, in turn becomes scared and runs behind me. I, then, become the middle-person in the aggression. There are evenings when we walk in the door at 5pm, and I don't take off my shoes and coat until 7pm because I've been dealing with Mr. M and his feelings. I don't expect him to be able to process and handle his emotions constructively. The majority of adults don't handle and process grief constructively. Mr. M isn't even five, yet. In the meantime, I have made adjustments to where we keep things to make time-outs easier to execute, and we have a giant punching bag in the shape of a T-Rex. Mr. M begins group grief counseling next month, and that will be a good thing, I think. All the little kids (ages 4-6) in the group have lost a parent. He won't be the only one in a room without a daddy. Please pray, with me, that this would be a great step in his grief process.
I also get asked, how is Buddy Lee? Buddy Lee is my dog. He is my original baby. We brought him home in April 2014. Buddy Lee knows that Mommy is alone, and when Mommy is alone, Buddy Lee's job is to protect Mommy. As I type, he is sitting on my feet under the table. The fact that the small people are eating dinner at the same table is probably a contributing factor to his current placement, too. At night, he is my shadow. He sleeps ON TOP of me. Not next to me, not close. No, he lays on top of me...and growls when I move. Buddy Lee likes to pretend he is a guard dog. He even jumps up on every person who walks in the door. The truth, though? Give him a belly scratch and he is yours. Any intruder or potential harm to our family would only have to scratch the Mighty and Ferocious Buddy Lee's belly. At least he's cute.
Next question: are you back at work? I never left. When Andrew was in the coma, I took four days (Tuesday-Friday) to be with him. He passed on Friday, and I went back to work on Monday. All total, since Andrew died, I have missed 3.5 days of work (not including conferences I was already scheduled to attend). No, I'm not some kind of hero. I don't have any time off. I started my job in September, and my entire year's worth of leave was exhausted by the time Christmas came. I literally can't afford to miss work. Trust me, I've heard all the reasons why this is awful, unfair, unethical, etc. It is what it is. Thankfully, my coworkers are the most caring, understanding, supportive people. That makes it much easier to go to work every day. I would appreciate prayer, though. God has given me strength, composure, and the grace I need to go to work every day, but it is hard. It is really hard. What makes it even more difficult is knowing I can't take time off, even when I might need it. Pray for continued strength and endurance.
And now, the million dollar question: how are you? I'm not fine. I spent the three or so weeks surrounding Christmas and New Year's being angry with Andrew. I was mad at him for dying, mad at him for everything I went through in our journey. I was mad that our kids were acting up (specifically, Mr. M peeing in my bed and melting my debit card all in one day). I would think about all the things he did that drove me crazy, and I would be so glad I didn't have to deal with them anymore. I actually had myself convinced that I didn't really miss him that much. Then, the 15th came. Andrew died on the 15th. Almost like a switch, I moved from anger into deep, deep sadness. My heart literally aches. I cry at the drop of a hat. There was a time when I could force myself to maintain composure until I was at home alone. That time expired about 2 weeks ago. Streaked mascara is the new blush.
Physically, I'm a mess. I'm not exaggerating. My body has responded to the trauma that I call my life by absolutely breaking down. I'm in pain from my head to my toes. My digestive system has all but shut down. I've had hives the last two days. Both of my autoimmune disorders are flaring, which floods my body with inflammation responses. My hands and feet are swollen worse than they were both times I was pregnant...in the late spring. I've been to one doctor, and have another appointment on Friday, however, since I can't miss work, it is difficult to find answers. The most likely answer is to give it time...and I hate that answer.
So what do I need? I need prayer. I need prayer for patience with my children. I need prayer for grace to allow myself to grieve. I need prayer for healing in my body. Also, and this is what brings out my fear, but, I need people to remember. I'm a sentimental person. I always have been. My steel trap of a memory means that I remember dates, times, significant moments. Nine times out of ten, I'm the only one who does. The 15th will be a difficult day for me for a long time. A long time. I need people who can commit to set an alarm on their phone, or something, to reach out to me on the 15th. It doesn't have to be anything special, just let me know you remember. Something that simple will help me feel like I'm not so alone in this thing.
I was driving home the other night, and the song "Living Hope" was playing. I thought about the title of that, living hope. I'm not strong. I'm not. I'm operating out of pure survival and habit. In fact, most days, I feel more inept and weak than ever before in my life. What enables me to get out of bed every day? How do I get to work every day in the midst of this tragedy? How do I take care of my kids, when every cell in my body is screaming at me? Jesus Christ. That isn't the Awana answer, it's the truth. Jesus Christ is my LIVING hope. In Hebrews it says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see." (11:1) My hope is that Jesus Christ has redeemed my lost soul through his blood, so that I may spend eternity with him. And my hope is alive. The object of my hope, of my faith, is a living being. Christ is intimately aware of my every everything, and firmly in control of it all. What am I certain of? To the core of my (very not awesome feeling) being, I am certain that my God is on the throne, Jesus still lives, my guy wins in the end, and my husband is in Heaven right now participating in the greatest rock concert of all time, a rock concert for the King. If I didn't have the hope of Heaven, the promise of eternal life, and the faith to believe that God is working HIS good in the midst of all my pain, then I would have no reason to get out of bed every morning. It is BECAUSE the object of my hope and faith is ALIVE that I can face whatever comes my way tomorrow, the next day, and every day after. I can face it because I am not facing it alone. Not only is my God, my Savior, and my King walking in front of me, but the entire force of his army of angels is walking behind me, and he won't let me fall. I have a million pieces of evidence (well, maybe more like 20) to suggest the opposite, and, those of you in my daily life know most of the reasons why it would be really easy right now to say that God doesn't give a flying fart in space about me...or at least that he must be on vacation right now. Then I read Job. I like Job. Job got dealt a really, really bad hand. I mean, God specifically picked HIM to be tested by Satan. He lost his home, his family, his friends, his health, everything. He literally was sitting in sackcloth (clothes made from sacks...itchy!) and ashes. His friends were giving him the many reasons why God clearly didn't care. In other words, they were letting him know how much his life sucks, and that he had every reason to turn away from God. Now, the Bible doesn't say this specifically (I added some of my own flavor), but while his "friends" were giving him the list of reasons why he would be completely justified in giving God the finger and walking away, Job looks at them, and gives his Biblical mic drop. He says to them, "Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him;" (Job 13:15) In Katy-language: "You say it's time to walk away? I say, no matter what God allows to happen to me, I'm not going anywhere. God is right here, and here is where I will stay."
And yes, I'm still singing. Tonight, I'm singing "Living Hope"
First question I get a lot is, how are my kids? My kids are beautiful, wonderful, fascinatingly exhausting creatures who desperately miss their daddy. My son, my Mr. M, doesn't understand the magnitude of what he is feeling. He only knows he is feeling big feelings and he misses daddy. In those moments, he becomes aggressive. Mostly he is aggressive toward his sister. She, my Little Miss, in turn becomes scared and runs behind me. I, then, become the middle-person in the aggression. There are evenings when we walk in the door at 5pm, and I don't take off my shoes and coat until 7pm because I've been dealing with Mr. M and his feelings. I don't expect him to be able to process and handle his emotions constructively. The majority of adults don't handle and process grief constructively. Mr. M isn't even five, yet. In the meantime, I have made adjustments to where we keep things to make time-outs easier to execute, and we have a giant punching bag in the shape of a T-Rex. Mr. M begins group grief counseling next month, and that will be a good thing, I think. All the little kids (ages 4-6) in the group have lost a parent. He won't be the only one in a room without a daddy. Please pray, with me, that this would be a great step in his grief process.
I also get asked, how is Buddy Lee? Buddy Lee is my dog. He is my original baby. We brought him home in April 2014. Buddy Lee knows that Mommy is alone, and when Mommy is alone, Buddy Lee's job is to protect Mommy. As I type, he is sitting on my feet under the table. The fact that the small people are eating dinner at the same table is probably a contributing factor to his current placement, too. At night, he is my shadow. He sleeps ON TOP of me. Not next to me, not close. No, he lays on top of me...and growls when I move. Buddy Lee likes to pretend he is a guard dog. He even jumps up on every person who walks in the door. The truth, though? Give him a belly scratch and he is yours. Any intruder or potential harm to our family would only have to scratch the Mighty and Ferocious Buddy Lee's belly. At least he's cute.
Next question: are you back at work? I never left. When Andrew was in the coma, I took four days (Tuesday-Friday) to be with him. He passed on Friday, and I went back to work on Monday. All total, since Andrew died, I have missed 3.5 days of work (not including conferences I was already scheduled to attend). No, I'm not some kind of hero. I don't have any time off. I started my job in September, and my entire year's worth of leave was exhausted by the time Christmas came. I literally can't afford to miss work. Trust me, I've heard all the reasons why this is awful, unfair, unethical, etc. It is what it is. Thankfully, my coworkers are the most caring, understanding, supportive people. That makes it much easier to go to work every day. I would appreciate prayer, though. God has given me strength, composure, and the grace I need to go to work every day, but it is hard. It is really hard. What makes it even more difficult is knowing I can't take time off, even when I might need it. Pray for continued strength and endurance.
And now, the million dollar question: how are you? I'm not fine. I spent the three or so weeks surrounding Christmas and New Year's being angry with Andrew. I was mad at him for dying, mad at him for everything I went through in our journey. I was mad that our kids were acting up (specifically, Mr. M peeing in my bed and melting my debit card all in one day). I would think about all the things he did that drove me crazy, and I would be so glad I didn't have to deal with them anymore. I actually had myself convinced that I didn't really miss him that much. Then, the 15th came. Andrew died on the 15th. Almost like a switch, I moved from anger into deep, deep sadness. My heart literally aches. I cry at the drop of a hat. There was a time when I could force myself to maintain composure until I was at home alone. That time expired about 2 weeks ago. Streaked mascara is the new blush.
Physically, I'm a mess. I'm not exaggerating. My body has responded to the trauma that I call my life by absolutely breaking down. I'm in pain from my head to my toes. My digestive system has all but shut down. I've had hives the last two days. Both of my autoimmune disorders are flaring, which floods my body with inflammation responses. My hands and feet are swollen worse than they were both times I was pregnant...in the late spring. I've been to one doctor, and have another appointment on Friday, however, since I can't miss work, it is difficult to find answers. The most likely answer is to give it time...and I hate that answer.
So what do I need? I need prayer. I need prayer for patience with my children. I need prayer for grace to allow myself to grieve. I need prayer for healing in my body. Also, and this is what brings out my fear, but, I need people to remember. I'm a sentimental person. I always have been. My steel trap of a memory means that I remember dates, times, significant moments. Nine times out of ten, I'm the only one who does. The 15th will be a difficult day for me for a long time. A long time. I need people who can commit to set an alarm on their phone, or something, to reach out to me on the 15th. It doesn't have to be anything special, just let me know you remember. Something that simple will help me feel like I'm not so alone in this thing.
I was driving home the other night, and the song "Living Hope" was playing. I thought about the title of that, living hope. I'm not strong. I'm not. I'm operating out of pure survival and habit. In fact, most days, I feel more inept and weak than ever before in my life. What enables me to get out of bed every day? How do I get to work every day in the midst of this tragedy? How do I take care of my kids, when every cell in my body is screaming at me? Jesus Christ. That isn't the Awana answer, it's the truth. Jesus Christ is my LIVING hope. In Hebrews it says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see." (11:1) My hope is that Jesus Christ has redeemed my lost soul through his blood, so that I may spend eternity with him. And my hope is alive. The object of my hope, of my faith, is a living being. Christ is intimately aware of my every everything, and firmly in control of it all. What am I certain of? To the core of my (very not awesome feeling) being, I am certain that my God is on the throne, Jesus still lives, my guy wins in the end, and my husband is in Heaven right now participating in the greatest rock concert of all time, a rock concert for the King. If I didn't have the hope of Heaven, the promise of eternal life, and the faith to believe that God is working HIS good in the midst of all my pain, then I would have no reason to get out of bed every morning. It is BECAUSE the object of my hope and faith is ALIVE that I can face whatever comes my way tomorrow, the next day, and every day after. I can face it because I am not facing it alone. Not only is my God, my Savior, and my King walking in front of me, but the entire force of his army of angels is walking behind me, and he won't let me fall. I have a million pieces of evidence (well, maybe more like 20) to suggest the opposite, and, those of you in my daily life know most of the reasons why it would be really easy right now to say that God doesn't give a flying fart in space about me...or at least that he must be on vacation right now. Then I read Job. I like Job. Job got dealt a really, really bad hand. I mean, God specifically picked HIM to be tested by Satan. He lost his home, his family, his friends, his health, everything. He literally was sitting in sackcloth (clothes made from sacks...itchy!) and ashes. His friends were giving him the many reasons why God clearly didn't care. In other words, they were letting him know how much his life sucks, and that he had every reason to turn away from God. Now, the Bible doesn't say this specifically (I added some of my own flavor), but while his "friends" were giving him the list of reasons why he would be completely justified in giving God the finger and walking away, Job looks at them, and gives his Biblical mic drop. He says to them, "Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him;" (Job 13:15) In Katy-language: "You say it's time to walk away? I say, no matter what God allows to happen to me, I'm not going anywhere. God is right here, and here is where I will stay."
And yes, I'm still singing. Tonight, I'm singing "Living Hope"
"How great the chasm that lay between us
How high the mountain I could not climb
In desperation, I turned to heaven
And spoke Your name into the night
Then through the darkness, Your loving-kindness
Tore through the shadows of my soul
The work is finished, the end is written
Jesus Christ, my living hope
Who could imagine so great a mercy?
What heart could fathom such boundless grace?
The God of ages stepped down from glory
To wear my sin oh and bear my shame
The cross has spoken, I am forgiven
The King of kings calls me His own
Beautiful Savior, oh I'm Yours forever
Oh Jesus Christ, my living hope
Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope
Then came the morning that sealed the promise
Your buried body began to breathe
And out of the silence, the Roaring Lion
Declared the grave has no claim on me
Then came the morning that sealed the promise
Your buried body began to breathe
And out of the silence, the Roaring Lion
Declared the grave has no claim on me
Jesus is, is the victory, oh-oh, oh
Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope
Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope
Jesus Christ, my living hope"
Real, raw, and beautiful! Adding the reminder to my calendar now. 💌
ReplyDelete(((((Hugs))))) from a Hopecc mom/grandma who will be praying for you- because we have common friends and an Uncommon God.
ReplyDelete