Uncharted Waters Part 3: Paradise| A Mother’s Journey from Death to Life #PILAM #PregnancyandInfantLossAwareness

PARADISE

The day for the MRI appointment came.

Taking a deep breath, I positioned myself on the flat bed before it glided into the darkened tunnel of the MRI machine.

Despite being provided noise-blocking earphones, the clang, clang, clang, clang of the MRI jarred me.  

With each reading, I held my breath until light-headed.

The tunnel looked like a coffin. My heart quickened at the thought. Squinting my eyes shut, my mind wandered to something more wonderful—paradise.

THE GARDEN

Adam and Eve, perfectly made for each other, raced hand-in-hand, through an endless garden bordered by ferns and a myriad of flowers—orchids, hibiscus, lilies, and more. The air was thick with a delicious smell of perfume and sultry earth.

Two silhouettes, outlined by the setting sun, beheld a cliff that overlooked a river. Holding hands, the fearless figures jumped in, creating rippling ringlets of turquoise that faded out into the emerald deep.

Refreshed and glowing in the sunlight, the couple strolled into the middle of the garden—a variable orchard filled with every fruit tree imaginable.

Letting go of Adam’s hand, Eve wandered into the center of a ring of trees. Her hair draped over her body like a queen’s robe.

Barefoot on the soft, damp grass, she padded forward. There was a hush and heaviness to the air.

There, towering over her, was the Tree of Life with nearly ripened fruit. Next to it, stood the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. She felt magnetically drawn to its ripe, delectable fruit dangling within arm’s reach.

A hiss tickled the back of her neck. She pivoted to face a vermilion serpent hovering before her. Its body coiled and arched around the lowest branch. “Didn’t God say you must not eat of any fruit in the garden?”

“No, I can eat of any fruit, except this one,” she said, with chin upturned, pointing to the fruit that was suspended in front of her. “God said do not eat or even touch it, lest I die.”

“Are you sure you can trust God?” bid the voice. “Reach up. Grab it. One bite and you will not die. You will become like God, knowing all sorts of things. Why doesn’t He want you to know those things anyway?”

Eve hesitated. But the temptation proved too strong.

With both hands, she plucked the fruit and took a bite, crunching hard until the juice flowed, red as blood, dripping down her chin and through her shaking fingers. Finding Adam, she offered some to him, and he ate it.

BROKEN TRUST

Shame washed over them. They felt helpless, vulnerable. Eve plucked some nearby fig leaves and shared them with Adam in order to cover themselves, but that didn't remove the deep shame they now wore.

“Adam. Where are you?” whispered God.

Both Adam and Eve peeked out from behind a tree. Eve’s whole body burned and shook at the same time.

Adam spoke first. “I don’t want to come out, because I am naked.”

God replied, “Did you eat the fruit I forbade you from eating?”

Adam confessed that he ate the fruit, but blamed it on Eve. Eve blamed it on the serpent. God was grieved and angry, because they had rebelled against him.

Instead of blessing, the earth and its inhabitants received a curse. As a consequence of the first sin, Eve would suffer in childbirth and in relationship with her husband. Adam would suffer frustration and futility in his work.

Though they deserved their punishment, God offered Adam and Eve a glimmer of grace. In His great mercy, He provided a way for all humanity to be saved. He told them He would send one of the woman's offspring, the Messiah, or King, to destroy the devil and conquer sin, shame, suffering, and death forever.

The Lord said to the serpent that when Messiah comes, “He will crush your head, and you will strike His heel (Genesis 3:15).”

Strings of venomous saliva blew in the wind as the snake opened its mouth wide in defiance, revealing its four curved teeth. Four teeth, sharp as nails, destined to wound the One and Only Son of God, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords (Genesis 3:1-22). They would pierce His hands and His feet (Psalm 22:16).

Clang, clang, clang, clang.  Then, silence.  I glided out of darkness and into light.  As I rested on the bed, I could breathe again. Holding my protruding belly, I kept thinking about the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis, where life began.

A diagnosis of bilateral renal agenesis would mean death for my child.

Would I trust our Creator in life and in death? 

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well…

All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”

(Psalm 139:13-16)

 “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.”

 (Jeremiah 1: 5, NKJV)

For Part 1, click here.

Next post, Part 4.

A Dove of Peace| Life After Suicide #GriefRecovery #suicideawareness

"Have you checked Facebook today?" Mom's voice on the phone was low, almost a whisper.

"I don't usually get on Facebook this early. We're trying to get ready for church."

"So you didn't see what was posted about your dad?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Look on Facebook."

"All right." I squeezed the phone between my ear and shoulder, then started typing on the computer. 

After keying in my password, I clicked on Dad's Facebook page.

"May he rest in peace?" The words appeared over a red background. "Is this for real?" I found it hard to breathe. 

"Keep reading," Mom urged.

I scrolled down. "All the posts from his friends say my dad died."

"He lives all by himself. Have you heard anything from him lately?"

"We spoke over the phone on Father’s Day about a week ago." Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away. “Maybe one of Dad's sisters will know something. I'll call you back."

Phone calls were made to family, but no one knew what the posts on Facebook meant. Later a detective called to confirm my worst fear.

On June 30, 2018, my dad took his own life.

Baffled and in shock, I had no idea he was in that much pain.

Only a week before, I had watched A Brave Lament, a short documentary created by my friend Christy Bauman and her husband, Andrew, counselors in Seattle, Washington.

Christy and Andrew experienced the loss of their infant son, named Brave. Their story showed how they regulated their grief through marking moments, creating rituals, and relying on the care of their community.

My husband held me close as we watched the film. We wept together as we remembered our own infant son, Luke, who died shortly after birth.

Little did I know, this film would give me the tools I needed to deal with my dad’s suicide.

A few days after receiving the phone call from the detective, my sister, brother-in-law, and I agreed to go through his personal belongings at his place. Our two aunts and uncle were there to help and offer moral support.

Years earlier, my aunt told me about a dove that appeared in her yard after my Nona died. On the first anniversary of Nona's death, a dove appeared again.

As I walked along my dad's driveway, what appeared in front of his place?

A white dove.

I called to everyone inside. "You guys, come out here."

Together, we witnessed the dove pecking around on the grass. As I clicked pictures, the friendly little dove stayed close and didn’t fly away.

Peace enveloped me as I remembered my aunt's story and gazed at the dove. I whispered a prayer of thanks to God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--who comforted me in my grief.

When we talked to some of Dad’s neighbors, I shared the story of the dove. “Does anyone own a pet dove? It seemed so friendly.” The neighbors shook their heads no.

At that moment, the dove swooped down, perched on a nearby roof, and watched us. Goosebumps formed on my arms. The neighbors gasped in disbelief. One woman covered her face and wept.

After returning back home, creativity became grief therapy. I painted stones with my dad's initials and a cross to give out to the family. I created a video and eulogy for his memorial service. I found a studded wooden chest to house Dad's ashes.

These marked my moments of grief and prepared me for the ritual to say goodbye, Dad's Celebration of Life.

What caused the most stress for me? Not being able to agree on where to bury Dad's ashes. Nothing seemed to be fitting for my unconventional Dad, a rock singer and guitarist. The traditional burial wouldn’t do.

At last, my brother, sister, and I decided to spread Dad's ashes on the river. He loved fishing, boating, and living near the water.

Although it had rained all week long, on the day of the memorial service, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue. After Dad’s Celebration of Life at the little church where he had frequented, we convened at the river.

Dad's grandkids climbed on the rocks and threw flowers into the water.

The wind whipped our hair in all directions. There was no way we were going to be able to safely spread Dad's ashes on the river.

"I can take the ashes on my boat tomorrow," my uncle, Dad's older brother offered. "I'll find a good place for Johnny."

And so it was. The beach around an island became my dad’s final resting place.

When I remember the care of my mother, the short film on grief, the support of my extended family, the dove, and everything for the memorial coming together so beautifully, I can't help but be thankful.

Suicide is a terrible thing. In its abruptness, there are so many unanswered questions. Yet, I have peace. I know I'm not alone. The dove reminded me that Christ is with me.

The grace I've found in my dad's suicide is something I wish for everyone touched by death in this way.

Peace is a grace I didn’t know I needed, but it's a grace crucial for healing.

Grief comes and goes like the perpetual tide at the river’s edge. And in that constant, the message of peace in Christ appears, carried on dove's wings through the centuries since His death, burial, and resurrection.

Until the sunrise of healing comes, we can rest in His peace.

 "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." (John 14:27) 

A Timeless Dream and Reality

Last night, I had a dream of another time.

In the land, both far and wide, temples cast shadows over its citizens, shrouding them in the cold grip of fear. The expressionless stares of the temple gods and goddesses only brought confusion and trepidation in my young heart.

Alone in the pale moonlight, my hands were bound in front of me as I huddled next to a temple pillar. My head throbbed. One of the sleeves of my tunic hung off my shoulder, revealing finger-sized bruises underneath.

The thought occurred to pray. But to which god?

Each situation dictated the proper call to a prescribed deity.

Before succumbing to a typical rote prayer to one of the statues in the plethora of temples, I paused. A cloud passed by and the moon shone through the lattice on the temple wall. The bind that held my wrists glowed as if with magic.

Was I was being punished by the mercurial whims of the intemperate gods to whom one must pay continual homage?

A flush of shame warmed my cheeks as all the ways I had failed crept into my mind. Why would any of the gods help me now?

Each storyteller in my city shared a different version of the gods' exploits, usually with the ulterior motive of a coin in the coffer for the temple priests ... most likely to use on the nightly band of prostitutes that roamed the streets.

Did my monetary sacrifice ever amount to anything but their pleasure at my expense?

If in my abduction, I was bound to be one of those enslaved women, I'd rather die.

I needed God, The Real God, The One Whom Cannot Be Seen, to have mercy on me. To save me.

I clasped my hands together.

It took more faith to believe in the God that cannot be seen. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and whispered my plea.

Then I awoke and found myself in my own bed in present day America.

The Greek gods and goddesses have passed away in the sands of time. In our educated, prosperous, sensible country, we have no such need for deities.

Or do we?

It may be that we turn to new idols. Ones that flicker and dance on the screens of our televisions and iPhones. Will they make us happy? Will they show us what to do? Will they save us?

The painted up masks of these people show health, wealth, and happiness, but the coins we stuff into the coffers of TV media moguls or the Pantheon of social media we trust in, prove a false hope. Because they're only human like us.

There is a God whom we cannot see. I've seen Him. Not with my eyes, but in my changing heart, thoughts, and deeds.

I've seen Him work even the most terrible situations for good (Romans 8:28).

This God, the One revealed in the pages of the Bible, is timeless. He is gracious, compassionate and good. And He wants to have a relationship with us through His Son, Jesus Christ.

If we would but let go of our false gods and turn to Him in our time of need. He'll be there. He's been there for me. Every. Single. Time.

* Credit: Temple in Athens  courtesy of Getty images

Preparing for Winter: When You Think It Might Be Cancer

Why the woolen mittens, scarf and sweater? Could it be that time of year?

Actually, no. That's not it at all. 

Just look at me. Dressed in layers because for some reason, not in my control, my whole body shook. From the chattering of teeth down to the core of my being.

Part of the reason is that the room was as cold as an ice locker. The other reason is this particular MRI was double the  intensity of a conventional one. The power of this three Tesla magnet could pick up a pick-up truck. And, I was going to be right underneath the thing.

The first encounter with this behemoth, I buckled under the pressure and had to reschedule. After a few sleepless nights, I faced the giant again. This time with a pocketful of God's promises in my heart, a latin prayer and a banner of the love of God over me.

Dona nobis pacem.

Grant us peace.

This is what I sang over and over as I lay face down, postrate before my King in the belly of the MRI.

The biggest enemy in my thinking is the fear of the process more than having cancer. The tests, the surgery, the treatments and possibly facing a disease that can cause death sets my knees knocking, and not just figuratively. 

I don't even know if I have cancer yet. 

Still, at times, my mind turns out of control over the possibilities. Of course ending at who will take care of the ones in my care.

I want to be here with them their whole life through. They need me. My love, my encouragement, my guidance.

But, I have to remember. They have each other.

And, I need to rest in the fact they have their daddy here to love on them, and their Daddy in heaven who takes care of all their needs.

Dona nobis pacem.

The peace of God. That surpasses all understanding. This is what I need. For I don't know what the future holds, but He does, and He's holding onto me. And, that, my friends, is enough.

Dona Nobis Pacem