Ten

I can hear the early morning sound of your coffee grinder chopping beans to a pulp. Is it Guatemalan, Ethiopian, or is it Kenyan today? The delicious smell wafts through the house as you invite the hot nectar to stir you awake. On your way to the clothing that would protect you from the cold, you kiss my cheek and whisper words of love. Our boy sleeps in the bedroom nearby. Ready to make the hour-long journey, one last kiss.

Ten.

Ten has been rather unkind to me, dear Ricky, always lurking. Ten brought with him uninvited guests, Guilt and Remorse. But Guilt and Remorse would not tease me about our marriage. No. Instead they found my weaker place and torment me about our boy. About the very specific memories of me failing him as a mother beginning with yesterday, traveling through that knock on the door, weaving through his childhood, and coming to rest at his birth. Our sweet, sensitive boy. Every moment of failure replayed in slow motion as though time was filled only with Guilt and Remorse, those selfish guests.

Ten.

The presence of Ten throughout the year differs from Nine and Eight and the rest. Those others appeared mostly around November, but Ten has been with me all year long. Ten is so very big. The enormity of Ten strikes me more deeply than the enormity of your absence. That’s a funny thing. Perhaps the peaceful satisfaction of our lives well lived, and the joy that is this new creation…this surprise of hope, provides some sense of freedom. But Ten, why must you be so heavy? What are you trying to tell me?

Ten.

While indeed Ten is heavy and those uninvited guests occupy far too much space, I trust that “…the very act of voicing our trouble to God begins a conversation in which we have opened ourselves up to his care, his mercy, and his provision” (Manion, 2010, p. 79). I simply marvel at how my heavenly Father gave individual attention to this existence of mine and intricately designed a beautiful life of unswerving faith and that he continues to go ahead of me weaving even Ten and his friends into something glorious.

Ten.

Farewell to Year Four

Dear Ricky,


Four years today.
So much to say.
Instead…
Quiet peace.

I give thanks.


Love,
Me


“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 24-25, NIV).

Farewell to Year Three

Dear Ricky,

I’ve been thinking about this day for a while now. Three years. Three is such a very small number, but it sometimes seems so very big. I want to do something special to remember you on this day, something intentional and purposeful. Yet none of my ideas seem quite right. I feel that if I don’t do something, if the day passes without some meaningful event – if I do little more than get out of bed, eat breakfast, and get to work – then I will have failed to honor you for our lives together. It’s not out of a sense of compulsion that I write, but instead out of a sense of needing to be near you, to be comforted by you, to be understood. This letter seems to be the best way to be close.

I’ve started this letter again and again and wonder that almost all of what I have written each time mirrors what I wrote to you last year – lack of being comforted, feeling that no one understands, carrying a hidden burden. Is that my lot in life? To never make progress, to never move forward? That doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like me. It doesn’t sound like what God would plan. Maybe I need to evaluate my station based on a continuum now.

Although today is a day of reflection, and I give myself permission to feel the emotions that go along with such a day, I have to tell you that my life is so very good, Ricky. I think you would be proud of me. I feel like a whole different person, though someone I hardly recognize. I know and love God more deeply than ever and I love other people in a way that I never knew I could. I’m still strong, determined, and independent too. I’m not sure I like growing and changing sometimes. It means I’m moving away from you and toward something else. Even though I know it’s inevitable, and even necessary, I take each step with this keen awareness of what it means about your place in my life.

I think you’d like this little ministry God planted. I think you’d find so many of the same warm blessings I have. I think you’d be surprised like I am. You realize that none of it would have happened without you…um…without your death. I know that you didn’t have to die to make it happen, like Jesus had to die to give us life, but I also know that my life would look very different otherwise. Thank you for this unexpected gift. I thank God for keeping his promise to “make all things work for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

And so I continue to step forward into this crazy new life carrying with me little more than a dull heartache. I move ahead with no fear, no regrets, no do-overs. Still peace, still grace, still hope. Mostly sweetness. And so, farewell once more my sweet Ricky. Until we meet again.

Love,
Me

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 24-25, NIV).

Farewell

Dear Ricky,

My thoughts fight for expression…expression that looks like nothing more than a jumble of words on a page.  I’ve started and restarted this letter to you eight times, who knows if this will be the last.  I’ve never written to you before.  What should I say?  What will be my last words?  What would have been my last words?

Do I tell you all the things I miss so much about you?  That list would go on forever.  Do I tell you all the new things God has brought me to?  That story would seem unreal.  As my best friend, I want to tell you everything.  I want you to know me again.  Would you still love me? 

How do I describe the impossibility of comfort?  An emptied box of tissues litters the ground at my feet.  The safest place in the world is in your embrace.  I’ll have to wait.  Be strong.  Smile.  Be thankful.  But not comforted.  It’s like being thirsty and never getting a drink.  How do I marry this new and beautiful life God has made for me with this unfillable longing for comfort?  Yes I find comfort in Jesus every day.  It should be better and in many ways it is…but it’s not the same.  My uncle calls with his sweet spirit and soft voice and I fear that I’ll melt like a pile of snow melting onto the carpet…he’s an echo of you.  But even for him I put on the brave face as best I can.  It’s only you with whom I can completely surrender to this sadness.  Hold on.

My burdens are many – unknown to most, understood by few – and yet I seem to reach the end of each day with a sense of joy and peace.  Evidence of grace.  My life seems to be nothing but evidence of grace.  I never could have, nor would have, put these pieces together in such a way as this.  I hardly recognize myself, my life.  I love that the testimony of God’s presence is so boldly evident, such a contrast to the person I was/am.  So unmistakable.  The impossibility of so much hope could only come from Him.  I am constantly surprised by hope.  And yet you live with Hope every day.  What is He like?  Were you surprised too?

Two years have passed since last we were together.  I’ll replay those days anew for many years to come.  But I must look toward the future too.  And so farewell, my sweet Ricky.  Until we meet again.

Love,

Me

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 24-25, NIV).

Someone is Listening

The Land Between. This title describes how I’ve felt at many times during this past two years. Between the past and the future. Between despair and hope. Between confusion and understanding. I could go on. Oh wait, I did. It’s called My Second Year.

Ironically, Pastor Jeff Manion wrote a book about my life…I mean, the lives of so many people who’ve experienced a tragedy in one form or another. Apparently I’m not alone. Not only are there dozens of stories in this book but a close friend, who also felt similarly, gifted me a copy of the book.

While soaking tonight – yes, I love to read while I’m in the bathtub surrounded by water hot enough to make my skin turn red – I read two things that struck me. Of course I should have already realized these tidbits but they were new to me today. First, Jesus called the weary to come to him for rest. That’s not the revelation. That Jesus existed in the beginning and knew that we would need such comfort was the new revelation. I started thinking about how God’s heart must have broken with the Fall and he was already reaching out to comfort us. Every day for all eternity – past present and future – he is ready for us…calling to us to find our comfort in him.

In a related vein, Manion points out that even though God already knows our situation and knows that we need comfort we should continue to go to him because…we need to speak. Yes, isn’t that what My Second Year has been about? It’s been about expressing myself as I struggle through this land between. For me the land between has been not only grief but a reshaping of my whole self – breaking down walls, building compassion, and showing grace. Something about putting words and voice to these struggles and triumphs offers comfort.

I think about the fact that after My Second Year, I won’t have that place for my voice where I can pretend that all 14 public followers, and I have no idea how many closet followers, can hear to my voice. Yes, the practice of journaling must continue. Journaling helps me sort things out in my head and that doesn’t always need to be, nor is it a good idea that it is, a public event. For some reason, though, I find little comfort in the idea of private writing. There is something about knowing others are listening that brings the comfort.

Back to The Land Between, the idea Manion was offering was that in our communication with God we can be assured that someone is listening and that this is not a one-way conversation. Manion (2010) said, “…the very act of voicing our trouble to God begins a conversation in which we have opened ourselves up to his care, his mercy, and his provision” (p. 79).

As I prepare to close My Second Year, pray that I find comfort in this conversation with God that far exceeds the comfort I’ve received in expressing myself through this blog. And pray that I continue to be surprised by hope.

Surprised by Hope

Year two is almost over, which means My Second Year is almost over too. The blog will be retired on November 22, 2010 and, while it will still be available online, I won’t be adding more posts. My Third Year as a “next blog” doesn’t work, as discussed in the post of the same name. Yet becoming a missionary to East Africa and sharing stories about how God is moving there surely deserves public expression. To that end, and to the end (kinda) of the many weeks of intense planning, I’m very excited to reveal the next blog.

Surprised by Hope was created to encourage, demonstrate, and testify to the many ways we can be surprised by hope. It’s not a personal blog about grief and healing, as was My Second Year. Surprised by Hope is intended to focus on Christ-like, hope-filled ministry to the men, women, and children in East Africa. Don’t be surprised to find stories about the people I meet and the places I go, discussions about education issues or politics, tools for helping missionaries expand their reach, or testimonies about finding Hope in everyday life.

Surprisedbyhope.org serves as a portal to three main segments of the site.

• The blog button focuses on field ministry. In other words, its primary purpose is to report what is happening while I am on the field in East Africa and to provide ministry-related updates. Don’t forget to sign up as a “Follower.”
• The artisans button focuses on the groups of handcrafters in East Africa who hope to increase sales as a means of providing for their families.
• The giving button focuses on the many ways – financial and nonfinancial – that we can work together in this ministry.

Take a look at the website, know that it’s a work in progress, and join me in bringing the surprise of hope to today’s East-African culture.

“Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long” (Psalm 25:4-5, TNIV).

Sadness Still

Not surprisingly I’m feeling sadness still. It’s like I think that if I can find just the right words to describe how I feel the sense will dissipate. Well, it might. I feel desperate for comfort and wonder if it’s even possible. I wonder if spending time with someone who’s been through my situation before would be useful, but wait, I don’t know anyone who has. More isolation.

Difficult is not the word to describe the ability to bring to mind significantly detailed and very specific feelings and memories from the day the police showed up at my door. If I’m not careful a wave will wash over me. I sometimes struggle to choose this new life instead of choosing the depths of sorrow, particularly when these details feel so fresh. I finished brushing my teeth and bounded into my bedroom only to find it empty. Sigh. I sometimes teeter precariously. Then I think of what can happen if I choose darkness. I believe it’d like trying to stay away from Tom’s chocolate cake. Once I have one piece I may as well eat the whole thing. Lots of extra energy is required to stay on the right side of that teeter-totter.

What I describe is nothing anyone would ever notice by talking with me and honestly it’s hard to put into words only because I don’t know the words that best describe this feeling. I do know that even though I feel like I’m drowning…I won’t. I know that even though I feel sad, tomorrow is a new day. I know that even though I feel alone, I’m not.

Thank you for all the gentle people who are walking beside me, who don’t pretend to know how I feel, but who are just there. I’m sorry that is all you can do, I know you would do more if you could, but it is enough. The rest is mine to carry…for now.

Half-time Missionary

Not surprisingly people ask what it means to be half time in East Africa as a missionary. Who ever heard of that before anyway? Well, for me it means that I have a son still in college who depends on me in some ways. And I have a son whose father died two years ago and who, even though he may not want to admit it, kinda needs at least one parent nearby sometimes. I have much freedom because he is very independent but, until he graduates, I will share my time with him and with the people in East Africa.

What I’ve found so far is that preparation for ministry in East Africa is very time consuming while I’m at home. I’m arranging meetings, developing ministry programs, preparing curriculum, designing blogs, planning logistics, thinking about how to manage the holidays, doing research, reading about culture, helping develop resumes, and three more pages of details literally sitting on my desk next to my computer. Every item on these lists are related to mission work. I’m not sure how this pans out to be half time. Maybe it would be more correct to say that I am a full-time missionary living half-time in the field.

However my life is defined, it has been given over to the people in East Africa and developing those relationships stays at the top of any list I make. Whatever it is that will help them grow in the Lord and prosper their families is the work that I will do to the best of my ability. Sometimes that work is best done in America, sometimes I really should be there but have to make due, and sometimes I’ll actually be in East Africa. The kind of work to be done is best done in all these places. For example, internet costs way too much in Uganda so doing research from America is more wise.

Still…whether I would be considered a half-time or a full-time missionary…I’m sure busy with mission work all the time. And I LOVE IT.

Authenticity and the Past

Becoming a missionary is a significant responsibility. Meeting people in a relationship that introduces Jesus and fosters spiritual growth demands authenticity. Building relationships with people from other cultures increases that demand simply because the differences – and trust me, I look different than the people in Africa – cause wariness, hesitation, or mistrust. Authenticity on my part is the only way people will start to let their guard down, and even then I sometimes still get it wrong.

The people I’ve met in Africa generally assume I am a missionary (or a vacationer). Inevitably people (Africans and Americans, pretty much everyone) ask one of two questions. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” or “How did you ever get into missionary work?” Yes, there is this incredulous tone in their voices when they ask. I sometimes feel that I should make up a really incredible story to go along with their surprised tones. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

Oh wait, I do have a really incredible story by which to answer their questions. To be honest, I think my story is even more unbelievable than what they expect to hear. But if I leave out the part about Rick’s death, what kind of story is left? Seriously, think about it. What really is left? His death is entirely and completely foundational to my story and to authentically answering the question of why or how I got into this role.

Yet people have suggested both directly and indirectly that telling my story beginning with Rick’s death is not the right thing to do. I don’t feel that I use his death to garner sympathy, although please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. I use Rick’s death to talk about how amazing God is to walk alongside me this whole time and to reshape my life into something beyond my wildest dreams. I want people to know a God that can do that for them too. But without the Rick piece…what is that?

Please don’t misunderstand. I am not talking about dragging a dead Rick around in every conversation. I am walking away from My Second Year and, for the most part, the connection that year had with Rick’s death. I’m not bringing Rick forward into parts of my life where he doesn’t belong. Unfortunately (or fortunately…whichever) I can never walk away from 20 years of life with Rick and, to be honest, I don’t really want to. That part of my life is taking what I believe is its proper place. But there is a place for his legacy in my story.

So…get thee behind me Satan, God is too good for me not to talk about my WHOLE story. I’m not leaving the story of Rick’s death out and I’m not going to lose focus on God’s plan for my life. So, yes, my story begins with an end.

Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut

You’ve heard me talk about the Bible study I did together with David and a group of widows he shepherds, and about a few super cool moments we shared. And you’ve even received some of their beautiful handcrafts. I feel God calling me to become more deeply involved in the lives of these women in a way that can really make a difference for them and their children.
During my next trip to Uganda I will join their weekly fellowship meetings. We’ll worship together, study the Bible together, I’ll do some teaching about business and finance, and they’ll do some teaching about how they make their crafts. I’ll build relationships with these ladies with the hope of helping lift them out of poverty. In a way we’ve already started something new together.

I’d like to introduce the new blog for Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut. The blog is intended to highlight the artisans and their products along with stories of how their art is created and what life is like for these women and their children. You can also place orders for their handcrafts through this blog via PayPal. This blog does not replace My Second Year, it is not a Leslie-focused blog, but it’s all about these women, their lives, and their handcrafts. And it’s about supporting and praying for them as we watch their lives unfold over time.
Much of the product content has yet to be developed and I’ll do more of that during my next trip. For now, please check out the blog, tell your friends, and start placing your orders. Remember that you can make special requests too. These ladies are gifted and can make almost anything you desire. Keep in mind that your purchases are helping put their children in school.

What Comfort is There?

Answering the question of how I will remember Rick on the second year anniversary of his death is not the same as answering the question of how I feel about it. Perhaps a few weeks ago I would have answered the question of how I feel differently. But as the second anniversary approaches, I find myself wondering why I feel anxious and frustrated about things that have very little meaning. I start not to recognize myself.

How do I feel? I feel overwhelmingly sad. I feel helpless that nothing can be done to change that sadness. I also feel comfort in knowing it is okay to feel sad and that this sadness will not last forever…I feel hope. But I cannot move into hope too quickly. I want and maybe even need to pass through this sadness and experience it fully. With the many exciting things happening in my life it is easy to put off the deep feelings of grief and I would not serve myself well in doing so, particularly given the knowledge that I am strong enough not to be sucked in by grief.

I realized last night that the only comfort in this sadness would be to have Rick wrap his arms around me and allow me to cry my little eyes out. No other person on earth can have that same comforting effect because of the special relationship between husband and wife, between Rick and I. With him all my guard comes down, I don’t have to hold anything together, I am not judged, I can just melt into his arms and let go of every worry and every burden.

Yes, I am comforted by the hugs of friends and family but it’s just not the same. So what can I do with the idea that I cannot be comforted? Yes, Jesus can be my comfort and he has been for so long. But what about that real physical need to be comforted? There is no satisfaction. There is no way to be comforted. I have no choice but to accept the sadness. I have no control, I have no choice, I have no comfort. Reality.

Tomorrow (figuratively) I will have the strength to accept that the need for comfort will go unsatisfied, that I cannot take control of this situation, that I have only one choice and that is Jesus…however unsatisfying that feels (did I just say that out loud?) until I actually allow myself to be comforted by him and find that I do feel better. Today is not tomorrow…yet.

2011 East Africa Mission Support

Pray. Listen to what God would have you do, and respond by making a donation today. Your donations are tax deductible, directed to Mercy Uganda, and specifically designated for my ministry work. Take a look at some details about giving and at lots of ideas about how you can support the ministry. Join me in prayer about hearing God and having the faith to respond. Then, become an obscenely generous giver.

What should I do now?

• Make a tax-deductible donation using PayPal or your credit card at http://www.lesliemosher.blogspot.com/
• Make a tax-deductible donation by writing a check to Mercy Uganda and mailing it to me (contact me for my street address, it seems unwise to include that in a blog).
• Read the rest of this list to find other ways you can support the ministry work.

How do I give a financial gift?

• Commit to a monthly donation of a specific amount ($100, $50, $25, $10).
• Make a special donation in the amount of your choice.
• Set aside a percentage of a Christmas bonus or tax return designated for this mission.
• Arrange a matching gift with your employer, even if they don’t have a stated plan.
• Suggest “Mercy Uganda: Leslie Mosher” as the recipient of corporate giving plans.
• Challenge your friends to match your gift, you might be surprised.

How do I give a non-financial gift?

• Purchase a flight for my travel using your frequent flier miles.
• Watch for Facebook posts about specific donations needed for the ministry.
• Cell phones that use SIM cards.
• Portable black and white printer and ink/toner
• Clothing for school-age children.
• Arrange a speaking engagement at your church or business about ministry in East Africa.
• Tell your friends, share Facebook or blog posts, and invite me to your small group gathering.

What can I pray for?

• That we would not under expect the generosity of God.
• For the presence of the Holy Spirit to be manifested in remarkable ways.
• For radical transformation of everyone and everything the ministry comes in contact with.
• For my personal health and safety.

Are my donations tax deductible?

• Yes. Your financial donations are made to Mercy Uganda, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, and designated to my ministry-related expenses. Your financial gifts are tax deductible.
• Your non-financial gifts may be tax deductible, but you should check with your tax advisor.

How do I get the donation to you?

• Donate via one of two PayPal buttons at www.lesliemosher.blogspot.com. These donations are made to Mercy Uganda and are automatically designated for my ministry work.
• Write a check or money order made out to Mercy Uganda. Designate the donation as being for Leslie Mosher on the memo line. Mail your check me (contact me for that address).

Thank you. Thank you for your support of the work God would have me do in East Africa.

East Africa Missions 2011

I'm excited to finally share my 2011 plans with you. In 2011, I will join Mercy Uganda and Biblical Life Ministries in half-time, on-site ministry in East Africa. Almost 2 months in Africa during 2010 gave me an opportunity to see just how God prepared me for this moment. A moment where this eclectic confusion called my life – life experiences, strengths and weaknesses, passions, education, and work experience – blends together to form something uniquely useful to the people in that country.

Ministry Stories

One highlight from my last visit was the time I spent with a group of 50 widows. Here’s one story:

My name is Apolot Florence. I am a widow with 10 children. I was forced to leave Asalatap village in Amuria District after my 4 daughters were raped by men in the Lord's Resistance Army. Being a new resident in Kinawataka, life was next to impossible and I quickly resorted to beating stones in the quarry and prostitution at night in order to earn a living. It was during those ugly moments that I met David who introduced me to Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut. I am now learning with other widows how to make purses and hand bags.

Your gifts allowed me to worship alongside them, study the Bible and teach about entering the presence of God, and provide supplies for their handcrafts. These women were so grateful to know that we care about them that word spread and women from other villages are now asking to join their weekly fellowship.

Another highlight was visiting one of Mercy Uganda’s sponsored children. Olivia is pictured in the center-right with the demure look. Even though tuition is paid for sponsored children, many of them simply don’t have emotional and intellectual support systems needed to achieve very basic learning. Her sponsor’s gift of healthy snack foods, girly fiction books, and the game of Twister helped ensure that Olivia is ready to learn. When I return, I’ll provide regular academic tutoring and advocacy for these children to equip them to become independent and thriving learners. This means that sponsors are not only giving their child an education, but they’re also giving their child hope.

I could tell stories all day, but one last highlight comes from participating in the graduation of 26 Kenyan pastors from Biblical Life School of Ministries. The support of many donors made participating in the Bible school possible. These pastors live in remote villages and would otherwise not have access to sound theological teaching. These pastors were so excited! When I return, I’ll coordinate a short-term team in meeting some of the needs these pastors have identified in their churches. This means we’re investing in long-term relationships that reach beyond these pastors and into their communities.

Ministry Support

Like I said, this eclectic confusion that is my life was perfectly prepared for this moment. With God’s help, I’ll use my education and business expertise to minister to these people so they can lift themselves out of poverty. To fulfill God’s call, I need your help. I’ve prepared a budget projection for the six months during 2011 that I will be in East Africa and find that I will need $20,000. This amount will allow me to travel between countries and to minister alongside Mercy Uganda and Biblical Life Ministries. I’ll continue working while I’m in the U.S. to do my part in contributing to the overall support needed to make half-time ministry possible.

Pray. Listen to what God would have you do, and respond by making a donation via the PayPal link today. Your donations are tax deductible, directed to Mercy Uganda, and specifically designated for my ministry work. Join me in prayer about hearing God and having the faith to respond. Then, become an obscenely generous giver.

Trusting Him,

Leslie Mosher

Preparing for Blog Retirement

As a URL, mysecondyear.blogspot.com was taken so I used my name instead. I never expected to actually enjoy blogging so I didn’t worry about the future ramifications of that choice. Now, if I ever want to do anything more with a blog I can’t use my name. I can change the URL, but then no one would be able to find the blog and the posts won’t be indexed with search engines. How important is that, I wonder.

And then there is blog design. Revising my blog design three or four times over the past year does little for brand recognition, although brand recognition isn’t really the point of the blog. Given how often people change their Facebook photos I wonder if the importance of brand recognition will eventually become a thing of the past. Oddly, that I want people to recognize my blog based on a sense of brand does mean something. Why? As I press into that question I find that perhaps this desire for a sense of recognition is a type of acknowledgement that the year existed and that it was important.

From here I move to obsessing about the feeling that the colors and design of the blog are horrible. I’ve grown accustomed to looking at beautiful design and have no illusion that my choices are just a little…um…yuk. Why do I even care if the blog will be done soon? I wonder if the reason to that question is that on that last day the blog will be, in a sense, laid to rest.

I want everything to be perfect so that a viewer coming to the blog at some later date would see and read about this beautiful life and what God can do through tragedy. I believe that can happen regardless of how awful the color choices and page layout are, but I can’t seem to stop worrying. It’s as if the decision were about which suit to wear in the casket or what words to put on a headstone.

Next While

God has revealed his perfect plan for my next while. Who knows how long a “next while” is but I’m excited to step into…or more accurately…stay in his will. I’ve spent a bit of time seeking his wisdom as I gave words to that vision. Yet I have to admit that, even with the vision defined, I am surprised at how difficult it is to name this thing. Not to name in the sense that things are cloudy and grey like in so many of my grief-related posts. To name in the sense that so many words are available from which to choose and I can’t seem to create the perfect combination with any of them…let alone a combination that someone else hasn’t already taken. Okay, I really shouldn’t be all that surprised. But like any good product, the name is so important.

I’m working on some really fun, hard, interesting, exciting, and challenging plans and I can’t wait to share them with you. In my true fashion, though, I want everything to be just right before I do. Most of you won’t be surprised but still…the reveal is a big deal (even if it’s only a big deal in my own mind).

So, what do you think? Without knowing exactly exactly what this next year will bring…what suggestions do you have? Knowing what you do know, what would you name this thing?

Was Anyone There?

One problem related to the continued reading about grief is the sporadic discovery of new aspects of grief not previously considered (or in this case ignored altogether). Early Widow is a journal of her first year following the sudden death of Jim Worden. The November 6 entry includes a return to the scene, so to speak.

His widow ponders questions that I too have pondered – If he didn’t die instantly, how long did he live? Did he ever regain consciousness? Did he feel pain? The question that followed is the question that stopped me. Not because I’ve never thought of it before, but because I’ve never really taken the time to explore the question…perhaps because I don’t like the answer. Here it is:

But was anyone there to hold your hand?

What an ugly question. Alone. In those few last moments I didn’t have the chance to whisper my love into his ear. To promise him that Jesus would come for him. I didn’t even get a choice. Ya, I know Jesus came whether I promised it to be so or not. I know that He was the one to hold Rick’s hand at that last moment and that He was the one to whisper His welcome into Rick’s ear. All I’m left with is the trust that He did it better than I ever could have.

Write a Book

During my first year following Rick’s death, a close friend suggested I write a book about my grief experience. She said something to the effect that the way I handled the grief was so different and positive, and that it might be helpful to someone else. Today I can list the names of no fewer than six entirely unrelated people who have, out of the blue, said to me that I “should write a book.”

Having worked in the Christian publishing industry and read some really great authors it’s difficult to imagine that anyone would be interested in what I have to say. Yet I know, given my own reading on the topic of grief, that my experience…no…the way I chose to respond to my experience was a little different.

As much as I would like to continue putting off the idea of publishing my intimate first year experiences – and perhaps My Second Year experiences – the fact that my obedience usually kicks in at around three promptings from the Holy Spirit means I’m a little behind. Six…seriously? It’s like God isn’t giving up on this one, which all of the sudden feels like I might have missed a really important opportunity to help someone else. Drat.

Wouldn’t it be super cool if the person responsible for the death, grief, and bereavement Christian book category would just call me up and invite me to share my 94-page journal from the first year? Ha, not happening. I have to take a step in faith, right?

Traditions

I’ve recently been asked, more than once, what I will do to memorialize the second anniversary of Rick’s death. Yes, I am exactly like one of those sappy people who sentimentalize everything and make a big deal of such traditions. Admittedly, some very good reasons to create such traditions exist.

Nothing. That’s the special tradition I’ll participate in for the second anniversary. I have 94 written pages that attest to the fact that I grieved the first year well. I leaned in hard. I memorialized every tradition, every moment, and every thought throughout that whole year. Here’s a small taste of what I did to remember the first year, and what could become a tradition but won’t:

Hiking the Saugatuck Dunes State Park was the perfect choice for this day – 53 degrees, sunny, and breezy but not windy. The parking lot was full, but only a few people could be seen. I dressed in layers and stuffed my backpack with all the necessities (water and a wind jacket). I thought of all the things Rick would have brought for such a trip: tissues, snacks, first aid, that red plastic thing he has for sitting where the ground is wet, a bear whistle, extra clothes, and his pocket knife. I may be exaggerating a bit but not by much. You would have thought we’d be gone for days when he packed for short hikes. I loved that about him. I never had to worry because he had all that was needed; I was safe in his care.

The dunes were beautiful on this mid-November day. Leaves littered the trail, the trees were naked, and the sand was rolling under the call of the wind. Once I reached the Lake Michigan shoreline, I checked out several spots to find one suitable for listening to the audio recording of the memorial service. I chose a spot just beyond the dune grass that dropped off about three feet to the beach area. The waves were small, the sun was bright, and the breeze was gentle. I plunked myself down in the sand, having chosen clothing that resists the wind and cold. Perhaps all these preparations were a means of delaying the inevitable pain of listening to the service for the first time on this first anniversary.

Pastor Lonnie, in his most solemn voice, read all of Psalm 23. We sang Better is One Day and I’ll Stand – two songs that reminded me of Rick in the sound booth at church with his arms wide open in worship. Later my uncle would comment about how special our memorial service worshipping with lifted hands was…even on such an occasion. While on that beach with the occasional passersby, I stood with my arms open wide, twirled around in that fresh clean air, sang out the words to that song in a voice captured by the wind, and I felt the presence of my Savior wash over me once again.

Having done what I had set out to do, I packed up my gear and returned to the car. I noticed all the families around me and wondered if they had any idea why I came. Of course they wouldn’t, but that struck me as odd. Didn’t they feel the earth tremble on that day like I did?

I invested so much healthy energy into grieving every moment of our lives together that I can say without sharp stabs of pain that I have released any near future urge to traditionalize the anniversary of Rick’s death. This is not to say that I won’t remember, that I won’t be sad, and that I won’t wish things might have been different.

The Power of a Whisper

I came across an advertisement for a new Bill Hybels book called The Power of a Whisper. I’ve heard people describe the way they hear from God as a kind of physical response…like the hairs on their arms standing up or getting really hot. Sometimes God screams at me, but I usually call that the voice of the enemy. Mostly I’ve learned to recognize his voice as a whisper.

The subtitle, Hearing God and Having the Guts to Respond, well…that’s a whole other story. I beg God to show me what he wants me to do and then reject every instinct until he gets it right. Something new has happened, though. With no itinerary, no roadmap, no visibility, no windshield wipers, no guard rails, and the fuel gage shining orange…I learned to inch my way along some unknown path simply by listening to the sound of his voice.

And because I can now look back and see that he has taken me down a beautiful road – like looking through an arboreal tunnel after a drenching rain and seeing the glinting reflection of all those drops magnifying the beauty all around me – I trust that I know what his voice sounds like. And because I recognize his whisper, it’s so easy to “have the guts to respond.” Of course, I’ve not been asked to sacrifice my son on an alter so I use the term easy with qualifiers.

I love that I can see just a bit further down the road than before, but to be honest I pray that I never fully get that long distance view again. I like the necessity sometimes created by struggle that compels me to relinquish control. I like listening to the rustling sound of my Creator preparing a life for me that requires my cooperation to recognize its true beauty.

A Tale of Many Verses

As I reflected on My Second Year, I noticed that my early posts were filled with Scripture conclusions and that as time passed the incidence of Scripture became less and less. It’s a little scary to think that this lessening could mean that I’m getting back to life and beginning to put God on the back shelf. That’s what happens sometimes, right?

Maybe I’m just making excuses, but I honestly feel that instead of putting God on the back shelf, I’m bringing God into real life with me. Scripture alone cannot have the same depth of transformative results, also the relationships I develop with other people and the way I show and share the love of God transforms me and hopefully those around me.

So maybe you are disappointed to find that I don’t include Scripture with every post, or even many posts these days. But know that the stories I tell are laced with the actual, hands-on, practical, everyday love of Christ.

Below is the story told by my Scripture choices for my first few posts at My Second Year. It’s fun to look back and see how God really did fulfill his promises.

• But wait…doesn’t God tell us that his plans for us are good (Jeremiah 29:11)?
• “But then the Lord answered Job out of the storm” (Job 38).
• He promised his mercies and compassion would be new every day (Lamentations 3:22-23).
• “Speak, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:4-10).
• Let God transform me into a new person by changing the way I think (Romans 12:2).
• Jesus replied, "If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (John 14:23).
• Who knows why this purpose has come at this time but I cannot remain silent (Esther 4:14).
• “I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow” (Jeremiah 31:13b).

Amen.