February 14th, 2008
Wife, you are a daily answer to many prayers! I cherish you, protect our relationship, and anticipate so many great things ahead. You've captured my lifelong love and respect. You are my inspiration. I love you!
Forever, Lynn XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
(I counted the XO's to be sure it was accurate!)
What is the meaning of forever? I am tired of reading it! Is forever over? Was lifelong really supposed to be so short?
I have been angry with Lynn. It's quite humorous actually. I was often angry with Lynn :) We loved to bicker and challenge each other, to see who could be more stubborn. (He always won. Just in case you were wondering.)
At times, I have been accused of being sweet and gentle. But no. Lynn knew the truth. Truly, I am a fierce lioness (one who is beautifully elegant... a lioness of royalty... naturally).
When Lynn and I were really angry at each other, we'd say, We're fighting. But then, Lynn, in his obsessively stubborn nature, had to change the We're fighting to I'm fighting, because I can't make him feel anything, just like he can't make me feel anything.
Lynn had this brilliant way of winning arguments and making his statements heard one way or another. I could holler, beg, or cry all I wanted, but he could think circles around me!! and knew it!! In that particular instance, he was making it very clear that whether or not I would accept it, he had no intention of taking responsibility for my feelings. He would, however, take his own feelings to the Lord with prayerful consideration. Grrr... that made me angry :). (Did you follow my emphases?)
So maybe I win the stubborn battle after all. I read Lynn's cards and he says, forever. Then I think of him in glory and he says, Let me go.
Let you go?? Let you go?? And just how am I supposed to do that, Husband??? HOW?
I am angry. We're fighting.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Waves.
Grief is like a storm.
I feel like I am huddled quietly in a life raft, calm and carried, my eyes are closed and fixed on Christ, while the storm rages around me.
The waves of grief and depression, anger and sadness, sweep over me at their own will. I want stand up as Jesus did and command the wind and the waves to stop! But I hear the Lord's gentle whisper... Just ride. And trust Me.
As I rest, I picture large beautiful hands reaching down into the waters and sweeping through the rocks and sand at the base of my ocean. Every pebble, every grain of sand, once touched by the love and oneness I shared with Lynn, now being turned over by the healing touch of Jesus. Not one stone can be left unturned for my healing to be complete. And so I ride. And I wait. I brace myself against the waves.
Slowly but surely God is healing my heart. God will heal my heart.
And He will heal yours.
I look down at my hand and finger my wedding rings... My two worlds colliding. The pain and brokenness of losing my husband and aching for him with every fibre of my being and the awareness of a new me being put together, crafted, moulded, assembled... Now, I am just riding. I don't belong in the past, but I am not ready for the future. And so I wait. And the waves come. And the Hands of God minister to my weary soul.
I feel like I am huddled quietly in a life raft, calm and carried, my eyes are closed and fixed on Christ, while the storm rages around me.
The waves of grief and depression, anger and sadness, sweep over me at their own will. I want stand up as Jesus did and command the wind and the waves to stop! But I hear the Lord's gentle whisper... Just ride. And trust Me.
As I rest, I picture large beautiful hands reaching down into the waters and sweeping through the rocks and sand at the base of my ocean. Every pebble, every grain of sand, once touched by the love and oneness I shared with Lynn, now being turned over by the healing touch of Jesus. Not one stone can be left unturned for my healing to be complete. And so I ride. And I wait. I brace myself against the waves.
Slowly but surely God is healing my heart. God will heal my heart.
And He will heal yours.
I look down at my hand and finger my wedding rings... My two worlds colliding. The pain and brokenness of losing my husband and aching for him with every fibre of my being and the awareness of a new me being put together, crafted, moulded, assembled... Now, I am just riding. I don't belong in the past, but I am not ready for the future. And so I wait. And the waves come. And the Hands of God minister to my weary soul.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Depression.
Deep depression.
Heavy fog.
Crushing fatigue.
It's like every space in my life that had been filled by my husband is now a massive dark cloud, thick and heavy, sapping me of strength and the optimism I once had.
Depression is real and scary!
Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.
(Isaiah 41:10)
There's a lot I'd like to say to the Christian community about this... I've not fallen or backslidden or lost faith. Logically, I can ascent to the fact that I'm pretty much on track according to other widows and what my resources tell me. Should I assume that because of my faith I get to skip the grief stage of depression? I don't think so.
I think because of my faith, I can choose life in the through. And therefore know that mercy is coming in the morning, that His grace is sufficient, that in my weakness He is strong.
Lamentations, a book of the Bible, seems almost discarded by the Christian community. And yet, it depicts depression with depth and accuracy. Why do Christians frown upon and have to hide some of the most basic of our human emotions? Can't we let God meet us there? Can't we realize that God is big enough to handle our raw emotions?
In grief, I can attest that I have little control over my emotions!! I am deeply wounded and discouraged. But rather than avoid or ignore these real emotions, I think the key is, and we often need others' help, to choose life in the through. Every day is a step. I will not stay here, I am moving forward, one day at a time, knowing beauty will rise out of these ashes (Steven Curtis Chapman, Beauty Will Rise).
Heavy fog.
Crushing fatigue.
It's like every space in my life that had been filled by my husband is now a massive dark cloud, thick and heavy, sapping me of strength and the optimism I once had.
Depression is real and scary!
Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.
(Isaiah 41:10)
There's a lot I'd like to say to the Christian community about this... I've not fallen or backslidden or lost faith. Logically, I can ascent to the fact that I'm pretty much on track according to other widows and what my resources tell me. Should I assume that because of my faith I get to skip the grief stage of depression? I don't think so.
I think because of my faith, I can choose life in the through. And therefore know that mercy is coming in the morning, that His grace is sufficient, that in my weakness He is strong.
Lamentations, a book of the Bible, seems almost discarded by the Christian community. And yet, it depicts depression with depth and accuracy. Why do Christians frown upon and have to hide some of the most basic of our human emotions? Can't we let God meet us there? Can't we realize that God is big enough to handle our raw emotions?
In grief, I can attest that I have little control over my emotions!! I am deeply wounded and discouraged. But rather than avoid or ignore these real emotions, I think the key is, and we often need others' help, to choose life in the through. Every day is a step. I will not stay here, I am moving forward, one day at a time, knowing beauty will rise out of these ashes (Steven Curtis Chapman, Beauty Will Rise).
I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
(Lamentations 3:19-23)
Friday, November 2, 2012
2 months. (Another PG warning...)
2 months ago today, as of this minute, Lynn was enjoying a Daddy-daughter date with Roya. She loved going on special dates with Dad to Tim Hortons for a donut. Later, early evening, we all snuggled up on the couch downstairs, the four of us, watching Lynn's favorite... the Muppet Show. I can picture him... what he was wearing, his laughter, and how he mimicked the characters...
Several times throughout that afternoon, Lynn had shivered unusually, like a chill, saying, Ugh... I have this nervous energy about my run tonight.
He had originally planned his run for the afternoon after church. He had his route all mapped out and recorded into his online running apps... (He mapped out his runs well in advance, enjoying the challenge of planning a route according to whatever mileage was suggested on his training app.) Later, though, he changed his route to accommodate Andrew's schedule, so they could enjoy their first run together since we'd returned after vacation. He left the house around 7:00pm that evening (I think), waving goodbye in his running gear, running belt in place, some tracker in his shoe, and his IPod strapped to his arm, counting his milage.
Later that evening, I was reading a book in bed. I thought to myself. Oh Lynn. He's late as usual. Probably hanging out with the Boone's and chatting up a storm. *endearing sigh
The phone rang. I missed it. I saw it was the Boones and assumed it was Lynn telling me he's on his way home (10-10:30pm?). I called right back and heard Sara's voice. O, I thought, it's not usually Sara...
Then she's asking me questions. Lynn's not doing well. The paramedics are pounding on his chest. I am to meet them at the hospital. Sara is coming to stay with the kids so I can leave...
I walk around in a daze. I think, O, Lynn only has his sweaty running clothes on. I'll pack him a change of clothes for after this fiasco when we're ready to come home. Sara arrives. I take my purse and my bag of Lynn's clothes, socks, shoes, and all, and head off to the hospital.
The road is empty and the urgency is building inside. I run red lights. I pass a car on a main road across the yellow line. Like a robot, I get out of the car and walk towards Pastor Cory who's waiting for me at the door. He doesn't know what happened, either, but was told to come.
Soon I am ushered around the corner. People are watching me. Then I am intercepted and led in the other direction to the family waiting room. The sights, the smells... Inside I know. I talk to Andrew and ask what happened. The Doctor comes in. Three sentences: His heart stopped. He stopped breathing. He's dead.
Andrew cries. Cory sucks in his breath. The air is thick and heavy. The lights dim and hazy. I stand up and ask (demand actually) to see my husband and they lead me back down the hall. I walk in and gaze upon the impossible. My husband... an empty shell. Bruised and lifeless. Completely gone. Empty.
The presence of God was with me, filling me. I looked at the most traumatic scene, I never could have imagined it, contrasted with visions of glory dancing around the room. I said, God, I have the faith that you could raise this body from the dead if it is your will. But this is Your time? Somehow, I knew it was.
I sat. I answered questions. I called my Mom, who screamed and said they're on their way. I held his hand. I felt the last bit of warmth leave his body.
Then I went home (Shannon drove me and others followed), with my bag of Lynn's change of clothes, walking into a heavy darkness I had no idea possible, with the comfort of God's presence aglow within my heart... Only vaguely aware of everything I would have to do and face in the coming days, weeks, months... years?
Several times throughout that afternoon, Lynn had shivered unusually, like a chill, saying, Ugh... I have this nervous energy about my run tonight.
He had originally planned his run for the afternoon after church. He had his route all mapped out and recorded into his online running apps... (He mapped out his runs well in advance, enjoying the challenge of planning a route according to whatever mileage was suggested on his training app.) Later, though, he changed his route to accommodate Andrew's schedule, so they could enjoy their first run together since we'd returned after vacation. He left the house around 7:00pm that evening (I think), waving goodbye in his running gear, running belt in place, some tracker in his shoe, and his IPod strapped to his arm, counting his milage.
Later that evening, I was reading a book in bed. I thought to myself. Oh Lynn. He's late as usual. Probably hanging out with the Boone's and chatting up a storm. *endearing sigh
The phone rang. I missed it. I saw it was the Boones and assumed it was Lynn telling me he's on his way home (10-10:30pm?). I called right back and heard Sara's voice. O, I thought, it's not usually Sara...
Then she's asking me questions. Lynn's not doing well. The paramedics are pounding on his chest. I am to meet them at the hospital. Sara is coming to stay with the kids so I can leave...
I walk around in a daze. I think, O, Lynn only has his sweaty running clothes on. I'll pack him a change of clothes for after this fiasco when we're ready to come home. Sara arrives. I take my purse and my bag of Lynn's clothes, socks, shoes, and all, and head off to the hospital.
The road is empty and the urgency is building inside. I run red lights. I pass a car on a main road across the yellow line. Like a robot, I get out of the car and walk towards Pastor Cory who's waiting for me at the door. He doesn't know what happened, either, but was told to come.
Soon I am ushered around the corner. People are watching me. Then I am intercepted and led in the other direction to the family waiting room. The sights, the smells... Inside I know. I talk to Andrew and ask what happened. The Doctor comes in. Three sentences: His heart stopped. He stopped breathing. He's dead.
Andrew cries. Cory sucks in his breath. The air is thick and heavy. The lights dim and hazy. I stand up and ask (demand actually) to see my husband and they lead me back down the hall. I walk in and gaze upon the impossible. My husband... an empty shell. Bruised and lifeless. Completely gone. Empty.
The presence of God was with me, filling me. I looked at the most traumatic scene, I never could have imagined it, contrasted with visions of glory dancing around the room. I said, God, I have the faith that you could raise this body from the dead if it is your will. But this is Your time? Somehow, I knew it was.
I sat. I answered questions. I called my Mom, who screamed and said they're on their way. I held his hand. I felt the last bit of warmth leave his body.
Then I went home (Shannon drove me and others followed), with my bag of Lynn's change of clothes, walking into a heavy darkness I had no idea possible, with the comfort of God's presence aglow within my heart... Only vaguely aware of everything I would have to do and face in the coming days, weeks, months... years?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Through.
Grieving in Christ is like walking through the Red Sea. The past is gone. The future is unknown. The present is full of God's grace and strength... His wonders! But the through is inescapable.
When Moses led the Israelites through the Red Sea (Ex 15), they could not go back to all that their life used to be. Nor could they see what was ahead. In time of crisis they cried out! But God had already made a way. He had led them there. And when the enemies pursued and the way ceased, God lifted the waters to rise up around them. What a miracle!
But they walked through. Were they afraid? Did they worry that the invisible walls might give way, the heavy sea water crashing down upon their heads, the heads of their children, a whole people never to be seen again? Did their wagons break and their legs tire as they moved along the bottom? What was it like for them in the through?
God does so much work in me during the through parts of my journey. Walking through requires such faith, patience, endurance, and trust. It requires me to put one foot in front of the other, to co-operate with the work of God's wonders and His all-sufficient grace, to rely on His pure kindness.
In every day their lies a step. One step through this journey I walk. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I will fear no evil for He is with me. (Ps 23:4-5)
In every situation, no matter how dark it may be, He has set before me life... Now choose life! (Deut 30:15)
It is one step. One step in each and every day. One choice in each and every moment, every situation of our lives...
Position yourself towards glory. Point your feet towards life.
He has set before you life. Choose life in the through.
When Moses led the Israelites through the Red Sea (Ex 15), they could not go back to all that their life used to be. Nor could they see what was ahead. In time of crisis they cried out! But God had already made a way. He had led them there. And when the enemies pursued and the way ceased, God lifted the waters to rise up around them. What a miracle!
But they walked through. Were they afraid? Did they worry that the invisible walls might give way, the heavy sea water crashing down upon their heads, the heads of their children, a whole people never to be seen again? Did their wagons break and their legs tire as they moved along the bottom? What was it like for them in the through?
God does so much work in me during the through parts of my journey. Walking through requires such faith, patience, endurance, and trust. It requires me to put one foot in front of the other, to co-operate with the work of God's wonders and His all-sufficient grace, to rely on His pure kindness.
In every day their lies a step. One step through this journey I walk. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I will fear no evil for He is with me. (Ps 23:4-5)
In every situation, no matter how dark it may be, He has set before me life... Now choose life! (Deut 30:15)
It is one step. One step in each and every day. One choice in each and every moment, every situation of our lives...
Position yourself towards glory. Point your feet towards life.
He has set before you life. Choose life in the through.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Head.
I feel very vulnerable posting right now. I am sharing on the internet, in a public forum, some of the deepest matters of my heart and life. This is not easy for me, but it is healing and healthy. I write, not because I think you should know or hear what I have to say. I write because God moves in me, speaking to me, as I write. Even if it sounds entirely depressing (and it may!), I write because God is alive and active within me and helping me process my grief in a way that turns ashes into something beautiful...
A *Grief Share devotional (also mentioned in a previous post) talks about a series of losses. It describes the journey of loss of one characteristic after another, like the loss of my encourager, then the loss of my companion, then the loss of my provider, and so on. The collective loss I encounter throughout my day to day cuts deep to my core. One thing builds upon the last. The loss of my lover. The one who holds my hand. The loss of my source of delight. The loss of my best friend. The loss of my co-parent. The loss of my team-mate. (The list is rather endless, as you might imagine.)
Losing Lynn so suddenly feels like the ground has been taken out from under our family. But it also feels like a lack of covering over my family, like we're exposed, vulnerable, out of control or order.
Scripture says that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God. (1 Cor 11:3) In our family, I was the primary caregiver, but Daddy came home and laid down the law. Things were messy. Life wasn't perfect. But we prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, and were teaching our children values like prefer the other, choose joyfulness, have a generous heart, honour your parents, respect and obey, be filled with the Spirit, and we are blessed to be a blessing to others. I speak blessings over our children every night and every time I drop them off. All our values are based on Scriptures that the girls can recite. As new parents, Lynn and I were giving everything we had to honor God as a family and serve in ministry together.
So what now? Now that my kids are out of control? Testing the boundaries in a whole new way. Daddy's not coming home to lay down the law, to say, Girls, you will respect your mother. Where is our head? Where is my support? Where is our covering?
I am not happy about transitioning into single parenthood. It hurts bad.
As a mom, I am taking up the sword of Deborah. (Diana, you know what I mean.) My head is Christ and His head is God. I will approach Him boldly and with confidence. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (Heb 4:16)
I am walking up that blood-stained path towards the throne of grace. YOU, O God, are my head. YOU be the Father to my fatherless children. You - because You are it! I am it! My kids have us. Me and You. Little, weak, puny me, and the Holy Spirit. The God of the universe. My King of Kings.
In Moncton last weekend, Roya asked Grampie, Uncle Joel (or maybe just to me about him), and Uncle Robbie to be her Dad. She is looking for one. Hers hasn't returned and she's starting to realize we're not going to see him any time soon. But no Dad? Surely, there is a Dad somewhere? Surely, somewhere there is a Dad for me?
How do I lead my children in the experience of fatherlessness? When everywhere we look we see happy families, full families, complete families?
YOU put our family back together, God, for I certainly cannot do it. We are broken and shattered. But as for me and my house we will serve the Lord! (Josh 24:15) YOU are the authority in and over my home. YOU are my covering and the covering that goes with my children wherever they go. YOU are a father to the fatherless and the defender of widows. (Ps 68:5)
I would have lost heart had I not believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord. (Psalm 27:13)
*Through a Season of Grief, devotions for your journey from mourning to joy by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard
A *Grief Share devotional (also mentioned in a previous post) talks about a series of losses. It describes the journey of loss of one characteristic after another, like the loss of my encourager, then the loss of my companion, then the loss of my provider, and so on. The collective loss I encounter throughout my day to day cuts deep to my core. One thing builds upon the last. The loss of my lover. The one who holds my hand. The loss of my source of delight. The loss of my best friend. The loss of my co-parent. The loss of my team-mate. (The list is rather endless, as you might imagine.)
Losing Lynn so suddenly feels like the ground has been taken out from under our family. But it also feels like a lack of covering over my family, like we're exposed, vulnerable, out of control or order.
Scripture says that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God. (1 Cor 11:3) In our family, I was the primary caregiver, but Daddy came home and laid down the law. Things were messy. Life wasn't perfect. But we prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, and were teaching our children values like prefer the other, choose joyfulness, have a generous heart, honour your parents, respect and obey, be filled with the Spirit, and we are blessed to be a blessing to others. I speak blessings over our children every night and every time I drop them off. All our values are based on Scriptures that the girls can recite. As new parents, Lynn and I were giving everything we had to honor God as a family and serve in ministry together.
So what now? Now that my kids are out of control? Testing the boundaries in a whole new way. Daddy's not coming home to lay down the law, to say, Girls, you will respect your mother. Where is our head? Where is my support? Where is our covering?
I am not happy about transitioning into single parenthood. It hurts bad.
As a mom, I am taking up the sword of Deborah. (Diana, you know what I mean.) My head is Christ and His head is God. I will approach Him boldly and with confidence. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (Heb 4:16)
I am walking up that blood-stained path towards the throne of grace. YOU, O God, are my head. YOU be the Father to my fatherless children. You - because You are it! I am it! My kids have us. Me and You. Little, weak, puny me, and the Holy Spirit. The God of the universe. My King of Kings.
In Moncton last weekend, Roya asked Grampie, Uncle Joel (or maybe just to me about him), and Uncle Robbie to be her Dad. She is looking for one. Hers hasn't returned and she's starting to realize we're not going to see him any time soon. But no Dad? Surely, there is a Dad somewhere? Surely, somewhere there is a Dad for me?
How do I lead my children in the experience of fatherlessness? When everywhere we look we see happy families, full families, complete families?
YOU put our family back together, God, for I certainly cannot do it. We are broken and shattered. But as for me and my house we will serve the Lord! (Josh 24:15) YOU are the authority in and over my home. YOU are my covering and the covering that goes with my children wherever they go. YOU are a father to the fatherless and the defender of widows. (Ps 68:5)
I would have lost heart had I not believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord. (Psalm 27:13)
*Through a Season of Grief, devotions for your journey from mourning to joy by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard
Monday, October 29, 2012
Ups and Downs.
Alea is 3. She has grown up so much in the last month. I feel so sad that Lynn isn't here to be a part of it. I feel so sad that she won't even remember him.
We had a beautiful birthday weekend with many ups and downs. I was so blessed by our friends and family who helped us celebrate. We had a small party on Saturday, and then left for Moncton to celebrate Jewel's birthday on Sunday (Alea's cousin).
The short getaway to visit my family in Moncton was an excellent diversion. The ride home, however, on Sunday night, was quite traumatic:
I left late, the sky dark and raining, the girls in their jammies. It didn't take long for Alea to conk out, but Roya was unsettled. I had pulled her away from coloring a picture when we left (~8:00pm) and she was determined to finish it in the car. I told her again that we are not able to drive with the light on so she will have to wait and finish it later. Then, just after turning onto the old highway the cousins live off of, she opened her car door. It flung open (I thought it was still child locked) and I had to slow down and pull over, onto no shoulder, half in a ditch, with fast cars and trucks zooming past at high speed. I was upset and she was scared. Okay, we got all put back together, let's keep going...
No. Roya keeps bugging Alea, trying to wake her up. Then, Alea stirs and cries out. This leads into at least an hour of Alea screaming and hyperventilating in the back, getting sweaty and sometimes screaming ouchy!! Sometimes getting her words out, I don't want to go home!!! I pulled over several times, and every time I did, Roya flung her door open. It's still dark and wet and we're on the side of a busy highway.
Eventually, both of them are screaming and crying and for about 45 minutes, while I drive through the rain and fog across the cobequid pass, the girls scream for Daddy. Roya literally cried, Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! straight for a really long time. (I was actually relieved that, in the context of Alea's crazy screams, she was comfortable letting her feelings out.) I drove and wept. It took close to 3 hours to get home. The girls were exhausted and went right to sleep.
I did not sleep. I put things away and wrestled with God. Do you see my broken family? Do you see how nothing is right? Do you see what we're going through?
In these moments, I feel like Martha in Jn 11. Where were you!? If you had been here, he wouldn't have died! She is bold and determined. She goes into Jesus' presence in a context of love and trust, loyalty and confidence.
Tonight, though, I am much more like Mary, falling at his feet in anguish and grief. My comfort is in those beautiful words, Jesus wept (Jn 11:35). Are you weeping now, Lord?
There are so many rewards and blessings in each day. I am so proud of my daughters. I am so blessed by my home. I have so much support and miraculous provision. Still, my heart is heavy. Does that make me ungrateful? This is a hard and lonely road. Today was hard. Hope was not easy to find.
We had a beautiful birthday weekend with many ups and downs. I was so blessed by our friends and family who helped us celebrate. We had a small party on Saturday, and then left for Moncton to celebrate Jewel's birthday on Sunday (Alea's cousin).
The short getaway to visit my family in Moncton was an excellent diversion. The ride home, however, on Sunday night, was quite traumatic:
I left late, the sky dark and raining, the girls in their jammies. It didn't take long for Alea to conk out, but Roya was unsettled. I had pulled her away from coloring a picture when we left (~8:00pm) and she was determined to finish it in the car. I told her again that we are not able to drive with the light on so she will have to wait and finish it later. Then, just after turning onto the old highway the cousins live off of, she opened her car door. It flung open (I thought it was still child locked) and I had to slow down and pull over, onto no shoulder, half in a ditch, with fast cars and trucks zooming past at high speed. I was upset and she was scared. Okay, we got all put back together, let's keep going...
No. Roya keeps bugging Alea, trying to wake her up. Then, Alea stirs and cries out. This leads into at least an hour of Alea screaming and hyperventilating in the back, getting sweaty and sometimes screaming ouchy!! Sometimes getting her words out, I don't want to go home!!! I pulled over several times, and every time I did, Roya flung her door open. It's still dark and wet and we're on the side of a busy highway.
Eventually, both of them are screaming and crying and for about 45 minutes, while I drive through the rain and fog across the cobequid pass, the girls scream for Daddy. Roya literally cried, Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! straight for a really long time. (I was actually relieved that, in the context of Alea's crazy screams, she was comfortable letting her feelings out.) I drove and wept. It took close to 3 hours to get home. The girls were exhausted and went right to sleep.
I did not sleep. I put things away and wrestled with God. Do you see my broken family? Do you see how nothing is right? Do you see what we're going through?
In these moments, I feel like Martha in Jn 11. Where were you!? If you had been here, he wouldn't have died! She is bold and determined. She goes into Jesus' presence in a context of love and trust, loyalty and confidence.
Tonight, though, I am much more like Mary, falling at his feet in anguish and grief. My comfort is in those beautiful words, Jesus wept (Jn 11:35). Are you weeping now, Lord?
There are so many rewards and blessings in each day. I am so proud of my daughters. I am so blessed by my home. I have so much support and miraculous provision. Still, my heart is heavy. Does that make me ungrateful? This is a hard and lonely road. Today was hard. Hope was not easy to find.
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