grief Archives - Redemptions Beauty

Begging for Mercy

December 16, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 10 Comments

On this third Sunday of Advent I echo Mary’s exclamation, “Oh, how my soul praises the Lord,” but my heart beats heavy and I proclaim it through tears. I watch the news, witness innocence slain in the presence of evil and I don’t have to sit across from a mother at her kitchen table to understand her sorrow.

And I don’t want to be one more voice adding to the crowds giving opinion but I will join the collective cry at heaven’s gate, begging for mercy and waiting for His return. Because we need a Saviour, more than anything else this Christmas. We need a Saviour who bore our sin so that we can live free.

Will you join me in bending our hearts to prayer for the families of the twenty- eight who died on Friday in Newtown, CT? May we rejoice in knowing He is good, even in tragedy.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Advent, children, CT, family, grief, loss, murder, Newtown, parenting, prayer, salvation, saviour, shooting, sorrow

The Dog Days of Christmas

December 10, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 56 Comments

A few days ago we moved a table away from the wall to make room for the Christmas tree, and Winston’s yellow tennis ball, it rolled out from underneath into the center of the living room, along with nine years of memories. It’s been eleven months since we lost him but the tears, they still come easy.

I walked right into H’s arms and swayed there for a few quiet moments before continuing to hang hooked angels on the tree.

The ball sits in the same place where it rolled under the couch ever since. No one mentions it but I know none of us want to move it. Somehow it feels like messing with something sacred to put it in a closet or throw it away.

A few days later I thought I kept hearing his tags rattle on his collar. Looked in the rear view mirror of empty seats picturing the way he tilted his head solemn and resigned from his spot in the back.

When I mentioned this to Murielle, how I’m having a day of remembering him, she said she was thinking about him all day too.

“I’ve just been laying here thinking I can feel him next to me, almost feel his tail beating against the couch, waiting for me to turn around and pet his head like he used to,” she said into the pillows.

And that’s when I remembered.

When I finally gave in to getting another dog on her seventh birthday, I sensed Winston was going to help her get through the transition of our cross country move. I didn’t know how, just that he would.

I shared that with her for the first time while she was resting there on the couch, almost ten years after we said yes to the golden fur and dangling paws lying over the breeder’s arm.

She nodded her head, admitted that since having the near death car accident two weeks ago, she misses lying on the floor with him after school. Misses the way he offered himself stretched out unselfishly for her comfort until she was ready to get up and carry on with homework.

And I think perhaps, our sensing the dog’s presence that particular day was God’s way of letting us know how much He loves us. We can lay our head on His chest right there on the floor of pain, disappointment and lonely transition, knowing He’s got this one too.

I pushed my legs into yoga pants, tied the strings on my tennis shoes and walked under puffy clouds and red leaves still hanging on for life in the middle of December. Felt the warm air on my skin, acceptance breathing out my nose, and when I looked down among the scattered quilt of fallen fragments I saw it there, a stray yellow tennis ball lying on the edge of the road.

And I smiled and kept on walking.

I’m aware that alongside the joy of this season, the tinsel turns up the pain in remembrance too. If I can pray for you, let me know how in the comments, click on the Let’s Connect tab to send an email or message me on Facebook. Let’s pray for one another, shall we?

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: car accident, Christmas, daughters, dogs, god bumps, God speaks, God's presence, grief, lonely, loss, parenting, pets, recovery, transition, tuesdays unwrapped

On Writing, Loss, and Letting Go of Resentment

October 23, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 32 Comments

Last week my hard drive crashed. My first response was to hang my head over my cart of cleaning supplies in Wal-Mart and cry. The second was to get angry. At myself.

I tend to be a bit disorganized when it comes to things that feel mundane, less creative. Like going through the stack of mail in the basket on my kitchen counter, filling out ANY kind of form, filing paperwork and yes, backing up my files. It’s why my husband does the laundry. I get bored in the middle of the second load and forget about moving them to the dryer.

I wrestled through the realization that all of my pictures – including the thousands I took on our anniversary trip to the UK – might’ve mattered to me more than I realized. More than God’s providence, if I’m really honest. And I wouldn’t have known that without the opportunity to feel the pain associated with loss.

But it was later in the week, while using my daughter’s old laggy laptop, that I began to resent the circumstance altogether. The length of time just to do a status update on Facebook challenged my sanity, not to mention how long it took me to upload photos and a blog post.

Being out of my comfort zone encroached on my plans and resentment ruled the room. Because instead of seeing it all as a gift – my computer, my time, my camera, writing – I wore the shades of entitlement.

And none of these things are mine, they are all His gifts extended.

After I wipe the smallness from my eyes, grace presents herself in the full retrieval of all I feared lost, thanks to a techie friend.

Over the weekend, I awakened before the sunrise to finish a story I’m working on for publication. Writing in the hours least intrusive to my family. And when I open my files, I realize the story I’d worked on for hours, over several days, vanishes like a ghost.

And all that time I planned for writing, it dissolves like water on sugar in the black hole my words fell in to overnight. We never found it. And I couldn’t cry.

Because the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. I chose to let go, and bless the name of the Lord. And push cinnamon rolls into the oven to woo my kids from slumber.

This day is a gift, one I’m not entitled to have. Glory.

Linking with Jen, Eileen, Just Write.

This is #23 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go in the comments here on Friday. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: computer crash, computers, disappointment, entitlement, faith, Fall photography, grace, grief, Jesus, loss, negligence, resentment, writing

You Make A Difference

September 12, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 73 Comments

We slide onto the two seats left in the mortuary on the back row. Pick up the white ribbon with gold letters lying on the upholstered chair. I notice everyone seated holds one, along with a handful of tissues.

My stepmom stands in front of the crowd, beside the table with my brother’s picture and the flickering taper candle. She holds up the ribbon, explains what it means.

Who I am makes a difference. It’s the painted inscription on white with zigzag edges.

She asks us to give it away to someone that’s made a difference in each of our lives. Give it away in honor of my brother. Because rebirth takes place in unleashing affirmation and if you don’t tell them – how their life changed yours – who will?

On the heels of death comes a crack in the door revealing slanted light to set men free.

I’ve opened my hands to accept the gift, basking in the brightness. Wandered in dark rooms empty, harboring the gift of thanks seated at a table for one. Today, sitting among strangers beside death, I think about giving a box of ribbons away to a crowd gathered in my mind, seated at a banquet table.

But I wonder; would there be a seat at the table for me? Am I making a difference? To anyone?

Later, I lean over the hotel sink, hands marbled in soapy bubbles. Glance from my tired reflection in the mirror to the photo card lying on top of the rolled white tower.

I read, Help Make a Difference, printed white on blue.

The hotel is talking about preserving water, not souls, but I can’t help but see His finger pointing to the card. He knows how my heart stands at attention with an echo.

I want to make a difference, I tell him. But I don’t know how.

A few days later, I grab my phone from the charging station as my husband taps the alarm and rolls out of bed. I pull reading glasses from the nightstand, scroll through middle of the night emails and I’m surprised by the name I see on the list.

A friend I haven’t heard from in fourteen years. We’ve reconnected on Facebook. She reminds me of a prophetic dream I had about her being pregnant with their first child. She’s two weeks away from delivering their sixth. Then she affirms how the parenting classes H and I taught still make a difference in their family. How she was inspired to start a Mom’s group in her church, like the one I pioneered all those years ago in Phoenix.

I lay frozen on the pillow, fixated on the ceiling in remembering what time forgot.

Then I think about ten years of rejection slips from publishers for Madeline L’Engle before she realizes writing success. Sixty rejections for Kathryn Stockett before The Help, her first book, becomes a bestseller. After ten years creating 2100 works, Vincent van Gogh’s paintings become widely acclaimed after his early death. The way critics pan Les Miserables as inept, immoral and overly sentimental upon its first printing 150 years ago.

One day is a thousand years and one thousand years is a day to God. 2Peter 3:8

And perhaps in all our trying to make a difference, we already have. We just may not realize it in our lifetime. Or maybe we’ll receive the return mail of thanks fourteen years later. It’s really up to Him isn’t it?

Linking with Walk With Him Wednesday, God Bumps, Unwrapping His Promises, WLWW, Imperfect Prose, Mercy(Ink)

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: friendship, funeral, God's timing, grief, identity, Kathryn Stockett, Les Miserables, Madeline L'Engle, mentor, parenting, photography, purpose, success, Van Gogh

Breathing The Light

September 2, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 19 Comments

It’s a curious thing how a life extinguishes in the blow of a candle flame, while a baby takes his first step toward a father’s outstretched arms and another lays his fork on the side of an empty plate.

Dust returns to dust and the parched soul seeds left behind, they crack open in grief. And He breathes the pain beating back to life, one dark moment at a time fading in the light of blinding love.

I looked into his soul and he allowed it.

The world’s waiting for the light, to be set free from the darkness.

Breathe. Inhale His grace. Exhale His glory.

A friend was prompted to pray for my family this weekend as she was listening to this song. It blessed me so much I wanted to share it with you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxqfDs-64I0&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: faithfulness, grace, grief, healing, Jesus, joy, love, mercy, pain, suffering

When You’re Too Busy to Notice

August 24, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 44 Comments

It’s been almost a week since we lost my brother. My Dad woke up somewhere in the middle with the reality that he no longer has a son. And it made my lip quiver, but I sucked it back in. Those words he said to me, they reveal a parents greatest fear.

He told me how he sat with him in the last moments before that body he hugged for almost four decades returned to dust. Hung his head in grief and told decaying flesh he would join him soon. Because eternity stands close by, in the beating hearts of men.

Sometimes you get so close to life you can’t see it. Like the photo on my banner of an empty bottle holding a rose plucked from overgrown summer. It hung there on an ordinary laundry day, catching my eye in filtered afternoon sun on my dining room table. But to you, it’s just a picture.

And just like that rose, today’s beauty wilts away, so new life can takes its place. We’re all ready to shake the hand of new, but maybe we’re too busy to see it standing outside the front door in the rain.

Your life won’t always be this way, He whispers, while I pull glasses from the top shelf. Layer the memories in a box to give away to someone in need.

He’s challenging me to dream. To dream about what my life will look like a year from now. In two years, ten years, even twenty-five like Rip Van Winkle awakening from slumber. Are you dreaming too?

It’s then that I realize I’m stuck on the merry-go-round of routine. Of days ending sprawled out tired and future plans stalled on hold. And those clumps of mundane moments, they join together to create a nest awaiting the promise of new life.

I want to be standing next to the eggs when they hatch, ready to feed hungry mouths. Because eternity stands close by, in the beating hearts of men.

Do you dream about your future in the midst of the everyday? I’d love to hear about it.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. ~Ecclesiastes 3:11 NIV

Your kindness continues to overwhelm. The shower of genuine kindness and consolation from those who stopped by this week and held my hand in prayer, is like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Thank you for your continued prayers as we navigate a memorial service on August 31^st with family and friends. And if you’re stopping by for the first time, I’ve written about the facets of grief here and here this week. I pray that the words be a comfort, as grief is loss, not only in death.

Filed Under: Five Minute Friday Tagged With: addiction, death, dreams, Ecclesiastes 3:11, family, father, five minute friday, future, grief, Jesus, join, Lisa Jo Baker, loss, new life, salvation, siblings

When Regret Slaps You in the Face

April 4, 2012 by Redemption's Beauty 61 Comments

Light illuminates leaves like fireflies on sticks behind sheets in morning light and my eyes fall in love with this glow. The breeze filters through my window screen, wraps her hands around my shoulders while I sit at my desk.

An early gift of spring, it warms up the empty spaces in the house. We turn on the air when the brow sweats. Discover that what usually blows on us comfortable, dies under blanket of winter.

When the man with the white beard and shiny head asks how to get to the attic, he walks through the door cautious, asks if any pets lurk behind doors, around corners. I tell him no, not since January. He stops, turns around and a drain unplugs to pooling thoughts lying stagnant in his mind since last week. They flow in a steady stream all over the space in my webby garage.

He explains that while his wife walks on cobblestones in England, he stays behind with their new puppy. How fifteen years earlier their dog dies in a heap on his leg, on vacation in another state, and they wait all this time to get another.

He pulls on the string to extract the ladder from the attic and says, “Well maybe I shouldn’t burden you with this story.”

I tell him to go on.

“The puppy likes to play with the broom,” he says, “and I let him out, take the opportunity to sweep the floors because I want to keep things nice for my wife while she is gone. When I look up from the floor, through the open front door, I see him run into the road and collide with a car.”

He hasn’t told his wife. Doesn’t want to ruin her trip. But the grief, it hangs on him like sweat he can’t wash off.

The words tell the story he writes script in his head for days now. He’s memorized his part, the lines he will say to her when he picks her up at the airport on Monday.

“It’s not your fault you know,” I tell him. “I can tell you have been replaying what you saw like it might change something.”

And I think about Winston, the way he stopped breathing two months ago. How I twirled the hair on his ear between my fingers while I talked teary to the doctor, long after he passed. I can’t stop thinking about how we left him lying on a cold metal table in a smelly room that morning and went on living.

“If I would have looked up just ten seconds earlier,” he regrets.

Maybe we think time is our servant with whom we give orders. If we could change the menu of time, life might wrap her arm around us on the couch instead of slapping us in the face with regret.

That if we hit the replay button enough times in our mind, she will magically conform to our image of the way she should serve us.

Like the way Mary watched her son’s hands and feet bleed from the nails driven into His flesh, so you and I, we don’t have to be shackled prisoner to sin. I imagine, she might have replayed those moments and asked time to serve her differently too.

How altered our lives would be, if time granted her request.

And just like spring showing up with all her resurrected glory before we put the blankets away, sometimes we can’t understand the holiness of time’s story. The way she does her work, speaks in a language only known to the one who created her.

He was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you
1 Peter 1:20 ESV

May I whisper a surprise ending here? I just got a call from the workman and he shut his office door to tell me this: After all the prayers and worries about how he would share this news with his wife, the first thing she asked him, after she got off the airplane was, “Is the puppy dead.” Her spirit already knew what he was so worried to tell her. Amazing grace my friends, amazing grace.