282

Days, 282 of them.  He has waited this long for tomorrow.  Dr. Simmon's incredible news that he delivered to the hopeful ears of my parents was the promise of relief.  He could straighten Dad's back, an incredible miracle itself, and that in turn would make Dad an elgible candidate for hip replacements.  This news was powerful and promising. 

Just a year earlier, early 2011,  Dad had been told there was nothing that could be done for his arthritis in his hips.  He could expect to be in a wheelchair, and that was the best hope.  Due to the curve of his spine,  he was not a good candidate for hip replacements and the doctor had no interest in attempting those procedures.  Devastating and discouraging, these words were hard to hear and very hard to process. 

Then, within moments of meeting Dr. Simmon's,  his words lifted our hearts to a place of renewed hope and encouraged Dad deeply at the promise of relief.

Tomorrow, Dad checks back into the hospital and will receive his left hip replacement.  His surgeon is confident and unconcerned at the outcome. It should be routine, and Dad will be happy.  Due to the deterioration of both hips, it was almost hard to pick which was worse.  His right hip will be replaced, as well, six weeks later.  Tomorrow he will receive the relief and renewal that at one point he was told could not happen.

He has been counting down to this day.  I heard the countdown start at "45 more days to go".  I think he may have been counting down from 282, just silently, hopefully, and prayerfully.

A Gentle Step

I have been praying about sharing this.  Feeling like the Lord has sent many gentle nudges that it would be okay, and maybe even more than that, possibly even helpful to share.

Just a few weeks ago, we passed the one year mark of our agonizing earthly separation from Todd.  One year that has wrenched our hearts at the same time as it was binding them deeper together in our journey of loss.  One year that we can only point to the strength from God as our source of hope.

As I look back over the year, there are moments that God took my heart from one point of grief and gently lifted it to a new level of managing, coping, and a place of knowledge that we were going to make it through our loss.  Through this year, turning points in healing were marked by sometimes insignificant events and at other times profound moments. 

The most recent moment is what I want to share.  On March 25,  our Pastor asked if I would share a testimony of our journey during his morning sermon, "The Road to Resurrection".

Below I have included the link to this sermon.  If I may, I would encourage listening to the whole sermon.  There is some music and singing in the beginning, then Pastor Sam starts to preach.  About midway through, he calls me up to share. 

What I share is a peek into how God sustained us, how He is using something I would describe as horrific and is turning it into good for the glory of His name.

The link to the sermons page is      http://www.fbcgalax.org/sermons  Then look down the list until you see:

3/25/2012 01_The_Road_to_Resurrection.m4a  It takes awhile to load, and when it does it will just be audio. 

After I spoke, Pastor Sam gave a truly unique invitation.  As the last song plays through, the gentle step of healing is taking place for me.  We are being hugged, cried with, and encouraged in abundance by dear hearts that God lead to our paths on that very special Sunday morning.  The love of the congregation poured deeply into the recesses of  my ache and filled them a little bit with healing. 

Maybe God will take this hurt and turn it to good even still.

Blessings

Blessings come in the most joyful of celebrations and in the depths of the fearful halls of the unknown. It is easy to think of them, recite them repeatedly, and relish them during the moments of happiness. It is sometimes impossible to recognize and rest in them in the disturbing times.


It would be almost impossible to recount the blessings that have rained down upon our family in the last month. We were overwhelmed by assurances of prayers and promises of concern. We knew that we were facing Dad's surgery, surrounded by the loving prayers and support of so many. It was an incredible comfort. We know that prayers have continued throughout this passed month of recovery as well. Thank you to all of those who have loved us and prayed for Dad.


Cards, visits, and food have been daily sources of encouragement. We have all enjoyed reading through the thoughts, chatting with smiling faces accented by eager eyes, and relishing the delicious expressions of comfort foods.
 

Dad has been doing so well. He has adjusted easily to the wonderful privilege of being at home. It has been neat to watch him regain his independence, with the added treats of his new height. His new posture provides the ability to shave and brush his teeth while looking in the mirror on the wall!  Ducking to fit into the van and under the flower box were surprising necessary moves.

We were taken with alarm and incredible concern, shortly after Dad's arrival home.  His incision, which was still healing, was partly plagued with infection.  His home health nurse was greatly alarmed and reacted with haste to contact Dad's surgeon.  A very trying 48 hours of waiting until we could see Dr. Simmons followed where it was incredibly hard to see blessings through the horrible concern and worry of the what-ifs.  We prayed.  We tried to trust God's healing hand, even if it meant through set backs.  He answered us with encouragement, reassurances, blessings.

The morning of the hurriedly scheduled appointment with Dr. Simmons was brilliantly sunny.  We were just three weeks passed surgery, scared silly about the infection, and headed to the one person who best understands Dad's total condition and had been the most comforting contact throughout this journey.  Dr. Simmons was calm, thrilled with Dad's progress and appearance, and very gently reassuring about the infection. It was just surface.  Relief and deep breaths competed for space in us.  With his recently reassigned antibiotic and more incision cleanings, Dad should heal up nicely in time.  We celebrated with lunch at Dad's choice, Arby's of course, and then a brief visit to Target, for his girls, he said.  We leisurely returned home and settled back into routine.

Dad's shown great strength and determination, with sincere caution through his movements.  Mom has been fiercely supportive and encouraging as she supports him.  I have had the incredible blessing of being here for these moments. We started this road as a family, and had to let Chad and Kevin return to life, after the success of surgery and recovery had started. We missed them so much.  Kevin was able to join us a few days ago, and he has been able to witness Dad's great progress.  Within moments, we will leave for home and Dad and Mom will continue along the recovery road.  We know support of family and friends will continue to abound, as well as the prayers for healing.  If a visitor comes, they may just find Dad relaxing in a setting similar to this. 

The kitty will scatter, for sure, but Dad will stick around and enjoy the visit.  The lives that have woven themselves into the blessings of our journey with Dad through his surgery and recovery will always be an encouragement to us.  Thank you.

Walking Taller

I have never been a parent, watching their child take his first steps.  I wonder, though, if the feelings I have watching my Dad walking might be similar.  I hold my breath as he reaches out to grip the walker, carefully positioning his feet in the unique way that works for him.  Upon reaching that standing position without groans of pain or wobbles, he slowly proceeds to follow that frame of support as he heads to his destination.

His surgery, straightening his back, seemed almost too simple before we went in last Wednesday.  Simple it was not.  Removal of the wedge was just the beginning.  In order to position the back in a more straight line, Dr. Simmons then broke the remaining part of his spine to align him.  If Dad was writing this he would probably say, Yep, they took a wedge out and then broke my back.

Unashamedly, when he stands and walks, I cheer and encourage, take pictures, gape with my mouth wide open, and sometimes still tear up.  He looks straighter, taller, and with a gaze that looks out, not down. I try to tell anyone that will listen that he has been curved my whole life, and that this is not some routine moment.  Looking at my Dad, standing taller, is monumental and a dream come true! 

Recovery, which really is learning how to work those degenerating hips to support this new straight back, is going to be a journey.  It might be a long one.  His next steps from the hospital room door are uncertain.  Would a rehab facility be the best? Can Mom and I take care of things for him at home?  We are certain that our trust in God to lead Dad through surgery is going to be the same trust in the same God who will lead him out of the hospital and down the road with his new perspective on life. 

One Day at a Time

My first glimpse of Dad after his surgery will be forever impressed in my mind and heart.  From his head to his feet, he lay almost level.  His gaze is now directed at the ceiling, so much so that he could not see the tv hanging from his wall.  They had the equivalent of one and a half pillows under his head. Before, Dad had to build a mini mountain of pillows to prop him up in bed while he slept. 

Extraordinary.  Living miracle. An unimaginable vision.  These are only a few words that I can use to attempt to describe him.  He looks so long to us.  I still cry each time I see him again.  I just cannot get over how straight he looks.

A nurse came into the ICU room shortly after we were allowed into see him for the first time.  She asked us how tall he was in a routine, mundane voice. We all stared at her.  We had no idea the answer to her question.  As our minds tried to answer that question, we stated what we knew.

He was 5' 10&1/2", forty years ago.  He was barely 5' tall yesterday.  We don't know how tall he is now.

We don't know today, but tomorrow we will see what height God has restored to him.  We are pretty sure he will be taller than Mom, but shorter than Chad! :)

His breathing tube did not come out after surgery, so instead of sending him to recovery as was scheduled, he was put in surgical ICU.  Breathing tubes, restricted visiting hours, staff that was still working to piece together his story made for a very unsettling evening and night.  We knew they were taking care of him, but we could not witness it for ourselves.

Thankfully, Dr. Simmons checked in on him this morning and was able to relay his progress.  His breathing tube had been removed, he was talking, and he had even made a joke.

When we got to see him, and talk with him the first time, he cracked us up repetitively with his commentary on the goings on around him.  We had our Dad back! 

It took most of the day for them to get him moved from ICU to his regular room.  When they finally released him, we were able to scurry up ahead and welcome him in.  The Lord blessed us with an evening of visiting, laughter, and a new buddy for Dad.  His roommate turned out to be a real character, and the two of them together are like a little comedy routine.  

We know the Lord has been answering all of the prayers that have been offered up for Dad and for us. We know because we are privileged to watch the miracle that is our Dad unfold moment by moment.

This Morning

At 4:30 am, with bleary vision, I caught a glimpse of the hospital through our windows.  Feelings of intense excitement and incredible anxiousness, collided with the calm of the Lord's presence in my heart. 
Dad's surgery is today.  So many people are praying. We all made it.  Dad is so brave.

I walked across the hall to check on Mom and Dad and found them ready to go.  Mom was smiling, and Dad was very thoughtfully packing his pockets with his necessities.  The moments flew by and  I was soon dropping them off at the entrance to the hospital.  Pulling away from the curb, watching some of Dad's last steps before he becomes straight, was indescribable.  With Mom tight by his side, they were entering to his miracle.

After parking the van back at our "home",  Kevin and I walked the short way back up the street to the hospital.  We found Dad and Mom being cheerfully escorted down the hall by a fuzzy haired, happy fellow they all call Father Richard.  Just minutes before, he had announced to a the whole reception area, "Who wants to go to surgery? Follow me!"

A really nice and thorough nurse went through all the necessary medical questions/history, and then described to us what would be happening with Dad while he was away from us. 

A quick call to Chad brought Dad's third hug walked through the door and we were all together as a family.  Dad waited up as long as he could last night, giving directions intermittently, but had to go to sleep before Chad made it. Reunited in the surgery preparation room, we were about to send Dad to a miracle that merely six weeks ago had been a thought. 

If we find the Dr. that helped this man in the newspaper, Dad, will you go see him?  It wouldn't hurt to just visit with him in his office.

They came to collect him, loaded him into the chair, let us have our last hugs, and wheeled him away.  We immediately held hands and prayed him into the hands of the Dr.

His status on the monitor in our waiting room has read  In OR/Procedure since 8:20.  Our next update will be a visit from Dr. Simmons.  We expect him around 2:00. 

I know people are praying.  I know God is watching over every step of this process.  Our hearts are encouraged, uplifted, sometimes scared, and entirely full of anticipation.

Our Dad

In our home, there was a phrase that was repeated often and with confidence, "When Dad gets to Heaven, he will have a straight back."  This was our complete assurance.  In Heaven, Dad's back would be healed.

Dad has ankylosing spondylitis, a degenerative spine disease which is associated with arthritis.  His spine fused throughout his early twenties, leaving his back curved and his neck unable to turn.  I would always say to people that he couldn't turn his head or throw a ball overhand, but other than that he was just fine.  He doesn't complain and has been content to live his life this way.

About a year ago, stiffness and pain settled into his routine and started to hamper regular activities.  Walking distances and riding his bike became great challenges.  Through many visits with a young arthritis doctor, who was full of new ideas and treatments, she eventually determined there was nothing more she could do for him and sent him on his way.  Much of his pain was beginning to center around his hips and they knew that the arthritis was now affecting them.  She recommended that he see an orthopedic doctor to discuss hip replacements.  After he met and assessed Dad, he was not eager to do surgery at this time- due to anethesia concerns and possible mechanical failure due to Dad's posture.  Although he desparately needed them,  healing successfully would be hampered by the curve of his back and it was a risk he would not recommend in his current condition.  The prognosis was bleak and lacked any encouragement.  Faced with no further treatment options or hope from either of these medical sources,  a wheelchair was quickly becoming a looming reality.

In November, Mom was sorting through items, attempting to clean and organize papers. She came across an article that had run in the local newspaper in 2002.  It featured a gentleman, diagnosed with Dad's same disease, anklosing spondylitis, who had received surgery to straighten his back.  The article included a picture and diagrams of his spine before and after. 

In 2002, Dad found it interesting enough to cut out and look at, but did not wish to pursue this man's story any further.  Dad was doing just fine, and had learned to live life quite comfortably with his disease.  An operation in '79 which had left him in a body cast, lying in a hospital bed for seventy-seven days, had been enough to help him to determine that he was not interested in another surgery for his back.  The treatment  had not been effective in the longterm. The sacrifice had been too great.  Another surgery was not at all something of interest.

But when Mom saw it this fall, the need and the hope it ellicited was unparalleled. We were looking at a picture of a man who had been straightened 10 years ago.  What could they possibly do for Dad now?  Could this be the hope we had been left without just a year before?  Would it be something Dad could benefit from now, in light of the need to walk strong again?

The article did not list a doctor, just a health organization's website.  Through some time of searching the computer, we landed on a doctor in Buffalo, a meer one hour from Dad and Mom. His website had articles about ankylosing spondylitis, some authored by himself. Was he the doctor who fixed the man in the newspaper that Mom had been carrying around since November?

In the first few days of this year, a phone call to his office brought great hope to our hearts.  His secretary emphatically stated that he was an expert in his field, and that Dad needed to come see him.  She had an opening in February and thought to schedule Dad's appointment for that time.  As she talked more with Mom and listened as she shared Dad's story and his present condition, she said she knew the doctor would only be happy with her if she squeezed him in earlier.  Would 2 weeks from now work? she asked.   Would it?  Of course!  The appointment was set, January 18. 

The doctor was not in the office that week, the secretary had mentioned. He was at a conference where he was lecturing.  His topic?  Ankylosing spondylitis. 

We prayed through those weeks leading up to his appointment.  I found myself praying for this doctor to be the hands of the miracle that Dad needed.  I also prayed for our hearts to be prepared to hear whatever news the Lord was going to allow that doctor to deliver to us.  Hope was impossible to hold back. 

Merely waiting until the appointment time did not prove to be so simple.  Tuesday night, the evening before the doctor's appointment, while enjoying a visit with a dear friend, a loud crack and resounding thud startled them.  There were high wind warnings for that night from 7:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m.  It was 7:55 p.m.  In that moment,  a huge pine tree had succombed to the wind, swept the edge of their house, and landed on both of their vehicles. So many branches covered the area around and all over the cars, that it was hard to assess the damage in the dark.  One thing they knew, all of Dad's medical records that they had been collecting for two weeks were inside the smashed van.  Mom climbed through branches, shattered glass, and bent metal in an attempt to retrieve them, but was unable to get the door open.  Within a short while, they had relayed their wind story to Grandma, and were returning home with her borrowed car, the car to get them to the doctor appointment the next day.

Wednesday morning brought great help and encouragement.  Dad's brother and nephew were there with chainsaws and muscles to uncover the damaged cars.  Their hard work reduced the toppled tree to pieces, and the wrecker was able to haul away the van for assessment, but not before Uncle Darryl pulled the medical records from inside.  In leaving for the appointment, they discovered that Grandma's car tire was going flat and that also had to be left at the garage.  Quick thinking and more generosity, landed them in the next borrowed vehicle of a friend.

Sitting ten and a half hours away from all of this,  waiting upon every text or phone call, was hard.  With all that had happened in the 12 hours prior to the appointment, what other obstacles might appear?  We had only been waiting two weeks for this appointment, yet really maybe we had been waiting my whole lifetime.

They told me later how it went.  I cried through every word.  They entered the doctor's office, and hanging on his wall in the lobby was a framed copy of the newspaper article.  The very one that Dad had cut from the local paper nearly 10 years before.  This had to be the doctor that helped that man!

After x-rays and waiting, they met the doctor.  His message was calm and assured.  He could straighten Dad.  It would be through a procedure called an osteotomy.   He would cut a wedge in the curved part of Dad's spine.  He would close the gap using bone grafts and stabilizing the spine with rods on both sides.  This process would straighten him.  He would not stand perfectly straight, because then he could only look straight out, since his neck would still not be able to move. He would leave him tilted at such an angle where he would be able to see down in front of him, as well as be able to look straight ahead.  It would be a 3-4 hour operation, followed by a day in the ICU and 1-2 days in recovery.  He would come home with a brace and recover for four to six months.  Within ten months, he would be healed enough to revisit an orthopedic doctor and get those hip replacements.

All of our hopes and our prayers were being answered in the most astounding message from this doctor.  We haven't made it to Heaven yet, and we are hearing that Dad is going to have his "straight back" here, on this Earth.

Surgery was not delayed. 

It is scheduled for February 15, 2012.  It has been two weeks now of unbelievable news and excitement.  I tell whoever will listen, some who have not met my Dad.  I try to express what this means to him, to us.  It is hard to find big enough words to hold the emotion and feelings.  I sometimes express it in these terms.  Todd loved our Dad dearly and did all he could to help around home.  We feel like one of the first things he would have wanted to talk to Jesus about when he got to Heaven was our Dad.  I think they probably talked at length about him, and in God's gracious way, He lead Mom to uncover that newspaper article.  To find it when Dad needed it the most, when we all needed it the most.

We ask for your prayers for Dr. Simmons and his team on February 15.  Please pray for my Dad.  He is so brave to do this.  We have always been so proud of our Dad and Mom. Their courage together to face these operations is astounding.  Please pray for them through this time where God is going to use earthly hands to heal Dad in ways we only dreamed would happen in Heaven.

If it wasn't for Christmas...

If I could, I would skip Christmas.  The grief that is my daily companion takes on the fiercest of feelings in these days around the Holidays.  The traditions that were treasured and held so close to our hearts, are now merely haunting reminders that we are not a complete family anymore.   Todd loved Christmas. He took great joy in giving. 

Do you like it? Is it the right size?  Mom said you would like this, do you really?   I saw these, and I thought they were neat, so I got you some.  I wasn't sure if you have one of these, but I do, and I love them. I thought you might also. 

His generous heart was so huge.  I know that we aren't to value things, but there is a certain precious quality to items around my home these days.  Presents from Todd in years gone by,  hold sacred memories of words exhanged on our most special of family holidays. 

He would devour the Christmas morning breakfast casserole in a rare display of strong eating. 

Man, this is good.   You should make this more often, he'd say through bites.

He was always was the first of us kids to be up on Christmas day.  That never wavered as we got older. Chad and I are the biggest sleepers, and he always liked to embrace the morning. It was his face and voice that would so often usher in our Christmas celebrations. 

For these memories and more unspoken, I would like to skip Christmas.  You see, sometimes the pain of missing him is so great on a regular old Monday afternoon, that I don't really want to invite moments that will just magnify that ache.

But the Lord sent me a precious thought a few weeks ago as I sat listening to our Christmas program at church.  If it wasn't for Christmas, I would never see Todd again. My hope of a reunion with him in Heaven would be nonexistent.  The greatest source of comfort that I cling to, would no longer be available.

If I skipped Christmas, I would be skipping the very reason we have comfort and hope in our darkest moments.

Jesus may have wanted to skip that first Christmas so long ago in Bethlehem.  Would it have been a very appealing thought to him?  He would have contemplated that it was soon time to come to Earth.  He was going to leave his home in Heaven, with his Father, God, and come to this Earth to be born in a stable.  He would grow up, start his ministry here on Earth, and then ulitmately die a horrible and cruel death on the Cross.  He would die to take the place of each of us, who have sinnned and lost the ability to enter into Heaven.  His death would be a sacrifice for us, our way to be forgiven and to renew a relationship with God.

If Jesus didn't skip Christmas, knowing the hardness of his 33 years of life on this Earth and His own horrible death, then I cannot skip Christmas either.  My concerns and hurts fade in the light of His incredible sacrifice for us.

Jesus did not skip Christmas, instead He came and made a way for each of us to accept and believe on a Father in Heaven.  His death became our way of eternal life.  His coming is what gives us the secure hope of seeing my brother again.

I know that Todd believed, and is right now preparing to celebrate Christmas with Jesus and all of our loved ones that have gone on ahead of us. I know this will be his best Christmas ever.  I also know that someday, because we have Christmas and a Savior, I am going to celebrate again with him in Heaven.

My Prince, with tissues, tears, and a smile

I dreamed about him for years.  Vague glimpses into a future, where I knew he would someday meet me, were so welcome.  Any scenarios put forth in life or movies, would be absorbed into my hopes and catalogued away.  I would think, yes, if it were to happen like that for me, that would be a great thing.

The Lord brought him into my world on a most unexpected Friday; just the description of him caused flutters in my heart. After meeting a few weeks later, I knew that I had spent time with a man of such character that my dreams may not have done him justice.  I was taken with him, right off, and through the Lord's careful direction and timing, we became man and wife eight months later.

Fast?  Many would have assuredly told you that and maybe questioned our timing.  Our parents stood behind us, our love in front of us, and the Lord choreographing every step above us.  You see, He had to bring us together, because the time was fast approaching when I would need my man in the worst ways imaginable.

People always say that first year of marriage is the hardest, I guess it is because of all of the adjustments and such.  It wasn't that way for us, in our own little home.  It was as if we had been waiting our whole lives to meet up with thae twin soul created for us. When we were brought together, it was the most natural of occurences.  Days passed into weeks, and we were in awe of how fun, simple, and overwhelmingly right life together could be. 

We had been married just shy of 9 months when we lost Todd.  Newlyweds to the fullest definition of the word.  We knew each other, yet struggling through the suffocating waters of tragedy was not a path we had  taken until that time.  As we drove those 9 hours to NY, to the inevitable goodbyes to my brother, I sat in the back seat.  With each mile, we were leaving further behind that carefree soul I had been.  Heartache, heartbreak, and intense sorrow was quickly filling my heart.   How could we face such a traumatic time?  How could we bear it?

The Lord knew before we even met, that He would be holding us through those dark days.  He knew I needed a strong man.  A man who understood emotions that couldn't be put into words.  A man who can hurt alongside those that are hurting.  A man to hold me up when my legs could no longer do the job. A man to wipe the tears away that just would not stop coarsing down my cheeks.  A man who would sit with my family, for days,  feeling pain with us.  A man who loved my brother as much as he could in the short time that he was given with him.  A man  who would mourn with us the loss of years of life and shattered dreams.  A man to grieve with me.  A man who would tell me that he would be there, no matter what I was able to offer him.  A man who would love me, when there was only agony to hold.

He stayed in NY as long as he could, and then came on home to live our lives.  He left me with my parents, understanding that we needed each other desparately for a unspoken amount of time.  He loved me from the miles and waited until he could open his arms to me again.

I was scared to come back home. I knew that I hadn't made deep friendships yet.  Who was going to come check on me?  Call to see if the day went ok?  I remember telling my childhood pastor my fears for returning home.  I told him that Kevin would have to be my everything, and that I didn't think a husband should have to play every roll.  Kevin had assured me time and again that he was there for me, in whatever way I needed.  My pastor said to me, "Tara, let him take care of you. Let him support you in all the ways that he can. He is willing to, let him do it."

Those words burned into my heart and came back to me time and again.  Kevin has been my man through it all. He has loved me when I was upset. He has loved me when the tears choked out any words.  He has loved me when my dreams have haunted me and I awake numb to the world.  He has loved me through my inability to participate in gatherings that had once been routine.  He hasn't rushed me through the grief.  He has listened with a heart prepared by our Lord. 

The Lord knew the man I needed.  He knew when I needed him as well.  Sure, I wish that we could have met sooner, but I am so thankful that he brought us together when he did.  For he gave our family almost nine months together as a family of six.  The Lord has His own plan, in His own time, in His way.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
            declares the LORD.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Isaiah 55:8-9

I cannot question; I can only thank the Lord for His provision.  He gave me a husband that loves me with a love greater than I can imagine.  A man who has been my rock and my comfort through truly the darkest days of life.  A man who has been able to make me laugh, who has whisked me away from the pressures to places where sunshine and happiness rained over us.  He gave me a man that I could not have even imagined I would need. I am so thankful for a Lord who knows our deepest needs, before we often face them, and sends to us the provisions to carry us through.

Follow the prompting

Acknowledging the prompting, that familar feeling we have all had, can be the most valuable choice we make some days.  Sometimes when thinking along through the day, a person comes to mind. We wonder how they are, what might be happening with them, and then we go on. What if instead, we followed the prompting? 

One day, I had the privilege of being on the receiving end of someone choosing to follow the prompting.  I know that the Lord lays upon our hearts those that have need. He does this, so we can minister to them, showing His love through our actions. 

She called as I was driving, and since my sporadically functioning cell phone worked, we talked and talked.  I needed that visit so much.  She asked about everything, and I shared about even more.  She followed the prompting in her heart, from the Lord, to check on me. In turn, the abundant blessings that it rained into my soul healed and uplifted my heart.  Discouragement, sadness, unspoken hurts were given a voice, heard, cared about, and I was able to go on with a lighter and uplifted heart.  The Lord saw my need, prompted her heart, and she blessed me abundantly.

There have been many times when the Lord has layed someone upon my heart.  If I had followed that prompting, I could have changed someone's day or maybe even their week.  The Lord could have used my voice to speak His message into their lives.  Simply, as I followed the prompting. 

Sharing

Sharing thoughts has always been helpful to me.  I value deeply those that listen intensely and make the time to hear the heart struggles of others.  Writing these thoughts has been a new venue.  I wrote for so long, not sure if it was time to share with anyone else.  When it was time to "let the world know", as facebook is so helpful in facilitating, I did so with trepidation.  My expectations were in check, my motives were hopefully right, and I just trusted that maybe God could do something with it all.

Responses brought tears to my eyes, and made my heart so full.  Thank you to those of you who took moments to share your stories, your sympathy, and your encouragement.  I cannot figure out how to adequately thank you for helping me march through that six months of loss milestone with heartfelt love.

Simply, thank you, and if you find help or encouragement in anything else you read, may it be a blessing to your hearts and truly God's words through my fingers.

3 Words

It had been weeks since I had returned home to Kevin.  In God's goodness, I was able to stay as long as possible with Mom and Dad before we all headed back to try to live the lives that had gone on amidst our sorrow.  Now, I was home, with my beloved husband, so thankful to be with him and torn by the pain of what I had left behind forever.  It was hard to be back.  Things are so different in a place where you are still "new", and so brutally scarred by heartache.  Home was safe. Any departure from our home required a deep breath of gumption and intense concentration to steal against the onslaught of emotions I couldn't control in an environment I couldn't possibly predict.

I learned quickly that the, "I am so sorry. How are you doing?" comments that had been part of our daily survival in NY, would not be heard.  It is different.  I ached to be acknowledged for the pain.  Pain that I couldn't see past, look around, or barely push aside long enough to have eyes unswollen by tears.  I held to the thought that if my grief wasn't acknowledged, then surely I couldn't share what was happening inside.  This was a horrible spot to be in.  I longed to talk about Todd. I yearned to put into words the emotions that were swallowing me alive.

Into this ugly place in heart, God sent a friend.  One morning, with my heart steeled to survive the hours away from our house, I was taking care of errands.  A dear heart, upon seeing me for the first time after knowing we had lost Todd, spoke the words that brought an abundance of comfort and a measure of healing...

"Oh, Tara, I am so sorry."  I burst into tears, nodding, and saying thank you over and over again.  Thanking her for expressing this sympathy.  The only person who had in weeks of my being back.  She was concerned and upset that she had made me cry.  In the midst of my tears, I hurried to urge her that her words didn't hurt me more.  That I was crying because she had acknowledge my grief, and that I saw in her actions a blessing so abundant.  We cried together. She hurt with me. She shared from her life. I shared from mine.  We laid the burdens of sorrow at each other's feet.

The power of three words.  I am sorry.  So often I have thought, but I don't know what to say.  There is nothing right, pefect, or profound when you face someone who has buried their greatest hopes and dreams for a loved one.  Nevertheless, there is still something that can be said.  I am sorry.  If trying to not upset them, and choosing to keep silent is an often used choice, please consider that there is something better.  A grieving person hurts, aches, and has a troubled heart at all moments.  Nothing changes that.  Your words- I am sorry, might be the blessing in the crevices of torture.  It might be the one moment that they can return to again and again, knowing that you cared. That you cared enough to put yourself out there to offer sympathy.  They might need that knowledge to cling to on a dark day. I did, have, and will again.  Only 3 words, yet more powerful than any might know when speaking them.

Loving

When you lose someone you love intensely, you learn to grasp every moment, memory with a tight fisted grip.  I didn't know that my last texts from Todd, would be the ones that I will cherish forever.  I didn't know that last conversation would be the deepest memory of his voice I hold in my heart.  I didn't know that those pictures from Christmas would become the image I hold forever in my mind's eye.  Thankfully, the Lord gave us those moments, and I have them forever in my heart. 

We don't know when our last moments with our loved ones will come.  Our loss has caused me to count each moment even more precious.  Some days I just work 2 floors above Kevin's office, yet I impress his grinning face into my mind as we part in the morning.  I want to have those "last" moments, be right moments.

If you love deeply, tell that person, show that person.  Take the times you have to fill them with goodness.  I know that life isn't perfect, and there are days when frustrations and anger overtake our hearts.  I also know that we are not promised more memories. We have the ones we are creating now.  Some day those will be the last.

Message from John

Kevin spoke yesterday at a little church where he fills the pulpit from time to time.  He shared from the passage in Scripture, I John 3:17, 18~

But whosoever hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his compassions from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?

My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.

I listened with ears that heard this message in a whole new light. The Lord tells each of us how to help people who are in need. Simply, if you have something, which someone needs, share it.  This "something" could be provisions, money, your time, your care in the form of a listening ear, or your love in a hug with the question what can I do to help you? or I am here standing beside you through this ache.   God says that if we don't share this, then how does His love dwell inside of us? 

I think v. 18 stuck even more.  Let us not just love in word or in tongue-  maybe this means doing a little more than giving out the standard, I will pray for you.  Maybe it means to sit down beside the person, take their hand in ours, ask them how we can pray for them and then praying at that very moment.  Then within a day or two, we pick up the phone to call and see if we can come and visit and continue to love them in deed and action.

We each have gifts that were given to us by the Lord. He wants us to use them, and I believe that He gives many opportunities, if only we look around and see those that have need.  How can we "hold back" something that might mean everything to the person  with whom it is shared.  Let us, let God, use us to bless the hurting around us.

Using hurt

There is one thing that I know, that I cling deeply too, in the depths of hurt there are ways to learn how to help others.  If  I can stare at tragedy with eyes that are searching for how God can use the agony, there is comfort to be found. It is almost a way to twist the never ending pain into a focus on something beneficial.

God has taught us much through the last few months. He has shown me what it is like to hurt so much that you can't explain it in words to people.  Yet, He has sent comfort in those desparate times.  I guess what I have learned is ways to reach out to others.  How often do we hear of unspeakable sadness in the lives of people we love, see at church, or know casually?  How often do we feel like we don't know how to help, although we may wish we could.

The other day, I was struck with the simplest of questions. A question that, frankly, I wish we had been asked more often.  I thought, if someone had asked this of my husband or myself, how easily we could have pleaded for help in ways that we so desparately needed it.

"How can I help you?"  Not, a simple, "Let me know if you need anything."  I think this phrase, although, ringing with the truest of intentions, requires the aching soul to be the one to reach out.  That is the last thing a hurting person may be capable of doing.  In contrast, if we merely utter the question, "How can I help you?", we allow them the opportunity to put into words a need. 

Kevin didn't leave me alone unless he had to for the longest time. Why? Becuase when he did, without fail, he would return to me, crying so hard, completely crushed in memories and thoughts of my dear brother.  We had company one weekend, and he went outside and worked for hours.  Unwittingly, he later shared that he had felt that I was "ok", because I was with my friend. He had the freedom to leave me with her, knowing she would be ministering to me in his absence. I had no idea this was how it had been for him. 

If someone would have asked us, "How can I help?"  He may have been able to say, "Please, come keep Tara company.  She needs to visit and share her heart, and I need to carry on our life, until she can again."

A Silent Ache

In the beginning, the ache of a brother gone from this Earth, was overwhelming. It often felt as if it was hard to breathe; like the wind had been knocked out of me.  In the midst of a laugh, or the experience of a new memory, I would suddenly "remember" that Todd was gone and my breath would be gone.  It was constant. As if I was having to learn to breathe all over again, along with learning to live life without him.  There was a constant ache.

Time has provided a bit of a release from that pressure.  It must be a new "stage" of the grieving process.   The ache isn't as sharp, yet it is still always present.  I feel it most in the happiest moments, when I want to call him and tell him what just happened. I feel it also when I anticipate upcoming plans.  I am eager to do something and I want to share that eagerness, often with Todd.  It is hard to not be able to hear his response to thoughts. I find myself looking off to Heaven, sharing my stories, trusting that God is relaying them to him.

The silent ache is the evidence of my deep love for my brother; my longing to share life with him. There is the  reoccuring shock that life from now on won't include him.  I look forward to that day when we are reunited in Heaven.  I know we will be able to catch up then.  Oh, but there will be so much to say.

I don't know what to say...

Grief is an overwhelming burden, gripping at the very happiest places of my heart, and twisting them to pieces.  The days go by, yet the ache does not diminish.  God has used this time to teach me things about life and ministering to others.  I know that in my life I have encountered friends/family that were aching as deeply as I am now.  I know that I failed them in my meager or worse, absent, offerings of comfort. I see that now. 

I see how desparately I long to be acknowledged in my agony, and it makes me realize that I so easily let the excuse, "I don't know what to say", be the way I eased my mind away from reaching out to that hurting person.

I realize now that "I'm sorry", can be the most powerful expression of sympathy someone can utter.  I know now the power in a hug, a tight hug, that says I am going to hold your pain in my arms for a moment if it will ease your burden but for a second.  I have witnessed that a listening ear, allowing you to say whatever must come out, however ugly it sounds, can help you to sort through the horror that is your loss and pain.

I know now, and I am so determined to reach out as much as I can to those hurting around me.  It is never okay when a person is faced with a tragedy in their lives, unspeakable in its pain.  It is worse, though, to let that person's agony go unacknowledged.  I may feel awkward, not know what to say, fear that I will upset them more, yet these are completely unacceptable excuses.  My feelings matter none in light of what they are facing, and each hurting person has the right, the NEED, to know that their pain is acknowledged and that someone cares to lift their burden, if only for a moment.

In the Bible, I Corinthians 12:26 speaks to our need to support those suffering and celebrating. 

            And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it;
            or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.

As members of the body of Christ, as a believer, we must lift up those that are hurting with as much ease as we celebrate with those who are rejoicing. 

My Littlest Brother

Maybe sharing some thoughts will ease the ache, give my memories a voice, and help to soothe the desperate depths of sadness that overwhelm me at times. 

Summers were "our time".  Living over 9 hours apart, I didn't get to see Todd as often as I would have liked. So, when I went home for the summers, we would make the most of our times.  There were the random drives that would take us over the quiet roads of our county, through the picturesque turns of Letchworth Park, and passed so many beloved places.  We would talk some, but mostly we would sing to the music that was always loud.  It was just part of riding with Todd.   All the while, our eyes would be peeled, looking for deer.  It didn't matter if they had horns or not, we would talk about what they could be- come hunting season.

Then there were the campfires, movies at the Drive-In, and welcome trips to the City.  Each memory was special, as I always knew the summer would end and we'd be living so far apart again.

This summer, there will be no new memories.  It has been almost 2 months since he has been gone, and I still feel like the loss is fresh, almost as if we are just finding out again.   I still want to pick up the phone to call him and tell him stuff.  It could be anything that prompts this feeling before I have a chance to catch it and deny its fulfillment.  I would have called him last Sunday to tell him about the little, baby deer Kevin and I saw.  He was probably less than 24 hours old and was following Kev around, squeaking at him insistently like he wanted some attention.  Todd would have liked that story, and been in awe at the pictures. I would have called him two nights ago, to tell him Amos was up a tree, and that we didn't know how in the world to get him out.  He would have had an idea, and then would have wanted us to call him back and let us know how we made out.  He would have been proud of Kevin for loudly and effectively  "scaring" that other cat away, and patiently calling to Amos until the silly cat fell out to the scraggly bushes below.  He'd have wanted to meet our new little, silly kitty.    I wanted to call today and tell him that I picked some blueberries, some good ones.  I would have tried to tell him that if he visited us soon, he might just get to eat some for himself.  And then, I'd call him right now, to tell him that I missed him and couldn't wait to come to NY in July to see him.

But I can't call him, I can't see him, and talking to him?  Well, sometimes just in my dreams.  That is torture though, because when I wake up there is this sensation that we were with him and then it hits me that getting that opportunity this side of Heaven is not possible.

Just because he has left us, doesn't mean that I can make the way he was in my heart and thoughts go away.  Sometimes I focus on thoughts of him in Heaven and what he might be doing.  I think about how happy he would be, how much fun he would be having, and probably how many kitties he takes care of in Heaven.  This helps for awhile, until the ache of missing him becomes too much.

Believe

I BELIEVE God has a plan, even when we don't understand.  It was mid-August 2008, and I had just returned from a summer with my family.  Teaching gave me the privilege of traveling home every summer and spending the days with my family.  That summer had been hard, yet very evidently showcased the provision of God.  I was between jobs, and really trying to decide where He wanted me to be.  Just as I thought that moving home to New York  was my solution, I received a job offer back in Virginia.  I was happy to have a job, yet there had been a great amount of excitement to thinking that it might be time to live back home.  A few weeks before heading back to Virginia, I had to put my sweet little cat to sleep.  As a lover of animals, she was more than just my cat, she was a friend to me, a comfort.  Losing her was very sad, and then leaving my family to return to Virginia was always a hard thing.


I found the sudden "alone time" overwhelming every year, yet this year it was the hardest, as I would come home to a truly empty house.   I loved my new job, I was very happy to be back with my family in Virginia and my friends, yet there was emptiness.


At times, I couldn't quite understand what God's plan was for me.  I couldn't see why being back in Virginia, was truly a better option than starting life over in NY.  He had provided a job, and my life was full there, yet I still longed for NY.  And in the midst of this, I missed my sweet little cat.


Thankfully, the idea to get a new cat, didn't take too long to come along.  I went to Petsmart, and well, she picked me.  I went into the cages to hold a cat that looked like a fit for me, but didn't bond at all with that little furball.  Another gray, kind of ugly, tiger cat was literal climbing her cage, and "meeowwing" her head off to get my attention.  I asked to hold her, because she was so desparate for me to see her.  She instantly curled up in my arms, began to purr, and I knew that she was going home with me.


I named her Believe, because she was a reminder of that promise I was clinging to- I believe that God has a plan, even when we don't understand.    As I adjusted to my new job and fit back into my life in Virginia, I found great comfort and happiness from my little Believe.


She has been gone for 5 days now, and we are pretty sure that she is not going to be coming back to us.  Hours of looking, inquiring of many neighbors, and praying for her safe return have not lead her back to our home.  She was a gift in my life, when I needed her the most. She was a constant reminder of God's sovreign plan in our lives.


How can I question even now with her gone, that I BELIEVE God has a plan, even when we don't understand.




My Love

He came into my life with a big grin.  It was my first impression, and the image is still clearly seen in my mind. 


His cousin had described him to me in the early school day rush of a Friday morning.  Students were gathering in the rooms around us, jean-clad teachers were smiling that Friday smile, and the Lord sent His messenger to "introduce" me to the man I would soon marry.  From her first question- "Do you have a boyfriend?", I knew this conversation was going to be a good one. She went on to describe to me her cousin, Kevin.  Multiple endearing descriptions were punctuated by one final thought- "Oh, and he has red hair. Is that a problem?"  It wasn't.


Never in a whisper of my mind, could I have imagined there would be a man who would fit with me so perfectly.  From our first weekend of meeting, I knew that he was the man that I had waited my whole life to know.  He had the kindest eyes, and the most thoughtful way of listening to the conversations around him. I found him to be sincere, easily taken to laughing, and he had clearly been blessed with a big heart.  His earnest desire to love the Lord, seek to do His will, and the way he was choosing to live out his life captured my heart.


It was a few months later, as I saw Kevin teaching a class on apple pruning, that love entered my heart in a soft and gentle way.  I saw him thoughtfully instruct, knowledgably answer questions, and truly care to see that those people learned a new trade that day.  The very next day, I was able to sit under his speaking, in a small church where he regularly helps to fill the pulpit.  I saw God speaking through Him that day, and I saw a man committed to the same love for our Lord that I was.


One weekend's meeting had turned into phone calls, and eventually visits across the 3 hours distance that separated us.  Eight months later, as we were standing before our loved families and friends, directly in the middle of God's call on our lives, we committed ourselves to each other in marriage. It was the most wondrous fulfillment of years of prayers and pleas to the Lord to make me who He needed me to be, so I could someday be the wife He wanted me to be.


He daily continues to answer that prayer in our life here, with the country always calling to us.