Honestly-I'm just thankful one more dreaded "1st" has passed.
I'm thankful for those who took the time to remember and acknowledge our sweet Mercy and Sam in this painful time, and to remind us of how much they were loved and are missed.
I'm thankful beyond measure for ALL of my children.
And yet-Every day feels like a surreal alternate universe, one that I pray I'll wake from.
In 2 short days, 20 years of marriage will be upon Charles and I. 20 years. 6 months ago, I had dreams of donning my dress and having a quiet little ceremony in the chapel on Parris Island with my husband and children...just us, just them. I wanted them to witness us renewing those vows that we made so many years ago. Those vows that led us down the path to becoming their parents.
And now.
Now.
Exactly how does one celebrate such an amazing milestone when 2 of the most beautiful fruits of that marriage are no longer part of our earthly joy? I just don't have an answer for that.
I pray every day that God will reveal His plans- I pray that they will be to spiritually prosper us, to give our hearts hope and a future, to show us how we can glorify Him with the words of our mouths, the actions in and of our lives, and the meditations of our hearts. I pray that He will meet us in our sadness, our brokenness and our longing.
Let me be very clear- There is no "reason" for our pain and our loving God didn't "choose" us to suffer this. He simply met us there. He met & then carried our children out of their pain as they left this world so violently.
He carries us here moment by moment.
He is our undergirding and He is our strong tower. He and He alone, will be our redeeming grace.
In the bleeding moments of my brokenness, I have so often asked-"Have I displeased you, my God?" I haven't just asked, I have shouted this, I have sobbed this. Because I wonder, every. single. day. WHY US? WHY my children? WHY? Have I lost your "favor," my God?
Yet, this I know-
If the Lord granted His favor only upon those who looked as though they "deserved it", the starving child in Ethiopia would never lack, the homeless mom who simply cannot find a job wouldn't lack, the proud homeless vet who served his country wouldn't lack, the martyr for Christ wouldn't lack, the neglected and abused child wouldn't lack. I don't covet God's favor, I simply covet His priceless love, grace, and redemption.
So today, I'm extraordinarily thankful for Christ and His sacrifice. And if I just keep my eyes and heart focused on Him, I can tune out the static of this world that distracts me from the hope I have in the promise of eternity with all of my precious babies and my sweet husband.
He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.
Revelations 21:6-7
Monday, November 30, 2015
Saturday, November 07, 2015
Walking in my shoes...
I read a poem recently about the shoes I walk in.
The shoes I never wanted to wear-
the ones of a grieving mother.
And then I thought...
What about HIS shoes? The grieving father and the shoes HE must wear? The man whose heart is just as broken as mine-yet he stands in the shadows with his grief while the world comforts the grieving mother?
What about HIM?
It's SO not just me.
My husband- he is the shattered, grieving father in the darkness... in the midst of this nightmare.
So many times, helplessly, I watch the man who leads our family sobbing and broken. It's gut wrenching to try and hear him when he can barely speak the words he needs to get out. What's it like for him? To put on that uniform every day and have to walk into the office where he would sometimes take our kids for a bit while I went to appointments or ran errands. The place where he took them for the kid version of "Jane Wayne" day every single year. That place where people just laughed as they watched the little fire team and a spare literally march by. To have to drive, EVERY DAY, by the spot where we were standing when we got THE call. To know he has to drive by the stupid Polaris dealership every. single. day. and see their proud display of that damn death trap that killed our kids. To sit and watch him with his head in his hands because he simply can't fill out another piece of paper to inform YET ANOTHER person/agency/entity/organization that his children have DIED. To see the regret etched in his eyes for the times he was gone, the memories he missed because of deployments, schools, PCS moves, classes…you name it.
What's it like to know your children are no longer of this world and you can't change it, fix it, mend it, patch it…nothing? There isn't a single. solitary. thing. you can do. And for a father? That is simply the worst part of it all. That he. can't. fix. this.
His son doesn't have a brother anymore, his son doesn't have a twin to share his life with. His daughters don't have their sidekicks to plan every holiday months in advance, invent new games, dress up and hide in forts and corners with, watch scooby marathons with, simply GROW UP with.
And
he.
can't.
fix.
it.
We took the kids to the movies a while back.
It sucked.
We both spent the entire movie remembering what it was like when we took the 5 of them-the popcorn juggling, candy fighting, potty breaks, spilled drinks-
it was just too quiet. Too easy.
Every. single. day. It's just too damn quiet.
Every day, my husband, their father, aches for what was, what should have been and what will never be here on this earth.
The daughter he will never walk down the aisle, the son he will never see serve Christ, his family or his country, the grandchildren he will never know. But most importantly, the baptisms we will never share with them. That moment when they come to Christ, when they CHOOSE Him, when they choose JOY and share it with those they love. Don't get me wrong, they LOVED Jesus, but they hadn't walked forth in baptism yet. They were so little! Baptism just beginning to be a concept they could grasp.
Clearly, they've already gone to Christ. The last thing any parent truly wants…baptism by way of actually meeting Christ. Forever.
And yet, Jesus said...
"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
Matthew 19:14
It's amazing to me how God created the human body and mind, preparing it for those times when it would be overwhelmed by the circumstances and choices of this fallen world. He created it to withstand the insanity that threatens the human mind when it is simply overtaken by pain too great to bear...He gave us-
Shock-
And I'd venture to say we're both overwhelmingly grateful for it now. Beyond thankful for the time we were numb and could show infinitely more grace than we, alone, could ever be capable of. That shock was truly God's gift and provision for preserving what was left of our sanity. Some days, I'd give my left arm to have it back. And I know Charles would too.
So many days, shock seems like it would be so much easier. To just go back to that place of numbness and just putting one foot in front of the other.
Because when you're still in shock, it's not real.
And we just don't want it to be real. And maybe, for a tiny window of time, all the moving and chaos of finding a home let it be "unreal" for just a little bit longer.
All of a sudden-it's been almost 5 months now. We've changed seasons, the time has fallen back, the holidays are upon us. We live in home they never lived in. We sleep and wake, eat and play, cry and laugh...we LIVE here in a home that never knew them.
Bless the hearts of every one of you who wants to know if we are settled...
No.
We'll never be settled. Ever. Not until we are all settled, once again, as a complete family in one place. Reunited, every tear wiped away, all our sorrows forever forgotten, in our forever home with Christ.
"And God shall wipe away all the tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
Revelation 21:4
And if I'm really honest, I'll tell you that they are starting to feel like a dream. A really wonderful dream that we lived for 6 1/2 years.
Because, truthfully...I can still barely look at their pictures. Watching a video of them is impossible. And just holding their clothes can make me sob uncontrollably.
So I don't. And Charles doesn't. But our kids need us to, and truly, our hearts need us to. So we will. One image, one captured memory, one piece of their lives...at a time. We'll walk, in tiny...itty bitty...baby steps...
of the shoes we must wear.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Matthew 5:4
Finding hope and joy in the daily presence of Christ, despite our circumstances, that will be the greatest blessing we can receive.
But, please, please, please, share with us your memories. Your laughter. Your moments. Tell us about our babies. Remember them, laugh about them, keep them alive in your hearts, your lives and your spirits. Share those photos, tell those silly stories. Help us take those baby steps. Help us find comfort in not only who they were, but more importantly, who they are now.
And finally-
I know I've been quiet, not posting or sharing. It simply wasn't time. And I knew it was time when the Lord placed this verse on my heart-
My heart needs Him. My mouth will praise Him. My life will serve Him. And by both their births and their deaths, our family will serve him by ensuring the lives of Mercy and Sam will continue to glorify Him, spread His truth, share His love, live in His peace and glorify His saving grace.
I will extol the Lord at all time,
his praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in the Lord;
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the Lord with me;
let us exalt his name together.
Psalm 34:1-3
Each prayer that is offered is a life giving affirmation of love- so, please continue! Not just for our family, but for every family that is walking in these horribly ill-fitting shoes of grief.
With love and by His Grace,
clan mac mama
The shoes I never wanted to wear-
the ones of a grieving mother.
And then I thought...
What about HIS shoes? The grieving father and the shoes HE must wear? The man whose heart is just as broken as mine-yet he stands in the shadows with his grief while the world comforts the grieving mother?
What about HIM?
It's SO not just me.
My husband- he is the shattered, grieving father in the darkness... in the midst of this nightmare.
So many times, helplessly, I watch the man who leads our family sobbing and broken. It's gut wrenching to try and hear him when he can barely speak the words he needs to get out. What's it like for him? To put on that uniform every day and have to walk into the office where he would sometimes take our kids for a bit while I went to appointments or ran errands. The place where he took them for the kid version of "Jane Wayne" day every single year. That place where people just laughed as they watched the little fire team and a spare literally march by. To have to drive, EVERY DAY, by the spot where we were standing when we got THE call. To know he has to drive by the stupid Polaris dealership every. single. day. and see their proud display of that damn death trap that killed our kids. To sit and watch him with his head in his hands because he simply can't fill out another piece of paper to inform YET ANOTHER person/agency/entity/organization that his children have DIED. To see the regret etched in his eyes for the times he was gone, the memories he missed because of deployments, schools, PCS moves, classes…you name it.
What's it like to know your children are no longer of this world and you can't change it, fix it, mend it, patch it…nothing? There isn't a single. solitary. thing. you can do. And for a father? That is simply the worst part of it all. That he. can't. fix. this.
His son doesn't have a brother anymore, his son doesn't have a twin to share his life with. His daughters don't have their sidekicks to plan every holiday months in advance, invent new games, dress up and hide in forts and corners with, watch scooby marathons with, simply GROW UP with.
And
he.
can't.
fix.
it.
We took the kids to the movies a while back.
It sucked.
We both spent the entire movie remembering what it was like when we took the 5 of them-the popcorn juggling, candy fighting, potty breaks, spilled drinks-
it was just too quiet. Too easy.
Every. single. day. It's just too damn quiet.
Every day, my husband, their father, aches for what was, what should have been and what will never be here on this earth.
The daughter he will never walk down the aisle, the son he will never see serve Christ, his family or his country, the grandchildren he will never know. But most importantly, the baptisms we will never share with them. That moment when they come to Christ, when they CHOOSE Him, when they choose JOY and share it with those they love. Don't get me wrong, they LOVED Jesus, but they hadn't walked forth in baptism yet. They were so little! Baptism just beginning to be a concept they could grasp.
Clearly, they've already gone to Christ. The last thing any parent truly wants…baptism by way of actually meeting Christ. Forever.
And yet, Jesus said...
"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
Matthew 19:14
It's amazing to me how God created the human body and mind, preparing it for those times when it would be overwhelmed by the circumstances and choices of this fallen world. He created it to withstand the insanity that threatens the human mind when it is simply overtaken by pain too great to bear...He gave us-
Shock-
And I'd venture to say we're both overwhelmingly grateful for it now. Beyond thankful for the time we were numb and could show infinitely more grace than we, alone, could ever be capable of. That shock was truly God's gift and provision for preserving what was left of our sanity. Some days, I'd give my left arm to have it back. And I know Charles would too.
So many days, shock seems like it would be so much easier. To just go back to that place of numbness and just putting one foot in front of the other.
Because when you're still in shock, it's not real.
And we just don't want it to be real. And maybe, for a tiny window of time, all the moving and chaos of finding a home let it be "unreal" for just a little bit longer.
All of a sudden-it's been almost 5 months now. We've changed seasons, the time has fallen back, the holidays are upon us. We live in home they never lived in. We sleep and wake, eat and play, cry and laugh...we LIVE here in a home that never knew them.
Bless the hearts of every one of you who wants to know if we are settled...
No.
We'll never be settled. Ever. Not until we are all settled, once again, as a complete family in one place. Reunited, every tear wiped away, all our sorrows forever forgotten, in our forever home with Christ.
"And God shall wipe away all the tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
Revelation 21:4
And if I'm really honest, I'll tell you that they are starting to feel like a dream. A really wonderful dream that we lived for 6 1/2 years.
Because, truthfully...I can still barely look at their pictures. Watching a video of them is impossible. And just holding their clothes can make me sob uncontrollably.
So I don't. And Charles doesn't. But our kids need us to, and truly, our hearts need us to. So we will. One image, one captured memory, one piece of their lives...at a time. We'll walk, in tiny...itty bitty...baby steps...
of the shoes we must wear.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Matthew 5:4
Finding hope and joy in the daily presence of Christ, despite our circumstances, that will be the greatest blessing we can receive.
And finally-
I know I've been quiet, not posting or sharing. It simply wasn't time. And I knew it was time when the Lord placed this verse on my heart-
After the earthquake, there came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.
1 Kings 19:12
My heart needed a quiet, humble place in which to listen. To listen for whispers He provides. To listen for the quiet breeze on which He sends the Holy Spirit.
My heart needs Him. My mouth will praise Him. My life will serve Him. And by both their births and their deaths, our family will serve him by ensuring the lives of Mercy and Sam will continue to glorify Him, spread His truth, share His love, live in His peace and glorify His saving grace.
I will extol the Lord at all time,
his praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in the Lord;
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the Lord with me;
let us exalt his name together.
Psalm 34:1-3
Each prayer that is offered is a life giving affirmation of love- so, please continue! Not just for our family, but for every family that is walking in these horribly ill-fitting shoes of grief.
With love and by His Grace,
clan mac mama
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