Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts

My Major Problem with a Mini Promo


As our family waits for The Hobbit to start, five words in a pre-movie advertisement turn me into a crazy person.


Five words make me spontaneously shout, “That’s not true!”

(Which makes my son try to shrink his 6’ frame and my daughter try to shush me.)

It’s not the advertiser’s fault that their fancy five word phrase catches me the wrong way today. They’re just doing their job: selling fun, risk, and hope.

But tears sting my eyes as I furiously text a note to self:

"For me, 'Normal can never be amazing' is a LIE."

 Here's why:


A normal Christmas Day would have been amazing.


To have Mother bustling about the kitchen, correcting all my cooking mistakes and calling out, “Harvey, the volume!” when Mozart’s concerto booms too loud in the living room. To have one of her enormous fresh flower arrangements in the middle of the table so we could play to play our yearly game of try-to-talk-through-the-centerpiece.

Instead, I spent four hours cooking alone in Mother’s kitchen while she lay on the couch, only vaguely aware of my presence or identity. 


A normal Monday back-at-school next week would be amazing.

To have Pastor Jon welcome our students back from Christmas break with his warm hugs and just-for-you smile. To have him lead another class discussion about how what the Bible says applies to nitty-gritty everyday living.

Instead, we will be shock-walking from class to class on Monday, in the throes of raw grief, wondering what we will do without the man who has lived the heart of God’s grace in this place for two decades. 


That Daddy is alive and almost back to normal is amazing.

After a New Year’s Day hike took longer than expected, my father fell 50 feet down a ravine where he waited for hours in the freezing darkness until the rescue helicopter was able to airlift him to safety. 

Instead of reeling from a second loss in two days, we are celebrating that his sprained ankle and scalp lacerations are healing.


For me to agree that
  • normal isn’t great...
  • normal isn’t fantastic...
  • normal can never be amazing...

...would say nothing about “normal” but speak volumes about my own capacity 
  • to see greatness.
  • to feel the fantastic.
  • to be amazed.

But I vehemently disagree.

I shouted, “That’s not true!” in the theater, I’ve been rehearsing it in my heart ever since, and I’m pounding it out here for anyone who’s read this far.

“Normal can never be amazing” is a lie.

  • After almost 22 years of parenting, I know that one “normal” conversation between my strong-willed daughter and her stubborn-as-a-mule mom (which would be me) is so amazing that it deserves a holiday or postage stamp or fireworks or all three.
  • After a high-risk pregnancy and pre-term delivery, I know that a “normal” birth is mind-bogglingly amazing, and every time (okay, almost every time) my 6’ tall “preemie” annoys me I remember the incubator and am astonished anew.
  • After 25 years of marriage, I know that one more “normal” day together is a startlingly amazing gift to be treasured as if it’s our last...because it just might be. 

Part way through The Hobbit, Gandalf says, “Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I have found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.”

With this, I whole-heartedly agree.

And I re-commit to intentionally cherish -- by choosing amazement amidst the “normal” -- the people and life I am so lavishly blessed to call mine.


Your Turn:
  • What's your response to "normal can never be amazing"?  (Please feel more than free to disagree with me!)
  • When I invited Facebook friends to agree or disagree with "normal can never be amazing," a whole discussion of definitions ensued. How do you define "normal"?  "amazing"?
  • Anything else on your heart!

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This Really Got Me Link-up at Rethinking My Thinking
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Something I Can Do: 2 a Day for 13 Days

Daniel didn't sleep Saturday night. He tossed and turned, thinking about Friday morning's tragedy.

 I thought I was "doing okay" until last night. 

 We each respond to the unthinkable differently.

In our own way.

In our own timing.

  • I think back to when my own children were little.
  • I think of all my years in the classroom.
  • I think of my own son who turned 20 years old on Thursday.

And, as a Choleric, I wonder what I can possibly do that will make any difference.

 This courageous statement by the father of Emilie Parker gives me an idea:

 (Can't view video?  Click here to see Robbie Parker, Father of Emily Parker via YouTube.)


If Robbie Parker can say "Thank you" at a time like this, I can honor little Emilie (who sounds so much like my own artistic daughter when she was her age!) and take the time to say "Thank you."

 I can write 2 notes today and 2 tomorrow and 2 the next day until I've written 26 notes to people I've been meaning to appreciate and encourage. 

 This is something I can do...

  • ...as a tribute to those who no longer can.
  • ...as a refusal to surrender to "nothing I do matters" thinking.
  • ...as a tangible way to connect with those I love.



And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. 
For as members of one body you are called to live in peace. 
And always be thankful.
Let the message about Christ, in all its richness, fill your lives. 
Teach and counsel each other with all the wisdom he gives. 
Sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to God with thankful hearts. 
And whatever you do or say, do it as a representative of the Lord Jesus, 
giving thanks through him to God the Father.
Colossians 3:15-17

Your Turn

  • How are you doing today?
  • What is something -- however seemingly small -- you've decided to do in response to Friday's tragedy?
  • Anything else on your heart!

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Day 29: STRENGTH (In My Weakness, His Strength)


Each day during The PURSE-onality Challenge: "A Holiday-Ready Heart" in October, Untangling Christmas by Karen Ehman and LeAnn Rice, will be our give-away prize!  


Enter via the Rafflecopter at the end of the blog post or click here to enter!




I can do everything through Him
who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:13 (NIV)

My original plan for my newest monologue was a 10-minute stand-up comedy routine about the “joys” of being Anxiety Girl. 

Oh, how I wanted to make the audience laugh.

For my Sanguine heart, there is nothing like the adrenaline rush of an audience in stitches!  

But each time I sat down to write, memories of losses filled my pages.

Frustrated, I decided to “get the sad stuff out” so I could finally start with Anxiety Girl.

Except the “sad stuff” kept beckoning me back. To places I’ve been afraid to go, for decades.

Since standing up to Perfectionism back in May, I’m intentionally living the truth that nothing really is worse than failure. Nothing really is worse than making mistakes.

So despite my craving for audience laughter, I chose to follow where the Holy Spirit was so clearly leading my scared scarred heart.

After decades of nothing, we walked together toward that body of water called Grief.


I’ve Waded Here Before

Oh, I’ve “dabbled” in grief.
  • Spent time in counselors’ offices.
  • Read books.
  • Attended groups.
  • Agreed that “the only way out is through.”


And I’ve been frustrated with my lack of progress...my stuck-ness. 

All that money. All that time. All those books.  

For what?!?

I’m tired of still having so many issues. I’m embarrassed that I still have so many issues.  I’m bored of still having so many issues!


Diving All the Way In 

As I wrote and practiced, I realized there is a world of difference between wading a little way into grief on my own and diving in all the way with my Life Guard.

Mucking around on my own has just made mud. And mud sticks and dries, leaving me to wonder 

Why bother digging up all this old dirt?

Yuck.

So I’ve always gotten out quickly, dusted myself off, and made myself presentable again.

After all, who wants to hang out with someone who’s all grungy from wallowing in the shallows of self-pity?

But this was different.

As I wrote... 
  • my sorrow at leaving the back yard gate open when I was 12
  • my horror at hearing car tires screech at midnight and Nikki’s yelp of pain cut short
  • my loneliness at losing my big furry giver of unconditional love
  • my guilt at being the one whose forgetfulness caused his needless death
  • many more memories of loss

...dams began to burst.

I wept.

Not the romantic glisten-y kind of weeping.

The messy, beet-red nose kind sobbing that empties an entire box of Kleenex.


A True Cleansing

What’s the point of doing this?  I asked myself.

The question almost stopped me. At least with my first monologue, I knew my purpose. 

With this one, I was going on blind faith.
  • Maybe the point is trust. 
  • Surrendering my need to know the outcome.
  • Focusing on obedience.

I started practicing my words aloud--words I knew I would share with an audience of strangers--and the burst dams became an ocean.

And it was time
  • to do more than wade
  • to dive all the way in
  • through my fears
  • through cleansing tears

into an embrace of Grace


My Weakness, His Strength

The day of the performance came, and with it a terrifying realization: 

I need to do this without my script.

I’ve never spoken or performed without a detailed word-for-word script within reach.

I always panic and forget; I need my script for security!
  • So I do it right.
  • So I don’t fail.
  • So I don’t make mistakes!

Oh yeah.
  • That rule is broken.
  • Time to trust. 
  • Time to dive all the way in.

I’ve never felt so completely in the moment as I did during those ten minutes. I was neither kicking myself for a mistake I’d just made nor frantically trying to be sure I spoke my next lines just right. 

I simply shared as I’d prepared.

I was fully present to give and receive a reciprocal gift.


Stoic “Strength” vs. Willing Weakness

Afterward, I received this gracious Facebook message from an audience member:

“I was thinking about how vulnerable you allowed yourself to be. How that made an instant connection with the audience as we saw our own struggles in yours.”

And I am struck by the irony.

Here I’ve spent decades running from grief because I've been terrified to experience the pain. I’ve waded, dabbled, and then dashed for so-called safety.

Yet in my choice to be vulnerable -- deep in my decision to open myself to pain -- is where I’m finding God waiting for me with an abundance of strength. 

Not in the shallows, mucking around in the mud of self-pity.

But deep in the sounds of grief.


My Weakness, His Strength for the Holidays

I don't know what issues arise for you during the holidays. 

Perhaps, like me, you'll struggle with un-grieved losses. 

Perhaps you'll experience fresh waves of pain for losses well-grieved. 

Perhaps the weakness that blind-sides you -- that tempts you to wade in ankle-deep, dabble a bit, and muck around on your own -- will be something entirely different.

I don't know what it will be for you. But I do know that for each one of us, this simple reminder is always true:


Jesus loves me this I know
for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong.
We are weak but He is strong!

(Part 2 tomorrow)



Your Turn:
  • How have you learned to grieve (or have you)? 
  • For what will you need special strength this holiday season? 
  • Anything else on your heart!


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