Lent, Easter, and Grieving

Sometimes you don't find what you want, but what you need.

First week back in the office after our sabbatical, I'm preparing a sermon for this Sunday. As I flip through books, listen to sermons, and reflect on God's Word, I have discovered two phrases of truth and comfort that speak into my soul's season of grief. They don't fit with the direction my sermon is taking, but meet me where I'm at.

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Grieving is like exercise for the soul.

~ Shane Hipps (sermon, April 16, 2006)

I am conviced that when we bring our griefs and sorrows within the story of God's own grief and sorrow, and allow them to be held there, God is able to bring healing to us and new possibilties to our lives. That is, of course, what Good Friday and Easter are all about.

~ NT Wright Christians at the Cross (pg xv)

G&P
- Andrew

Happy Birthday Josiah

2nd Birthday, February 16th 2009

Another year further, another year closer.

I don't often write to Josiah, but this is just how my words were coming tonight.


Josiah ...

... we miss you.

Through crying eyes I remember our happiness and the joy you were in our lives. Glimpses of you live on in your sister; we have begun to see you in her face. We tell her about you often. You would have been so proud of her, you would have been a great older brother. Though I know the waiting is good and right, I can't wait for you to meet her one day.

Your birthday has come quietly this year, though we can feel the sorrow and angst deep in our souls. It's hard to be grateful when milestones such as these hurt more than they heal. I wish that I could honor you with happiness today, but I can only give you tears.

I can't believe this is your third birthday without you with us. Three birthdays in heaven, two on earth.

Stopping to remember feels like saying good-bye all over again.  I wish remembering didn't hurt so bad.

I wish that thinking about your smile wouldn't make me cry. I wish I could remember your gentleness without weeping out of control. I wish that I could recall your strength, courage, and temperment with just pride, and not with all this sadness that overcomes me. Your laughter, your touch, your love. I miss the all these things about you. You are worth remembering, Josiah. Always. But son, you gotta know it breaks my heart so badly. Lament somedays is the only way I can show how much I love you.

Josiah, you are our treasure that God shared with us, with many. You were such an incredible gift, a gift that continues to move and shape me. A gift that has remained at the very center of my heart. And I long to have you in my arms again.

Josiah, we love you, we're proud of you, we're so glad that you are our son.


Love, your Daddy

899 Days

Today marks a sobering milestone.

The number of days since Josiah died is the same number of days he lived.

You may have to read that sentence twice to catch it.

It kinda kicks the breath out of you, doesn't it?

February 16th, 2007 to August 2nd, 2009 equals August 2nd 2009 to January 17th 2011.

899 days.

Strange, huh?

I don't know what to make of it. It's something to be aware of, to pause for, but then what?  What I am supposed to do with this knowledge, here at the intersection of this very strange anniversary?

From now on we are going to mourn him longer than we were with him. From now on he's going to be dead longer than he was alive.

Each day we have been moving farther and farther from Josiah. Each day the gap between now and then widens.

Yet. The opposite is also true.

Each day we move closer and closer to Josiah. Each day the gap between heaven and earth shrinks.

What was to what is, what is to what will be.

We can count the days apart, but we can't count the days until we're reunited.

Living life with enternity in mind is ... well ... mind-boggling.

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A day under 900.

Josiah changed my life with one day. And then God gave us 898 more.


A lot can happen in 899 days, especially when you break it down year by year, season by season. Honestly, it hasn't felt that long. I had to re-do the math to make sure I was right.

Josiah's time with us seemed to last much longer than these days that have followed. Not to take anything away from our daughter, of course. She is the JOY and LIGHT of our family!

Our time with Josiah was so unreal, so full: new experiences, new rythms, new people, new sights and scenes. Life was very different, extremely abnormal. The highs were insanely high and the lows were excrutiatingly low. Our senses and souls were being heightened and stretched in every imaginable way. No wonder that those 899 days felt like a lifetime.

899 days also means 899 days grieving, waiting, wrestling, and bearing. And to think that I haven't reached the end of my tears ...

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 I miss talking about Josiah.

When he was alive, you couldn't help but talk about him. Our entire lives revolved around him, we had to analyze his every breath, his every moment. We blogged maddeningly in the hospital as tried to keep people updated. Daily there were handover reports, assessments and instructions with the nurses, respite workers, and hospital staff. We would problem solve perceived symptoms and review procedures, looking for ways to improve his care.

If Josiah was present in the room, he was the conversation piece. That's just how it went. When we went out we were asked relentlessly about Josiah and we LOVED IT. We loved explaining for the one-thousandth time who our son was and how he was overcoming his medical challengings. We gushed as we talked about his character and his achievements. You couldn't shut us up!

We talk about Josiah in a much different way now.

Hushed tones. Less enthusiasm. We say more with our body langauge than we do with our mouths.

Just this week I got to talk about Josiah again. I was able to run through his medical history like it was 'old times'.

It brought me SUCH JOY - I had no idea how much I had been longing for a moment like this!

It was a strange and wonderful thing how it all came back to me, the rhythm we would get into as we described our son from head to toe. On good days, it flowed like poetry. Yet on this day there were the lags and gaps, and then the sad realization that I was forgetting things that I thought were unforgettable.

The very common medical jargon that we used nearly every day for 899 days was disappearing. I couldn't come up with the right words, I couldn't pronounce things correctly. I was vague on things that used to be so detailed and clear.

And I realize again that I am talking about Josiah in a much different way now.

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899 days and then another 899 more. Another day, another day, another day ... until tomorrow wakes up to eternity.

What a merciful day that will be.

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However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all.
But let him remember the days of darkness, for they will be many.

~ Ecclesiastes 11:9

Behold, I make all things new.

~ Revelation 21:5

G&P
- Andrew

This Is Not The End

I think it was when we were driving back from Seattle in October.

We were listen to Gungor's Ghosts Upon the Earth and - without any warning or context - Marie blurts out "I want this song played at my funeral."

Yikes.

Not exactly conversation starter material.

The lyrics are simple enough, yet a soothing reminder of what is to come. There is life - real life, greater life - on the other side of death.

Thus, we grieve and lament in absence as we hope and trust in reunion. For in Christ there are no good-byes. Only see-you-laters. 

And by the way, Marie was totally right. This would be the perfect song to sing at any funeral where the hope of heaven is found.

This is not the end
This is not the end of this
We will open our eyes wide, wider

This is not our last
This is not our last breath
We will open our mouths wide, wider

And you know you'll be alright
Oh and you know you'll be alright

This is not the end
This is not the end of us
We will shine like the stars bright, brighter

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Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.
~ 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed — in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.
~ 1 Corinthians 15:51-52

Happy Listening

- Andrew

Just Another Sad Day Among Many Sad Days

Today is one of those days that is just tough slogging.

I'm miserable. I wanna hide in a hole. I don't want to talk to anyone. Everything it seems makes me want to cry. Just a no good day where grief has completely infiltrated every mundane part of my life.

These are the days where I just wait for the bubble to burst. A change of pace, an unexpected grace, a divinely appointed conversation, a weep-fest. Something - anything - that will bring me out of this debilitating despondency and into something serene, still, and life-giving.

For three nights in a row I've been up late, unable to sleep. I journal, I read, I watch a movie, but I am restless, mopy, and curfuffled, unable to get to sleep until exhaustion finally overcomes me late into in the evening.

I feel utterly ruined.

I go about my day, shuffling and sweeping the broken pieces of me from one place to another.

Broken pieces. My inward state is more than just an overturned box of puzzle pieces. A pile of puzzle pieces - no matter how many or how difficult - is still orderly. Each piece has purpose and a consistent form.

Instead, I liken my inward state to a porcelain figure dashed upon the rocks, shattered and scattered, jagged pieces without any uniformity, each piece unsightly and fragile, needing to be handle carefully lest it breaks further or wounds with its sharp edges.

This is what grief does to the inner person.


But. I still have things to be grateful for.

God's mercies and blessings are near even now as I live in shadow and darkness.

These are quiet comforts that do not still the storm that rages around and within me, but they are treasures to remind me that I am not alone and that this is not the end.

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Today, a friend of a friend had the worst of days, the worst day of many many worst days.

Unless the LORD intervenes, she is going to die.

Unless the LORD says "This shall not be", the cancer will win.

A young life will be extinguished, a chapter closes (prematurely in our eyes) and another chapter begins in the really real life found in God's presence.


My mopiness all of a sudden looks quite small and selfish. Real, valid, yet quite insignificant in the present moment.


And so tonight becomes the fourth night in a row that I'm up much too late with my thoughts and my grief. But this night, I have put aside my sorrow to bear the sorrows of the many others who are waiting to see what the LORD will do.

And as I pray I've listen to Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens. The tone, the words, the tension of it all ... the song places me right in the very center of this unfolding tragedy, as if I am watching a play move from the second to final act.

What will the LORD do?

A glance at the title will tell you little about what the song is about. It's a love song, but a lament. It begins and ends with sadness, for despite the fervent faith of many, the beloved passes away.

It's beautiful, it's terrible, it's brutally honest. There is very little good news in it. Yet the words have been a solace and a guide to me on my path of grief. Maybe you can relate. Click the link for the full lyrics or you can listen to it below.

Tuesday night at the Bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens
....
All the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications when I see His face
In the morning in the window

All the glory when He took our place
But He took my shoulders and He shook my face
And He takes and He takes and He takes

 ~ Sufjan Stevens "Casimir Pulaski Day"

Oh God have mercy.

G&P
- Andrew

Delivering Christmas Gifts to BC Children's Hospital

Gemma and her parents, a family we've gotten to know!

Something you gotta know right off the top: I have a pretty amazing family.

For the last couple of years, our family has been purchasing gifts in memory of Josiah which we donate to BC Children's Hospital. This is something Marie and I have done on our own (as well as providing a gift at Josiah's birthday) and our extended family has picked up on it as well. This year we added a second gift in memory of my dad who also gave to BC Children's during - and after - his grandson's time there.

Our niece - ever the entrepreneur at the age of six - has been finding creative ways to buy gifts for the children who are hospital-bound during the Christmas season. This summer she started raising chickens on the farm, collecting and selling the eggs, and then using the money to buy gifts for kids.

Wow. Just wow.

This past Monday Marie and I (with the help of our Aunt Chrystal and our cousins Rachel and Denver) delivered gifts to BC Children's Hospital. It was a good and sad thing. A few familiar faces, lots of familiar sounds and smells that bring back so many memories.

Marie and I have learned to brace ourselves for our inevitable responses that come from returning to the hospital: irritability, solemness, echoes of past anxieties, and alike. We warn each other about how we might respond, try to be gracious with each other and be quick to forgive when we lash out. Some days we do better than others.

Return visits have not become any easier, but they are fewer now since now we only return to bring gifts. The families we got to know have all been discharged - praise God! - yet there are a few staff members that we consider friends and try to remain connected with.

As difficult as it is - and it may sound odd to others who also grieve - but we have found meaning and healing by 'forcing' ourselves to keep BC Children's as a part of our seasonal rhythm. A part of stepping forward - for us at least - is to maintain 'markers' and traditions throughout the year that remind us of our son and what God has led us through. But keeping links to our past - thus, as a result, re-entering the grief and the pain each time - we move forward with hearts that are heavier but healthier. This may not be how all people grieve, but this has been our experience.

To all those who are - out of consideration for our grief - praying for our family this Christmas, we give you our humble and sincere thanks. There is much I am dreading as Christmas Day approaches. Yet, I am reminded that Christ's birth points us to his return, and so I lift my gaze forward to anticipate our Savior's next coming when all will be made new.

Hope and Comfort, Grace and Peace.
- Andrew

Telling Stories of Josiah to Joelle

 Marie and Joelle looking at photos of Josiah after breakfast. Happy / sad moments. 

She never sits this still and was just soaking it all in.

G&P
- Andrew