I have been wanting to blog for some time now, but am having a hard time finding the words.
Today, my two year old daughter, instinctively, before the rest of us was aware, realized that it was Friday. Today of all days, Daddy should be here. Alea (the early riser like her father) started before 7:00 am, fussing and crying, asking why Daddy wasn't here because she misses him and she wants him... The day felt harder and harder to bear, like a heavy weight resting on my body, so that I would sit down and think, "Surely, I'm going to be crushed." Finally I realized the simplest thing. It's Friday. This is the first week we've been back to "routine", and we always woke up on Friday morning knowing today is Daddy day :) It was Lynn's day off and our day to be a family as much as possible. We pushed away the financial stresses, the week's ups and downs, comings and goings, our beloved ministry :), to love each other. Friday's were very special, and Alea remembered.
It's amazing how the simple things can effect a family in a time of loss. It was just a day of the week. And yet it left Alea kicking and screaming a lot of the day, Roya refusing to rest and acting out in her "passive-aggressive" way that says, "I'm hurting inside." And me - knowing that without the tender love of a special friend, I may not have made it through the day. I didn't know what to do with myself. What do I do with this day?
All these "firsts" feel like a foreign land... like my life becomes a dark and strange place where "normal" no longer exists. My normal is wiped out, gone. And I am left trying to create a new normal for the "left behinds".
Roya says to me, "I want to die. I wish I could die Mom. I wish you could die and Alea could die and I could die." This isn't actually as morbid as it may sound. But in her mind, if Daddy's in heaven with Jesus, why can't we go too? Can't we go with him? I tell her I feel the same way. I wish I could go to heaven, too. It doesn't feel good being left behind.
As soon as the three of us sat down for supper tonight, I knew it was coming. It was all over Alea's face. Just before we bowed our heads in prayer, Alea yells, "Why isn't Daddy to sit in the chair!!!!" She didn't get the words out quite right, but communicated well enough how aware she was of our empty chair. What an adjustment.
Every day is different. Every "first" is difficult. And every breath feels intentional. And yet, I feel the sweetness of Jesus' presence at all times. "Even the darkness, it is not darkness to You" (Elizabeth Rhyno quoting Psalm 139). I am foolish enough to revel in God's goodness even when I think I could die from pain and grief. Oh, how I miss my husband!!!! How I wish for more of him! It wasn't enough time to live the lifetime with him I intended to. So what now, God?
Whether I want to go forward or not, lead me in the way everlasting!!!
Thank you to all my friends and family. I feel your prayers. And I need them desperately.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
To my church family...
I feel a need to share a bit of my heart, especially with my dear church family.
Today is September 16th. Only fourteen days ago, two very busy weeks, my husband was ripped suddenly from me and my two daughters. As much as the Lord was present and has not once let me down, this was violent and traumatic.
I am so blessed to have seen how loved Lynn was and is, and so encouraged by your support. I know the church has grieved and continues to do so, deeply and heavily.
This morning I was at church simply out of "a conscious decision of the will". I can hear Lynn saying that phrase :) Two weeks is not enough time for a wife who spent 11 of her 28 years pouring everything she had into a loving husband, our family, and our ministry together. (I know no one expects it to be.) Lynn and I were very ONE :) He is still a part of my every breath and every thought. We were a strong cord of three strands, bound together by the Holy Spirit and a strong love that could only come from God. We were real, real people with real struggles, but called to offer ourselves as one for the work of God's kingdom here on earth.
Your journey (Lynn would tease me for that word), as a church, is going to be different than mine and move at a different pace. My faith is intact. My First Love is still my First Love and always will be. Pain is not new to me (or any of us) in the context of God's love. I can be in pain and still know how deep and high and wide and long is the Father's love for me. I'm okay. But my grieving will be long and probably slow. Reality is, I have little time for it because of my little ones and all the To Do's.
At night, I lay in my bed, still mostly in shock. I pick up a card or letter from the box by my bed, something Lynn wrote to me from anywhere between 2001 and last month. I read it and laugh and cry and almost feel as though we're talking again... Lynn wrote to me very much like he talked :) Letters are usually 7-8 pages long :) He goes from logical and thoughtful, to poetic and romantic, to totally random, to planning ahead, to insecurities and suddenly feeling vulnerable, back to romantic and poetic...
I have no idea how to exist in the world without him, let alone lead and provide for my family...
So, in times like this morning when I am pulling away, or unwilling to talk, or just emotionally weird... which is hopefully uncharacteristic of me :), just give me time. I need a lot of time.
Lots of love,
Natasha
Today is September 16th. Only fourteen days ago, two very busy weeks, my husband was ripped suddenly from me and my two daughters. As much as the Lord was present and has not once let me down, this was violent and traumatic.
I am so blessed to have seen how loved Lynn was and is, and so encouraged by your support. I know the church has grieved and continues to do so, deeply and heavily.
This morning I was at church simply out of "a conscious decision of the will". I can hear Lynn saying that phrase :) Two weeks is not enough time for a wife who spent 11 of her 28 years pouring everything she had into a loving husband, our family, and our ministry together. (I know no one expects it to be.) Lynn and I were very ONE :) He is still a part of my every breath and every thought. We were a strong cord of three strands, bound together by the Holy Spirit and a strong love that could only come from God. We were real, real people with real struggles, but called to offer ourselves as one for the work of God's kingdom here on earth.
Your journey (Lynn would tease me for that word), as a church, is going to be different than mine and move at a different pace. My faith is intact. My First Love is still my First Love and always will be. Pain is not new to me (or any of us) in the context of God's love. I can be in pain and still know how deep and high and wide and long is the Father's love for me. I'm okay. But my grieving will be long and probably slow. Reality is, I have little time for it because of my little ones and all the To Do's.
At night, I lay in my bed, still mostly in shock. I pick up a card or letter from the box by my bed, something Lynn wrote to me from anywhere between 2001 and last month. I read it and laugh and cry and almost feel as though we're talking again... Lynn wrote to me very much like he talked :) Letters are usually 7-8 pages long :) He goes from logical and thoughtful, to poetic and romantic, to totally random, to planning ahead, to insecurities and suddenly feeling vulnerable, back to romantic and poetic...
I have no idea how to exist in the world without him, let alone lead and provide for my family...
So, in times like this morning when I am pulling away, or unwilling to talk, or just emotionally weird... which is hopefully uncharacteristic of me :), just give me time. I need a lot of time.
Lots of love,
Natasha
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