The Promise of Peace

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Ministering

I listened to a podcast last week that really hit me. These are my notes:

Jennie Taylor, wife of the late Major Brent Taylor, shares ideas on how to minister to those who are grieving the loss of a loved one.

There is absolutely no one-size-fits-all approach, and people are never done grieving. Words like closure and moving on have no proper place in discussions about losing a loved one. Asking, "How are you:" with just the right amount of sugar in your voice and tilt in your head isn't likely to yield very honest results. I'm not a professional counselor or grief specialist, and i certainly don't claim to speak for everyone who's ever lost anyone, but i have been asked to share with you a little of my own grief journey and what has been done or said by those who have genuinely sought to minister to me and my family during our time of loss. Let's talk about what happened, what helped, and what didn't help.

[Her husband had been deployed in combat four times, and, then, less than two years before this broadcast was recorded (in about September 2020), he was killed by the enemy during a military hike long AFTER the war had "ended". He left behind seven children ages newborn to 14. His deployment would have ended just two months later.]

Most of us don't know what to do when we're faced with grief, and we really don't know what to do when someone we love is faced with grief. So, sometimes we do nothing. We're worried we might say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing or make it harder or maybe offer an offense which we didn't intend. We're all eager to help, and yet, we don't know how. We get paralyzed in our fear that we might inadvertently actually make it harder, and so, we kind of dance around it and go about our day.

Here are some of the things very well-meaning people said to me that really didn't help:

Grit with Grace: Grief is hard work. We need grit, but it doesn't come easily. We comfort each other by strengthening each other. The real grace isn't elegance or beauty, but the grace of God.

He's in a Better Place: I know that place, and I want to be there with him, but I'm here in an ugly place doing an ugly thing, trying to survive without him, trying to raise seven kids and help them through their grief, trying to pay all the bills, trying to figure out all his passwords so I can manage our household, trying to get the water heater fixed, trying to keep the car running...

My husband is a part of me. His purpose did not change when he died, and neither did mine. I long for the day we can be in the same place again. But it's going to be a long time and a long road before that happens.

Your Best Days are Ahead: I don't like thinking that my best days are going to be alone. The future is overwhelming. Just focus on today. God doesn't move in linear time. Future me can take care of future things. Looking forward alone is very scary. Take it one minute at a time.

Heaven Needed a Hero: So true. I know my husband's best days also are ahead. But God did not take my husband home because He was shorthanded. My family is shorthanded. We can't erase grief. We can't put a bandage on it. God doesn't necessarily make things happen, but he can make beauty out of things that happen.

Let Me Know if You Need Anything: I don't know what I need. Keep a notepad so you can jot down things you need and then give people ideas when they offer. A better way to ask that question is to ask things you think they need and let them choose how you can help. Give simple choices.

Finding Closure and Moving On: Who in the world wants closure when they've lost someone they love? I don't ever want to close the door on my husband. I move forward WITH my husband. My husband affected everything I've become for the last 15 years. I'm opening the door to a new chapter.

Holidays Can Be Hard: Even harder than holidays are the milestones. The first Sunday at church without him. The first birthday without him. The first back to school without him. Birthdays, anniversaries, family traditions, those moments that were so full of life are now empty, lonely, and painful. The first month without him. The first wedding anniversary without him. The first year without him. Those days are the days to send a text or make a phone call or invite for a meal or even just drop off a note. Let that person know you are mourning with them. Instead of feeling alone on those days, I know someone I love is going to be remembering with me because they don't let those days pass without reaching out to me.

Elephant in the Room: Whether you say anything to me or not, I still remember my husband. When you talk about him, even if I cry, I know it means you love and miss him, too. Please don't hoard your memories. Tell me about the times you shared with him. Tell me about the things I didn't know about him. Never hesitate to talk about him. I want to hear! Even if I cry. Don't be afraid of emotions. It's healthy. It's healing.

[Here, she also spoke about the ways people have tried to help her children. She emphasized she wants to be the one to help her children through their deepest grief, but she praised the people who invited her children for game night or movie night or came to watch their games or performances.

One of her children asked: "What good does prayer do? I prayed Daddy would be safe every morning and every night, and it didn't work." She shared the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. "But if not." Everything hard helps us to become more like our Savior.

I do not have children living at home, but I do have my own kid point to add. Last week, I got to teach crochet to one of the 8-year-olds I taught in church for four years. This week, I got to ride a bike with one of the 8-year-olds I taught in church for four years. Parents of children I taught and teach have been reaching out to me consistently, and man, what great experiences we are sharing.]

Fix it vs. Face it: You can't fix the fact that my husband died. People can't fix that. The Savior heals. The Savior makes us whole. The Savior compensates with blessings. What if Lazarus had not died? Raising Lazarus was a miracle that offers hope. What would the world be like without that miracle? The ultimate raising of the dead, of course, occurred prior to the opening of the tomb. But what would that lesson look like without the healing of Lazarus first to better help followers understand what was about to happen?

When we face extreme grief, the Savior allows us to minister to each other, He allows us to show His love to those in need.

I get to feel the power of the Holy Ghost helping me change my mind when I think my loss is such a horrible, awful thing. I am grateful the Savior allows us to use our heartache and our tragedy to lift and heal and to provide hope to those around us. When we feel extreme despair, Christ will send extreme hope, extreme love and extreme promises, that through His atoning sacrifice, all will be made well.

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Saditude vs. Gratitude

Two weeks ago I was mourning the loss, not realizing at the time the exact day was the 22nd anniversary of our first date. There really is something to anniversary triggers.

The next day, once I realized what caused such intense grief, I was grateful for 22 adventurous years. I wish it had been more. But I know more is to come. Gratitude makes such a huge difference. I am sleeping better. When I can sleep with thankfulness in my heart.

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No Flake Monday

(affiliate links to my designs)

I had every intention of finishing and sharing another snowflake today. But time continues to get away from me. There have been many required steps to take and many decisions to make.

However, I was able two weeks ago to finish a digital snowflake collage I'd been working on for months. Mostly during sleepless nights. Of which there have been many. Far too many.

I also finished a new digital snowflake flag while awaiting return phone calls a couple of weeks ago. I had created a similar piece of art using dingbats (remember those?!?) many, many years ago. The new one features MY snowflakes.

I've since used the images to create T-shirts, fabric, posters, bags and even a mug. And I tried shooting snowflakes during our nine-inch pile up last week. (The flakes were graupel.) I haven't downloaded the images yet (I just barely downloaded snowflake images from early March!), but I don't expect to see anything inspirational.

The nine inches of snow brought down many branches from my maple, which required a bit of clean-up and further complicated my scrambled schedule.

My plan going forward is to continue publishing here Monday through Friday. I'm also trying to learn how to take care of me. I'm trying to discover who I am. All the while intensely missing my husband.

When cracks appear, rest assured everything is okay. Or as okay as can be expected. This is a new path for me, and I'm sure there will be plenty of diversions along the way. I'll keep trying to be the curious photographer longing to get back on her bike. The grief is acute because the love is fierce. I'm not ashamed of that.

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Wordless Wednesday

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Reaching Out

So many people have done so much to try to help me get through the past few weeks.

I thought I'd let some photos tell a tiny portion of the story.

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Grief

Less than 72 hours after he came home, Lizard valiantly completed his Parkinson's battle.

It's 3 a.m. I've been awake since 1 a.m. I can't sleep. I wake often in the night to help Lizard, and he's no longer there.

I miss Lizard. I want back the Lizard who didn't have Parkinson's. The Lizard he is now. Now that I can't see him. Hold him. Be wrapped in his arms.

My gosh, I miss him so much.

I didn't think I'd have to go so long without him. I thought we'd have more time.

I know he is whole now, and I know we will be together again one day. I'm trying to cherish and be thankful for all the adventures we shared. I'm trying to remember how exhuberant he was every morning until a couple of years before he was diagnosed with Parkinson's. I'm trying to remember every joyful moment with him. I'm doing my best to be faithful and hopeful. There are moments of exquisite joy. There are moments of excruciating agony.

I would never want him to have to endure that suffering again. But I miss him so much.

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Forever Knocks

I suppose I owe you a bit of an explanation.

Lizard went into the hospital 10 days ago, and the determination at the time and for the next three days was he would need to be in a long-term care facility. I was devastated.

Within four days, the goal changed from long-term care to hospice. I had seen this coming, but I thought I had more time. Much more time.

Lizard is at home with me now, and we are honoring his Advanced Care Directive. I'm doing my best to try to make him comfortable and to be there for him.

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