Sorting It Out - by ExploreFaith.org

In the middle of this season of Lent, I'm finding it encouraging to read and walk through different devotionals and ways to Sort it Out.

"Rather than viewing Lent as a season of drab and dreary self-examination and sacrifice that waters down its spiritual potency, we might see it as a time offered to us each year simply to sort things out. It can be an intentional period of 40 days that can be used to realign the disorder in our life that keep us out of balance with our own soul and with the God who loves us boundlessly, unconditionally, and eternally. Using Lent to take an honest look at the disarray inside ourselves with an eye to discarding the debris leaves us renewed, with eagerness, enthusiasm, gratitude, and a readiness to offer ourselves to God and to the world. "

 I've taken this time to be intentional about my food intake, and for the past 22 days I've given up partaking in things containing sugar, white processed flour, white rice, and pototoes. It includes all sweet things like honey and agave. It's been a difficult journey for me, but one that I am glad I have taken on in hopes to slow down, pay attention, and listen to God in a deeper and intentional way.
May these tools for your Lenten journey bring you intentional relationship with the creator of your soul, as they have done for me.

Explorefaith.org - Sorting It Out

Choosing light in dark places

Photo pinned from pleasantplacess.blogspot.com

It has been two months since my mom passed away. Her death was so unexpected and sudden, I think I was in shock for a long time after her hospital stay and into the funeral planning. I have actually been able to see again. Something feels different. I'm trying to find out what it is so I can explain it better, and comprehend it and hang onto it...but I don't know what that is.

I have been able to laugh with my kids and make a couple of jokes. I am able to see (a little) of how others are doing. There is much pain and grief in my community of friends, and I have been able to stop, listen, and pray for them. I want so much to be myself again. I want to be happy, and have physical energy to make dinner or do dishes. I'm not rushing into anything. My house is still a mess, and I'm not being a good parent. I am giving into lots of things, and discipline is falling by the wayside with stuff, just "stuff."


But, something that has become a discipline, is something that came upon me rather suddenly and unexpectedly. I had a major emotional crash on Valentine's Day. The next week was my birthday. If there were strong pieces of my year when I missed my mom...one would expect these would certainly be the days. And, because I can only make it one day at a time and forward thinking was pretty well put on the back burner for a while...I had totally forgot that Lent was approaching.


We attend a nondenominational Christian church that doesn't follow any traditional liturgical calendar. But, I believe significant seasons are important in the church. I mean, thank goodness it's Lent and not Advent. I'm glad people are putting on ashes on Ash Wednesday and sacrificing and entering into suffering with one another. It's becoming much more congruent with where my spirit is these days. I feel as if the whole Christian world is feeling my pain as well. Perhaps that's what I needed to be reminded of to snap out of my darkness.

Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday completely crept up on me almost unnoticed. But, I went to bed that Tuesday with a new mission. I gave up sugar 10 days ago. No white processed flour, no white rice, no potatoes, and no sugar! No honey, no agave, nothing. No fruit juice, either. Just fresh fruit, veggies, proteins and whole grains. It's one of the craziest things I've ever done, but maybe that was part of the kick-start I needed. I'm able to stop and read labels and think more seriously about food before it goes into my body. I'm not doing it for weight loss, although that's going to be an automatic benefit. I gave it up for Lent, a sacrifice to remind me of the desert place that Jesus was in before his crucifixion. I can journey through that desert place myself, and be grateful for His death and resurrection. That congruence of spirit has reminded me once again that I am loved deeply and dearly, and that I don't have to be afraid or fear that I am unlovable, because each of us were uniquely created by an amazing Father who loves us and knows us, and understands us. There is discipline in this fasting that God is teaching me more tangibly than I could have thought possible.

I wonder if the hormonal changes I've been dealing with have also been a factor in my moods. (But, I'm not discounting the grief. That's real.)

Someone I know was talking about a new part of his spiritual journey, and how the past couple of years after his mom's death he wished he would have done his grief differently. I understood so much of what he was saying...that others have no idea what you're going through, and what you feel, and how you change. But, loving someone in grief has got to one of the hardest things for any human to do. He changed a lot when his mom died. He felt anxiety. An extrovert who loved large groups of people suddenly was unable to be in a crowd without getting upset and feeling trapped. He said it was hard to feel sad and bring others down when everyone else was happy. He couldn't understand in his spirit how it was possible that others could be so happy, when he was so miserable. He said he is now ready to take a new leap, a new part of his journey to cut off the old misery and take a step of faith to follow Christ in a new way. He's getting married this summer to a wonderful young woman. I have really enjoyed getting to know them both, and this season for both of them has been a season that has shaped them and helped them grow.

One thing he said to me was that he wished he would have talked about memories of his mom more. Talking helps. He wished he would have asked for more help along the way, if even to say he didn't know what to ask for. So I've started to talk about my mom more and more. To mention the things she gave us, or things we used to do together, and how we used to be together. The memories are good, and we are so blessed by the amazing relationship that we had. I just miss her so much. It's like a part of me has died along with her.

I'm now trying to see a place where a part of her continues to live in me.

Some days are really dark

I've been exhausted lately. It's not for staying up late and writing, as you can tell. I actually get to bed at a relatively early time, just after (or before) my kids hit the sack. My body has been feeling the real effects of the emotional stress of my mother's death. My periods stopped the day she went to the hospital by ambulance. I have had issues with this in the past couple of years, and my doctor said everything is normal, but my over 40 age may have something to do with the changes. I have been dealing with debilitating headaches, and panic attacks. I have basically just felt horrible. But, I make it through most days just feeling sad and very run down.

I have been self-centered...and it's been too difficult to care what is going on with Facebook, or with friends who set me off for one thing or another. I have missed my upbeat and happy self. And, how do I put this...I feel that if I don't ever feel better or do the things I used to do...will my friends and family still love me? What is it about me that they love? What is that piece of me that is lovable? Am I lovable? Why would anyone want to love me?

I think I've been generally a bright and cheerful kind of person. I have hope and joy in life, from God, and my faith in Him has never been stronger. But, a recent birthday message from some people from church got me thinking about what they see in me, and I wasn't sure that was the real me. They said sweet loving things, and I just couldn't see myself that way. I see my self as a victim, something terrible has happened to me, and everyone around me should see that! What? Crazy? Of course I am! So crazy I'm unlovable, I'm sure!!! Only a couple of people love me even if I'm crazy, mean, hurtful and demanding. I am just not feeling that lovable.

Scary things set me off. I try to go about a normal day, and anything can trigger a huge emotional response of anger, sadness, despair, fear, and an outright feeling of being out of control. I've been angry that no one cares, no one thinks about me or reaches out to do something amazing for me. I have been caught off guard when someone asks how I'm doing...because all that I can say is that my mom passed away...and they just don't understand! Anything they try to offer is not helpful, because I don't want to hear about their experience with death and grief. I don't want to hear how they handled things. I can barely walk this road alone! And it's all about me, don't they know that?! If someone says something I think is stupid, I tell them straight out, and not in a nice way. It's childish, and foolish, and could be hurting some relationships. But, I want people to look deeper and see the pain and know that I'm hurting. I want others to know that I can't handle all of this pain. I need help, but can't muster enough of anything to ask for help, or even know what kind of help to ask for. I'm desperate, and have no words to say it nicely, so please just love me and hold me, even if you, too, are in pain or stress.

My dear friend mentioned something to me the other day that really struck me. A couple of years ago, when she was in the months immediately after a miscarriage, she was feeling the depths of despair and the grief was so dark. She cried all the time, and felt bad for not being able to snap out of it. She felt bad for counting the days until her due date, and every marker in the year after. She argued and disagreed with her counselor who told her to forget about the dates on the calendar. But, she told me that she remembered something very clearly that I had said to her. And...I barely remember saying it. She said, "I remember very clearly you were weeding the garden on the outside of the fence, and I was sitting next to you in a lawn chair and my daughter was in her stroller eating a snack." "Do you remember what you told me?" she asked. I said no. She said, "You told me to give myself permission to grieve."

I guess that's really how I've been feeling. I'm so much in pain, missing my mom, who was a HUGE part of my every day life. Every daily routine from waking up waiting for a phone call from her, to middle of the day when she would pick up the mail and call me to ask me to stop over to look at something she just got and didn't understand, to going out for coffee or breakfast or lunch with her. Those every day happenings are still shadows in my current life...and for a while it landed so hard on my heart and soul that I thought I'd never get out of the darkness. I struggled to see clearer, and move beyond the pain, but absolutely had no energy whatsoever to do that. I could barely make dinner for the kids, or get up to go to work. My days and nights are still like this. The dark is so dark, that I can't see anything!

Perhaps the time since her death has been so full of personally emotional markers already. Her birthday, my son's birthday, Valentine's Day, my birthday...etc. Yes, the dark is dark. But, there is more to the story, and there is light in the darkness...somewhere.

When Great Trees Fall

Many dear friends show kindness in my grief. A few weeks ago a friend shared this poem as something that gave her comfort in the past year after she lost her mother to cancer. I share this here as I remember my mom, and so I will remember to read it again.

When Great Trees Fall
Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with a
hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. 
Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored,
never to be the same,
whisper to us.
They existed. 
They existed.
We can be. 
Be and be better. 
For they existed.

Remembering Love on Valentine's Day

They say birthdays and holidays during the first year of loss are significant times in one's grief. In this new season, I remember my mom in each holiday. We remembered her birthday just a couple of weeks beyond her funeral. And, then my son's 7th birthday was spent missing her presence amidst the gifts, games, and food.

Today is February 14th. A day where cynics and lovers alike swoon over red heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, where the price of flowers skyrockets due to high demand, and greeting cards and e-cards alike are shared with those with whom we share affection. And, today, like other holidays, I remember Mom's thoughtfulness and the way she loved me and loved others. She taught me much about love, real love. Not the store-bought t-shirt with the art-deco word Love on it, or the way some people love their cars. She taught me about selfless, sacrificial love. Love that goes beyond how you feel or how you think. It's the kind of love that speaks with actions, not words.

I've experienced love...from many people in my life, my family, my friends. I know what love is, and I know what love isn't. These are just a few of the amazing ways others have loved me, and the ways I hope to love others. Now, some of these things are things that mom used to do. And, although I believe these are ways she showed her love, I cannot bring myself to do some of the same things. But, there are many of these things that I can do, and honestly do, for those that I really love.

Love shares the last piece of your favorite treat. Love offers a beverage to every service tech that walks through the door to fix something in the house. Love opens her home to visitors and hosts coffee and danish to the neighbors before work on the front porch. Love grabs another person's cold hands and presses them against her warm hands and arms and face to bring them back to room temperature. Love goes out of its way to pick out a special thoughtful gift and personally deliver it with a hug. Love brings coffee to a friend because there's a BOGO deal at Caribou. Love takes you shopping for a dress and pays for lunch. Love thinks about friends' birthdays months in advance, purchases cards, writes them out, puts a stamp on each one, and leaves them waiting to be dropped in the mailbox just before the said event. Love bakes a pie for the neighbors just because. Love generously shares time and life to listen and sit next to, and hang out with, and talk or not talk. Love cooks dinner, does all the dishes, and doesn't complain or ask for help. Love washes the laundry, dries it, folds it, and sends it back to college in a neat pile. Love takes the car for an oil change and car wash and brings it back with a full tank of gas. Love sees the uniqueness of her beloved, and finds ways to celebrate it. Love frugally gathers fabric and sews clothing for children who otherwise would go without. Love pours out belonging, acceptance, forgiveness, and humility over and over and over again. Love wants to be near her beloved, but allows freedom to fly and experience the world and all the love that is in it. Love allows choice to love in return. Love sees others through compassionate eyes and Love's heart breaks when others are in pain. Love has known pain and fear, and gives and loves anyways.  Love wants to make the world a better place because she has known difficulty and hardship. Love serves others and hosts others and shares life with others. Love keeps her children close and looks over their homework. Love tries to shield her beloved from harm and pain, but allows them to feel it so they can grow. Love makes her kids wear seat-belts in the car and enrolls them in swimming lessons. Love gives away love because she has known love and learned love from others. Love shares in her life, love shares in her death.


1Corinthians 13:1-13 (NIV)
May each of you feel the deep love of God in your lives today. This is what I have to hang onto in this season of missing someone who really showed me how to love, and what love is.

As you wish...

Each season comes with its ups and downs, and for a long season I had experienced a pretty joyful season. I was hungry for God, and finding strength for the journey from what I thought was a calling on my life. Then, everything changed.

In the middle of December 2011, I was helping a friend with CD sales at concerts for his holiday group of musician friends, called SimpleGifts. I was thrilled to be having so much fun meeting people, talking about the music that I love, and just being around really great people.

I love the group so much, I planned some time away from work to travel around the Twin Cities with them for a week before Christmas. We started that week with a concert at my home church and I invited family to see the show. My mom & kids enjoyed the show immensely that night - and then the kids went home with her to spend the night as they had so many times before. I went out with friends that night and then home to rest. The next morning would be the beginning of the end.

My mom was scheduled to call me at 6:30am as she did every morning for accountability of her diabetes control. She didn't call, and as I called her - my daughter answered the phone and said "Grandma isn't waking up." Those words weren't unfamiliar to me, as she had had episodes of low blood sugar before. I woke my husband to come with me, in case he needed to attend to the kids, and without a shower or so much as a toothbrush, we rushed out of the house and drove 15 minutes.  As my husband and I arrived at my mom's house, walked upstairs to see her still asleep, I checked her blood sugar. If it was low, I'd know what to do. Get her some juice, a little something to eat, and get her back up to normal for the day. When the glucose monitor registered a high number, my heart sank. I couldn't fix this. I called 9-1-1.

I called my brother to meet us at the hospital, and he and his wife and I sat outside the ER waiting for some idea of what was going on. CT scan had shown she had a cranial bleed.  It wasn't an aneurysm, instead a hemorrhagic stroke. Funny, she was taking one aspirin a day and medication to control cholesterol so that she wouldn't get a clot - and she instead had a bleed. This bleed was so significant that the neurosurgeon told us there was nothing he could do. So, we waited with hope that she would awake and we could talk to her and tell her what was going on. Something in my spirit feared that this was the beginning of the end. The next decisions we had to make as we moved from the ER to ICU and to a regular neuro floor in the hospital were extremely difficult, but my brother and I felt we were on the same page, because Mom often talked about her wishes in these types of circumstances. In fact, I helped her to craft a healthcare directive (living will) and she had it notarized just earlier in the year.

My takeaway from this part of my journey with my mom's illness...take the time to talk with your loved ones about the difficult decisions they might have to make on your behalf. My mom was prepared. I was prepared. And, my brother and I were able to make the life and death decisions for her that honored who she was and what she wanted. This is my vow for my family. In the next year, I will take the time to write out and have notarized a MN Healthcare Directive. I will share it with my medical clinic and doctor, and will more importantly share it with my loved ones. This is a gift I will give to them, and then schedule to revisit and update it every couple of years.