Stick and Stones

I’ve spent time thinking lately about the power of words. And the childhood chant of “Sticks and stones may break my bones…” just doesn’t work.       Words do hurt.      Words have power to hurt, but also to be more than words. Words affect people in different ways and each person has words that get to them most. 

I was asked recently which of my children were “Fosters.” While harmless it brought back memories of “Which are yours?” and “are they terminal?”. These words, while not ill-intentioned, were used by adults to determine how they should treat my children: “Fosters” need saved, redeemed and safe guarded against in case they act out in line with their dirty past.  Kids that are “yours” have value in permanency and biology while having a brighter future which should be nurtured.  “Terminal?” They should be pitied or held at arm’s length. You see, loving them would cause heartache when they die so it is best to not let yourself get messy or involved because living comfortably is too important.

The truth is though: all my kids are “fosters,” “mine,” and “terminal.” They have been temporarily put into my care by a governing agent until they are reintegrated with their (Heavenly) Father. They are “Fosters.” I feed them, sing to them, hold them, comfort them, change them, cry for/with them, hope for their future and strive to redeem the hurts of their past. They are “mine.” Each day is one closer to me saying goodbye for good, each hour could be my last with them before death whisks them away, and each moment I have to choose to cherish life or count it down to zero. They are “terminal.” 

Labels created with words have the power to categorize and keep you safe by informing you how to interact with others in order to avoid getting hurt. In doing so words do much more damage than sticks and stones do.

 I urge you, don’t label….just LOVE.

-Silas

July 2, 2015

Dearest Ben,
Can you believe you would be 30 today? If you were here, I definitely would be harassing you about being an old man. At least it's good to know that time would be powerless to make you any less funny, or obnoxious, or sweet, or my big brother. It's been 14 months that you've been gone. I miss you...a lot. I spent the last year unable to process and unable to release the burning tears that begged for release. For months after you died, I begged God to give me dreams of you so I could see you and hear your voice. When He finally did, I cursed the morning as it took you from me yet again. Now, I dream of you often. Sometimes I awake filled with joy and carry the sound of your laughter with me through the day--a priceless treasure no one can steal. Other days I awake in a panic...like the night I frantically woke Silas, claiming that you were having a seizure on the couch and we had to save you. Almost daily, I still find myself grabbing my phone to ask you a question or getting excited about fishing season with you before your absence crushes my reality once more. And then...there's July. The entire month has BEN written all over it, top to bottom: You and mom's shared birthday, which was also my due date--This year, I missed you singing "Party Pooper" to me for being born early instead of topping of a birthday threesome. There are fireworks everywhere. Every new firework tent I see ties a new knot in my aching heart. How I wish I could see you with that "July 4th is coming" bounce in your step, flitting around the house to prepare for your firework show. I wish I could design your firework donation buckets and put a touch too much glitter on your advertising posters just to see you roll your eyes. I wish I could sit through the city fireworks this year knowing the real magic would begin after the grand finale, when we would  rush to cheer on the show you waited all year to put on.  I wish you were here to tease me about my pregnancy chub or the funny way you think I say certain words. I wish you were here to give me a birthday present that is just a bit too obnoxiously pink, but perfectly thought through and heart-felt. I wish you were here to take me fishing and listen to my heartache about our baby boy's lung condition. I wish I could tell you that his name will carry your legacy. It's a strange sensation to hurt so deeply and yet remain so numb. They say time heals all wounds, but that's not true. Actually, I don't think I want it to be true. It the moments when the hurt is deep and hot tears roll that I find the sweetest rest. I find freedom in acknowledging the brokenness of a cursed world. I find peace in the presence of God. I find comfort in the arms of my husband and an unfailing God. I refuse to believe that your death was "right" or worth it or whatever else well-meaning people say...but I do believe that God is for you, for me, and that you are with Him. I believe that He IS bringing good from evil. I believe that though time will not heal, maybe healing isn't the goal....God's glory is. I don't think I will ever heal or process or move on as the world's grief therapy book says I should...but I do know that I am changed for having known you, for loving you, and for losing you. I know that I have gained, that I have lost, and that I have seen God. I love you so much, Ben. Thank you. Thank you for being my big brother and friend. Thank you for being so very memorable and missable and capable of leaving such a very big hole in our lives. Thank you for answering God's call to live for the eternal, that your death might not be the end. May God continue to be glorified!

Love,

Micah

Dear 2014

Dear 2014,

You were perhaps the most life-changing 365 days I have experienced thus far. Between your bookends, I traveled to Haiti where my flame for missions was fanned. I buried my brother and began a journey of deepest hurt and healing. I graduated from college and moved to Wichita. I married my sweet Silas and am slowly beginning to learn to love and be loved as our Father loves. Marriage has brought the purest of joys while I have thrashed and questioned beneath the weight of commitment and the beautiful trial that is matrimony. I became a teacher and realized even further the depth of my passion for reaching those with special needs, and yet found myself drowning in the system. Friendships faded and I battled not feeling well for months. As I have many times before, I experienced loss, heartache, and the scorching blaze of refining fire. I felt the frozen fingers of bitterness squeezing the very life from my soul. I clawed and grasped in a desperate attempt to cling to all that has held my identity for 22 years, screaming at God to show up. I questioned, pleaded, and doubted. My Father faithfully dissolved, one by one, the idols that have held my identity captive for so long. I found myself flailing, no longer able to find fulfillment in anything but everything that HE is. As you draw to a close 2014, it could be easy to hope that this year is easier. I could wish for a year with less pain, less decisions, and less weakness. I could choose to ask for a year where I will be the one to shine, where my marriage will be a fairytale, where my career will be fulfilling and certain, where those I love are guaranteed safety. I could demand a nice house and the American dream. But then…where would the beauty be?  I am only here, I am only gifted, able, and beautifully formed in His image so that HE may be glorified! You were far from easy, 2014. But you were beautiful. The breath-taking handprint of the reigning King in unmistakably present within your each and every moment. I was held, I was refined, I was provided for, I was fought for. God faithfully stripped away that which marred His beauty in my life and gently tended to that which would make me more like Him. He has fought for my heart through my rejection, bitterness, and heartbreak. Therefore, I will welcome 2015 with expectation and excitement of how God will glorify Himself in the coming days. I know that the refining has only just begun. More idols will await their annihilation, more lessons must be learned, and more change than ever is on the horizon. Through it all, God will provide as He always has. Because of His sovereignty and goodness, I step forward with my husband in confidence and faith. I will choose to cling to my Faithful Father, to His promises, and to my husband. Together, Silas and I will hold with open hands all that He has given, taken, and is yet to give and take. GLORY be to the God most high, who lavishes His grace, favor, and blessing on His children. I praise Him for all that you were, 2014, and for all that 2015 is yet to reveal.

Sincerly, 

Micah Rachel Pederson

In the midst of darkness

         I despise the ever-changing calendar, marking time that has come and passed.With each fleeting day, I am expected to be healed. I am expected to be whole… I am expected to sing the song of beauty that has risen from my ashes. But I am not healed. I am not whole. I have yet to see the beauty. Rather, I am more broken than before. The gaping whole in my heart is ever-widening, shredded open by the loss of you lived anew day after day. I am so tired of pushing forward. I am so weary of thrusting memories aside and allowing the necessity of carrying on to be the salve expected to bring relief to my searing pain. I wait for a time when your life and the loss of it will leave a beautiful melody whispered throughout each chapter remaining. But eight months later, I am still consumed. I am suffocating, I am hurting, I am wrestling. The beauty I crave is hidden beneath layers of weariness, loneliness, and the throbbing ache of an inability to understand.

           Yet, somehow, in the midst of my darkness, I am held. In the middle of my heartache, my anger, my sorrow, I know that He is for me and not against me. I know that His heart is breaking, His tears are flowing, and His arms are clenched around me. At a time when I cannot always feel, I know. May the truth of HIS promises, HIS victory, and HIS glorious story be lifted high. If I never see, if I never understand, may the beauty of Christ Himself be reflected in my heart, my life, my story. Throughout the pain that has been and the pain that is yet to come, may I choose to praise Him and cling to Him. He is good.

 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 

True Love Doesn't Wait

When Ben died, the one belonging of his that I desired to have was a ring he wore that said “True Love Waits.” Ben wore this ring as a symbol of his commitment to remain sexually pure. I too had a ring that I wore for this purpose. This is a hard commitment to make ....but it was a blessing to have a brother to share that commitment with. We had heart to hearts time and time again about our desire to have and be a spouse one day. We talked about potential spouses we were interested in and he often asked my advice on how to be a man that Godly women would take notice of. He never held back from telling me men he did or didn’t 

approve of for me...most of which he didn’t. ;) We even took pictures of our hands with our purity rings together.

That ring of his meant a lot to me...more than I can ever put into words. But on the day of his funeral, I learned I wouldn’t be able to be the keeper of his ring. Instead, it remained on his hand as his casket was closed for the final time and I watched the body of my brother, all I knew of him here on earth, disappear into the ground. My heart broke so hard. On the day of his burial, that ring on his hand is what broke me. For me, it was an image of unfulfilled dreams. A Godly man who had hoped for 28 years to be a husband and father...not out of selfishness, but because he wanted to fully love his wife, his children, and His God. He wanted to break the chains of divorce and Satan’s lies that his own family had experienced. But 

it didn’t happen. It was done...it was over...he was gone. True love had waited...and now that ring still encircled his finger, a reminder of everything that wasn't...never to be exchanged for a ring representing marriage. For weeks, these thoughts tormented me. Some days, they still do. But God is teaching me a different meaning of “True Love Waits.” Some people desperately want to marry and believe in “True Love Waits” so they do just that...they wait. They wait with lacking gratitude. They wait with entitlement, believing they deserve a spouse and they can’t blink or they might overlook who it is supposed to be. They wait...and wait...and wait. And perhaps they do get married one day, but they continue to wait. They wait for marriage to be the magic they dreamed of. They wait for their spouse to measure up. They wait...and wait. But Ben didn't wait. Yes, he had a desire for God’s gift of marriage, but he never stopped running. He ran to serve those around him. He ran to love and heal his family. He ran to become the man God was creating him to be. Ben did not have the disability so many of us do...he wasn't waiting for ideal circumstances, for God to give what Ben demanded. I have no doubt in my mind that Ben would have been an amazing husband and an amazing father. I have no doubt that God could have raised up a generation through Ben that would have seen freedom. And a lot of times, I don’t understand why this isn't what happened. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. I wanted this for Ben. But that is not the story that has been written. Ben saved himself for marriage and that is beautiful. Ben impacted life after life and that is beautiful. Ben never lived his dream of marrying the woman of his dreams. Instead, he met his bridegroom...he stands before God, his stains covered in the grace of Jesus, his heart more full of joy than an earthly marriage could have ever brought him....and that....is beautiful. For Ben, true love didn't wait. It ran to those in need, it served, it grew, it overcame, it carried on. Now, the ring on my finger had been replaced with a new ring...a ring representing my commitment to my husband and my God. It is my hope and prayer that I might live, now as a married woman, as Ben did...may I have a true love that doesn't wait. 

The day before my wedding, my sweet brother in law gave me a precious gift. It is an exact copy of Ben’s ring....and on the inside is an engraving. It simply says: Heaven Rejoices. Heaven DOES rejoice! And I will choose to also. I don’t understand...I hurt...I miss....I long....but I rejoice in the life, legacy, and love of my brother...a true love that never waited.

Beneath the Surface

I went to my brother's grave alone for the first time.

I was surprised that in over two months, it hadn't changed much.

My heart surrendered to a surge of anger as my eyes glared at the dry, cracked mound in front of me. 

 Is this all there is to mark a life so beautiful?

Death is so cruel, so final, so hideous.

I sank to my knees and watered the dry and weary land of my heart with tears I have long awaited.

Father, where are you?

Will I ever be whole again?

Where is the beauty my heart longs for?

“Lift the dirt.” He whispered.

So I did.

Beneath a surface so hideous and lifeless, new life abounded!

All I can see are broken pieces...a parched, worn, and weary land.

But my God is fulfilling His purpose.

Beneath the brokenness, He is breathing new life.

Within the pain, He is nurturing growth.

Throughout this desert drought, His love is quenching.

I will yet praise Him.

Iron

Around my heart, an iron fist clenches

Imprisoning raw, emotional wrenches

Beneath the metal my flesh throbs defeat

Swelling and writhing with each booming beat.

The cold fingers tighten with each wave of pain;

Jeering of strength, aloneness, and shame.

I'm imprisoned within a heart that's my own,

I cannot grieve, I feel all alone.

It won't last much longer, devastation is near.

The pain is too much, the pressure severe.

A wave of tears flow from far down deep

Begging for freedom, release from this keep.

But each glistening drop is slammed back from liberation

By a wall of destruction in the name of protection.

I'm dying inside, awaiting disaster;

I can't seem to grasp my freedom, My Master.

Father, shatter the dam that holds my tears in

Let my grief be released as peace fills again.

Pry open the fingers of iron inside me;

God, let me be broken for then I will see thee .

You promise You're near to each one brokenhearted;

Break me O God, may my strength be discarded.

Let the tears of my heart be the tears on my cheek;

May my grief mix with yours as Your heart I seek.

I miss my brother.

The Dance

The beat is slow, painful, and deep

Bellowing tragedy, grief, defeat.

The rhythm is quick, light, and full

It chirps of victory, and life beautiful.

The words are scrambled, confusing and dark

Sobbing of loss and death's ugly mark.

The lyrics are joy-filled, a sweet jubilee

Singing the peace of grace over me.

My feet are stumbling, unbearably sore

I can't keep up, the tears sting and pour.

My toes feel free as I twirl and spin

I jump and leap and praise through a grin.

My partner is missing, I'm deserted, alone

I stumble and trip with no way to be shown.

My lover is close, I feel the beat of His heart

He leads me and teaches me each step of my part.

This dance is unbearable, I can't find my way

My heart is destroyed by this cavity each day.

This waltz is life-giving, teaching me to sing

Showing me beauty and glimpses of my King.

Darkness and light, beauty and pain.

Heartache and joy, they mingle the same.

For grief is the dance partner of hope.

Was.

My brother was.

He was an EMT. He was gentle. He was funny. He was kind. He was...here.

Was. Never has a three letter word had so much repulsive power.

These three tiny letters blend together to solidify the horror of a reality where Ben's physicality no longer is...just...was.

I hate having to tell you not who my brother is, but who he was.

I hate to feel my mouth go dry and my face burn hot as you ask how many siblings I have;

I don't know if it is politically correct to count the one who was.

I hate that what so recently was my family's is has become our was.

Was.

In unending ways, my brother was.

He was goofy, he was burdened, he was lonely, he was friendly, he was full of dreams.

He was hardworking, he was persistent, he was sensitive, he was handsome, he was faithful.

He was.

But in so many more ways...he is.

He is alive. He is free. He is surrounded. He is fulfilled. He is healed. He is happy. He is content.

He is my brother. He is an overcomer. He is the son of the King of Kings.

Was can no longer win.

Death was the victor...grief was the destroyer...bitterness was the destiny...was.

No longer is....was.

Instead, Grace is. Comfort is. Redemption is. Beauty is. Strength is. Love is. Forever is. Ben is.

Because God...My God......is.

Enough

Life's gone on. I get up in the morning. I greet my students with a smile. I laugh at jokes, grin at strangers, and work through the checklist of my day. When a thought of you slips into my mind, I shove it away so those around me don't have to endure the discomfort of my grief-stricken reality.

Another day has come and gone...I made it. But the day is not done yet. My head hits the pillow and I dread what I know is coming. Maybe tonight I can fall asleep fast enough....but I can't. Instead, I remember you. The thoughts of you I have pushed back all day gush into my mind like a wave that steals my breath in both pain and beauty. I know you died...I've known it all day. But now I remember.

I remember that I will never embrace you again. I remember that I will never again hear your laugh, tease you back, or share my heart with you. I remember that there will be an empty seat at my wedding where my big brother should be. I remember that my children will never know their Uncle Ben. I remember the pain that takes my breath away, twists my stomach, and gives me an instant throbbing headache.

I pray...I plead with God to give me strength. I ask Him to give me one person the next day who will mention you and acknowledge the storm ravaging my heart. I ask Him for joy, for peace, and for perspective. I thank Him for you. I tell Him all I need for tomorrow is enough. Just enough.

I am empty. I am short-tempered, sad, and lonely. I am tired, weary, and worn. I am weak, wounded, and devastated. But my Father...He is hope. He is healing, blessing, and grace. He is love, compassion and beauty. I am loved...I am redeemed...I am held. I am His...and He is enough.

From One Who Grieves

My big brother's death has brought a pain and emptiness I had never known before. The last 8 days have been unbearably hard for my family and me. I know this journey is just beginning, but I have some thoughts from the perspective of one who is grieving.

1) Although it seems silly, don't be afraid to ask how I am. Even if I don't have an answer, it lets me know you care.

2) Don't stop sharing your own heart with me because you are afraid I already have too big of a burden to bear. If you feel you can't share with me, I don't feel as free to share with you.

3) Please, please don't shy away from mentioning my brother or his death. Thoughts of him are all I can think about right now, so you bringing them up is not a shock or surprise, but a relief that I am not alone with the elephant in the room.

4) I know grieving people often gripe about cliches and such that are said...but please don't be afraid to offend me with your encouragement (unless it is REALLY dumb! ;)). Scripture is especially important. At a time where lies are flying from every side, truth is all we can cling to. Once the numbness wears off, I will be able to look back and see the truth and promises that carry us.

5) At the same time, be willing to be silent. More than anything, I long for someone who would just sit...sit and listen when I want to laugh about Ben's funny stories, sit while I cry a really ugly cry, or sit while I too sit in silence, lost in my own thoughts.

6) Be gracious. I'm learning that grief not only crushes the heart, it incapacitates the brain. I am dropping balls right and left...I can't remember what day it is, what commitments I've made, or where I put my coffee cup. Please extend grace as I fight to keep my head above water.

Like I said, this journey is just beginning. I praise God for those who are willing to walk alongside my family every step of the way. God is our rock, and He uses each of you to remind us of that. Thank you!

Picture: kendallchurch.org

Shattered

O death, where is your sting?

It is here...a million shards of glass gouging my heart's fragile flesh.

It is boulder in my stomach, a crushing vise in my mind.

It is a revolting throb pulsing through my every vein.

I want to throw up.

I want to break a thousand windows.

I want to scream until I WAKE UP.

My mind flashes a thousand pictures.

My brother, my friend...

His laugh, his hugs, his protection.

His dreams, his heartaches, his seizures.

His grin, his compassion, his quirks.

Our memories make my lips slip into a smile.

I think, “I need to ask Ben about---”

SLAM. There it is again.

My soul is parched, thirsting for the relief of a second chance.

But it will never come.

He's gone.

Gone.

My brother is---he...died.

I hate those words.

They taste wretched forced through my closing throat.

Death your sting is here, sitting upon my chest like a ten ton weight.

I will not... I cannot deny this pain.

My heart knows it too well.

But beneath the crushing weight, hope flickers.

Do you hear? Do you hear the whisper of God's glory?

Like a cleansing flood His grace pours over my raw and aching soul.

I know death...I know pain....I know the famine of a devastated heart.

I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to live this life. I don't know why my brother is gone.

But I know that God is good.

And I praise Him.

Maybe

Dear Ellie,

Today you would have been 18-months old. Maybe you would have been walking, maybe not. Maybe you would have words to share with us, letting us know what was happening in your little mind. Maybe not.  Maybe you would have tantrums, showing the world just how much not getting your way displeased you! Or maybe you would have been the girl who would have gone off in a corner to pout and cry silently. Maybe your daddy would scoop you up and throw you on the couch as you giggled and squealed. Maybe your Mama would have your toes painted cheerful colors. Maybe you would be able to say my name. Maybe you would babble to me on the phone. Maybe your Mama would be sending me stories of the silly things you did each day. Maybe you would have bright pink braces on your legs or physical therapy five days a week. Maybe I would talk to your Mama about the things I learned in my experiences with special needs that could help you. Maybe we would finally be getting an idea of what your future would look like. But despite all the maybes…you are not doing any of those things. Your earthly body is still in the ground, where we placed it a little over a year ago. Your things are still placed neatly in a box, showing no signs of being used. The world has moved on…even I have. I cannot remember the last time I became teary at the thought your absence…until today. I feel guilty about that. My escape has been numbness…until today. Today, I held a little girl and felt what would have been your weight in my arms. Today, I sang of God’s goodness in church and remembered how it was His goodness that held me when I could not stand because you were gone. You are still gone. Today, I let my mind wander to the day you were born, the day you died, and the day I’ll hold you once more. I let my heart ache as I envisioned the task of explaining who you are to my own future babies. Today, I let myself remember that my Sister and Brother-in-law are living life on earth without you…without your laughs, your needs, and your future. Their arms are empty…still. They are still thinking of you daily, they are still facing a cruel world who forces them to move on. Today, I hurt. I’m empty. I’m angry. I’m lonely. Just for today, I refuse to be ok and I refuse to move on. I refuse to pretend that your life and death are far from me. Today, I want to sit and be quiet. I want to rest in the arms of Jesus…where you are. Today, I’m choosing to hold you and be held. And maybe, just for today, that’s ok.

Love you always,

Aunt Mimi

Arms of Comfort

Life is hard. I don't know how people who have no hope in Christ live it. The "small things" are hard enough, but when tragedy strikes, I truly don't know how those who don't know our King continue to function. So many people have experienced pain far, far worse than my own and have nothing to fall back on, no arms to rest in, no hope to behold. We who belong to the King have so much comfort, we have life--abundant life. But still, we hurt. Our hurt is no less than those around us--but it is bound in hope. So often, I have the blessing of being able to be strong--not because I myself am strong, but because I have a steady flow of strength flowing through me from the Holy Spirit. Plus, I have the incredible opportunity to lay my burdens at the foot of the cross. I can lay my own burdens down that I might take up the burdens of other's. I believe greatly in the value of this concept, but sometimes it's as if I feel guilty for my pain or the desire to share that pain. What I am beginning to discover though is that I am perhaps robbing brothers and sisters in Christ when I don't share. I am so very blessed when others share with me...why would I rob the family of God by not allowing them to be blessed in the same way? Quite frankly, I don't have to always be strong. I am so so thankful that the promises of God are true. But that doesn't mean I don't hurt. And it means that sometimes, it is ok just to share because it feels good or helps me be comforted. It's ok to say the questions and frustrations that are in my heart and mind. Even if I know I have hope and I know God is good, it is ok to say that knowing the truth and promises doesn't make the pain and questions go away. With that said, I can say that the pain of my niece's death has penetrated my heart so deeply. Yes, it has been several weeks. Yes, the services are over and the family and friends are back home. Yes, I am only the aunt and my sister and brother-in-law's pain is far greater and deeper than my own. But my heart still held and holds this baby. I would have given my life for her. Her preciousness overwhelms me. She changed me and continues to change me. The world is sad when a baby dies...the tragedy is recognized. But the world doesn't remember what it was like to be unable to look away from that tiny face, believing that nothing could be more beautiful or full of hope. The world doesn't know how to miss the loud squeaks she made as she sucked on her pacifier so hard, I wondered how such a tiny person could possibly make such loud noises. The world doesn't miss the weight of her on my chest. The world doesn't miss what it felt like to press my nose in the top of her head and take in the smell of her. The world doesn't know the feeling of realizing that instead of returning to college, I had the great privilege of devoting a year to loving and helping this little girl. The world doesn't know what it is like to suddenly be going back to college, having to answer the questions as people wonder why my plans changed. The world doesn't know the knot my heart forms as I try to answer the question, "How is your sister doing?" The world doesn't know what it is like to spend a week alongside my sister and her husband, planning the details of their daughter's funeral and burial. The world doesn't know the overwhelming pain of how helpless I feel, knowing that my sister's heart is hanging in shreds in another state. The world doesn't know what it is like to wake up after having yet another dream about Ellie night after night, trying to reach reality once more but caught up in the feeling of having her again for that short instant. As my heart is torn open at the thought of that tiny body being underground, the world can say it is just a shell. But what they don't know is that it is the most beautiful shell in the world. I share all this not because I am hopeless...but because I am hopeful. This hurts...so much. I won't deny the pain. I won't deny the questions, frustrations, and sometimes....anger. I won't say that each and every day of my life is not deeply affected by the hollow ache of loss. And I won't say that I can always be strong. But I will say that I don't always have to be strong. I am held so securely in the arms of the Great Comforter and I rejoice in that! However, that doesn't mean I don't really desire to feel those arms in an earthly form sometimes. Knowing this pain is what allows me to know the comfort that accompanies it. Maybe, as I am willing to be weak and receive comfort, I can be equipped to be the earthly arms of comfort for another person whose heart is aching.

(Picture from: www.crestock.com)

The Holiness of Pain

Some of you have known about the journey of my little niece, Ellianna Grace. There is something so special about this baby--she has held my heart since the very beginning of her little life. She was born on March 2nd, 11 weeks before her due date. She has battled hydrocephalus since birth, along with many other medical issues, one after another. Several weeks ago, she underwent her 3rd brain surgery, during which a permanent shunt was placed in her brain to drain the extra fluid. Days after, she was home from the hospital and had finally seemed to turn the corner. She was showing signs of Cerebral Palsy, and with guidance from God, I had made the decision to take a year off from school to move to Colorado and help my sister with Ellianna's care. As plans were finalized, I was so at peace about this decision and excited to see what God would do in me through this baby. But then the most drastic corner was turned. On Wednesday, July 13th, my sister told me that Ellie had been weak and overall not well that day and was admitted to the hospital. After some surgeries during the night and more tests, everything seemed to be falling apart. By Thursday afternoon, my sister was calling me at work to tell me that Ellie had the worst kind of infection in her brain, spine, and blood. 50-60% of her brain tissue had already died and doctors were preparing us for her departure from this earth. As I passed the information on to my family, the words I was saying sounded so hopeless, so surreal. I left work, packed in about 5 minutes, and took off for my mom's. The next morning I headed to Colorado to be with my sister and her family. My main purpose was to offer them support and comfort, but I felt like I needed their presence as much as or maybe more than they needed mine. I made the trip to Colorado alone, and although that didn't seem ideal, it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The 7 hours I had alone with God while driving are something I will always treasure. My confusion and anger melted away to the assurance of His love for me. Since Ellie's death, all I had been able to pray was "God help me!" During that car ride, all I could say over and over again through my tears was, "You are so good!" As my perspective changed, I wrote a letter to Ellie that I read at her funeral. Here it is:

Dearest Ellie-

I am so blessed to have been a part of your miraculous life. You are so tiny, yet you touched such a huge amount of people. There is something so very special about you. Like I used to tell your mommy, you have held a special part of me since the day you were born. I don’t think anyone has ever made me pray or plead for a miracle harder. And no one’s death has ever hurt so deeply as yours. At first, when you went to meet Jesus, I thought God had chosen not to give us a miracle. I told people we had lost you. But what I am not realizing is that God did give us a miracle. Every second of your life was and is a miracle, whether here on earth or in your glorious true home. Rather than being lost, you have been found. There will never be another uncertain day in your life. We don’t have to wonder what pain you are feeling, what milestones you may miss, or how you will live day-to-day life. We know where you are and though we can’t understand why, we know that God is good. Perhaps faith isn’t believing the worst won’t happen, but knowing that when it does, God is still victorious. And when God’s will is done, it isn’t the worst after all. The ache of your earthly absence is all but unbearable. But I am so happy for you. You were able to claim your royalty after such a short time in this fallen world. You are a Princess who will forever dwell in the presence of her King. You are so beautiful, cherished, and loved. I just know that your laughter is contagious, your smile is breath-taking, and your dance is flawless. I will always be your proud aunt.

All my love,

Aunt Mimi

I remember holding my sister when I arrived. All I could hear were our sobs and the voice in my head begging God to hold us. I remember cradling my nieces, ages 6 and 3 and wanting to save them from this nightmare. It is definitely one of the most painful experiences I have ever had. Yet, despite the agony, one word kept coming to mind as that nightmarish week wore on: Holy. In the midst of such darkness, God brought miracle after brilliant miracle. Here are a few of them:

Jacob's Salvation:

Ellie's older brother, Jacob (9), was away at camp when she died. My sister and her husband decided to let him finish out camp and then meet him there on the last day to share the news. On Saturday, they headed to the camp for breakfast, and then took Jacob to the chapel. They shared the sad news and as it turned out, Jacob had some news of his own: He had given his life to Christ during the week! I have been praying for this boy for years. In fact, many people have been. When he heard of Ellie's death, he flipped to 2 Corinthians 1:3-6 and asked to read it at Ellie's funeral. When he arrived home, more tears of mine came. But this time, they were tears of joy for this boy who was so very changed! God's timing is beautiful.

The Butterfly:

Ellie's older sister, Baylie, LOVES butterflies. When Ellie was taking her last breathes, her mom and dad told her to always send lots of butterflies for Baylie from heaven. Every afternoon after that, there was a huge yellow and black swallowtail butterfly that swooped into the backyard just for a moment. Every day. Without fail. On the day of the funeral, we were out front watching for the limo. The butterfly came early that day, and swooped around the front yard rather than the back.

More Butterflies:

Baylie has a butterfly garden. Every now and then, she receives a shipment of caterpillars and over 4 weeks, gets to watch them progress to butterflies. She got a shipment in the days before Ellie died, but was sad because the caterpillars were further along than usual. Sure enough, they formed their Chrysalis' within days. It normally takes 10 days for them to hatch into beautiful butterflies. However, on the painful morning of the viewing, we heard shouts from Baylie about her butterflies! Turns out they had hatched early! God gave this special little girl such a beautiful gift on one of the hardest days of her young life. Not to mention that Ellie's online obituary just happened to have butterflies (purple ones in fact--Ellie's color!) as a background, there were several butterflies dancing about during the grave-side service, and the Pastor said that an incredible amount of Monarchs had been flying past his office window all week.

The Rainbow:

The viewing was by far the hardest day for me and many others. When I walked in with my sister and her family to see that tiny body, we all just crumbled. I have never heard such heart-wrenching sobs. Later in the evening, some people were talking about a rainbow outside. I went outside to check it out and I could not believe my eyes. Over the city of Colorado Springs was the most vibrant, bright, vivid rainbow I had ever seen! The purple part, which is rarely seen, was just a tad brighter than the rest. I think I know why: Whenever Ellie was out in public in purple, people commented on how great she looked in it. Always. So purple became Ellie's color, her theme, a beautiful reminder of her. It's no coincidence that the purple stood out.

Ellianna's death hurts--deeper and different than any hurt I have felt before. I don't know why we had Ellie for such a short time. I don't know why God took her so suddenly, when months ago we may have been expecting it a little more. I don't understand why He had me change my plans, only to change them even more drastically. I don't understand it, but I don't have to. All I need to understand is that our God is good. So good. He is good when He gives life, and when He takes it. I know that the Bible is sprinkled full of verses about the blessing of trials, but there is nothing like living that blessing. The pain is still there--real, suffocating, almost unbearable at times. But God is still so present, whether in the beauty of a special rainbow, or simply His presence as I cry before Him. During the week, I felt an urge to wash my sister's feet. I didn't know why I wanted to, but I went ahead and did it. I guess I just wanted to be humbled before her. Pain is holy, and God has given her much of it. When God's people hurt, God is there. It's as if we are standing on holy ground. She obviously has been set aside as one of God's beautiful plans and pictures of comforting grace. And I as too feel the deep tug of sorrow and grief, I know that God has also set me aside for His purpose. I am broken-hearted. But God promises that He is near to the broken-hearted, and more than ever, I know that this promise is true. Sometimes the hurt of life takes my breath away. But even when I catch my breath, it is pulled away by the wonder and awe of what it means to suffer as a child of the King. How great is this God who pours out His love on His children!

Ellie's Rainbow

My niece, Baylie, and me taking in Ellie's rainbow

(Photos by: Tressa Stubbs. Used with permission.)