Tag Archives: supporting grieving families

Seeing clearly after the fog

fog

Although he brings sorrow, he also has mercy and great love. Lamentations 3:32

This morning I started my day as usual with devotions.  Technology was not my friend as my Bible app would not open.  Not to be deterred, I grabbed my Devotional Bible – edited by Max Lucado – from my nightstand.  As I was heading to Ezekiel, my trusty book fell open to Lamentations.  Not just anywhere in Lamentations – nope – at a page that I had dog-eared and worn.  The highlighted words were a mirror reflection of where I was at last week – in a fog.

Thankfully, I had friends and family members praying for me and guiding me through what was quite possibly the hardest day of my life since the bus crash.  I did make it through, and miraculously with God’s help the fog lifted almost immediately.

I don’t believe in coincidences.  I needed that reminder this morning that God was not absent last week, nor was He when my son died.

I’m a prayer vigil person.  If I cannot sleep, it is usually because God has someone in mind that I should be praying for.  Last night was no different.  I have several friends, their kids, and communities facing a fog of their own.  So, I prayed . . .

While I personally cannot do much other than that to help ease the storm for each of them right now, I can remind them that there is one who can lift the fog.  My life story is a testament to that fact. Cling to him and He will guide you to new found peace.

The devotional below is from “No Wonder They Call Him the Savior” by Max Lucado.

The fog of the broken heart.

It’s a dark fog that slyly imprisons the soul and refuses easy escape.  It’s a silent mist that eclipses the sun and beckons the darkness.  It’s a heavy cloud that honors no hour and respects no person. Depression, discouragement, disappointment, doubt . . . all are companions of this dreaded presence.

The fog the broken heart disorients our life.  It makes it hard to see the road.  Dim your lights.  Wipe off the windshield.  Slow down.  Do what you wish, nothing helps.  When this fog encircles us, our vision is blocked and tomorrow is a forever away.  When this billowy blackness envelops, the most earnest words of help and hope are but vacant phrases.

If you have ever been betrayed by a friend, you know what I mean. If you have ever been dumped by a spouse or abandoned by a parent, you have seen this fog.  If you have ever placed a spade of dirt on a loved one’s casket or kept vigil at a dear one’s beside, you, too, recognize this cloud.

If you have been in this fog, or are in it now, you can be sure of one thing – you are not alone.  Even the saltiest of sea captains have their bearings because of the appearance of this unwanted cloud.  . .

Think back over the last two or three months.  How many broken hearts did you encounter? How many wounded spirits did you witness? How many stories of tragedy did you read about? . . .

The list goes on and on, doesn’t it?  Foggy tragedies. How they blind our vision and destroy our dreams.  Forget any great hopes of reaching the world.  Forget any plans of changing society. Forget any aspirations of moving mountains. Forget all that. Just help me make it through the night!

The suffering of the broken heart . . .

Seeing God . . .does wonders for our own suffering.  God was never more human than at this hour.  God was never nearer to us than when he hurt.  The Incarnation was never so fulfilled as in the garden. 

As a result, time spent in the fog of pain could be the God’s greatest gift.  It could be the hour that we finally see our Maker . . . Maybe in our suffering we can see God like never before.

The next time you are called to suffer, pay attention.  It may the closest you ever get to God.  Watch closely.  It could very well be that the hand that extends itself to lead you out of the fog is a pierced one. 

I know the story behind this song, but sometimes I believe that it was written just for me.  I think music is often a reflection of my soul and story.

The thing about grief . . . Part 9

random acts of kindness

This will be the final installment, at least for a while, in the grief series.  I have shared that, indeed, you will laugh again even as you encounter the “firsts” without your loved one as well as some of the ugly sides of grief.  But today’s thoughts come from a happier place known only by select handful.

Throughout this journey even though some days it feels contrary to reality, we have never been alone.  The obvious reason is that our precious boy, Reed, didn’t die alone.  He was one of four beautiful children killed that frigid February day.  But that isn’t the isolation about which I am referring.  While existing, exhausted with a big hole in your heart, you feel as if there is no one who cares or understands what you are going through.  Definitely, not true!

So many came alongside our family and reached out in big and small ways.  They gave gifts of  forgotten stories, meals, and hugs.  Family, friends, and strangers have come to our home and served us, offering help when the tasks were just too much for us.  There have been e-mails, texts, letters, cards, and posts of encouragement.  All of these have become precious pearls of memories for each of us.

Each token was worth more the item itself as it was the embodiment of hope. Too many to enumerate have become some of my most loved things.  Of all the gifts that given, there is one that sticks out as quite possible the most unique.  A stranger, whom we have never met, gave sacrificially every day for two years, in what has become one of the greatest gifts of my life.

Shortly after arriving home from the hospital there was a small notecard outlining her covenant with our family.  In the handwritten card, she explained, years before, she had lost several family members in a tragic accident.  She knew the isolation, despair, and challenges of grief intimately.  Our earthly angel also knew the power of prayer – as that had pulled her through the darkest days.  (I have to imagine that she too had a wonderfully supportive community.)  Her covenant with our family was to pray for us every day for two years.  She also must have experienced the same phenomena that the first year was hard, but that the second year was harder. I don’t really know her reasoning but she prayed us right on through that second year as well.

We didn’t hear from her daily, but every once in a while came a letter with a reminder that she was living up to her end of the arrangement.  Her notes would arrive, and once again, we were bolstered by the devotion and commitment of a complete stranger.  Because she gave this gift without the need for recognition, I am choosing to keep her identity private.

Her love and random daily act of kindness have been in my heart ever since the first note arrived.  Her thoughtfulness was the first thing that popped into my mind when I first learned of the #26acts movement started by newswoman, Ann Curry as a way to honor the victims of the Newtown tragedy.  It took me a long time to be able to even look at those sweet babies and brave adults, but when I did I knew Ann was right.  One great way to help a community heal from such evil was to be purposeful in being kind and thoughtful.

My family continues our philosophy of service by quietly completing our own 26 acts.  In a strange turn of events, we were, once again, the recipients of someone’s kindness when I received a glitter-filled handwritten Bible verse from an anonymous encourager. It made my day! While I have been thinking of others, someone was thinking of us.

It was at that moment that I knew how God wanted me to end this series of writings.  The truth is that there are many people who tell you in the early days of grief that if you need anything just call.  Well intentioned, yes. Practical, not really! Honestly, I didn’t even know my own name in those mind-numbing first moments.  Yet, I still had to be a mom and a wife, running a grieving household while taking care of injured children.  At that point, we could have eaten pocket lint, and it would have been fine by me.  I literally had no energy left to think of calling anyone, let alone to ask for help.

To truly help someone who is grieving, don’t wait for them to call you.  Call them and ask if you can watch the kids, get the groceries, walk the dog. Get creative! It is like the old Nike ads. Do Something! Anything that is a gift of time and service is usually helpful.  But if you can’t, for whatever reason, give chunks of your time, can you send a note of encouragement?  Can you pray? Even better, can you send those notes timed to first events the grieving family might be experiencing? Can you make a long term commitment to loving and encouraging someone who really needs your help? If experience is any teacher, the giver is the one far more blessed than the receiver -even when it comes to grieving folks.

What an incredible world it would be if every grieving family had an earthly angel just like us! I, for one, will be following her example, and that alone will be a blessing.