Imagine

When you first experience a grief event one of the things we all have in common is that feeling that the world as you know it has ended but other people still keep moving. I remember, both times, leaving the hospital for the drive home wondering why the sun was shining; why people were driving around with smiles on their faces; why they were driving at all; why stores were not closed. All of these signs of life going on when all you want to SCREAM is, "don't you know that life as we know it is over."

Over time that feeling does dissipate. And then your new life begins. You learn to do things differently. When you lose a spouse you begin to realize how many things your spouse did for you. And you now have to do those things for yourself - even if that means hiring someone to do the yard, wash clothes, or clean house. So you learn new tricks or find the right person to handle the chores. If you have surviving children, I imagine, then your children also have to bear the weight of loss and increased chores. 

Finally, you settle into a routine and plod along throughout your day. You spend time with your old friends and maybe even make a few new ones. Eventually you allow yourself to enjoy life as you now know it. You go out to eat and talk with anyone who will show you attention. You attend social functions from Bible studies to holiday parties. But when the Bible study is over or the party breaks up you head home. Alone. 

This evening, as I was making plans to spend some time with extended family this weekend I thought about a show I watched several years ago. I do not know the name of it. And I don't remember much about it except this. The main character has some sort of accident and becomes partially paralyzed. Wheelchair bound he has to relearn daily life. One day he is surprised by a group of friends who showed up with a number of wheelchairs so they can play ball with him. During their game the ball bounces away and rolls under a fence. One of his friends jumps up and leaps over the fence to retrieve it. At that moment this man's new life implodes.  He cannot jump up out of his chair. The use of his legs is gone. And the joy he was feeling is now covered in a depressing wet blanket. 

Such is life for the griever. We enjoy our time with others. It makes us feel important. It makes us feel loved. It makes us feel alive. But then we part company and the friends go about their happy lives and we are right back where we were that first day. Alone. Wondering how people can go on with their lives. And one of the difficult things for us to realize is that these friends have lives of their own and they do not spend time away from us thinking about the next time we will get together. Meanwhile all we can think about is when we will get our next fix. 

The one thing I have learned is that I must recognize that I am no longer the most important person in someone else's life. We are left alone to live a life that others can only imagine (or they can't imagine). And, it's time for us (me) to do some imagining of our own. Our friends deal with the emotions of our loss occasionally while we have to deal with it every moment of every day. So we have a choice. We can pull down those trying to help us in an attempt to make them feel how bad it must be for us, or we can try to pull ourselves up out of our figurative wheelchairs and learn to walk again. I think I'd rather walk than put all of my friends in the wheelchairs. How about you?

I've got your nose!

Have you ever played the ,"I've got your nose, game" with a child. Seldom does it work, but yet we continue to try to convince the child that the tip of our thumb is their nose. I believe that when someone or some grief event takes our joy away, that it's still there. Where does God hide your joy? When you are grieving your joy isn't gone forever, it has simply moved to a new location. It is our responsibility to seek that joy out, I think. My joy is seeing happiness on the faces of others. And nowhere else is this manifested more than on the faces of children. 

This last weekend I went to one of my niece's birthday party. She turned two and enjoyed every minute of her party. The smiles on her face and the faces of her cousins made for a good day for me on Saturday. Add that to my Sunday morning spent with the children (especially my lap child for the day who didn't want to let me go) made for a fairly joyful weekend. 

One of the best decisions I have made was to agree to help coach a tee-ball team. Could these kids play ball without me? Of course. Could I make it through my evenings without them? Not nearly as easily. It's no secret that, if you really know me, that I adore children. I can't help but smile in their presence. And the smiles I get in return are so much greater than any I could display. At tonight's ballgame one of the boys ran up to me, hugged me, and said, "I like you." Why would he say that? Is it because I took the team for ice cream the week before? Quite possibly. Is it because I coach them on the finer points of baseball? Highly unlikely? Is it because they see how much I love them and the joy they bring me? I'm almost betting on it. 

While at the birthday party I played with my sweet Ellie and her best friend from daycare. They each slid down the big slide and said enough two year old words (and I speak kid fluently) to tell me how much fun they were having. At one time Ellie's little friend slid down the slide, came over and hugged me, then ran to the slide. She did this three times in a row. Her mom, who had never met me, looked at her little girl playing with this stranger, and I'm sure she was questioning the interaction. But my sweet sister-in-law (whom I've loved since the day she was born) told her that all kids love Uncle Kevin and followed that up later with something about the "baby whisperer." It warmed my heart to say the least. 

If you were thinking that tonight's post was going to be a sad one, then you were slightly mistaken. If you are also thinking I've turned the corner then you are 0 for 2. I know where God has hidden my joy and I'll go to that well as often as I can. Hugs are special. I like hugs. But hugs of unconditional love from a 2 year-old, well those warm the coldest heart. 

He's got my joy!