God’s Surprising Lessons

I’m a parent! My job is to take care of you, not me!

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Retrieved from: https://www.reddit.com/r/QuotesPorn/comments/2tu02v/i_used_to_say_if_you_will_take_care_of_me_i_will/

The last 4 months have been a whirlwind. Learning to balance single parenting, a full-time teaching career, volunteering at church, and taking care of me has been a steep learning curve. At the end of September, I hit a wall. There wasn’t any margin in my life. I was skimping on sleep. I was skimping on taking the time to prepare healthy food for myself. I was skimping on the things I knew I needed to be doing.

“God!?! How do I fix this mess,” I think was my actual prayer. The answer wasn’t an easy one to swallow.

“Take a break.”

“I don’t need to take a break!” I retorted. “I’m doing just fine. Besides, I’m doing all this stuff…this good stuff…and…what are they going to do without me?”

I see the folly of my thinking now, but at the time, I was sure I had to convince God I was doing so much for the Kingdom, for His Kingdom, and “Who would do it if I weren’t doing it?” What a shot to the ego, right? How dare God ask me to step down from things I loved doing?!? How dare He tell me to stop doing things for Him?!?

If you’ve never argued with God, you should try it – just to say that you’ve experienced it and can then understand those of us with thicker skulls.

God began to show me where my over-commitment was hurting more than helping. I was Sleepy. I was Grumpy. And it didn’t look like I’d ever be Happy. My students were driving me nuts. Why? Because they were acting like typical 6th graders. I mean, how dare they?!? My friends were asking, “What’s wrong?” more often than I thought was normal. And my kids, the sweet ones God gave Amy and me to raise, were wondering if I actually lived at home anymore. They never saw me. And when they did, I was mimicking one of the 7 Dwarves, and not the fun ones. When I realized just how impactful my absence at home had been, I made an appointment for the very next day to take a break. It was hard to look into the eyes of a very close friend and tell him I had to stop volunteering under his ministry for a time. It was excruciating to look my youngest in the face and ask for his forgiveness.

“I haven’t been taking care of me,” I said one night. He was a bit surprised, having expected a rant to come out of me. “I used to get on your mom a lot to take care of herself. She was so good with her diabetes while she was pregnant. Then after each pregnancy, things would slip and she’d get busy and she’d forget to take care of herself.”

After she was diagnosed with kidney failure, Amy said to me, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that taking care of you and the kids meant taking care of me.” Sitting in front of my 14-year-old, choking on that realization was humbling.

I spent 2 1/2 months in hiatus from my volunteer positions at church (both of them). I resigned a tutoring job I’d taken “to help make ends meet” – a tutoring job for a student who really needed the help. And I signed up for a Bible study focused on being healthy in a non-healthy world. Each decision was extremely difficult. However, I’ve spent more time with my kids. I’ve been there for my kids when they needed me. I’ve even been there for my kids when they wanted me to be there.

I was reminded this week, in the midst of a very dark set of circumstances (none of my doing, but none that confidentiality will let me explain), that it is very important I continue to take care of me. Why? Because I can’t take care of my 3 boys if I don’t have the energy, time, and space to take care of them. And to get that energy, time, and space…I have to say “No” sometimes, even to “good things”. A wise Couples Bible Study leader once taught me that. I’d forgotten. Here’s to getting sleep, eating well, and laughing much!

Hands

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My left hand.

You can learn a lot just by looking at someone’s hands.

For instance, you can tell if someone works in an office or in manual labor. You can tell if they’ve been painting or cooking recently. You can also see signs of sickness and age.

A hand is the first contact most people will make with another person. Are the hands rough? Smooth? Cold? Nervous? Sweaty? Slender? Massive?

When you look at someone’s hands, there are many other things you can learn as well:

  1. Has life been good to this person?
  2. Do they place importance on taking care of themselves?
  3. Have they battled anxiety, gnawing and picking at their nails until there’s no quick, just a slight change between soft fingertip to hard nail, marked by dried blood droplets?
  4. Have they found love?

Sometimes hands can show the excitement of a new beginning or the grief of an end.

With our hands, we cook, give directions, and help our fellow man.

Some people gesticulate wildly while talking and you might have to duck a wild hand…especially if they dab (which I honestly believe should never be done by anyone).

Parents and teachers use their hands to teach, direct, and discipline the lives of the next generation.

Children play patty-cake, peek-a-boo, and create special clapping rhythms amongst friends while on the playground. Some children create secret hand-shakes and give each other high fives as a standard of approval. Some of these childish hand behaviors follow on into adulthood, and if they haven’t, they often should.

Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it (Mark 12:15).

With our hands, we sometimes massage painful muscles and joints at the end of the day – sometimes our own painful muscles, sometimes muscles belonging to someone else. Our hands are used to caress a lover, and make lifelong commitments (’till death do we part).

The next time you meet someone new, re-connect with a long lost friend, or simply have coffee with your best friend, take a moment to read the stories their hands can tell you.

Hands show the world more than many realize.

“Of Whales And Of Malaga I Sing…”

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It’s been a while since I’ve stopped myself long enough to sit and write. Somewhere in the midst of the last 2 months, I decided that I didn’t have time to grieve. There was too much to do. Too many late nights finishing lesson plans, folding laundry, and picking up the house. Too many long afternoons filled with appointments for the “dad taxi”. Too many weekends filled with catching up on sleep and taking care of my boys (whatever I could pack into the day so I wouldn’t have time to think, to ache, to cry).

It all started with my decision in August, on a plane back to Portland after returning my oldest son to college for his Sophomore year. There was a commercial for Ralph Breaks the Internet. I decided to boycott Disney. The last three Disney movies have left me in a puddle of my own making. It started out as an inside joke…with myself. Then it became an unfeeling reality. It was easier not to feel, or rather, not to tempt my heart to feel deeply. So I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong. It bubbled out every 5 or 6 weeks, but I was usually alone or in a setting where I could blend in and not have to deal with it. Sadly, along with the decision to stop grieving came a less conscious one…I put my book on hold. I allowed the busy-ness of life to come in and push aside a dream and a calling.

Once school started, I began treading water, trying to get everything done. It took nearly 3 months for me — the unstoppable force that is single-parenting — to hit the proverbial wall — the unmovable object with which I had a divine appointment.

I am truly tired of tears. They take too much time. They’ve been present so much in the last two and a half years. Amy and I made so many happy, joy-filled, ecstatic memories. Where were those? The truth? They were there, but the joy was marred by grief and the laughter was replaced by a small smile, followed by tears.

Somewhere I bought into a lie: It gets easier, Thom. Once I’d swallowed that destructive lie, it was followed by another one, more maniacal, more evil: It’s been long enough, Thom. It’s time to stop dwelling. It’s time to move on. Somewhere in our culture, we’ve accepted that everything fits into tidy timetables. Right? Don’t believe me? Get out your planner and begin to fill every half hour slot with the things that need to get done. When the slots are all full, that which doesn’t have room sits in the waiting room awaiting its “assigned appointment”.

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy CoverThe immovable wall came in the form of a novel I was set to teach this year. I’ve taught it before with great success. It’s one of my favorite “YA” author’s books. Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy, by Gary D. Schmidt, has won many awards, including the ever-coveted Newbery Honor. My 6th graders and I began reading it during the last week of October. The curriculum requires me to read the book aloud with the students and not to let them take the book home. Why? To teach them to be active readers. To teach them how to understand literary devices. To teach me a very difficult truth.

It’s a book about a boy living in Phippsburg, Maine, in 1912. He meets an incredible girl his own age, and the two become more than friends; they become soul mates. Along the way, he encounters loneliness and loss, severe loss. Near the middle of the book, the main character comes within a few feet of a whale while he’s struggling against the tides and the waves to steer a small rowboat, with little success. For the remainder of the book, he is spurred on by the spiritual encounter he had with the whale. He longs to know “What was in the eye of the whale?”

The boy’s schooling requires him to read of the adventures and bravery of Aeneas as he leaves Troy and heads into the unknown to a destination, not of his choosing, in order to found an Empire he never imagined. The boy has his own adventure, his own unknown destination, and quite possibly his own Empire to found.

During the chapter where a significant character dies, I was not at school; I had a sub. I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to come anywhere close to that emotional part of the story. I could discuss it later with the students, no problem. But reading it aloud…well…I didn’t want to test my fortitude and my wherewithal to stay the course and not grieve.

On the last day of reading to the class, I broke. The thirteen-year-old boy was wrestling with his new normal. Instead of demanding he was done grieving, he vowed to never forget “to look at things straight” and he broke down in grief — he would never forget. At one point the main character says he has no one to talk with about the state of his heart, but he turns to a new friend a few lines later and bears his soul. Life continues. Grief continues…and may not ever go away. Life can only be lived through the grief, not avoiding it.

I stood in front of my class, silently crying, unable to read aloud as the realization hit me. I’ve been trying so hard not to feel. A colleague came into my next class period and read the end of the book with my next class since I was unable to do so.WIR2_Poster2

That was last Monday. But it wasn’t until Thursday night when a new friend of mine asked me about the state of my heart. I opened my mouth and I consciously realized all the things I’ve just described. On my way home, God reminded me of a memory from many years ago. It made me laugh, then cry, then laugh while crying.

I’ve dusted off the book and will begin seeking the help I need to get it published. And I might swing into a theater and watch Ralph Breaks the Internet. Who knows…maybe it’ll remind me of an incredible memory with Amy. It does center around a unique friendship: a beautiful young girl befriends a clumsy oaf and they go on life-changing adventures together. Now, why does that sound familiar?

The Boys Next Door

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image

Having the opportunity to watch my oldest son’s theatre talents usually leaves me in awe…and tears. This weekend was no different. The Boys Next Door is a play about 4 adult men who have differing mental disabilities, and their caretaker who, in 7 months, is pretty burnt out by the daily struggle to teach, “raise”, and keep safe little boys in man sized bodies. It addresses some interesting issues.

Micah’s character, Norman, was a 30 year old man with Autism. Having used his younger brother for his research study, Micah was incredibly convincible in the role. From the character’s obsession with keys to his repetitive tics, from his social awkwardness to his obsession with donuts, and from his giant heart for people to his crush on a girl, Micah nailed the role. He asked me to laugh loudly during the performance because my laughter in a theatre is infectious, but I found it very difficult to laugh through the overwhelming understanding and camaraderie I found in another character – Jack, the burnt-out caregiver who tries every day to direct his charges, to keep them safe, and to help them conform more to the world around them, because the world around them will not bend to their needs, or their unique disabilities. Each day ends with his frustration of things continuing to be the same, no matter what “Jack” does. I found myself drowning in grief, in guilt, and in anguish as I watched my son and this other actor playing out the relationship I struggle to have with my middle son who desperately wants to be seen as “normal” – not special, not unique, not Autistic.

There were times in the play when I wanted to bolt from my seat and hold one of the characters while they cried, while they struggled with their fragmented understanding of the bully-world around them, while they struggled to understand the trials with which they were dealing, or while they fought to understand the feelings they were having about people in their lives. My heart broke when “Jack” took a new job because he could no longer deal with his mistakes and frustrations caused by working with the disabled population. I wanted to scream, “Don’t quit! You have no idea just how much you really are accomplishing! You have no idea!”

I can’t say that God was telling me I was doing something wrong; that I needed to change how I approached my son; or that I’ve completely made a mess of things since Amy’s death; but I can tell you that it was sobering to look at my possible future when my son doubles his current age; to see my son’s future struggles with girls, and roomates, and weight; and to hear my own words echoing around in my head. “Don’t quit! You have no idea just how much you really are accomplishing! You have no idea!”

Amy – after Jesus – was the center of Gabriel’s universe. Everything he did needed to be somehow connected to her wants, desires, or permission. It wasn’t always like that. From birth to three and a half, my little Gus wanted no one but me if I was in the room. There was a day Gus’s choices radically changed; I can see it in my head, and have replayed it over and over in my head. It wasn’t because of anything I did, honestly. It was a turf war among siblings. From that moment on, Gabriel no longer wanted much to do with me, many times saying, “Why is Dad still here. I don’t need him.”

Two years before Amy died, she consciously began distancing herself from our son, suggesting, nudging, and finally forcing him to talk with me, to problem solve things with me, to ask for my opinion or permission. Not that I hadn’t tried to build that relationship, but because, by the time Gabriel was ten, I was a complete irritation, an annoyance, a distraction to his mother. He didn’t even want to share her with his brothers. It was a difficult two years, for which I am eternally appreciative of God’s leading Amy and I both through that frustrating exercise, day in and day out…often without change. When Amy died, there was a sobering question to which I had to have an answer. “Can I do this alone?!>” There are a few more questions related to that overwhelming black hole: “Can I reach through this barrier? Will Gabriel let me parent him? Will I be able to do this without sending him to live in a facility?” But as is often God’s design, I’ve had to wait quite a while for an inkling of an answer while He was changing Gus and me, not our situation.

This morning I woke to a text message from my little Gus: “I miss you and love you.” Has he said that before? Many times. But this time, in light of the play I experienced yesterday, I found a whole deeper meaning in his words. Yes, my little Gus still misses him mommy – the topic comes up at least every week or more. Yes, he still wishes she were next to him, to guide him, to hold him, and to love on him. And yes, my little angel is connected to his daddy, no matter how flawed I am.

For me, The Boys Next Door to me, in my house, have taught me much. Maybe change isn’t an impossibility, even in the face of Autism; it just sometimes takes the unexpected to remind me what God’s been doing in me and in my boys. I may feel like “Jack” from time to time – worn out by the adnauseum and exhaustion inducing Autism – but I’m not giving up! It’s not in my make-up to quit…any of my kids.

If you ever get the opportunity to see this play (there’s still another weeked of performances here at Biola in Theatre 21) go! The team here at Biola is phenomenal! You won’t be let down. You will be challenged regarding how you interact with people whom God has created “differently” than those of us who are neuro-typical, but you won’t be disappointed. Nor will you think you wasted money to experience such a moving and life changing play.

Eating my words

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humble pie
Picture from: https://dribbble.com/shots/1695927-Humble-Pie-Type 

Not too long ago, I hit a wall…a pretty big, soul-shaking, attention-grabbing, painful wall. And the month that has followed has been a difficult one. Why? What caused the sudden stop which threw everything into the air, only to slowly fall around me in a jumbled mess? A conversation with my youngest. I was apologizing for failing as a dad for the umpteenth time. In the busyness of life, I’d not been home much, nor had I the time to really speak into my sons’ daily lives.

In the conversation that ensued after the apology, we began talking about physical health.

“I used to beg your mom to take care of herself when you guys were little, but she didn’t take care of herself until it was too late.”

With the wisdom, tact, and honesty of a child, my youngest prophet said something only he could. I had just told him he needed to take care of himself and not overcommit to the various things in his life clambering for his attention and focus. “But you don’t,” he replied. I opened my mouth to protest, to deflect, to blame being a single parent, but nothing came out. I simply closed my mouth again.

Usually, when my youngest “parents me,” I retaliate and push back, reminding him, “I don’t need a parent.” But in that moment, I felt the Holy Spirit say, “He’s right.”  Realization flooded me. It was time to eat a slice of humble pie.

“You’re absolutely right. I’ve been working 7 days a week, for 3 jobs, and volunteering at the church every weekend for the past 6 weeks, I’m never home, and I’m only getting 5 hours of sleep a night.” My mind was racing with the other ways I was not taking care of me.

1. I’ve needed new glasses for 7 years, and have had a new prescription for a year, but haven’t prioritized the purchase; someone always needed something, or Christmas was coming, or…or…or…

2. I hadn’t talked to my close friends in weeks, not actually talked, voice to voice.

3. I hadn’t spent much time in prayer beyond short prayers of blessing and “God…help!” in almost a month.

4. I hadn’t been in “big church” for 6 weeks. I’d been volunteering in children’s ministry each week, but hadn’t made it to the sanctuary for one reason or another.

5. I hadn’t spent any individual time with any of my kids.

6. I’ve gained all of the weight I lost and then some.

My heart was spent. After my son went to bed, I tried to figure out the reason behind my lack of self-care. After texting a few friends (it was almost midnight), I blearily came to the conclusion: I’m lonely, and I’m way in over my head. I’ve been spending so much time “doing” and trying to make ends meet and trying to help everyone else around me and trying to not deal with the physical loss, or rather the loss of Amy physically being here.

The first year, I was numb. The second, I spent focused on helping my kids find a new normal…and paying bills. In the deepest dark of evening, after my kids went to bed, I’d fill the space with anything that kept my mind from the loneliness: television, movies, books, cleaning until I fell asleep, sometimes in the recliner, among others…because the bedroom is the place I feel most alone. It was where Amy spent her last moments…and many of her last days. It’s where I expect to go talk to my wife after a long day. It’s where we talked, and planned, and dreamed together side by side, shoulder to shoulder, or spooning. It’s where I still expect (in that moment between opening my eyes and actually waking) to wake up next to my beautiful bride, watching her sleep, holding her hand. When I sleep in my room, I lay across the bed, with my head on Amy’s pillow, hugging another pillow, watching television until I fall asleep from exhaustion. I’ve not been taking care of me; something I swore to Amy I would never do. Some of the filler was simply filler, some sin, some depression, some simply spinning my wheels to expel all energy before having to feel alone.

This morning, sitting in service with friends, our pastor spoke on Peace using Philippians 4:4-7. The Apostle Paul was in prison, writing a letter to the church at Phillipi. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” he said. We’ve all heard the sermons about adversity and rejoicing. But this morning was different. Pastor Keith highlighted something I’ve never seen before: “The Lord is near” (v. 5b). A significant part of the sermon dealt with loneliness. Referencing Isaiah 7:14, Pastor Keith reminded us that God would send a savior whom we would call Immanuel — which means God with Us! “The truth of the matter is NOT that we draw near to God but that He is seeking us out. He is near to us. We are His sheep who what? We are his sheep who are going astray and He is seeking us out.”

“We often forget, in the midst of the circumstances of life, Jesus is near.” And where have the circumstances of life caught up to me? Missing the physicality of doing life with my soul mate – being so lonely I was filling every minute so as not to deal with the void. Losing a spouse is extremely lonely. That’s obvious. It never donned on me that God is near to fill that void.

I left church this morning with a smile only to pick up a book God led me to a week ago that told the story of the prodigal son. In it, the author explained that the towns in which the parable was set would require the prodigal son to take a “walk of shame” in returning home, past all the neighbors and villagers who would have known he’d left and all the juicy bits. The Father chose not to let him walk that shameful walk…alone. The Father ran to his son and walked that road with him…and walked his son, whom he loved, back home.

A month ago, when I was hit by that immovable wall, I began the baby steps of taking care of the things I should have been taking care of for a while. I’ve been back in church – three weeks in a row. I’m wearing a new pair of glasses and can read what I’m typing without blowing up the text on the screen. I took at least a month off from working in children’s ministry, after bearing my soul to my close friend – the pastor of children’s ministry. And I’ve been stealing every moment I can to spend with my boys. In the next week, 1 of my 3 jobs will end and I’m curbing the hours on the second so I can be available to my boys and to rest and learn to allow God’s presence to fill the void.

In my search for Joy, through grief, I was reminded of true Peace.

“And the Peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:7, NIV).

“So, it’s not my fault?!?” finale

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After each of us battled through the horrible weight of guilt and self-loathing, there was yet one more battle that had to be waged. I had asked too much of my oldest, and the repercussions of that event had a ripple effect I did not foresee.

Ripple effect
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What follows is the final excerpt from the chapter in my book, Good Grief?!?, by the same name – “So, it’s not my fault?!?”

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Right around the time of Gabriel’s incident, Micah grew incredibly anxious. One Sunday morning I was trying to get everyone up and out the door for church. I had minutes to get out the door when Micah came down the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” I was able to ask in spite of the irritation I was feeling.

“I didn’t get to sleep until around 4:00 a.m.”

“How come?”

“When I close my eyes, I keep seeing Mom’s body. Then I open my eyes and I can’t fall asleep.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“For a few months.”

I was stunned. Immediately I felt guilty for not knowing, for being an unfit father, for not having expected this problem. Then a crushing realization hit me. I had caused this.

“I’m sorry I had to wake you up and ask you for help,” I managed.

“It’s not your fault, Dad.” I could tell he believed what he was saying, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. We talked for a couple more minutes, then I hugged him and sent him back to bed.

At church, I reached out to Miss Michelle, asking for prayer. She’s a counselor who specializes in working with teenage girls, but I knew she’d know how to pray. What I didn’t know was that God had a plan to fully relieve me of my own, self-imposed guilt.

Michelle texted me back to meet with her after the service ended. I filled her in on my conversation with Micah.

“It’s funny, Thom,” she began, “I was just in a class about the brain this week, and I learned something that I think was meant for this moment right here. Micah’s self-conscious is trying to deal with the trauma. While we sleep, our brains deal with the events of the day and file away each event for future recall. When trauma happens, it can prevent that process from happening correctly. Micah’s brain is trying to file away the pictures of his mom, but as soon as he sees the pictures in his head, he wakes up and can’t get back to sleep.”

I listened raptly as she was talking, trying to take it all in. The anxiety building in me, however, was threatening to take over my vision and hearing.

“There’s a way you can help his sub-conscious file these pictures in his memory banks and move past this. Let me show you. While we talk, I’m going to tap on your knees. Keep talking. The action will help, I promise.”

I was nervous, thinking This isn’t going to work. Michelle is a good friend, so I decided to at least hear her out and “go with it.”

“Close your eyes, Thom,” she began. “I’m going to ask you to get a picture in your head, and then I’m going to begin tapping. Are you ready?”

I closed my eyes and nodded.

“Focus on the moment you first saw Amy the morning you found her dead.” I fixed the picture in my mind, wincing a bit. “Tell me what you see.”

I explained the scene to Michelle, including all the details I could, including Amy’s purple fingers.

“Now, how do you feel?”

I opened my eyes, startled.

“Close your eyes, fix on the picture again, and tell me how you feel.” Michelle’s tone wasn’t demeaning or correcting. She was simply compassionate. I closed my eyes again, slowly, and brought up the picture.

“I feel guilty,” I managed meekly.

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t there. She died alone.” The words came out of my mouth before I really heard them. Then I fought to keep my eyes closed. My epiphany startled me greatly. I hadn’t really known I was still holding on to this guilt.

Michelle prayed.

“Now tell me what you see, Thom,” she directed.

I refocused on the picture in my head. It had changed drastically. Amy was no longer alone in the room. Standing just behind her, with His hand on her shoulder, was a man in a white tunic. He was glowing slightly. I couldn’t see Him clearly, but I knew immediately who He was.

I stumbled with my words, continuing to stare at the picture in my head.

“Um…Jesus is standing behind Amy. She looks at peace. Her hands are still purple, and she’s still leaning up against the wall.” I paused. “But she wasn’t alone,” I finished.

Time stopped. I couldn’t hear the many people still milling about in the church sanctuary.

I never left her side, Thom.

Rivers began cascading down my face. A weight I had not realized was crushing me lifted in that moment. I exhaled a breath I seemed to have been holding on to for nearly five months. Then I opened my eyes. Michelle had stopped patting my knees. She was grinning.

“Sounds like Abba wanted to heal you too,” she said.

I stood up and hugged her. I was overwhelmed with Joy and Peace.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I managed quietly.

“No, Thom, it wasn’t. And Jesus was with her the whole time.”

 

That night, after the younger boys had gone to sleep, I sat Micah on the couch and walked him through the same process. He was as hesitant as I had been. I reminded him that Miss Michelle was a counselor with a PhD. I also reminded him that she loved us greatly and she loved God too. He finally agreed to the “odd therapy” (his words). That night, both Micah and I slept soundly. Relieved of guilt and night terrors.

It always astounds me when God uses every day, “non-holy” things in our life to move us from point A to point B. For each of my boys, what moved them from point A to point B through the battle with guilt was different. But each vehicle God used was specific to each boy’s needs, personality, and maturity level. I don’t think they’ve all “made it”; grief doesn’t just vanish. The loss of loved ones stays with us for life. We miss them. We remember them with tears and with laughter. We wish we could talk to them, and we sometimes do, as we go about our day, as if they were still right next to us. The pain doesn’t go away. I don’t think it lessens either. I think God teaches us how to grow from it, and live with it, without it destroying us completely.

Lamentations of a child

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Yesterday I posted about Amy’s memorial service. Today I felt led to give you a glimpse of what happened 12 hours prior, and the questions I still have for God. What follows is a copy and paste from a Facebook post on that night.

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In about 12 hours, the service for my beautiful bride, my Amy-zing wife, my perfect counterpart, will be coming to a close. It’s a bit surreal. After receiving the link for the video of Amy’s life in pictures, we decided (Lisa, Gary, Mary, and I) that it would be best if we watched the video before the actual event so that we weren’t caught off guard by anything. While Travis (my best friend since high school) and I watched the video with my boys, I was struck by a realization about fatherhood that I’m struggling with. I didn’t really truly understand what LOVE was until I became a dad. I thought I had figured it out when a beautiful blonde stole my heart, but there were aspects of LOVE that I was still blind to. Once I became a dad, I really began to understand God in a different way. I began noticing things of this world through the eyes of a father.

Tonight was probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a very long time. While we watched the video (twice), Micah and Isaiah laughed at the funny pictures and a few tears crawled down their cheeks at others. But Gabe screamed. He didn’t just cry. He didn’t just bawl. He SCREAMED through both times through. As my heart ached for him, and my other two, who were by this time full on sobbing, I was struck with a question that still has me up, two and a half hours later. Does God’s heart rend when we scream? It didn’t take long for me to stumble onto the next epiphany. As Jesus hung on that barbaric, Roman cross, wailing in pain, did the sound pierce God the Father so much that He wanted to “end it all,” push reset, and then create a group who wouldn’t usher pain, destruction, and death into their world? I don’t think I’ve ever heard true lamenting before tonight. As I lay on the bed holding him, rocking him, I asked God how do I help heal my son’s heart. Allowing God the Spirit to fall on the room with a PEACE like no other, I asked Gabe to practice his speech for tomorrow and then to sing “10,000 Reasons” with me and my Spotify account. As we sang, his little heart began to fill with HOPE while dread and fear were thrown out.

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Picture courtesy of: http://sustainabletraditions.com/2012/08/lament-and-hope-the-need-for-a-sackcloth-and-ashes-revival/

Two and a half hours after we pushed play on the video for the first time, my little Gus was able to finally take in a couple deep breaths. He’s asleep now, and I’m still pondering the immensity of pain and anguish God the Father endured while His Son lamented the torture of His body.

2 Years Ago…Today

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It’s hard to believe that two years have passed since Amy’s memorial service. Today has been a difficult day – surprisingly – for me. Two things have kept me going today. The first is the song God woke me up singing: “Even If” by MercyMe. The second was the memory of my boys honoring their mother at the service. To honor Amy and my three boys, below are the parting words of each of my three boys to, and about, their mother. Isaiah went first, Micah followed directly after him, and Gabe spoke right before the final worship song. I hope these words move you as much as they’ve moved me today.

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ISAIAH

14324483_10210808805555894_1872310915559200635_oThe first thing that I think you should know about my mom is that she changed me through her ministry to other people. Mom taught me many things and gave me many qualities of herself to continue on in her memory. She taught me to be creative and to try new things; she taught me how to cook; she taught me how to be nice to and serve others; and she gave me a passion to work with kids.

Besides the many creative things I’ve attempted and enjoyed with my mom’s encouragement, she taught me how to cook like she cooked. I am glad I know how to cook her chicken, make her version of slop, and bake her amazing chocolate chip cookies.

When I was 5, Mom let me really help her bake chocolate chip cookies for the first time. We had fun, even though there was a big mess to clean up. The best part about that day was that it was the first time I got to do “quality control”, something my dad usually got to do.

Over the years, I have watched my mom volunteer at many Beaverton Foursquare camps. This past 4-5 Camp I got to volunteer with her for both my first and her last time. Every year, even when she was tired, she didn’t stop working at camp because she wanted to serve the kids and staff, thinking of their needs, not her own. I want to go back to 4-5 Camp as a volunteer though and help honor her legacy of love and care of others.

The second thing I want you to know about my mom was that she loved everyone she met. I want to live up to her example. You may not know that there were many people who loved and trusted my mom with many different things. She loved everyone, and hardly ever said “No” to serving others, even us kids.

I loved crawling into her lap – even just a few weeks ago – and she would hold me until I fell asleep in her arms. I may have surpassed her in height this summer, but I will have to strive to come close to her supernatural height and her model of faith.

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MICAH

14310560_10210808805995905_5256768924942963016_oMy freshman year I went to my school’s graduation ceremony, and every single graduate had the opportunity to give mini-speeches and thank the people they love. Mom leaned over to me and said, “20 bucks says that you couldn’t fit song titles into your speech.” So, instead of a graduation speech, I decided that for the circumstances, maybe we could make it this speech instead? Besides, she owes me 20 bucks already. But I guess I should just “Let It Go.”

From the time that she watched me do the “Single Ladies” dance that I have regretted since, to her pummeling me with a stuffed shark because I couldn’t understand the lyrics to “Hit Me with your Best Shot”, to her trying (and succeeding) to make me crumple to the floor by tickling my earlobe, mom was always mom.

Over the last two weeks of her life, Mom persistently pestered me about college applications, particularly, an essay for one specific college. They wanted a paper on my Jesus story, and how I have grown in Him. And although I know there was “Something to Believe In,” I struggled to find a way to write about my faith story. “How can I help you?” she kept asking me. I didn’t know what help I needed, so I didn’t answer my mother’s question. I spent so much time upstairs in my room or with my friends to avoid her bugging me. Today, I wish I hadn’t. For those of you wondering, I have not finished that essay, but I know who it will be about. Don’t worry, mama. I’ll make you “Proud of Your Boy.”

Two weeks ago, to this day, I was at work for an 8-hour, on my feet, being nice to people, shift. I was having a no-good, very bad day, and I called home. My supervisor was going to let me go on a meal break soon, and I felt like I just needed to come home. So I came home and had dinner with the family. It was a bit chaotic: I felt like a rushed mess, and they all had finished their food already. Mom made them wait at the dinner table for an extra 45 minutes just for me, but it felt normal. I didn’t even remember that mom was sick. “I Want the Good Times Back. That Would Be Enough.” We were laughing and playing games until I had to race back to work.

“How can I help you?”

Mom always asked that. To everyone.

I asked, “Are you okay?”

The day before her passing, we were having a great time. We went bowling to celebrate a final day of summer as a family of five. Little did we know, that was our last celebration as a family of five. About halfway through the game, Mom started feeling sick. We thought it was just another bad night.  She has had so many over the last 2 years. When we got home, Dad and I helped her upstairs. I wish I remember the last thing she said to me. But I remember what I told her: “Are you gonna be okay, Mom?”

So many people had no idea how sick my mom was.

You see, she didn’t want all the attention on her. She didn’t want everyone to treat her differently. So, instead of complaining, she changed the topic. She chose to focus on her gifts, rather than her sickness. My mom served in ministry for 30 years. Knowing her state of health, it “Blows Us All Away” how continually and unfailingly hospitable she was.

IMG_90661I’m wearing those bowling shoes now. We called the venue, and they let me borrow them to honor the last time Mom was Mom, focusing on celebrating with us. I kinda wish I could just click my heels and we would be together again. She taught me to laugh, she taught me to love. So much of me is made of what I learned from mom. And it will stick with me “For Good.”

As Christians, we don’t have to be eternally sad because we know that we will someday meet again in the Presence of the Lord. So, I get to say “Goodbye Until Tomorrow.”

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GABRIEL

14409486_10210808859717248_1674417536705584557_oHi, everybody. I’m Gabriel, and good afternoon. Amy was my mom and I just miss her so much. I wish she was here with me right now. I just want her with me. What made me really happy was how she just loved me. And I just wanted, for all of us, if we could just love on her and wrap around her heart.

I’m going to miss her because she was there. But I’m excited that she’s stuck in Heaven right now. She always sung me, “How great is our God.” That was the first lullaby she ever sang to me. It took me forever to learn her. It took me years to figure out why she was my mother. And then I got it. She loved Jesus very much. I hope you do too.

Our last song is “10,000 Reasons.” Some of you know it by heart. It was one of my mom’s favorite worship songs when we were a family together. In this whole memorial service, we have been just loving her. Thank you all for coming. Let’s sing together her last song.

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Amy gave my boys a passion to be servant warriors in her footsteps, to be a spark of joy in someone’s day, and to be someone who loves for no other reason than because God put the person into their lives. I married this incredible, amazing woman 21 years ago, and even though she is stuck in Heaven, as Gabriel put it, she is also stuck in our hearts.

Choose Joy, Be Blessed, & Walk in Peace

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Two years ago, near the same time as this post, I wrote about a gift that Amy had received from her best friend Temple – some two years prior to my original post. That small gift of three bracelets changed the tenor of our house and the trajectory of Amy’s and my focus as she began dialysis. My prayer – almost daily – has been that me and my children will walk in the memory of Amy by Choosing Joy, Blessing Others, and Walking in Peace with our Lord and Savior. Two days after the anniversary of my wife’s Heavenly birthday, I’m at a Peace that can only be explained by the presence of the Comforter in my life and the relationship I have with my Savior and Creator. On one of the scariest days of her life, Amy snapped the picture below, seconds after receiving the beautiful gift. It reminds me daily to remember that fear does not have control of my life anymore. I choose Joy!

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Daddy! Did you see me!?!

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My father and I are not close. I haven’t seen him since my oldest was only 6 months old, and he’s now almost 19 1/2. I’ve tried to bridge the gap, but I have not been met with a desire for a relationship. When I was in high school, I remember looking out at the audience from the choir stand, the band pit, or even from the acting stage, trying to catch a glimpse of my father. He was not usually there to watch me. As I grew up, took on a career, found a bride, and became a father, my father was only present at one of those events, and he wasn’t very happy to be there either. All my life I have vacillated between struggling with feelings of abandonment or feelings of guilt (what did I do?).

Father Heart

When I was in Bible college, my wise mentor gave me a copy of The Father Heart of God by Floyd McClung, Jr. Actually, he required me to read it. It was a hard book to digest. McClung, Jr.’s premise suggests most people have a similar relationship with God as they do with their own father. My relationship with my father was hostile and has become non-existent. The realization was terrifying. I did not, nor do not, want a hostile or non-existent relationship with Abba God! Every once in a while, God reminds me of that book and the lessons held within its covers – usually when I feel very low and abandoned and I find myself saying, “Dad, look what I did!” to an empty seat.

God and I have worked really hard for my worth to not be wrapped up in my earthly father’s approval, and it started with that book. McClung, Jr. challenges his readers to intentionally work on a healthy relationship with our Creator. When I finished reading that book, I vowed to not be the empty seat father.

When my kids were little, we signed them up for gymnastics, soccer, and baseball. It never failed that they would accomplish something difficult and they’d immediately look over to see if I’d seen their accomplishment.”Daddy, did you see me?” was a constant question for a while. Each time I would be there grinning, except once. One time, one of the boys accomplished something he’d been trying to accomplish for many weeks. I was not there to see him. Although it was only walking across the balance beam by himself, it was a big deal! And I had missed it. Since then, I’ve fought my schedule in order to be present when my kids say, “Daddy, did you see me?”

In the past two weeks, each of my boys in their own words has said to me, “Daddy, look at me. Listen to me. See what I did.” All three of them have done so for both praiseworthy and help-needed situations. “Daddy! Did you see me?!?” I almost missed each event. It was as if the Holy Spirit flicked me in the head right before the performance and I found myself completely focused on what was about to happen.

When Amy was here, we had a pretty good system of keeping tabs on the boys: their likes and dislikes, their passions and passes, even their dreams and nightmares. Every once in a while, something would slip by us…almost. Amy had incredible radar. Little got past her. Now that Amy’s gone, I find myself missing a lot more than I ever used to miss.

Last week in prayer, I was overwhelmed; Where are you, God? Are you watching this?!? The answer was clear. Starting in Deuteronomy 31:6 and finishing in Hebrews 13:5, God says, no less than 10 times, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” God reminded me He’s been watching the whole time. He was there helping me stretch ten dollars into enough for groceries for the week. He was with me when I helped one son overcome a daunting problem. He watched me fumble my words because I had tuned out the constant chatter and missed something important two separate times with two separate kids. Was He mad at me? Did He hurl lightning at me? No. He wrapped me in His embrace and showed me a bigger vantage point with which to look at the last two years.

The next time I feel like God’s not watching, I’m going to remind myself of those 10 verses of promise: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”