I like to move it, move it

Today I said a prayer for my niece. She has fear in her heart. Not the, “Mommy it’s dark outside can you leave a light on” fear. Not a “there is a monster under my bed” fear. Not even a “the thunder scares me” fear. No, she has a fear that is not quite so easily dismissed.

Twelve months ago today I called my life to find out why she was late for lunch. She didn’t answer. 365 days ago I sent repeated text and made repeated phone calls that went unanswered. It was not unlike my wife to be late for something. It was not unlike my wife to sleep in after a long night at work. But it WAS unlike her to not answer her phone. So I finally looked at my staff and told them I was going home to check on her to see why she wasn’t answering her phone. I didn’t expect to find anything other than my wife in the shower, unable to answer the phone.

That’s not what I found.

I walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was unmade but she was not in it. Instead she was collapsed at the foot of the bed. 

And this is the fear that grips my niece. This is the reason she looks at me, and every other adult in her life, and asks if we are okay. This is why she is afraid to take her eyes off her gran. And why every little cough or sneeze has her brow furrow with concern. And, today, one year from when her aunt was rushed to the hospital to live out her final 6 days, she worries about her mom who lies in a hospital bed recovering from routine surgery.

How do you deal with a child who has already had to face a grown up fear so early in her life? Someone who has seen her young cousin as well as her aunt taken from her. If you thought this post was going to bring you an answer I apologize and you can stop reading because you will not find anything definitive here.

Too many adults in my life face the same fears. I’ve been through it enough to know that I’ll go through it again. Loss is inevitable. There is nothing I can do to stop it. And there is nothing I can do to stop the worry in my little niece’s heart. I can only pray. I can pray for the same peace that overwhelms me when the pain bubbles up. I can pray that she will let God overcome the spirit of fear. I can pray for her mom to pull through the surgery with flying colors.

What about the children in your life? How do they handle grief? Her siblings all handle it quite differently. Some don’t mind talking about their aunt or even their cousin (much to the horror of many adults who think they are shielding me from their prying questions). And they aren’t alone. Many a child wants to ask me questions about “why her die?”. And, I don’t have an answer. Explaining death to a child, whether that be the death of a person or of a goldfish, is beyond me. In the end, no matter how you explain it, you will never get to see that person, or goldfish, ever again. At least this side of heaven. And even then I can’t promise a child they would ever see their goldfish again (And, while I miss Spike, I’ve never focused a blog post on him), because I don’t know if all goldfish go to heaven.

However you try to explain death to a child there is little comfort in the answer. Explaining death to an adult is not much easier. The only answer I have is based on a couple of questions for you. Did your life begin the day you moved into the place you now live? Will it end if you move out of that place and into another? That’s how I feel about the life we have on this earth. My life did not begin when I moved into this body I currently inhabit. (Psalm 139:16 - Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one came to be). My life does not end when I move out of this body. (Hebrews 11:16 Instead, they were longing for a better country - a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.)

So, while this brings only a little comfort to me, my child and my wife have moved. They no longer live here. They have finally moved home. I know this will not comfort my niece and dispel her fears, but perhaps she will find some solace in the fact that, when we move on from here we will get to move home with our Father (John 14:2 My Father’s house has many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?)

I’m moving on until one day I get to move on. Care to join me?

Stop, In the name of love

In the old West, they called it scouting for sign. Scout would travel down the trails and look for signs of game, enemies, or any other threats. They could track outlaws and missing people. Good trackers could see signs in the smallest of details. 

In Judges, chapter 6, Gideon asked God for a different form of sign. In the famous story, Gideon placed a fleece out and one day asked God to bring dew to the ground and not the fleece and another day asked God to bring dew to the fleece but not the Ground. And we, as Christians, have been doing it ever since. God should I take this job? God should I talk to this boy or girl? God should I do this or that? We use God as a magic eight ball. I've often wondered at what would've happened had God not chosen to show Gideon the signs that He did. Would he have continued? Would he have made wise decisions, poor decisions, or, worse yet, no decision at all? 

But this blog post is not about fleecing God. This blog post is about when we look for a sign from those who have left us here on earth to run on the greener pastures of heaven. 

Admit it, we all see our loved ones in the many things around us. Things that were common but not really noticed before. How often have you seen a butterfly and thought of your lost loved one? (Why is it always butterflies?) A beautiful sunset could only have been painted by my daughter. The birds in the trees could only have been taught their song by my wife. Everywhere I look I see signs. Everywhere you look you see signs. But sometimes we need more. 

I'm going to confess something to you. I'm no good on my own. I can't make it. My wife did more for me than I ever realized and it bothers me that I didn't acknowledge it enough. Let that be a warning to you as well. I try cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and dishes, making up the bed. But sometimes I need direction. Sometimes I need that voice to ring out that I can't put apple cores in the disposal or that the garage door is still down so don't forget to open it before I back out (hasn't happened yet but may on any given day). That voice, now, remains silent. And I miss it. 

As I move on into the next chapter of my life and close out this year of firsts I find myself again looking for a sign. I need a sign that says it's okay to move on; I need a sign that says it's okay to remodel the house; I need a sign that it's ok to give away clothes, furniture, jewelry and the like that neither my wife nor my daughter will ever use again. I need a sign. And I don't want it to be a sunset or a butterfly, or anything else that can be easily explained. I need a fleece. I need to know that I am not only doing the right thing but that I'm doing what honors my family and makes them proud of what Daddy/husband is doing. 

Please don't get me wrong. I know they both want me to be happy and I know they both like to see that I can be happy again. I know that they will approve of the person or things I choose to bring me happiness. I can picture them at the feet of Jesus imploring Him to let them see me smile like I once did. And, as I move on and prepare my heart to make it more appealing to another (as appealing as something broken, torn, and tattered can be) I simply ask that they show me a sign as undeniable as a damp fleece. But if they don't. If they choose not to or if God chooses not to allow them to send me a sign then I'll continue on this path anyway. I have found people, things, and activities that make me happy and I choose to believe that God sent them to me in spite of how unworthy I am. 

As much as I would like a sign from my family, I want a sign from God more. And until He tells me that the sign He has for me is a STOP sign, I'll keep moving along and I'll keep smiling the smile that my girls want to see.