Stay Strong

"Stay Strong", is one of those phrases of encouragement that just gives me an uncomfortable feeling. I know each person who says it means well and I appreciate their good intentions. But I honestly wonder what they are thinking when they say that? Are they thinking that if the one who is facing hardship gives into his feelings of grief with crying and/or screaming that they will end up having a mental "breakdown"? Are they scared of facing reality? Aren't we more likely to have a "breakdown" if we keep the natural process of grief bottled up inside and "stay strong". Maybe they mean stay strong in the Lord and his strength...

I think of Sean and his developing will and his little toddler temper. It breaks my heart that he gets so frustrated when he doesn't get what he wants. In all honesty, I would rather he safely express those feelings rather than bottle them up. As long as he isn't hurting himself, someone else, or something. Once he has his little tantrum all is fine again. He has worked through it and he has accepted reality. He isn't going to always get what he wants because he wants it, and what he wants isn't always what is best for him. A hard lesson for us to learn in life.

Life gives us a multitude of disappointments, but some of the worst are lost loved ones and that is where I have heard those two words, "stay strong". The first time I heard it was when my mother died. I was thirteen years old and I took those words to heart. I was 13...I was impressionable. Maybe I didn't understand what they meant. However, my 13 year old brain processed those words to mean I needed to fight the tears. I had to stay strong for my father. I was all he had after my mother died. I stayed strong for my mother much of my life and now I had to stay strong for my father. As a result of keeping it all in for so long and trying to find the strength in myself, a stomach ulcer formed and I was diagnosed with borderline ulcerative colitis and depression at the age of 16. Fortunately, there were some people who said, "You don't have to be strong anymore. Let it out, Letia". They told me I didn't have to keep the feelings bottled up or try to run from them. I may not have learned how to let it out then, but I am learning. I am still learning. I am still learning what it means to fully trust in God's strength and not my own. I have learned more with each loss I grieve. Those words came again when I lost my baby girl and then I heard it yet again when my father-in-law passed away.

The summer before I lost my Mom I asked Jesus into my heart. There is no way I could have carried the grief on my own. I remember those who told me I didn't have to be strong. It was liberating...a weight had been taken from me...I was free. I let all the stages of grief come...I let the anger...I let the tears of sorrow...I let it all in and it was there that I professed it to God. It was then that God could work in me. For it was in my weakness...my surrender...that he did the work in me. I didn't have to be strong in my flesh. I didn't have to strive to have worldly perfection. I didn't have to be in control. I didn't have to appear to be okay to everyone else. He loved me in my brokenness. He loves me. It was when I let Him take all of me that I was made strong. His grace was sufficient. Just like Sean...as long as he isn't hurting himself, someone else, or something...let it out. Sean's heart is then open to the discipline and instruction we give him and the unconditional love and grace we provide. Just like Sean my heart will be open to God's unconditional love and His work in me, if I acknowledge and truly work through the disappointments this life brings. That is where I find strength...where I find peace...where I find contentment...and where I eventually find joy.

"Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him." (Psalm 126: 5-6)

Now, when I hear those words, "stay strong", I just add my life's lesson. "Stay strong in Him" Lean on him...strength doesn't mean holding back, but letting Him into every facet of my life. Letting Him work in my messy life...in my deep pain...in my weakness and my ugly sin. Often that means crying and getting on my knees in prayer. Being true to myself and God about what is going on in my broken heart. That is how I find that strength everyone so desires to see in everyone around them.

"We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
(Romans 5: 2-5)

When I am in the midst of suffering, it is so hard to rejoice. The rejoicing comes after the sting and mental cloudiness of grief. It is then that I rejoice in the beauty of God. When I fully realize this life isn't about me and my fleshly desires, but being used for his purpose and being unconditionally loved by Him. Being content in His will for my life. That is where I find the strength to do the work he has put me on this earth to do. He is a faithful and loving God and I am so grateful for His never ending grace...

March Winds

When I think of March I think of wind, rain, and rebirth. It is almost like winter and spring fight each other in March. I am not a fan of winter. About the only thing I like about winter is the excuse to wear comfy sweaters and drink hot drinks. I'm not even that crazy about snow. I am always happy to see those first signs that spring is fighting with winter. The wind has been blowing a good bit lately and the days are getting longer. I can't wait to see leaves on the trees again and colorful spring flowers...to see the rebirth. One refreshing thing about March is the wind. Sean has recently learned how to blow out of his mouth. We talk about how the wind blows and we blow with our mouths. He gets the biggest kick out of it.

March is one of those bittersweet months for me. I try hard to focus on the sweet, but sometimes the wind blows the bitter into my memory. It was March 9, 1995 when my Mom's journey on earth ended and her rebirth in eternity began. It was March 8, 2011 when my father-in-law's journey on earth ended and his rebirth in eternity began. Two very special people, who I think would have gotten along well if they had ever met. I remember the night of March 8, 2011 very well. I was emotional. I cried for my mother that night before I fell asleep. It had been 15 years since her death and was about to be 16 years the next day. I didn't cry anymore on the anniversary, but I did this time. We would soon celebrate Sean's 6 month birthday on the 10th and I was missing the mother I wish were in my life. Being a mother brings up emotions anyway, but not having my own mother while being a mother myself made it complicated. Funny thing about grief is that it never completely goes away and certain milestones in your life can bring it up again. Much like when I got married. I cried very hard for her the night of March 8th and I just wanted her with me. The last couple of years had been very busy and filled with ups and downs. Giving birth to a still baby girl, grieving for her, experiencing a faith building pregnancy and then trying to learn how to soothe a colicky baby with acid reflux for four months was all physically and emotionally draining. Just learning how to be a Mom was new and sometimes challenging. Not to mention that those beautiful hormones were still trying to get back in order. It was an amazing and eventful six months with our little miracle. That night I had the reminder of my Mom's tragic death and I cried. Little did I know I would be crying in devastation and expected to be stronger than I could handle on my own, just a few hours later.

It was around 3:00 a.m. and I heard music. I immediately knew it was my phone, but it was downstairs. I shot out of bed and ran down the stairs. My heart was racing, because I knew something terrible had happened. I left my phone downstairs. I always took it up with me, but I forgot. I forgot and still deeply regret that I left it downstairs that night. I still remember answering half asleep, but in an awakened panic. I answered, but didn't hear anything. Then it finally registered with me that it was Patrick's brother. He said my name several times and asked to speak with Pat. My first thought was something had happened to his wife. That they were in trouble. They live in England...so it would have been waking hours for them, but we hardly ever talk on the phone and not during times we should be sleeping. I ran up the stairs and gave Patrick the phone. He listened to his brother for awhile and then started trembling. I asked what was wrong. He told me Dad was gone...gone? My first reaction was disbelief. I asked, "what?!?" in a panic. He said Dad was dead. It was a moment I wasn't ready for. I wasn't ready for this...not in the least bit expecting it....a complete shock. I felt sick...very sick. I felt sick for my husband, sick for my son, sick for my brother-in-law, sick for my sister-in-law and especially sick for my mother-in-law. After Patrick talked with his brother, we cried and held each other. There we were again...crying in pain and shock. Grief came banging on our door again and I didn't want to answer. Can our marriage handle this? Will my husband be okay? It wasn't very long ago that he lost his daughter. It isn't just about us and our marriage anymore. There is a baby boy sound asleep in the next room and he still needs us to meet all of his needs. We live over two hours away from Patrick's mother. She needs us. We have failed her. We didn't answer the phone when she first called us earlier in the night. She needed her family...her sons...she needed her eldest son. We forgot to bring our phones upstairs that night. Why of all nights did we forget them that night?!?! After we cried, held each other, and discussed our plans, Patrick just wanted to sleep until Sean woke up. Thankfully, God gave him peace and rest that night, but I didn't have a peace. I was broken.

I went downstairs and finished up laundry and began to pack. I was crying and trembling. I couldn't handle it. The prayers asking God for comfort, peace, and strength began. I remember talking to him and thinking, I can't take this again, God! I can't take this again! What are you doing to me? What are you doing to my husband? What are you doing in our lives? What are you allowing to happen to our family? You just blessed us with the birth of a beautiful, healthy baby boy and now we are facing loss again? I thought about how I am a mother without a mother and now Patrick is a father without a father. Who would we call on with our questions? Sean isn't going to have a relationship with his Pop. He had so many things he wanted to teach his grandson. How are we going to do this, God? I was very weak...I wasn't the strong wife, mother, or daughter-in-law that I should have been.

I was grieving the loss of a great father-in-law and grieving for the family he left behind. I had known him since the summer of 1996. That was the summer I met Patrick and his family. I was 14 years old and lost my mother, just a little over a year before the Lord sent Patrick into my life. He quickly became a friend and was my first and only true love. The first time I ever met Patrick's family seems so long ago. So much has changed since then. I was invited over for dinner. Not only did I like Patrick, but I was interested in his family. He had a mom, dad, and little brother. They ate dinner every night as a family at the dinner table. They had many family moments. My life hadn't been "normal" for awhile. My parents loved each other deeply and tried very hard to keep our life as a family of three "normal", but my mother's sickness and death made our lives very inconsistent. Mainly in my Mom's final years. What I saw in Patrick's family was security and love. I saw it from the first Saturday I spent with them. That security and love was rooted in his parents as individuals and their marriage. Patrick and I continued our relationship and I watched his parent's relationship as ours matured through the years. I clearly saw that God was the head of their household and they raised their boys to love and follow God. They invested in each other. It was always clear that they had a deep love for each other in how they looked at each other, talked to one another, held hands, or the little things they did for each other everyday. I miss their beautiful marriage and the home they created together.

It wasn't until I heard those words from my husband, "Dad is gone", that I started to truly understand how much he meant to me. How much I respected him for the man he was. He was a thoughtful man or "thoughty" as he would say. He took that word from Disney's Robin Hood. He loved to read and had a thirst for knowledge and for understanding God's will for his life. He was a leader, teacher, and had a strong work ethic when it came to his family, church, and business. He wasn't outwardly emotional, but he was thoughtful.

He understood the importance of a sense of humor in life and I remember his smile and laugh. I always laughed when I was in his presence. I came to accept and love his sarcasm with me...like calling the hamburgers he grilled well done for me on Saturday nights, "hockey pucks". He picked on my serious side and would make me lighten up. He didn't offend me, because I knew he accepted me and there was much more to him than just being able to lighten a situation. He had an unspoken depth and sincerity. His eyes said so much to me. Those blue eyes he passed on to Patrick and Sean.

He was a gentleman. He taught Patrick the art of chivalry. That is one of the many things that attracted me to Patrick. Patrick's Dad always made sure I had enough water in my glass at dinner, opened the door for me, and he would take my hand to help me out of the car. He called me "Little Mama" when I was pregnant. He held both Felicity and Sean on the day they were born. He held them and stared at them, with such love.

He liked classic rock music from Three Dog Night, Journey, Chicago and Foreigner. I cannot listen to those bands without thinking of him. He loved classical music and jazz. He was a very devoted member of the church choir. He enjoyed cooking and gardening. He was a master with the grill. He loved coffee and certainly knew how to make a great cup of joe. He loved nature. He had an appreciation for all seasons, but he enjoyed the season of fall most of all. His love of fall and the mountains taught me to love fall and the mountains even more. I have such special memories of family trips to the mountains, where we would go hiking and have picnics. I remember him lying on the grass and looking at the sky. He took time to enjoy the beauty God created. He always looked forward to football season!

He was interested in current events and could carry on a conversation about politics for a length of time. In his last years, he was greatly concerned about the condition of our world. His time serving in Thailand gave him a respect and appreciation for other cultures.

He loved his family and he understood the importance of relaxing and spending quality time with each other. He always preferred to visit with his family in his comfy recliner after a meal, instead of the hard chairs at the dinner table. He loved to tell stories of his sons' childhood years. He loved being a father.

He was well composed and educated when he spoke. He was humble and never boastful. He knew when to interject humor and when not to. He was noble and loyal. He passed so many of his qualities on to Patrick. He lives on in the sons and grandson he left behind. He lives strongly in the hearts of his family. For he always put God first and his family second in his life.

I remember the last weekend I saw him. He and Patrick's Mom babysat, so Patrick and I could go on a date for Valentine's Day. We all had a nice time together that weekend. I so vividly remember that last family hug before they left to return to Dublin. Patrick's Dad always led the family hug. The night Patrick and I went on our date, Pop sang "Jesus Loves Me" to Sean while rocking him in the rocking chair. Sean always found security and comfort in his Pop's arms. He could soothe him when he was fussy. Pop loved Sean so much. Just before we left for Dublin the morning of March 9th, I sang "Jesus Loves Me" to Sean while rocking him in the rocking chair. I cried and couldn't help but think Pop might be holding his granddaughter in heaven singing "Jesus Loves Me". Perhaps he met my Mom and she shared Felicity with him. I worried about how my tears and grieving would affect Sean. He is a sensitive child and he did pick up on the emotions that flooded our family. But, he was a blessing from the Lord...a gift of life and hope to us in the midst of our sorrow.

We left our home that morning in the pouring March rain and wind to begin a very painful road of grief for a great man. He was a man who was respected, admired, and taught me so much about what is important in life...a man who will always be loved and never forgotten.

He was fascinated with nature and especially the universe. He had a deep respect for the magnificence God created on this earth. I think of him when I read this beautiful verse...

"Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God, without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life-in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing." (Philippians 2: 14-16 NIV)

He was a man who shined like the stars. He was a light for God and he did not run or labor on this earth for nothing. I can't even begin to imagine the beauty, rest and reward he is experiencing in heaven for being a good and faithful servant...for doing a good work on this earth!

For months I woke up at 3:00 a.m.. Remembering that phone call the night of March 8th. Imagining the tragedy a beautiful marriage and Patrick's mother experienced the night her husband died. Thoughts and feelings flooded my brain and I couldn't rest. I couldn't sleep. I wanted a mental and physical vacation. I was so tired. My heart would race and I would cry. I was weak and hurting...not strong. I am finding the sweet in the bittersweet of loss. I know I can't take grief on alone. I rest in the Lord and this verse...

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 

(1 Peter 5: 6-7)