Walking the Talk
I'm remarkably grateful for how our modern society let's us share stories of humanity across time and country and culture. When before could you watch a dog being rescued from under a pile earthquake rubble as it's happening? When before have we had the opportunity to aid and act so rapidly to a natural disaster in the Atlantic Ocean? How before could we journey with someone through their hardship while being thousands of miles away? We can make prayers tangible and send care packages across the globe. We can make friends, young and old, and keep up with those relationships, documenting memories along the way.
Humanity. How can you sum up being human? It's a giant mixture of every emotion possible, each unplanned adventure, every curious seeker, each caretaker, every American Dream, mountains to climb and valleys to endure, LOVE and all the consequences of such a wondrous thing. Being human includes our brokenness too. The world we live in can't contain joy and joy alone -- it's not made for that in the present time. Humanity reflects the groaning of Earth as nothing is yet complete in Him. This life is not how it's supposed to be and though the journey is breathtakingly beautiful, we also must endure the suffering.
We don't individually suffer on a constant basis. We live with purpose and we live full of joy, regularly and as much as we can. But when a loved one suffers our hearts ache and we suffer too for while we don't individually suffer, we don't suffer individually either. We suffer right along beside our people, to the best of our ability, because we know they hurt. They are in the midst of their storm and we ride it out with them. Til the skies are clear again.
I feel that so heavily right now. Through others' stories. Others' suffering. The hard part of humanity.
My friend from college whose story I got to experience from afar. Her patience in waiting for her husband, finding then marrying that man of her heart, and entering straight into a fight for his life with him. After 3 years into marriage of which 2 1/2 years were focused on battling his cancer in the most gracious way possible, she had to let go of her husband this side of Heaven.
I grieve with her.
For her aching. Her longing. For the sorrow of things not experienced with the man she hoped she'd grow old with.
I know there is hope. My friend knows there is hope. Her and her husband's journey was nothing short of faithful. There only hope because of a God who is greater. And that's why this journey is still beautiful, and why the story isn't over. In the meantime, I pick up a piece of my friend's suffering and carry it with me for a while.
Another friend. A very dear one, not so far away. My friend who has grown so close to my heart the past couple of years, my sister on a soul level. A friend I cherish, need, and will cling tightly to for the rest of my life. This friend is also battling right now and my heart aches for her as she is losing her mother. After 7 years of a disease with no [yet] known cause or cure, after a recent situation with much pain, discomfort, and surrealism, my dear friend is walking through the last moments of her mom's life by her side. The days are long and the heartache is tangible, physically resting beside her. My friend walks in light, holding much much more on her shoulders than most people can. She strong and resilient, compassionate and faithful. And her mom will meet the Lord so soon.
I grieve with her.
For her true, real, raw prayers. For how she wishes things were different and how she's clinging to the memories as they become more and more priceless. I grieve, immensely, for what this disease has stolen. For my friend's husband and children. And for the life events in her future that will be so very different after this past week and a half.
There is peace. There is peace in the room, peace in her heart, and peace washed over her precious mom. The journey has been arduous, to say the least, but continuously lined with hope and joy. And we are grateful for that peace -- oh, so grateful. The Lord is good and He fulfills His promises. But that doesn't mean we don't struggle with not knowing the "why" and it definitely doesn't mean that we understand what is going on. Things, hard things, just don't make sense. And we throw our hands up in exhaustion, in frustration, and in total surrender.
God, this one is Yours. We can do nothing else, we can be nothing that we are not, we have nothing left to give. Take our loved one in your hands and give peace in return. For right now and into the unforeseeable future, I'm going to walk with my friend, pick up a portion of her sorrows and carry them with me. Her burden of heartache is mine too. Deeply so.
And I pray -- Psalm 31:9, Psalm 61:1-5, 8.
God my heart hurts. For my friends. In this sliver of humanity where we get to live, there comes great struggles along with the great wonders. It's beautiful and painful and life demands that we give it grand attention and squeeze out all it has to offer, petals and thorns. Gladly I do so. Gratefully, I cherish the stories of humanity shared along the way. I laugh, I cry, I forgive, I love, I ache. And I watch in awe as I'm surrounded by people who prove their words to be true by the way they love out loud.
"The past year it has been a challenge to load up my kids and visit her in her home away from ours on a nearly daily basis but it has been an absolute honor to get to have such priceless moments and time with her. I don’t know what my days looks like without her in them. She has fought this battle with such grace and dignity! She has battled through every stage like an absolute warrior! I am so unbelievably proud that I get to call this amazing woman my mom! I simultaneously long and dread for her last breath because I know as she goes into her freedom and promise of God’s kingdom I am left behind without her. Days of sitting vigil at her bedside has made this an out of body experience, counting breaths from what seems like a long nap. It feels right and wrong all at the same time.
"I won’t say that every day has been easier, because that wouldn’t be true.... But every day has been different. Grief, as my mother says, is not a straight line. It comes and goes in subtle, unexpected waves. The deepest of sorrows overcome with the tiniest of victories - something new achieved, something beautiful noticed. The greatest of joys dismantled by the smallest reminder - the last piece of his favorite pie, his car sitting, waiting in the driveway, simply waking up in a body that, unlike his, is working for you and not against you. Last week we distracted ourselves by planning a celebration worthy of Kris. When that was over, the emptiness set in. This week we will distract ourselves with Astro’s games and working our way through the bounds of delicious food our friends have brought to us. When that is over, the wave of grief will wash over us yet again. And so it will go: rising and falling, waxing and waning, searching for distraction and finding that feeling happy again didn’t bring him back. But that’s okay. Grief is not the opposite of joy. They can both be held and honored in the same body. We grieve now, but since Kris will forever be in our hearts, his constant companion joy will have to be there as well." --Leslie Lewis, October 2017
"'I want Jesus more than I want to be a mom.'. Oh to have this faith!"
Ever Singing for Joy blog: a friend of a friend's blog. Story #3 to tell in this post, following the current course of a young man with two daughters whose wife has a brain tumor. I have no words, only heart groans and hope on their behalf.
Humanity. How can you sum up being human? It's a giant mixture of every emotion possible, each unplanned adventure, every curious seeker, each caretaker, every American Dream, mountains to climb and valleys to endure, LOVE and all the consequences of such a wondrous thing. Being human includes our brokenness too. The world we live in can't contain joy and joy alone -- it's not made for that in the present time. Humanity reflects the groaning of Earth as nothing is yet complete in Him. This life is not how it's supposed to be and though the journey is breathtakingly beautiful, we also must endure the suffering.
We don't individually suffer on a constant basis. We live with purpose and we live full of joy, regularly and as much as we can. But when a loved one suffers our hearts ache and we suffer too for while we don't individually suffer, we don't suffer individually either. We suffer right along beside our people, to the best of our ability, because we know they hurt. They are in the midst of their storm and we ride it out with them. Til the skies are clear again.
I feel that so heavily right now. Through others' stories. Others' suffering. The hard part of humanity.
My friend from college whose story I got to experience from afar. Her patience in waiting for her husband, finding then marrying that man of her heart, and entering straight into a fight for his life with him. After 3 years into marriage of which 2 1/2 years were focused on battling his cancer in the most gracious way possible, she had to let go of her husband this side of Heaven.
I grieve with her.
For her aching. Her longing. For the sorrow of things not experienced with the man she hoped she'd grow old with.
I know there is hope. My friend knows there is hope. Her and her husband's journey was nothing short of faithful. There only hope because of a God who is greater. And that's why this journey is still beautiful, and why the story isn't over. In the meantime, I pick up a piece of my friend's suffering and carry it with me for a while.
Another friend. A very dear one, not so far away. My friend who has grown so close to my heart the past couple of years, my sister on a soul level. A friend I cherish, need, and will cling tightly to for the rest of my life. This friend is also battling right now and my heart aches for her as she is losing her mother. After 7 years of a disease with no [yet] known cause or cure, after a recent situation with much pain, discomfort, and surrealism, my dear friend is walking through the last moments of her mom's life by her side. The days are long and the heartache is tangible, physically resting beside her. My friend walks in light, holding much much more on her shoulders than most people can. She strong and resilient, compassionate and faithful. And her mom will meet the Lord so soon.
I grieve with her.
For her true, real, raw prayers. For how she wishes things were different and how she's clinging to the memories as they become more and more priceless. I grieve, immensely, for what this disease has stolen. For my friend's husband and children. And for the life events in her future that will be so very different after this past week and a half.
There is peace. There is peace in the room, peace in her heart, and peace washed over her precious mom. The journey has been arduous, to say the least, but continuously lined with hope and joy. And we are grateful for that peace -- oh, so grateful. The Lord is good and He fulfills His promises. But that doesn't mean we don't struggle with not knowing the "why" and it definitely doesn't mean that we understand what is going on. Things, hard things, just don't make sense. And we throw our hands up in exhaustion, in frustration, and in total surrender.
God, this one is Yours. We can do nothing else, we can be nothing that we are not, we have nothing left to give. Take our loved one in your hands and give peace in return. For right now and into the unforeseeable future, I'm going to walk with my friend, pick up a portion of her sorrows and carry them with me. Her burden of heartache is mine too. Deeply so.
And I pray -- Psalm 31:9, Psalm 61:1-5, 8.
God my heart hurts. For my friends. In this sliver of humanity where we get to live, there comes great struggles along with the great wonders. It's beautiful and painful and life demands that we give it grand attention and squeeze out all it has to offer, petals and thorns. Gladly I do so. Gratefully, I cherish the stories of humanity shared along the way. I laugh, I cry, I forgive, I love, I ache. And I watch in awe as I'm surrounded by people who prove their words to be true by the way they love out loud.
Snippets of those who are walking the talk of faith right now. Read their hearts:
"The past year it has been a challenge to load up my kids and visit her in her home away from ours on a nearly daily basis but it has been an absolute honor to get to have such priceless moments and time with her. I don’t know what my days looks like without her in them. She has fought this battle with such grace and dignity! She has battled through every stage like an absolute warrior! I am so unbelievably proud that I get to call this amazing woman my mom! I simultaneously long and dread for her last breath because I know as she goes into her freedom and promise of God’s kingdom I am left behind without her. Days of sitting vigil at her bedside has made this an out of body experience, counting breaths from what seems like a long nap. It feels right and wrong all at the same time.
“I assure you: you will weep and wail; you will become sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn to Joy”
John 16:20 So death we wait for you scared of the sorrow you will bring, the emptiness that awaits no matter how “ready” we may be but terrified you will not show and Mom will go on suffering in this another day." --Anything Less Than Butterflies blog
"I won’t say that every day has been easier, because that wouldn’t be true.... But every day has been different. Grief, as my mother says, is not a straight line. It comes and goes in subtle, unexpected waves. The deepest of sorrows overcome with the tiniest of victories - something new achieved, something beautiful noticed. The greatest of joys dismantled by the smallest reminder - the last piece of his favorite pie, his car sitting, waiting in the driveway, simply waking up in a body that, unlike his, is working for you and not against you. Last week we distracted ourselves by planning a celebration worthy of Kris. When that was over, the emptiness set in. This week we will distract ourselves with Astro’s games and working our way through the bounds of delicious food our friends have brought to us. When that is over, the wave of grief will wash over us yet again. And so it will go: rising and falling, waxing and waning, searching for distraction and finding that feeling happy again didn’t bring him back. But that’s okay. Grief is not the opposite of joy. They can both be held and honored in the same body. We grieve now, but since Kris will forever be in our hearts, his constant companion joy will have to be there as well." --Leslie Lewis, October 2017
"'I want Jesus more than I want to be a mom.'. Oh to have this faith!"
Ever Singing for Joy blog: a friend of a friend's blog. Story #3 to tell in this post, following the current course of a young man with two daughters whose wife has a brain tumor. I have no words, only heart groans and hope on their behalf.
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