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."
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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.
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.
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