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Understanding Timing

April 24, 2010 in Reflections on Grief

I question God’s sense of timing. I know the Christian answer that “His ways are higher than ours” and that “He works all things together for good.” But honestly it just doesn’t make sense to me.

Why my mother died when I was 20, for example. I’m sorry, but there’s just no way around the fact that sort of thing shouldn’t happen. God may have a plan, and he make work this into something greater, but that just isn’t something that is suppose to happen. Or why, weeks before the end of school, I learn that I sit at the same lunch table almost every day with a man who lost his mother to cancer. There are so few who understand what this is like, to meet someone with such a similar story, is great…I just wish it had been a few months ago. God’s timing…it just doesn’t make sense to me.

Or why God can’t spare me from the frustrating details of life. Like financial aid. I need more money next year than I did this year…and yet I learn that JBU is actually reducing my financial aid package. It’d be so easy for God to just take care of the financial part of life, I could honestly do without the stress. But no. It just doesn’t make sense.

My perspective on so many things has changed this semester. Business, for example. I’ll be honest, sometimes in the midst of so much going on, I get a little sick of people complaining about all they have to do. That test you are stressed over? Guess what, I have it too, oh yeah, and I’m dealing with a ton of crap going on in my life at the same time. I have learned this semester how easily offended I can be with people. For stupid things, really. Things they don’t even realize they are doing, or saying. But I notice. Some days, I feel like I have more grace for people than I use to have, and then on others, I think I have less.

This weekend, and coming week, marks the same time on the semester “timeline” that my mother died. I haven’t sat for finals since last May. That is more than a little weird to me. It was at this time last year that mom really started feeling ill. I came home after finals last year to a mother who could barely walk to the door to greet me. Sometimes I wonder how much the people around me realize that this is still a very present reality in my life. I wake up with it and I go to bed with it. It hurts. A lot. No matter where I turn, or what I do, I am reminded of what has happen. Even something as simple as the rhythm of a semester that is winding down can cause pain.

I hope I haven’t sounded too down here. People ask me sometimes how I am doing, and I never really know how to respond. In a day to day sense, I am doing well. But in the big picture, life is hard. I lost someone who has been a part of my life for over twenty years. Every single day, for twenty years. You don’t just lose someone like that. The loss leaves a huge void in your life, one that I don’t think will ever really totally heal. Imagine what a “bad day” feels like in normal life…that is probably the best way to describe what the “best” days are for me. I do have good days. But they aren’t like what they use to be. And that is hard sometimes.

I wish I could understand it all right now. But I can’t. And that’s alright. Hopefully, someday it will. In the meantime, I keep on.

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Is God Really “Good”?

January 4, 2010 in My Christian Walk, Reflections on Grief

Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people? It’s a question that has haunted people for ages. Christians have many answers to the problem of pain in the world, some well-reasoned, and others that seem only a means of avoiding the question.

I’ll tell you something though: that question is one thing debated in the classroom, its another when it lands on your very doorstep.

Suddenly even the most satisfactory answers to the suffering of this world become incredibly shallow. Why does God allow people to suffer and die? And why does He allow Christians to go through those tribulations? We are, of course, promised trials and tribulations for His sake in this world. But much of what we suffer often does not seem to fit those criteria.

In my own life, the death of my mother hardly seems to be an event I can simply chalk up as a promised “tribulation” as a Christian. Being persecuted as Christian is to be expected (though to most Western Christians, this means hardly more than a few nasty jeers, or being the brunt of some cruel jokes, certainly not anything to be compared with what many go through for the name of Christ in the rest of the world). Losing your mother isn’t a part of the deal.

So why does God allow it? I wish I had a good answer. I’m sure there are many zealous Christians and Bible scholars out there who would gladly throw some answers out in reply to my question; I would caution them to not. This isn’t really about that. My questions aren’t really for a lack of knowledge of the answers, but instead a need to reconcile head knowledge to reality.

It’s one thing to say God is good, it’s another to face personal tragedy and say He is good. By His grace, I am not in a place that calls His goodness into question. But I see how easy it would be to do so, and I certainly would not fault anyone going through similar circumstances to truly question whether or not God was good. Even the great Christian apologist C.S. Lewis struggled with significant questions on God’s goodness in the wake of his wife’s death. I would suggest that those who have not read his “A Grief Observed” do so sometime. It will bring new perspective on what it means to struggle with grief and loss as a Christian.

Sometimes Christians make the loss of a loved one to be an easy thing. We do, after all, know they are “in a better place.” True though it may be, it is hardly a satisfactory comfort sometimes and to have even well meaning Christians say that sometimes feels more like an insult than a comfort.

Losing anyone is hard. Losing someone who has been a part of your life from day one is nearly impossible. It can hurt when people try to cheapen that loss. Yet the other side of the coin is that it really is a comfort. The loss isn’t easy, but the knowledge that they are “in a better place” is sometimes the only thing that can keep you going. What a paradox.

In the months to come, some may perhaps hear me raise these difficult questions. I hope when I do it does not sound as though I really do doubt the goodness of God, or that I am struggling with faith. Rather it is a simple need to reconcile the course of events with my prayers and with my ideas on God. Perhaps somewhat unique to my case was a universal petition for my mother to be healed, not just through death and resurrection, but physically and tangibly in this life. How could literally hundreds of people unite in praying for my mom–not just for “peace” or “comfort” but for her years to be prolonged and for a restoration of health–how could such strong prayer seem to yield no answers? The simple, common answer of “God heals through death” isn’t at all satisfactory. It would be easy for an outsider to assume we simply asked for healing because we didn’t want to come to terms with the prognosis of cancer. But even people who had no vested interest, or people who feel into the “God always heals” camp, believed it wasn’t her time.

If there was one thing that seemed clear, it was that God wanted to heal her. Not just in death, but in this life.

I did not start this journey as one who claimed God always healed people. I looked at stories like my mom’s, and saw how many people prayed for healing, yet did not see it. Surely that must mean God does not always heal. Yet that view began to erode as many different things intersected my path, and as I began to truly study the Scriptures more. To the skeptic, I’m sure it sounds like a crutch, especially now seeing how events turned out. But it was more than that. That isn’t who I am naturally; I am a skeptic at heart. And even now, I still believe God would like to heal. I don’t think the traditional view that he “sometimes” heals and “sometimes” doesn’t is accurate; I think it is simply a way to avoid the question.

But nevertheless it is a question among many I ask. It is easy to praise God in the midst of comfort and ease. It’s easy to praise Him when the bank account is plush, when your family is healthy, when the people in your life “get along”, and when life is good. But it is harder when everything seems to have crashed in around you. Times of difficulty are much harder to say He is good. When you do, however, it brings a fresh meaning to that idea. It isn’t hard to say you trust God when everything seems fine, but when everything seems to be torn apart, to say you trust Him takes true faith.

And when you turn to God and say you trust Him, he won’t let you down.

For it may seem as though I have been let down. I lost my mother, and that is not easy. But it isn’t because I lost her that I haven’t been let down. In the midst of her rapid decline, God was good. Weeks before things really became serious for her, God repeatedly was telling me “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” The night before she went to the hospital–when everything still seemed relatively ‘normal’ under the circumstances–I became very agitated with everything. Months of longstanding frustration and confusion were broken, and I went to bed that night saying in a way I hadn’t before “God I trust you.” Yes, though I didn’t expect to lose her so quickly, God prepared my heart marvelously in those last weeks. Was it easy? No. But He was There.

A song that meant a lot to me when I first learned of my mom’s cancer, was the song “Our Great God.” I’d like to quote part of it, but I honestly don’t know what to quote. Each word is profound. If you must go through the storms of life, it is a great comfort to know that you rest in the arms of the Savior–that you do serve a great, eternal God.

God has been closer these past weeks of my life than I think He has ever been. Or probably more accurately, closer than I have ever let Him come. Nothing will rock your world like the loss of someone you hold dear, and nothing will turn you faster to the only Comfort there truly is. I have had in these days a peace and a comfort that is truly inexplicable. It doesn’t replace the loss of my mother, and it doesn’t make things easy. But I knew this would be hard. At least I’m not alone, for I know my God is with me.

Glory be to Our Great God.

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2009

January 1, 2010 in My Life, Reflections on Grief

I have tried to repress my inner desire to write about the past year, or to talk about the coming one. However, I just can’t avoid it. Something about the mile marker of not only a new year, but a new decade as well seems to me to need some kind of written recognition. So with that, I throw in my thoughts to the heap of opinions on the year 2009.

I must say that I am none too sorry to see 2009 depart. My year was rocked with the intrusion of cancer into my mother’s life, and ultimately, her death. Yes, it was a hard year.

Seeing someone you love under the curse of a disease like cancer is incredibly hard and challenging. I don’t know how many times I went to bed last semester crying out to God for some kind of normalcy in my life. People would talk of plans for the break, how normal it would be, and I was faced with a return to a very abnormal situation. People would talk about plans for the summer, and I would wonder if I could even grant myself the idea of planning on one more break with my mother, much less any sort of summer plans. I watched from a distance as my mother continued to battle the disease, wondering just how much information I was getting over the phone. I didn’t really know how to talk about it with people, and people didn’t really ask me about it very often. There were times everything seemed as though it could be normal, but a call home would often remind me that it wasn’t.

How does one of the most influential people in your life simply cease to exist, in one year?

I’m perhaps still very much in shock when I think about one year ago. We went on a hike recently that intersected a similar hike my family took last year at this time. It was almost surreal to me to think that just a few short months ago, life was normal. I’m coming to terms with the absence, but not with just how quickly it really happened. Wow, if I had only known where I’d be now…

I think at the start of a new year, people often wonder what the future holds. I certainly do. But in this past year, I’ve realized just how glad I am that I don’t know the future. If I had been told a year ago, as my mom and I lived out a normal, happy mother-son relationship, that she would be gone a year later, I’m not sure how I would have handled it. Had I been told at Spring Break last year that it would be my last glimpse at the normal routine life of my mother, would I have welcomed those words? Doubtfully. And even after learning of her cancer, and it’s severity, had I been told that she would be dead before the close of the year, I don’t know that I would have been ready for it.

After all, when are you ready to learn that someone you love is about to die?

I think it is the mercy of God that we don’t know the future. My people told me after my mom’s death that they didn’t think they could have handled a similar situation the same way. That is certainly a testament to the grace God showed me and my family, and still continues to do so. But it also is a reflection of the result of walking the path before you. A year ago, I wasn’t ready for this; six months ago, I wasn’t ready. Now, I’d hesitate to say I’m ready, but I am at peace. I wouldn’t have been a year ago.

That isn’t to say there weren’t good moments of 2009. I particularly loved my study trip to Ireland. I’ve longed to travel overseas for years, and the opportunity to study for six weeks in another country was the best possible answer to that longing. Of course, it also further gave me the travel bug too. But I enjoyed my brief moment in Ireland. It was the best possible contrast to the news of my mother’s cancer.

Another highlight was the spring break trip I took with my friends, to my own backyard, quite literally. I was fortunate to bring a large group of college friends to my house, and do some camping nearby. I love where I have grown up, and it is a joy to share that with others. Of course, it too was a tainted trip, for it would be the last time I saw my mother well.

There were trips to Chicago, Nebraska, and Cafe on Broadway. Laughter, shared memories, and times with people. I was surrounded throughout the year by good people. My friendships grew, and I met new people. And in the middle of the most difficult news of my life, I was surrounded by more genuine friends than I think most people have. The only times I spent alone were the ones I chose to spend alone; that speaks very highly of more than a few people’s character in the circle of relationships I am blessed with.

My relationship with God grew in many ways, for nothing turns you to God more than a crisis at home. Quiet times that seem optional when all is well suddenly become the only way to keep going from day to day. Too bad it sometimes has to be that way, but at least it produces a good result.

And I enjoyed my family. Before the onsought of cancer, when everything was normal, I enjoyed sharing my college experience with my dad, mother and brother. I loved hearing about the changes at home, the books my mother was reading, the jobs my dad had, and the new drivers permit my brother held. I enjoyed the breaks I was home, getting to spend time with them. Then cancer came. But though cancer intends to destroy, it did not destroy my family. My close family became even closer, as we stood by my mother’s side, starting each day by praying with and for her, pausing in the midst of the day to pray again for her, and concluding the day by praying again. My mother didn’t want me to stay at home, even though she was ill. I think that would have been hard for her to have seen: the future of her child altered by her cancer. Of course it still altered my life, but not before it gave me a new appreciation of my mom, and the rest of my family. Nothing makes you hug someone tighter, than the realization of just how frail this short life really is.

So 2009 is over. I’m glad it is, but it would be incorrect to call it a horrible year. For with God, even what should have been the darkest year of my life, is only a dip in the stream. Had my mother not become ill, it would have been probably a fantastic year. But then again, some of the best lessons were from the reality of her condition. Both at home, at school, and among friends, life had a different perspective. I think I was more intentional with my life as a result of my mom’s cancer. It made 2009 just a little bit better at times. I hope the coming year brings more joys than 2009 did, but I also know that 2009 laid the foundation for what lies ahead. For it is just a step in the path. A cracked, uneven step from my perspective, but nonetheless important on the way. A year from now, come what may, the events of 2009 will affect the events of 2010. That should be interesting to see.

Welcome twenty-ten, it’s good to see you.

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One Year

December 24, 2009 in My Life, Reflections on Grief

It’s amazing what changes in one year.

If you had told me a year ago this Christmas that a year later—now—my mom would have passed away, I doubt if I’d have believed you. It is the mercy of God that we don’t know the future, I suppose, because I know I would not have been ready for that news.

I spent some time lately looking back through my photos the past several years. Everything looks so normal; we were a happy, smiling family. Things were normal. Family vacations are filled with happy memories, and photos around the home are a reminder of how good everything was. I thought it would go on like that forever.

If there is one thing I wish I could impress on people that I’ve learned, it’s how quickly things can change.

One year.

One year, and my life has changed in more ways than I even can begin to imagine.

One year, and I now refer to my mother in the past tense.

One year, and one of my closest friends is no longer walking this earth.

One year, and my picture of normal has been shattered into a million pieces.

One year.

Really, it was even shorter than that. March, 2009, everything was normal. Spring break—a trip home—just another trip home. Normal. May, 2009 and my picture of normal began falling apart.

I was home on Spring Break, and everything seemed normal. It was normal. I enjoyed being home, and having the company of my JBU friends with me.

Just a few short weeks later, returning in May after the semester, and my mother could barely get off the couch to greet me. The fast on-sought of cancer and brain tumors dashed my picture of a normal family.

By my departure for Ireland, two weeks later, she couldn’t even stand to hug me goodbye.

Things got a little better when I returned, but of course the serious news had been told, and things were no longer normal. Now, December 2009, and I am at home, with a family that looks a little different.

She’ll always be my mother, but she won’t be in family photos anymore. She won’t be talking to me on the phone. She won’t be mothering me, and worrying about me as only mothers do.

One year.

Time flies past us whether we like it or not. The moments we have with friends and family now will never be replaced. I’m grateful that, though it feels like my years with my mom were cut short, I can live remembering countless good memories.

I am thankful that looking back today, I made the most of the time I had with her. Sure there are regrets that I didn’t ask as many questions of her, or that I was too focused on something that now seems so trivial. But on the whole, I enjoyed the time I had with her. That is a great gift.

Even with that being said, I still took her for granted. I thought she’d be around for ages. I thought she’d be around to see me graduate from college, go on to graduate school, get married, have children. I thought she’d see me live.

One year ago, I thought she would be a tangible part of my life indefinitely.

If I could impart one lesson in all of this, it would be to never take your family, or your friends, for granted. God has placed people in our lives that may be more important to us than we even realize. Don’t take them for granted.

I hope one year from now does not bring the same changes to you that it did to me. But should your picture of normal come shattering down, I pray that you will have taken the time to enjoy the picture while it was still in front of you.

Don’t live each moment as though the next may be horrible, dark and depressing. But do live knowing that what seems certain, isn’t really. And what seems like normal may change more than you like it to in very short order. Don’t live dreading what could happen in a year, but do enjoy each moment. Though you will probably never walk the road I have, you will still be glad you did.

One year, one year.

My family

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Looking at Loss

December 21, 2009 in Reflections on Grief

Tell someone you just lost your mother, and immediately you’ll have more notes, hugs, and sympathy than you know what to do with. It is good and it is needed. I find it interesting that, though people may not have experienced the same thing, universally people understand how hard it is to lose someone you love.

I think some people assume I must be having an incredibly difficult time in the wake of my mother’s death. Certainly, it is hard, but I think I’ve laughed more than I have cried in the days since her parting. The day I found out, several people told me that they thought they were more emotional about it than I was. How can someone learn of the lose of their mother, a very close friend, and that same day turn around and genuinely laugh and smile?

The shortest and most simple answer is the peace of God. Without God, I know my perspective on everything would be incredibly different. God promises peace, and he gives it generously to those who ask for it. It probably sounds cliché to the reader, but in a way I can’t even begin to describe it; in the most difficult time of my life, God has been there.

Christians know of God’s promise to never leave or forsake us, but I think at times it is easy to feel left and forsaken. In an hour where it would be very easy to feel that God has forsaken me, I have found instead that God is closer than ever. In Him I have joy, and that joy isn’t dependent on circumstances. I’ve always hoped and believed that it would be there through the darkest storms, and now I know it can be. I may have lost my mother, but my joy did not depart with her.

But perhaps another part of my grief, is understanding that there are two ways of looking at it.

On the one hand, it would be very easy to look at the death of my mother and feel cheated and robbed. No twenty year old should lose there mother; I think most people believe that intuitively. It can be very easy to start remembering my mom, and then start looking at all the lost opportunities. My future, my career, marriage—should I be so blessed, children, the lessons I learn, the people I know; there is so much that she’ll never get to see or talk about. Yes, it is very hard to think about those things, and it can create a feeling of being robbed.

On the other hand, and the view I choose to ascribe to as best I can, I can remember my mom’s life and all of the good memories with her. As I have remembered, talked about her, looked at family photos, and the home she created, I know so well how blessed I was to call her ‘mom’.

I suppose I’m biased, but she was an incredible woman. It was the love of a gracious God that allowed my life to not only intersect with hers, but to be shaped by it in the way only the role of ‘mother’ can shape a child. There are reminders of her motherly love everywhere I turn, and rather than be frustrated by the loss, I rejoice in the great gift I was given in a mother. In some ways, I can’t even feel sorrow knowing how much I really had.

Certainly, it is easy to say I lost so much; and I did. But by that very same token, I had so much. For whatever reason, God chose to make that relationship end earlier than most mother-son relationships do. But I am intensely grateful that even as brief as that time was, it was good time.

Some people don’t even get to know their parents, some people live in broken homes, and some have parents who don’t love their children as they should. To me that seems the greater loss. I may not have had a long relationship with my mother, but the years I did have were good years. I’m thankful for that, and that every time I remember her, it will be with a smile and a laugh, because that was who she was. I won’t have the pain of a lifelong relational wound whenever I think of her.

Ultimately I don’t really like using the word ‘loss’ or ‘death’ since because of the sacrifice of Christ, my mother’s death was really only a temporary separation. It is a loss only in that I must live these few short years on earth without the present-ness of my mother’s relationship. And to that, I can only say, I truly had so much. I have not lost, but gained; for now I can say that even though she is no longer here, my relationship with her is better than before. It may sound strange, but I appreciate her now even more than I did a year ago. I’ve always know I was blessed to call her mother, but I see that now more than ever in her absence. That too is a gift, for since I will see her again, I can give her an even bigger hug, and say “I’m so glad to see you mother.”

I’ll shed my tears, and I’ll have my sorrows, but it is only a reminder of what a gift I had. To my God, I am thankful for the beautiful years with my mother. To my mother, I am thankful for the love and care she showed. And to my friends and family, I’m thankful for the incredible support you have shown me. Yes, I have not lost, but gained. I truly have so much, and for that, my tears are tears of gratitude and joy.

What do you have?