“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.  Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.  In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat–for He grants sleep to those He loves.”  ~Psalm 127:1-2

Things are coming together…our basement is getting in order.  Toys are being sorted; stuffed animals placed into the right baskets; and the pile in the corner of our basement is finally just one big box of empty plastic Easter eggs.  Whew, it feels good to see order at last…it has been tough fall and winter in the ability to stay on top of organizing of a room we don’t often have to look at 🙂

But order is not without hard work and caring hands.  My mom has been faithfully coming down to help work through the current donations and the “pile” (that comes in year-round).  For her and I, it is a time that we both look forward to…but this year, there’s a mixture of the joy of seeing things come together and a sense of melancholy.

Sometimes…I think, often times…we like to keep ourselves busy in times of pain.  It is the way we are wired.  When we hurt, we tend to move.  Sometimes it is rocking, sometimes it is pacing, sometimes it is just rubbing that painful spot, but it seems, it is human nature to keep moving.  Sometimes it is good and needed; other times, it is just avoidance.  Most of you that have been reading these post know that I am trying hard to stay aware of my feelings in relation to losing my dad.  To not just get lost in the “movement” of time, but to be present in the pain, working through it and addressing it…not just burying it or hurrying past it as if it isn’t worth my time.

My dad was a used car salesman.  Well, for a long time, he sold manufactured homes and, for awhile, he owned his own dealership.  But after a series of unfortunate events, he decided to close it and went back to car sales.  If you met my dad, you would know–he was great at sales!  He loved people, he loved cars, and he made a great living at it!  They say–statistically speaking–sales is one of the most demanding and stressful jobs out there, even above things that normally would be seen as stressful…like law enforcement, attorneys, etc…very few things match the stress of sales.

Dad came home each night, leaving work behind and rejoicing at being home.  He worked long, long hours.  That is the way it goes with sales; you’ve got to be there during the open hours to make a living.  You are not paid by the hour but by the sale.  Consequently, you’ve got to be available.  And so it was.  Monday through Saturday dad would work.  Vacations were hard because he wasn’t paid a salary and he could lose out on a good week.  So why am I telling you this?

Because this Easter season in our household…an outreach we know God has called us to…is bittersweet.  It is our 7th year…how did we get to that number?  While my dad always enjoyed seeing the baskets, because of the hours of his job, he could never really be a part.  It was too difficult.  The winter season is always a tough one in sales.  Everyone has spent their hard earnings on Christmas, and sales kind of take a little hit.  Sales would spike a bit during the autoshow, but as I already said, you have to be there to sell…no one is going to sell a car for you…and so dad worked.

It was with my dad’s cancer and his inability to work that we were unexpectedly blessed with something I will always treasure…an Easter with my mom and dad both by my side.  Even though he was tired, sick and struggling to recover from a surgery that they say is harder than open heart surgery, my dad dragged himself down to my basement to sort through donated bags, to bag up chalk, to run to the Dollar Tree, to wrap baskets, and to be there for moral and physical support on assembly days.  He cut ribbons, stuffed Easter eggs with jelly beans, and shopped stores for the baskets.

At the beginning of the season, when the work is just that, work…he would arrive so tired and grumpy.  Yes, my dad could be grumpy…not often, but hey, he had good reason!  It was an hour drive and he didn’t feel well at all.  But by the end, he would climb the stairs to head to my family room to take a nap with a smile on his face.  Sometimes it was a sad smile for he knew what he was battling to be here, but I would see a little cheer on his face and a little hope.  If there was ever a year I was grateful to be a part of God’s work, it was 2011.

Last year was a gift in many ways.  Normally Easter is early in April.  In 2011, it was in the end of April.  We began our work in February.  By the time March came and donations came rolling in, he would often answer the door for me.  The next thing I would know, the salesman had kicked in.  He would tell the couple or woman or man standing at the door, “You got to see this!  Come on in!  It’s no problem.  Let me show…you’ve really got to see this!!”  Most of them couldn’t say no.  And off they would go through my basement and living/dining room to see the miracles God was doing.  All in a moment, my dad became God’s salesman 🙂  You could hear the excitement in his voice.  The amazement and the pride of being part of something that is so much bigger than FBF, us or him (and what he was battling).  It was something I had never expected, but am so grateful for.  I knew the people who were unexpectedly treated to a tour also were moved for many times, they started to weep at what they saw…and most did not know that he was struggling with cancer.

As my dad’s funeral and wake passed, my siblings and I talked about what we foresaw as the most difficult moments ahead.  Some mentioned the holidays, but even then, I knew it would be now…this Easter outreach.  In mid-January, we began to transition the house for Easter.  Our whole basement becomes devoted to this outreach.  Things have to be moved.  Boxes of extras unpacked.  Shelving reorganized.  Tables and boards put up to hold the baskets.  Table clothes and skirts put on.  Our assembly path up and running.  Dust removed, floors swept, and odds and ends put away.

It was there last Tuesday as I stood in the basement by myself.  Our first sort…oddly, I had been praying all day for no one to show up.  I just didn’t feel emotionally or physically ready.  It had been a tough week.  And by God’s grace, I was alone for those two hours…working on the boxes in the corner.  As I dug through and unpacked all sorts of stuff that reassured me and caused me to rejoice for this year’s children, I came across a box of chalk…

People have blessed us in the past with donations of boxes of sidewalk chalk.  They usually come in big boxes of multiple colors, but the boxes themselves are too big and heavy for the baskets.  So we break them down, and put two pieces of chalk together in a small baggy.  As I was transferring the wrapped chalk to their box, I realized that my dad had worked on them just a year ago.  I was holding something that he had held in his hands.  I stood at the shelves and I could see him at the table, sitting in the chair, wrapping them in little snack bags.  I could hear him sound exasperated (with a smile on his face) at the number of them to repackage.  There I stood in the past and yet, in the present, and then, I understood that our house wasn’t the only thing transitioning…

My eyes glanced over at our wrapping station, and there he was again.  My dad never put together a basket.  He never wanted to, but he loved doing the supporting jobs like wrapping the baskets, sorting, counting, moving baskets to their final resting spots.  Wrapping last year was what he felt best at, and soon he was teaching other guys.  It became his “job” as well as giving tours.  I stood there…quietly crying–very much missing my dad, yet…so grateful that I had that time with him.  That I might–like his example–work through the pain (and my sorrow) of losing him to the joy of remembering his love for this outreach.  That as painful as these memories are, without the cancer, I am not sure he would have ever been such a big part.  Finding a way to rejoice that through the hard times, God brought us a chance to work together again as father and daughter, this time for His glory.

So as we continue to transition to the loss of my father and as our house continues to prepare to join God in reaching those in need, the tears and grief will continue to flow and the joy will slowly grow as we rejoice in serving Him.  My prayer is that God meet us here in this transition, and grant us strength, protection and healing…to serve Him in obedience, with joy, and with excitement.

And…I just have this feeling that my dad will be giving tours in heaven over the work the Lord is doing here in his daughter’s house.  I can almost hear him now…that same joyful, excited voice telling our beloved family and friends (and maybe even complete strangers like we saw last year) about this outreach…but now with a view from heaven, standing in the presence of our God, cheering, praying and sending us support in ways we cannot fathom. Thank You Lord for Your great mercies for our family…and may we, me and my family, together–young and old, continue to serve You with the same dedication and passion that my father gave during the last year of his life!

“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him.”  ~Psalm 127:3

“But after he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream…”  ~Matthew 1:20

My dad passed away on October 14, 2011.  It is hard to believe that the year turned into an event that we weren’t really expecting.  That is the hard part of life, while you can think you are prepared, often we are not.  I am not sure how it will feel to always think of my dad’s passing in the year 2011.

My family is far from perfect.  We definitely have family patterns that have passed down to this generation with our own twist on them.  At times, we lack accountability for our actions, and often take for granted what God has given us in each other.  When I write of what is going on in my life and how it relates to my family, I don’t want you to think we’ve got it together perfectly!  There were many times where my dad could be heard saying, “Just let it go!  What does it matter!!” when the bickering and arguing would begin.  Of course, he didn’t always feel that way with politics…he became very passionate about it the last five years of his life.

All that said, I pray that I am right in thinking that my family’s arguments, bickering and willingness (sometimes!) to look at the less-than-perfect parts of who we are, have taught us how to come back together after things are less than perfect between us.  We’ve had some pretty ugly disagreements…but, in the end, we are family.  I know for a fact that my dad’s illness and his death has helped me to start to reframe what family exactly means to me.  What I want to hold on to, what I am willing to put up with, and what I want to put down.  How I play into what I don’t like and how my actions impact others.  I am finding that family time together (on either side–Mark’s or mine) is not one of those thing I want to reduce…I once heard a story of a prominent Christian couple who got down on their knees every day asking God that their family circle in heaven remain intact and be unbroken in their children, their grandchildren, and their great-grandchildren, their siblings and their children, and with their parents.  As each year passes, I feel more strongly about this…wanting the same thing…a truly complete circle.

And where does a confirmation of that show up?  In a dream.  Not mine, but in someone close to me.  A vision of my dad that was very vivid, motioning that loved one towards a door.  He was smiling and encouraging, conveying that this person will like what they find on the other side.  Interestingly and honestly, as the dream was being told, I felt a touch of jealously.  I hadn’t been anticipating dreaming of my dad, but I had one…one that I never want to have again.  My dad was growing closer to passing away, and my brother had to say good-bye before my dad had passed.  I woke myself up, sobbing.  It was too painful, and later that day, I told God I did not to relive my dad dying or dream about that again (as my brother was present…I didn’t want to dream of him not being there at the end; having to say good-bye and missing that moment as a family)!  Later that week, this loved one told me of their dream, and I found myself a little envious of them seeing my dad happy (and not dying), the warmth, and the love that seemed to be present.

Well, 90 days come and goes…and once again, I am talking with this loved one.  Again, this person has had an incredibly vivid dream of my dad.  In this particular dream, my dad comes out of a door and gives this person a strong hug.  They can talk, and when this person woke up, they could still feel my dad’s hug.  As we talked more about believing and faith, in how hard it is not to see him anymore, I mentioned how incredibly blessed they were (though painful to wake up from) to have had that moment with my dad.  And again, I find myself with slight pangs of envy.  Not wanting their experience, but wanting one of my own.

Of course, I said little about those feelings, but noticed as the week continued on and rolled into the next, that I was wishing for a dream like that.  While I tried hard to live the last two years with no regrets, I found myself longing to have hugged my dad more.  On Saturday, in my den and alone, I finally allowed myself to come to terms with that regret…to own it.  You know, not those quick, see-you-later hugs, but longer ones…ones that conveyed my love more than my need to go.  I found myself thinking of how wonderful it would be to see him again, even if only in a dream.  Afterwards, I still kept those thoughts to myself and continued on with life–you know, those things that gobble up our time.

One day over the weekend, I came across a verse in the Bible with a study note attached to it that said in the Old Testament, dreams were often God’s way of communicating a message.  I knew it was common in the New Testament…Joseph experienced many.  Peter, Paul, and others were spoken to or moved by their dreams.  So I began to think.  My dad clearly seems to be trying to speak to this person for a reason that I can easily see, and for that, I am eternally grateful even if I never see him again in this lifetime.  If God is letting my dad help keep that circle in heaven intact, then may my dad hear my prayers of “Go for it, dad!!  Don’t stop!”  Yet, …there still was a twinge of longing in me…as I looked at it, I felt a little selfish, a little silly…couldn’t I just be happy with this…

Then Monday morning, a letter arrived addressed to me.  Mark handed it to me on his way to work.  I left it there until right before I was headed out the door to make another delivery.  I decided to open it after I saw the penmanship, realizing it was handwritten.  It was this sweet older lady that I rarely see or hear from.  I haven’t “talked” with her in years, other than she receives our newsletter.  What she said stopped me in my tracks:

“Dear Michelle,

I always feel so touched when you write of your dad and thought of you when I read this page.  I was very close to my dad also and my greatest wish was to have a dream of him.  It took 2 years to happen but in the dream he came up to me on a beach in Florida and put his arms around me and gave me the biggest hug ever.  So I’m wishing the same for you when his spirit is ready.  Love, [her name]”

Okay, wow…what?  How did God do that?  There is no way she could have known how I have been longing for a hug, a dream…no one had heard me grappling with this–well, maybe One…she had no way of knowing of this other person’s dreams.  I have been utterly befuddled this week, in a smiling, joyful kind-of-way.  Blown away by this little handwritten note…

Reflecting on it, I wonder if God is telling me that He knows the longing of my heart even when I don’t want to ask for something so big.  I am just amazed and touched by the reminder that He actually knows what I am grappling with, and my friends, what you are struggling with too.  I also wonder if He is reminding me that He is working on that circle of my loved ones who both me and my dad truly want to see in heaven some day.  And I am even moreso humbled by His love, by my dad’s love for us…and how He repeatedly uses us (you and I, and yes, this sweet lady) to send important messages to one another…

…if we are willing to see, to dream, to follow, to hope, to care, to write, to speak the truth even when it’s hard, to forgive, to turn the other cheek, to serve, to drive, to knock on another’s door, to cook, to bake, to wash, to pray, and most importantly, to love…and all too often, to His glory, it falls in the little things that we do.  Thank You God, and you go, dad!  And I’ll trust that we’ll hug each other again in my dreams someday… 🙂

It all started while on a walk.  Here in Michigan, we have had an unusual amount of warm sunny days in the beginning of January.  It has been rejuvenating as well as encouraging as many January days are down-right dreary.  For a long time, I have felt like I needed to walk on a regular basis, and with all I learned at Mayo Clinic, I really do!  With the unexpected burst of warm weather and a bundle of energy in an eleven-month-old puppy, I recently committed myself to going for a morning walk.  This day, I was out the door as the sun was rising, hidden behind a large ceiling of gray, raindrop-filled clouds that seemed to hang low.  The street lights continued to shine despite the coming of morning, and the rain gently fell from the sky.  All I needed was a light rain coat and out the door we went.

Sometime in early December, I had noticed that a few of the trees still had their fruit on them.  It had fascinated me as I figured the birds would have eaten them by now.  Instead, they were hanging in bunches on the cherry trees all over my neighborhood.  On this particular morning, they were bathed in rain drops that seem to be glistening dots of shining light reflecting the stillness of the gray day.

As I walked by each tree, these little drops of water hanging from each berry captured my attention.  I chuckled at how they were continually drawing my eye on these walks.  I am not sure if it was the dark redness of the cherries contrasted to the emptiness of a tree with no leaves, or whether it was something calling me to think deeper as the cherries hung there with hundreds of raindrops clinging to them.  I had repeatedly found myself thinking of the Scripture where Jesus talks about trees that bear fruit versus those that do not.  It seemed to me that I had a whole neighborhood full of these trees to tell that story.

Down the way a bit, we have a little park that has a path that winds between two small ponds.  It was at this bridge that I stopped with the dogs to take a look out over the water.  It was lightly raining, ever so lightly more than a mist.  For some reason, I just wanted to take in the moment with nature.  To my surprise, the wind was still and the top of the water was like glass.  You could see all the little ringlets of water as each raindrop splashed into the pond.  Much to my surprise, dotted among the smaller ones were these bigger splashes.  As I looked up, I realized that the bigger trees leaning over the pond were collecting the smaller raindrops together and releasing a much bigger one that was creating these larger splashes.  The interesting thing is that you could barely see either as they were falling; it was their impact that made them more visible.

A thought crossed my mind as I looked up at these bigger trees, that had grown taller than the others:  What if this is a picture of us and why we are to seek to grow closer with God?  For me, I often see these incredible paradigms in nature that declare the glory and majesty of God…these wonderful examples that call to us to remember that this world was designed and created, not by random chance, but an amazing God who is calling to each of us.

As the thought rumbled around in my mind, I thought of how God has designed almost every plant to reach up towards the sun.  While I don’t believe that the created is to be worshiped, what if this is an example for us?  What if this is the way we’ve been designed ourselves?  To be continually reaching towards Him.  To grow stronger and closer in our relationship…though the Son is what gives us the strength and power to grow, our part, like the trees, is to reach up as high as we can go.

But the question becomes why and to whose benefit, right?  As I watched these large raindrops fall, my thought turned to the illustration of the bigger raindrop versus the smaller ringlets from the free-falling raindrops, and this beautiful thought came to mind.  God brings the rain, the “nourishment” that we need.  What if this is continually falling around us…God trying to get our attention in the little things, things barely noticeable if you do not stop and pay attention.  The little gifts here and there that pop into our lives to grant us comfort, hope if only for a moment, grace when we aren’t sure how to give it or think we cannot receive it, strength when we are too weak to know how to move forward, or the unexpected love in the kindness of another.  What if these moments are God’s little raindrops in our world?

Looking at the pond, there was a noticeably bigger impact of some raindrops than others, but their size did not originate in the heavens.  It was caused by the trees already here on earth, gathering these drops (or moments) together until they are one and together they fall resulting in a greater impact.  Is that why we are supposed to draw closer to God and stronger in faith?  Is it possible for those who seek to walk in God’s ways that we can pool together God’s blessings and join Him in making an even bigger impact with His raindrops?  That by growing towards His likeness, both individually as well as corporately in a group setting, we can take those moments of strength, grace, insight, love and pool them together for the benefit of the world around us…

I watched with delight as the raindrops burst upwards back into the air and then back down to create these beautiful ripples.  What I noticed is that their ripples were bigger than the adjacent raindrops and they lasted longer.  How true that also seemed to me.  So many don’t even notice the small gifts God gives them each day, but they do seem to see it more concretely through and in the hands or arms of another.  And that bigger drop does not negate or supersede the smaller ones for it is just an accumulation of them.  If our faith is right and our walk humble, than we will realize that in the moments we can impact the lives of another, it is not really us…it is God working through us…the glory still and always will originate in Him.

What an amazing thought to think that God allows us to be a part of those moments in life where we can have a true impact on another.  What an incredible honor and privilege.  I walked home amazed by His creation, humbled by such wonderful thoughts and incredibly grateful for I had needed some inspiration to walk, to write, and to draw closer to Him.  Beautifully, it came on a day I least expected…a dreary, gray day in a mundane task that I was not super excited about.  But that is the beauty of a cloudy day–your eyes are naturally more relaxed and wide open–you’ll be amazed at what you see when your heart is willing!

“Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving; make music to our God on the harp.  He covers the sky with clouds; He supplies the earth with rain and makes the grass grow on the hills.”  ~Psalm 147:7-8

“Grief is a process of awareness, of making real inside the self an event that already occurred in reality outside.”  ~Parkes and Weiss

Last year, I started a new project called the December Daily.  It documents the 25 days to Christmas.  Mark had bought me a new camera for Mother’s Day of 2010 and I wanted to learn more about photography.  I had taken an on-line course that inspired me with daily prompts and photo tips.  I had also (still am) been following a blog by Ali Edwards, which is about creating and story-telling with her photos (check her out here:Ali Edwards website). I absolutely loved how the book turned out!

Inspired by that joy and a renewed desire to document our life, I began a year-long project called Project Life by Becky Higgins (see her website here: Becky Higgins’ Project Life).  By early June, I fell behind in actually getting the photos printed and into the book, but I tried to stay true to documenting our every day life–trying to take pictures every week of what was going on.  For those who had been following my dad’s battle with cancer, these projects are what motivated me to take as many pictures, both happy and painful, of my dad and our last moments with him.  It is also what made me realize that sharing those photos would bring him closer to you.

My dad passed away on October 14th…and while I tried to stay true to photographing our life, by mid-November, I found myself no longer wanting to document anything.  My cameras became quiet.  I took a few pictures but not with the same eye, not with the same heart.  Around the same time, my grandmother–my dad’s mom–broke her hip and in a late evening phone call, an aunt asked me how we were all doing.  She shared with me that it wasn’t until six weeks after her mom passed that she was truly overcome by grief.  Later, I wondered, as I fell asleep, if that might be true for myself…had my grief really arrived?

“The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief–But the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love.”  ~Hilary Stanton Bruin

You see, I am really sad and have had lots of moments of tears and missing my dad, but often things feel like they are returning to normal.  Our routine is slowly falling back in line.  Thanksgiving and Christmas are marching forward.  Toys are being dropped off, sorting is taking place, and time is steadily, sometimes quickly, moving forward.

“The cure for grief is motion.”  ~Elbert Hubbard

It wasn’t until yesterday that I fully realized that grief had truly arrived.  I was looking at my December Daily book and couldn’t think of what to put in it for December 2nd.  You see, I am already behind, which I don’t like to be, but it was in that moment of reflection that I realized I wasn’t taking pictures regularly…even knowing that I am committed to documenting this December.  As I thought of the 2nd, I couldn’t see anything that I wanted to share.  The day had been uneventful (not that only eventful stories need to be shared!) and the evening…well, it wasn’t pretty…

On the evening of December 2nd, actually all day, I had been feeling this stress build within myself.  I have a small work station set up in our den where I can make jewelry like my dad once did.  In it is a table, my supplies and tools.  At my prodding, Leo, my brother-in-law, had given me several pieces of vintage silverware that were awaiting beads and jewels so that they could come become beautiful bracelets.  We had a major show, actually two, the next day and those beads, those bands were still waiting.

I spent the better part of the day focused on school, cleaning, baking and everything else, telling myself that though I needed to get to them, I would.  I ignored the fact that I was dancing around the need to finish them. Ah, but sometimes we can’t see when we are living in avoidance!  By the time Mark got home, I was itching with irritability (as a wise old friend once described herself).  We were chatting about the next day and after a phone call with an unexpected expectation being placed on us, we began to argue.  Yes, we do argue…despite how much we love one another.

This argument, though, seemed to take on something more.  Maybe it was all those bottled up moments since my dad had passed, the cursory explanations, and unclear communications.  Before I knew it, I was in tears and he was quite upset.  In order to escape that discomfort, I eventually retreated to our den–knowing that the time had come where I couldn’t procrastinate anymore.  As I picked up the silverware and began to work on making the jewelry, in my memory, I began to see my father’s hands next to me.  I slowly began to realize why I had been avoiding this place.

“Tears have a wisdom all their own.  They come when a person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through his sorrow.  They are the natural bleeding of an emotional wound, carrying the poison out of the system.  Here lies the road to recovery.”  ~F. Alexander Magoun

You see, in the last month before he passed, I would sit with him at his work station…often just him and I, though others were always near.  Sometimes it was just sitting there helping him put together bead arrangements.  Other times, I would work on my computer alongside him as he worked on his jewelry.  Eventually, as he grew weaker, I asked him to show me how he made them.  Part of me wanted to share in his joy and happiness in making that jewelry, while the other part of me wanted to give him the gift of being able to share his new found passion and interest with another.  We rejoiced when I finally figured it out and held a finished bracelet in my hands.  On December 2nd, in my mind’s eye, I could see his hands bending the wire, hear his words quietly instructing me in my heart…and it was too much.

“Man could not live life if he was entirely impervious to sadness.  Many sorrows can be endured only be being embraced and the pleasure taken in them naturally has a somewhat melancholy character.”  ~Emil Durkheim

In an instant, I recognized why I had been avoiding that room for weeks.  I began to understand that the stress I was feeling was not because of all that was undone or even that argument, it was the grief that was overcoming me.  The realization that his death, his passing, the pain…it was finally settling in.  My tears turned into sobs as I finally stopped wrestling with it…as my heart began to take down the barricades that I had thrown up to try to prevent the sorrow from coming in.

“She was no longer wrestling with grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.”  ~George Eliot

As I sat there yesterday afternoon, I realized that this year no matter how many times we smile, no matter how wonderful the beautiful music or fun the presents, no matter how many loved ones we are blessed to celebrate Christmas with, this Christmas is a time of mourning for us, for me.  In that moment, I realized that I did have something that I wanted to remember for December 2nd, 2011:  I had finally allowed grief to come in.

“Don’t be afraid to cry.  It will free your mind of sorrowful thoughts.”  ~Hopi saying

Looking for something to begin with for that day, I found a tub of Christmas tags.  I had popped off the lid and pulled out a green tag, and to my surprise, it said “greetings”.  For some reason, it felt right.  It hit me then that I have a choice on how to greet my grief…with a willing heart and an open mind or with a shovel and some dirt.  That if I truly trust God with my life, I must trust Him with experiencing grief even in its heaviness and most painful moments.  My dance of denial and weak efforts to sweep it under the rug are not trust–not trusting in Him or in who He has made (and is making) me to be–they are just disguised efforts to control by avoidance that which can’t be stopped.  To live life to its fullest, I want to greet grief with the trust that it is here for a reason and will only stay as long as necessary.  To understand and remember that I don’t want the busyness of life, in all its normalcy, to numb me to the pain I must deal with–that I am suppose to deal with.  I don’t want this Christmas to be about finding a “new normal” just yet…for the moment, I just want to truly and deeply miss him, his smile, and his love for Christmas.  I want to truly experience these moments for what they are, trusting that in being present in this season of mourning, a greater joy will one day return.

“Sorrow comes to all…perfect relief is not possible, except with time.  You cannot realize that you will ever feel better, and yet you are sure to be happy again.”  ~Abraham Lincoln

There is nothing worse than knowing you need to fix something, but not knowing quite how.  As I was sitting with a friend, I listened to her explain how her frustration and anger towards her family for how they had treated her had played a part in her heart attack.  She could clearly see that her internal bitterness, anger and resentment had landed her in the hospital.  As a priest came into her room to talk, she shared with him her dilemma.  Without a lot of details, he told her about the need for forgiveness.  In her sweet but direct way, she told him how she appreciated that thought, but that instruction…the need to forgive, to not hold on to those feelings, never seems to come with instructions on the “how to” part.  You could hear that she desperately wanted the “tools” to undo the anger and forgive, partially realizing that there was work to do in her heart before she could get there.

It was an interesting perspective…I had just found myself asking God that same question days earlier.  I was truly glad that He was showing me that I was struggling with anger, but I have been praying, for years in some cases, for it to go away.  I knew that I could “say” that I had forgiven as so many do, but I wasn’t really sure how to truly uproot those trapped feelings in my heart.  As my friend spoke, her words resonated my own questions to God…how God, do we find forgiveness? I know that mere words mean nothing to Him; it must be heartfelt and I was still feeling anger and unforgiveness in my heart.

“Time and time again He restrained His anger and did not stir up His full wrath.”   ~Psalm 78:38

I shared this Scripture with you last time and focused on restraint, but when I first read this verse, what stuck out to me was not the word restraint but stir.  Now maybe, it is because I love to cook!  Or maybe, because in my family, including my husband, we all love to “stir” the pot with each other…I, myself, am as guilty as anyone else.  Most of the time, it makes us laugh, but then sometimes that stirring causes an “ouch” effect when we unknowingly, or maybe knowingly, hit a tender spot.

The word stir means to move, agitate, incite to action, excite, raise, quicken, aliven, or to disturb.  Noah Webster, American Dictionary of the English Language (ADEL), 1828.  Now stop and think about it in context of relationships and anger.  What causes you to grow more angry?  For myself, it is when I allow my thoughts to stir around in my head.  Just like in a mixing bowl where you have a bunch of ingredients sitting on top of each other, once you begin to stir, they become melded together.  The mixture, while being stirred, pulls other ingredients into the stickiness of that concoction.  So what was once some flour, butter, egg, vanilla, and sugar…now becomes a gooey mess.  I liken the picture to anger.

Someone or something angers us.  As our mind begins to ruminate over that perceived wrong, we catch a glimpse at another thing that aggravated us about them.  Then another, and the next you know, your anger has grown.  These thoughts all become sticky and drag in others that might really have nothing to do with the situation.  Somehow as our minds stir these moments together, we create a bigger pot of stew–a stew of anger that is bubbling and growing in size and temperature…

Did you know that too often you can over-stir a recipe, especially when baking?  When you do, the mixture becomes very tough and not so good to eat.  Most recipes call for you to stir the ingredients just enough to bring them together but not overmix them.  It is probably natural for our memories of prior wrongs to be awakened slightly to a new offense, but they are probably not meant to be brought into the mix to fuel that new situation.  Ah, may that be how wrath arises?  Over-stirring our anger…

So what does become of overmixed, bubbling anger then?  The Scripture gives us a clue.  It can turn into wrath.  Wrath is violent anger, vehement exasperation, and plainly, the effects of anger. ADEL.  Let’s take a look at that definition in a bit more detail to see if we ever experience wrath?

Vehement means “showing or caused by strong feelings; forceful; ardent.”  Reader’s Digest Oxford Complete Wordfinder (RDOCW), pg. 1706.  In the ADEL, it is defined as “acting with great force; very forcible; furious.”  ADEL.  What does forceful mean?  It means “vigorous, powerful; (of speech) compelling; impressive.”  RDOCW, pg. 571.  Let’s go a little deeper by looking at its synonyms:  “energetic, aggressive, strong, weighty, effective, convincing, persausive.  So with vehement, it can be passionately arguing with compelling words that are strong and effective.  Maybe it can be that statement arising out of your mouth that you quietly know carries a punch to another.

Now let’s look at exasperation which the word vehement is describing.  Exasperation is when you are “irritated intensely; infuriated; or enraged.”  RDOCW, pg. 500.  You can be irritated, vexed, bothered, nettled, tormented, rubbed the wrong way, someone or something has gotten under your skin, gotten your goat, incensed you, is driving you crazy and so on  Id.  Hmmm…putting those two words together…have you ever responded to someone or something in wrath?  With your words, have you found yourself speaking abruptedly and effectively with great irritation towards someone who has gotten to you?  Well, my friend, you have felt wrath.

So as I sat and looked at Psalm 78:38, I was struck by what it said…”He…did not stir up His full wrath.”  Again, for the moment, I paused in praise for the weight of those words.  God loves me enough to not stir up His full wrath when I have wronged Him.  It doesn’t mean that He doesn’t feel frustration towards me for my wrongs, He chooses not to stir up His anger into a complete and fully deserved wrath.  For that I am so grateful in ways now that I had never known.  It is not easy for me to see myself as a sinner.  I like to think I am trying to live a life pleasing to Him, and while that might be partly true, this Scripture brings to me the realization of how much more I need God’s mercy in my life…how imperfect I am.  For with this Scripture (and others), with these teachings that He has been touching my heart with, He is right.  I am struggling with anger, bitterness, and yes, even wrath when I allow someone else to get under my skin…in my heart, I need to change.  By His example, I see that stirring myself up in anger only brings me closer to a full wrath…which He withholds from me, so shouldn’t I with others?

How many of you out there have found yourself wishing you had said “this” or “that” in response to the person who aggravated you?  How often are you later thinking of not only their current offense but how they’ve wronged you in the past?  Or maybe, just maybe, you heard about them wronging someone else?  That, my friend, is stirring.  When we engage thoughts like this, we are exciting our brains to anger.  We are letting ourselves become more agitated.  Sometimes we even find ourselves wishing for the opportunity to come again so that we can say those wonderful one-liners that have since popped into our minds.

I don’t know about you, but slowing down and looking at myself in light of this, I see that not only do those stirrings give rise to more frustration in me, but they also cause me to be more quick to offend again.  I am alivened to the idea that this person is going to anger or wrong me.  Anger never causes us to see the good in people, but brings into focus what we don’t like.  When I allow those type of thoughts to be stirred around inside of me, I am so much less merciful, so more willing to see them in judgment than in grace.  So much more willing to embrace my full frustration instead of restraining it.

How about you?  Have you ever felt these frustrations or dwelt in the land of bitterness, anger and resentment?

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”  ~Proverbs 15:1

What is amazing to me is that God has much more instruction on this topic.  As a result, I am going to move this topic and what His Word has to say about it over to a new page called “Ponderings”.  There I invite you to join in with me as I learn what God has to say in His Word about all sorts of topics starting out with anger and compassion–and hopefully, growing from there.  In my experience, I have always found that by sharing our lives and what we are learning, we often come to greater understanding, insight and personal growth.  I hope to see you there!