surprises – Good Grief?!?

“We all churn inside.”

April 11, 2019April 21, 2019thomjohnson73Leave a comment

My students and I read the short essay “Joyas Voladoras” by Brian Doyle last week. The first time I read it (Oct. 2017), it put me under the pile. Doyle had died just months before I read it, and Amy had passed away a year prior. The irony and profound message were not lost on me. This time, the lesson for me was a bit different.

The essay begins with Doyle talking about Hummingbirds and hummingbird hearts.

He’s not really talking about the hummingbird but using it as a metaphor for a much closer-to-home issue. It’s not until near the end of the essay that the reader realizes Doyle is talking about the human heart.

Speaking of the hummingbird, Doyle states, “They can fly more than five hundred miles without pausing to rest. But when they rest they come close to death: on frigid nights, or when they are starving, they retreat into torpor…their hearts sludging nearly to a halt, barely beating, and if they are not soon warmed, if they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold, and they cease to be.” (emphasis mine)

Later in the essay, Doyle switches to the heart of the majestic blue whale, the largest animal to live on the third rock from the sun. He admits that we know “nearly nothing” about this magnificent creature once it finishes puberty. “But we know this: the animals with the largest hearts in the world generally travel in pairs, and their penetrating moaning cries, their piercing yearning tongue, can be heard underwater for miles and miles.” (emphasis mine)

Taking a moment to run through a list of animal heart types, Doyle then surprises the reader with the third profundity: “No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.” (emphasis mine)

I found myself churning in the middle of a room full of 6th-grade students. I was gasping for air, desperately trying to stamp down the flood of emotion threatening to pour out of me…having lost my “pair”…having reached torpor.

What happens to the Christian who is exhausted from “doing too much for the kingdom” and is giving more than they have to give? What about the teacher who stays up late to grade papers so his students can get their essays back within a day or two? Or the single parent of three, desperately trying to keep all schedules straight, deliver kids to the right place at the right time, go grocery shopping and clothes shopping, pay bills, and fill out taxes let alone keep tabs on each of the delicate hearts left solely to him to shepherd? Torpor? Yes, utter exhaustion, sometimes maybe even “come[ing] close to death.”

This lonely father of three hit Torpor many months ago. The last seven months being the darkest months to date. Standing in that room, with 6th graders staring at me, having heard the hitch in my voice, I realized that God – and a few godly friends – have been at work to warm my heart so that I can once again “soon find that which is sweet.” I pray my heart doesn’t completely grow cold and that I don’t settle for Spenda when God’s sweet nectar is within reach.

It’s Time.

February 5, 2019thomjohnson731 Comment

The last “two-candle” candlelight service

December 23, 2018, was an important night for me. I was in the middle of the Candlelight service at my church. I was holding two candles like I’ve done each Christmas Candlelight Service since my wife died. While waiting for the rest of the candles in the room to get lit, I asked God, “Abba, how do we move on into this next year?” It was a prayer I’ve asked many times when a new year is staring down the barrel at me. Usually, I feel God direct me – sometimes immediately, but most times, as the days go on, His plan falls into place. This time was different.

“Put out a candle, Thom.”

It wasn’t audible, but it was distinct. I shook my head. That can’t be right. I’ve been holding on to two candles since Amy died, to honor her. I’m sure that wasn’t God.

“Yes, Thom, it’s me. I said, put out a candle. It’s time.”

Not wanting to give myself time to talk me out of God’s directive, I licked my forefinger and thumb and pinched out the flame. There was a finality to it. I immediately felt a difference, as if something tangible inside of me happened when I snuffed out the flame.

I remember shaking my head slightly, looking down at my hand that held a lit candle and a used candle. I wasn’t sobbing. I was at peace.

“It’s time.”

There is a lot of meaning in those two words. I’m wondering what all God has in mind, but He didn’t take long to start me down the path of change.

A few days later, I was asking my sons’ counselors about the process of redecorating the house. I’ve been very antsy about helping my boys and me move out of the season of grief caused by the daily reminder of loss.

“It’s high time for a Bachelor Pad,” one of the counselors said. “Don’t do it all in one weekend, but be intentional. Have a box ready to store things you and your boys do not want to give away. Put the things of Amy’s in the box that you all want to keep, but that really don’t have a place in a bachelor pad. Put the box somewhere safe so everyone can go check on it when he needs to make sure Mom’s things are still there. Then put the lid back on the box and put it away. Tackle one room at a time. It’s time.” The other counselor agreed and said something similar. She too ended with “It’s time.” I felt confirmation in the continued reminder.

One week after the candlelight service, I was talking with some close family friends. I filled them in on God’s directive and told them I was praying the boys’ transition would be positive, even if it was painful. A week later my phone rang. One of the same friends I’d been talking to was on the other end.

Out with the old… (complete with 2 dressers, an armoire, and 2 side table dressers)

“Thom, my mom’s getting rid of her solid oak bedroom set. I sent you an email with pictures. Check it out and let me know if you’re interested.” I opened the email to look at the pictures. I was overwhelmed. The bedroom set I’d been using was the one Amy and I purchased two weeks before we got married. Climbing into it each night brought with it a sense of loss, a reminder that I would wake up alone in the morning. I’d been wanting to purchase a new set, but knew it would be too costly. I was trying to figure out how to purchase a new set, but God had a different plan.

When the arrangements were made for the new bed to arrive, I offhandedly asked another friend of the family if she knew of anyone who might need a bedroom set. She did. It was another confirmation of God’s divine plan. The following Saturday morning, the new bedroom set arrived after the old one had been brought downstairs. Two hours later, a packed U-Haul left my home on its way to bless someone God wanted to bless. I slept soundly that night for the first time in years.

had no idea God was going to start the “Bachelor Pad Makeover” in my bedroom, but He did. For the last three weeks, I’ve slept in a new sanctuary. Little by little, the rest of the house is changing too. And my boys…they are helping to create the Bachelor Pad.

Two Sundays ago, one of the pastors at my church said, “God is never late, but he sure does miss many opportunities to be early.” I remember chuckling, thinking about my impatience, but tonight, I realized that I’d rather be in God’s timing than mine. If it had been up to me, I’d be making payments on a new bedroom set for the next three to five years, struggling to figure out how it would all work out financially. The next time I’m impatient, I pray I remember to be patient and listen for “It’s time” from on high. God’s timing is truly perfect.

Everyday Heroes…without Capes

December 16, 2018April 13, 2019thomjohnson73Leave a comment

Within hours of my wife passing, the vacuum my children experience was immense. Since that day, a small group of godly women have stepped up, joined what I call “The Mom Mafia”, and have honored the memory of their dear friend by loving on my kids in ways only a mother could. At times, that has looked like simply praying, or giving a hug or phone call when God prompted them to do so. Other times it looked like sending care packages to a freshman in college, taxi-ing my younger two to youth group or doctor appointments, or even helping out a single dad (who happens to be a teacher) by taking the kids school supply shopping while I was busy setting up a new classroom (which I’ve had to do for the last two years because my school moved buildings).

Each time my children have spent time with one of the Mafia Moms, whether it was with their brothers or by themselves, they have come away with their cups full to over-flowing. Each woman God has put in their life at this time who is helping to fill the vast void left by their mother’s death has a unique talent set which speaks to each of my kids individually and corporately.

At times, I’ve reached out to the Mom Mafia to request prayer. You want to know why I dubbed them “The Mom Mafia”? Get between a mama and her child, especially if that child is hurting. You won’t be standing there for long. These women do not fight an earthly battle with earthly weapons to leave temporal wounds. They fight a spiritual battle with stakes that make those earthly battles pale in comparison. They are each Generals in God’s army, who stand tall and don’t back down from a challenge. Many times, these women have each reached out to me to inquire about specific prayer needs…and other needs.

One of the members of this group of godly women has a standing date with one of my sons. Once a month she takes him out and gives him an hour or two of her undivided attention, usually over ice cream or some kind of meal. Monday was that day. When I dropped my son off at school this morning, I began to pray for that encounter. It’s been months since I’ve seen him glow. It’s been a difficult season for him. When I left work, I texted like I usually do, however, today I asked, “Where are you?” The reply I received was coy. It piqued my interest. Then the dummy light on my dashboard reminded me that I was driving on fumes and the thought left my head.

One of the only houses on my street in shadow this Christmas Season, I’ve been feeling guilty, trying to push myself to be more festive, trying to find more time and energy to continue decorating the inside and outside of my home so that it would look like a HOME. That feeling vanished when I pulled onto my street. The sight of my front lawn was hard to miss. When I parked, I was met by one son who was trying to hold in a bigger surprise, but his Autism makes it difficult for him to hide anything. I grinned at the sight. It warmed me that he met me at the driveway, albeit, he wanted to see my reaction. Nonetheless, he’d met me at the driveway and offered to help me bring in my things from the van. My youngest son was nowhere to be seen. As I entered the house, I locked the front door behind me and began the evening’s debrief with my son’s after-school caregiver – a good friend of the family, a good friend of my wife. Something was off, though. When I tried to walk the caregiver to the door, my son was blocking my path. He grinned, a bit mischievously and threw open the door. There stood my youngest, beaming from ear to ear. Then he began caroling!

When we piled into the car for the evening’s events, I listened in rapt attention as he explained his afternoon date with one of his surrogate moms. He was giddy. He was so full of words; they were gushing out of him almost faster than I could comprehend them. When he told me of the incredible time he had shopping at the Goodwill for something to brighten up the yard, he was nearly glowing himself. They had found the string of lights, the net of lights, and a “fake wreath” (I’m allergic to evergreen trees) and were heading to the register when he tripped, literally tripped over the box containing the nativity. The two of them found a plug-in to check the lights and purchased it all…”for $25, Dad!”

This Christmas Season alighted with a darker cloud than last year. We’ve only managed to get one tree up and decorated. (We usually have 3 trees because I love the Celtic tale of The Three Trees.) Pulling into my driveway on Monday and seeing the beaming child responsible for the light show, I realized that this Christmas Season just took a turn for the better. All because one of the Mafia Moms took an hour and a half of her busy schedule to spend with my child. I am truly blessed to get to work with these women who give me support in a vast sundry of ways. I could not parent half as well as I’ve been able to parent these past two and a half years without their help.

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