Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Loose Ends * The Lamenting Edition


Four times a year, author / podcaster Emily {The Next Right Thing} Freeman invites her readers to share what they've learned the previous quarter.  I've long been an eager participant.  It's been all kinds of fun!

This time, not so much. 

For those of you new around here, this month's been all about grieving, about remembering Jessica, gone far too young at 33.  Sitting numb on the porch with my sister.  And talking together with you about how sorrow is a nebulous and elusive companion.

*

I thought about not writing this post. 

But then it hit me that this month has been filled with re-learning.  Re-calling.  Re-membering.  And re-claiming.  So much is out of our control.  BUT ...

1.  I can choose how to respond.  Just like the flight attendants say, when crisis hits, grab and securely fasten your own oxygen mask first so you can care for those around you.
-  Decide to take a bereavement sabbatical and immediately refer my counseling clients to a superb counselor.  Her name is Tracy and she's here and I'm so grateful.

-  Clear my calendar of obligations, invitations, opportunities.

-  The first week, reserve conversation for family alone.

-  Not surprisingly, everyone I connect with completely understands.  I'm blanketed with kindness, love, and a generous grace.  I'm freed up to be exactly where I am.  Numb.  Heart-sick.  Speechless.  Tearful.  Spent.


2.  I purposely surround myself with people who are warm and safe and loving.
-  I send texts and emails out to anyone and everyone I can think of to get them praying.

-  I choose to keep on blogging.

-  I soak in the lavish support and tender understanding that comes my way, whether in person, online, or via the mailbox.  As dear blogger Barbara so eloquently put it, 'Loss, while individually experienced, is commonly shared and understood. You have a circle of love all around you.'

-  After a week or so, I get in touch with my closest friends nearby and say, 'I really want to see you.  Please come visit me.'  And they do.  They come bearing food and hugs, brimming eyes and listening ears.

-  My arms are open to my family members ... my sister, her family, my mom, my girls, their families.  My husband.  Any hour.  Any day.


3.  I choose my therapy.
-  Lamenting and laughter are kissing cousins.  Odd, yet quite freeing to go there ... yet again and again.

-  Blogging my heart out.

-  Sitting with the Psalms, one verse at a time.

-  Praying without ceasing.  Yes, it is possible ... and necessary.

-  Doing a bit of journaling.

-  Endlessly processing with my husband.

-  Losing myself in books with hundreds and hundreds of pages.

-  Walking the beaches.

-  Napping under the quilt on the porch.

-  Signing up to go to a GriefShare group.


4.  I claim my manna each and every day.  Great is His faithfulness.  His love.  His mercy.  For when all is said and done, we're all in the same boat.  We're all grieving something or someone, aren't we ...

*














What are you re-learning these days?

And what loss are you lamenting?
Linda


*

 staying connected with these communities
Mary & Sue

44 comments:

  1. Still praying for you and your family, Linda, and trusting God to hold you ever close to His heart.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Cheryl, thank you. You've been so supportive even though we've only recently started to get to know each other.

      What a blessing you are.

      Delete
  2. I might, perhaps, lament my life
    that'll all too soon be gone,
    or that I must urge my wife
    to be ready to move on.
    I might mourn that my canine friends
    will pass, through time and years,
    and I must attend their ends
    with smiles to hide my tears.
    I might sorrow for pals of old
    whose words no longer come,
    who in youth were oh so bold;
    and now the slow-beat drum.
    I might embrace bereavement's pain
    if I thought I'd not see them again.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The writer of Ecclesiastes said it best, didn't he -->'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.'

      And that includes lament.

      Delete
    2. You're so right, Linda. It's just become something I can no longer afford; the ice is so thin now. I can't slow down.

      Delete
  3. Prayers continue for you and yours, Linda, as your grief journey moves forward. May God's love, and the love of family and friends, continue to surround you, my friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, the journey moves forward, dear Martha. Not necessarily quickly or easily, but there is movement, keeping in rhythm with the One who bore our griefs and carried our sorrows.

      Delete
  4. I'm glad you did post, Linda. Not only to share your grief, but to share with us these tips of what we can choose to do even when things are so out of control. What is that blue thing in your hand? I assume it's tied to a special memory of dear Jessica? May God hug each of you in the blanket of His love and comfort! Love and blessings to you!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm glad you asked, Trudy! It's a piece of beach glass I left in memory of Jessica along with a little picture one of my granddaughters drew for her. You can see our little offering in the 5th snapshot.

      And yes, I hope what's working for me will be an encouragement for others to figure out what they need to do to grieve well. There's so much we CAN'T control. It's empowering to know that there's still much we can choose.

      There's no 1 - 2 - 3 formula, for sure ...

      Delete
    2. Now I see both offerings by Jessica's photo. Such lovely things to leave with her. ❤️

      Delete
  5. Oh, yes, many "re"s in this corner too. Such wise choices you've made and shared...guiding us in the ways of grace again and gain. Lamenting is never greeted warmly but it is necessary and healing. May you discover joy in the mourning.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. 'Lamenting is never greeted warmly.'

      For sure.

      I'm guessing that some of my readers are getting a little itchy and restless after four grief posts. But this is where I am and to pretend I'm not would be a fool's errand.

      Thanks for understanding and for the loving support you've sent my way, friend ...

      Delete
  6. I'm so sorry for your incredible loss, Linda. Praying for you and your entire family now, my friend. I'm glad you showed up here and shared these important lessons. We are all better because of it. Much love to you and your beautiful family.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We're always learning and re-claiming, aren't we.

      Meanwhile, I'm so glad that you're blogging again. I look forward to reading what's happening for you ...

      You've been sorely missed!

      Delete
  7. I am always glad when you write and even more so when you share so openly. Grief is tricky and cyclical. As you have been grieving your niece, August has been a time of remembering my dad. I know God puts people in our life that understand and go through things in a similar way to provide support and comfort. You have always been that person for me.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, Mary, our paths continue to criss-cross over and over. I love how the Lord has woven our experiences, the victories and the trials, together. He's let us be there for each other over the miles.

      I'm so grateful...

      Delete
  8. I'm so glad you wrote and shared, Linda. Those of us who have walked through grief can empathize, and those who haven't yet will some day. As someone else said, how you're processing can help others. I'm glad you cleared your calendar and took time to process. Though probably none of us would choose grief and lament, God's presence and comfort are so dear in those times. There are things we learn then that we can't otherwise.

    My end-of-month post is here: https://barbarah.wordpress.com/2019/08/29/end-of-august-musings/.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Barbara, yes. God's presence and comfort grow sweeter, a lifeline of hope during unsettling seasons.

      Thanks for sharing your monthly post. I'm headed over right now to read ...

      Delete
    2. When I commented earlier, a thought was just at the edge where I couldn't grasp it. :) But it came to me later. A few years ago, our pastor died from pancreatic and liver cancer. He was only in his fifties--not as young as Jessica, but still going too soon, humanly speaking. A phrase kept coming to mind then about eternal glories gleaming, but I couldn't place it. I looked it up, and it was from an old hymn, "I've Found a Friend." A line in the 3rd stanza says, "eternal glories gleam afar To nerve my faint endeavor." And I thought, at the time of our pastor's illness and death, those eternal glories seemed close-up and personal. Ecclesiastes talks about the wise going to the house of mourning and laying things to heart, and that's better than feasting. One of the comforting things to me in losing someone we love is that it brings heavenly realities so much more in focus, reminding us, as C. S. Lewis said, that this world isn't the real story, our real home, and that our loved one is in the arms of a loving Savior. I hope you and your family experience some of those eternal glories in the midst of the sorrow and loss.

      Delete
    3. Thanks for coming back when your thought returned, Barbara! Sometimes my fading thoughts take weeks to return with some sense of clarity.

      ;-)

      Bringing 'heavenly realities so much more in focus' ... please pray for that to be true for me and mine.

      And for us all.

      Delete
  9. Please accept my sincerest condolences and prayers for you all.

    When someone is grieving no words can be the right words, no words can ease the pain, no words can stop the tears. All that is perhaps needed at this time is silent prayer and the sure knowledge that God is not a stranger to grieving.

    When Christ hung dying on the Cross, His mother was there beside Him, witnessing the pain and His final agonies. Can you imagine how she felt?

    But days later, she rejoiced to see Him alive again. Let us rejoice that one day we will see our loved ones again, in Heaven, where there will be no more tears.

    God bless you all.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've often thought about Mary and the other women who stayed through the horror to the bitter end of the crucifixion.

      I find it interesting that so few men did the same ...

      Delete
  10. I love how you're choosing to take care of yourself during this intense grieving period, Linda. You're setting a great example for the rest of us. Continuing to pray for all of you as you miss Jessica.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I guess if this post is somehow helpful to one other person that would be a good thing.

      Delete
  11. Prayers continue. May God’s deep healing touch your heart and soul as you continue to lean into His mercy and grace.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nancy, thank you so much. Deep healing often takes awhile to settle in ...

      Delete
  12. Beautifully said, My Friend. Grieving with you at this loss way too soon!
    Praying for you and your family!

    ReplyDelete
  13. Linda, this blog is a wonderful showcase to me of who you are. I love who you are so don’t ever feel your sharing is redundant. This is God’s blog (God’s story) through you and we are gleaning your jewels of discovery.

    I am remembering my niece who died at 33 also. Too soon too young in OUR plans but I can’t wait to see what God had been about when Kasey was taken away.

    When my dad died, God spoke this into my heart: “Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.” ‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:18‬ ‭NLT‬‬

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for always encouraging me, letting me know that my words matter, that I am 'enough' no matter where I find myself.

      Here's to our next 30 years of friendship, buddy!

      ;-}

      Delete
  14. Linda, lifting you and your family up in prayer. Your niece seems like a beautiful soul. Grateful you shared...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A beautiful soul. Oh yes ... in every way possible.

      Delete
  15. Oh, Linda, you are doing such a good job of soldiering forward while letting the tears flow. Thank you for pulling back the curtain just a bit so we can learn from your process.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I hope that I've pulled back the curtain in ways that are appropriate and respectful to Jessica and the family.

      As a therapist herself, I'd like to think she'd approve ...

      Delete
  16. It seems like you have some excellent friends, Linda, both close to you physically, and here in the blogging community. I have learned so much from you and your blog posts. I wish you didn't have this lesson of grief to teach, but grateful for your decision to share your journey with us. Praying for you and your family.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, Laurie, I feel so very blessed at how people have come around and put their loving, supportive arms around our family in whatever ways were natural and comfortable for them.

      For me, this writing community has been a lifesaver in all the ways that matter most. I can't begin to find words to express my gratitude.

      Delete
  17. I love the way you "do" therapy. I do some of those things and maybe it is therapy for the soul.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Therapy for the soul. Love how you put that, Megan. I can't help but believe that if we'd choose some basic self-care practices on a regular basis, there'd be fewer of us that need the 'traditional' form of therapy.

      Delete
  18. I'm so sorry for your loss, sweet friend. Praying for His tender mercies to surround you and your family as you grieve.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. June, thank you. It makes me smile to see you here again ...

      Delete
  19. I'm so thankful that blogging is one of your therapies, Linda. It encourages me to keep blogging through my own season of loss despite the little voice that sometimes pipes up, "But aren't people going to get sick of hearing about this again?" And I totally get the idea that lament and laughter are kissing cousins ... "freeing to go there," you said, and that is exactly right. Hugs, friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yep, you're right, Lois ... some people might get weary of how we're choosing to write through our grief. And that's ok.

      As my Southern friend Nancy used to say, 'there's a lid for every pot.'

      People are free to come and go. We are who we are and I'm guessing our best writing relects that truth.

      Delete