Category: Death

Where do I go?

Sometimes life, not the big picture, the whole world kind of life (that’s abstract enough — we can deal with it), but our personal, here-and-now life can become more than we can handle. Or least, more than we want to handle.

An adoptive mother pours herself dry, endlessly loving a child who, because of abuse or neglect before she entered his life, cannot bond, cannot receive or trust. Will her love ever be enough?

A dear one, preparing to fly to her mother’s bedside, receives a call. “Your Mom died this morning.” The words she’d hoped to say swell in her throat. And the ones she’d hoped to hear seep from an old wound. How will it heal, now?

An illness haunts, even as it evades tests and medical probing. In the dark of the night, it looms, large and threatening. What is taking over my body? What am I doing wrong?

Or the pain is diagnosed, the dread “C” word, and all the questions and decisions put life on hold. Will I be able to stand? Will I come out the other side?

Abuse, alcoholism, unplanned pregnancies or unfinished ones, unwanted babies or babies forever grieved, sterility, disability, life threatening illness, life-taking illness, unfaithfulness, hatred, dementia, mental illness or anguish, prejudice, betrayal . . .

The list is too dark to continue.

Whether wishing for escape from this life, or wishing for more days to live, we often follow a script, learned long ago. 

 

Shut down. If I don’t feel so deeply, I won’t hurt so much. Better to live in the gray zones. One foot follows another.

Give in. I’ll do what I’m told. Keep my head down. If I don’t expect anything I won’t be disappointed.

Fight. I flail at the injustice. Rail at the darkness. My fingers may grow raw, but at least I’m not a helpless victim.

Flight. I’ll run to alcohol, drugs, people (sex, or people-pleasing, or codependent relationships, or controlling), work, online or TV (mindless hours, escape, games, vicarious living, porn). Anything but stay in the pain.

Or perhaps I simply won’t look. If I can’t see the enemy, he can’t hurt me, right?

 

When it all comes tumbling down, and at some point, it will, what do we have then? When our backs are up against the wall, where do we turn?

Over and over, I run to the only one who hasn’t hurt me or failed me or forgotten me. One who calls me, carries me when I need it, heals me and sets my feet on firm ground.

Maui waves Isaiah 43:1_5
Maui waves Isaiah 43:1_5

If you have more on your plate than you can handle right now, feel free to contact me below, or use the private contact button, and I will pray for you.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew ll:28-30 The Message

Why I believe in Easter

My father was a man of great sin, and our family suffered from his choices. He hurt, abused, and almost destroyed us. As he lay dying, he faced it all.

For days, I had stayed by his side in the ICU. Near the end, he began to tear at the restraints, eyes squinting as into bright light. After a furious but silent fight, he grew quiet, cocking his head as if listening. Then he relaxed and flopped back. In minutes, again his body tensed and legs jerked against the ankle straps. He grimaced at some inner pain. Then his lips moved in silent confession.

I knew God was showing my father his sin. He repented. God forgave him and assured him that He would redeem the years the enemy, using my father, had devoured. The cycle continued for hours until, at dusk, he fell still.

That night he slipped into a coma from which his doctor said he would never awaken. Exhausted after two weeks at his deathbed, I asked why they didn’t just turn off the IV’s and oxygen, why keep him alive when there was no hope. The doctor said the machines weren’t keeping him alive–my father would go when God was ready—and that everyone in the hospital had great respect for the courage that had kept him alive this long.

Respect for my father–the alcoholic–the rage and fury of my childhood?

During the night, in the glow of machines, I realized his cheekbones were just like mine. For the first time, I was proud to have those strong bones, proud to be The Dutchman’s daughter. I rose and leaned over his bed. He opened his eyes as if I had called to him. He reached up and gently stroked my hair.

All my life I had yearned for that tender touch.

“I love you, too,” I whispered.

He smiled and closed his eyes. His hand fell back to the bed.

When morning came, my Mom arrived, fresh after two days of sleep. Completely exhausted, I dragged myself to our room and collapsed into bed. Several hours later, she shook me awake.

He was gone.

I felt cheated. I’d spent days at his bedside, then wasn’t there to say goodbye. God had brought spiritual healing to him during his last days, and I had felt a touch of the love I hungered for all my life, but now, I had nothing.

I grasped at emptiness, and found only pain, fresher than ever.

Several days later, Mom asked me to read a lesson at the funeral.

Choked with tears, I read “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” While I read, I begin to grasp that a God who was powerful enough to bring forgiveness to a man like my father, could bring life and healing to me.

My voice rang out as I ended: “But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” I Corinthians 15:55,57 (NAS).

I felt the touch of the Father’s hand, the all-encompassing love of an eternal “Daddy” who will never hurt me or leave me.

And for the first time in years, I was able to pray.

Healing has been a process. What I experienced at my father’s death was a crack in the door, a chance for me to open the walls I had formed around myself–to choose life.

I have learned to release old hurts and receive love. God has redeemed the years of pain. Deep wounds have carved a crucible of joy that I can pour out for others.

“I would have despaired unless I had 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.” Psalm 27:13, 14 (NAS)

Papa God, hold the little child in me who needs your strength and gentleness. Turn me towards the light. Fill me with your love, that I might love, and love, and love again.

Choose life

For years I had the same dream, increasing in intensity as the years went by.

I’m walking towards a small lake on a beautiful sunny day. The shore is lined with bright green grass and colorful flowers, the water flat and tranquil. I step onto a dock, which turns into a wooden bridge across the lake. I feel compelled to go forward. But when I near the middle of the lake, the wind abruptly builds, gusting against me. Heavy clouds rush to block the sun, turning the day to twilight. The once tranquil water is churning and dark, white caps on building waves. I want to turn back, but feel pushed on. As the storm howls around me, I realize the center section of the bridge is out, broken and falling into the water. I know that very soon, I’ll fall into the dark water and die.

I’d wake up with my heart pounding, and a terrible sense of dread that would hang over me the next day.

When I turned twenty-five, I had two wonderful daughters and a house in the nice part of town. I’d done all the things that were supposed to bring the Great American Dream, but I was slowly dying inside. Whenever I wasn’t with the girls, I was crying.

One day, after dropping the girls at school, I stopped the car, leaned on the steering wheel and cried, “Oh God, I can’t go on. I can’t do this anymore.”

Suddenly, though I was fully awake, the lake dream started, again.

As the waves began to break over the bridge, I shrunk in terror. Just at the point when I expected to die and usually woke up, since I was awake, this time I knew I really would die.

Then I heard a voice, calling to me across the water. I looked up and saw Jesus. (I don’t know how I knew it was him. I just knew.)

Standing on the far shore, he called my name and offered me his hand. When I ignored the waves and looked into his eyes, I felt called by his love and reached out in return. As I did, I was instantly on the far shore, surrounded by his love, with a peaceful lake behind me, green grass and bright flowers around me, the sun shining and birds singing. Most of all, I knew I was safe. And I knew I was loved.

I never had that dream again.

That moment was another step in the long journey toward wholeness and healing. When I responded and reached for his hand, I choose life.

…I place before you Life and Death, Blessing and Curse. Choose life so that you and your children will live. And love God, your God, listening obediently to him, firmly embracing him. Oh yes, he is life itself …   Deut 30:19-20  The Message

What choice have you made?