A January We Did Not Expect!

 What a January!

We started off at a run and ended up in the hospital for a week!  Needless to say, this is a January for the books!

To be honest, we knew it was going to be a tough month.  The Farmer husband had finally decided to have both knees replaced... at once!  Not an easy feat, but if you know him, you know his discipline and motivation are strong.  His ortho agreed and so surgery was set... and it went fine... for 24 hours.

But somewhere in his body, the wiring went haywire and his electrolyte balances went nuts.  48 hours post-surgery his sodium had crashed and things happened fast. He was transported to a high level hospital in the metroplex where we remained for the next 4 days in the critical care unit.  

We learned a lot!  Low sodium levels can cause severe muscle weakness, heart arrhythmias and wacky altered mental status.  Like really wacky!  Bless his heart.  If it wasn't so scary, it would have been hilarious... like the star favorite at everyone's party!  In hindsight, I am so relieved to know he never lost his sense of humor even when things were bad.  (A Blessing I never knew I needed!)

Happy to report we are at home and starting for real on recuperation and physical therapy!

Ready to shuffle off into February!  May you be kind to us!

Walking through Heartache...

 These past 2 months have been dogged by death.  We have sorrowed and mourned the passing of dear loved ones...

A nephew.

A brother.

A cousin.

A friend.

The sorrowing has been a dark trial and the walk has been hard.  Each death buried us a little deeper in pain. 

To be sure, grief has worn tracks on our heart this summer.

Their smiles shine from the pictures and leave us wanting more time with each one.  The love and friendship will not be replaced this side of heaven.  And that is something we mourn each day. 

There is no easy way to walk this road.  We will grieve and miss them the rest of our days.

We have found ourselves quieting in this season.  The loss feels too great.  Words can't touch the heartache.

And so, we rest on the only truth we know.  That God walks with us.  He catches our tears and holds us in our sorrow.  We do not grieve as those with no hope.  And that will be the light for our path when the way is dark.

Our great grief bears witness to a great love.
God knows our heart.

Remembering and Honoring these cherished men tonight.

He is Risen!

 

Love your People...

When Cancer Comes in the Dark

 The story Janie shares touches a chord deep... She is a girl who knows how cancer can take you to a dark place.  Her words capture what it means to be held captive there, scratching your way to the light and beseeching God to come near, choosing Thankfulness for the God who stays no matter how many times we send Him away.

You may know Janie by her stage name, Nightbirde.  We saw her first on America's Got Talent...

 Her song, "It's Ok," traced the journey of a life interrupted by cancer, the most brutal of diagnoses... tumors bruising her body, the painful days transformed by her lilting, etheral voice into a tribute of beauty and joy.

On her website, Janie shares her heart, honest and vulnerable:

"A line from my favorite poem says this: 

“There’ll be days like this, my mama said,

When you open your hands to catch, 

And wind up with only blisters and bruises.

. . .

When your boots fill with rain,

and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.

And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you

Because there’s nothing more beautiful 

than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, 

no matter how many times it is sent away.

I haven’t come as far as I’d like, in understanding the things that have happened this year. But here’s one thing I do know: when it comes to pain, God isn’t often in the business of taking it away. Instead, he adds to it. He is more of a giver than a taker. He doesn’t take away my darkness, he adds light. He doesn’t spare me of thirst, he brings water. He doesn’t cure my loneliness, he comes near. So why do we believe that when we are in pain, it must mean God is far? 

In the beginning, there was immense, immeasurable emptiness. But God was drawn to it like a fog to the sea. He stretched out His spirit over the void, and He stayed. If the stories I’ve heard of Him are true, surely He is nearest of all, to me. To us. You see, the Creator is still here, where He has always been, hovering over the emptiness."  ~ Janie

Janie's words are soft and sure, beautiful and filled with promise. And most of all, they are a truth when our souls are hollowed out and hungry for answers...

No matter the hard, no matter the pain, no matter the hurt... He stayed.

God stayed. And that makes all the difference in the world!

Blessed with Hope tonight, My Love Always, Jane

Trusting God when it's Dark...

 I don't know who might need to see this, but...

Sleep in peace tonight,

God is in Control.

Personal Update...

 This is a month I never wish to repeat.

C*vid finally made a house call, despite all our mask-wearing, social-distancing precautions...

Thankfully I am doing well now, but it knocked me down and out for the last few weeks.  And just for the curious, mine was not a normal case (is there such a thing?)  I truly thought I had a severe case of food poisoning!

I will spare you the details, but the gastric distress was immediate and abundant... within days I was in the ER dehydrated, unable to even keep water down.  Not Fun!  But there was no respiratory involvement, no shortness of breath, no high fever, no cough and no congestion... for this I am so thankful.

And even more thankful that my case was isolated.  No one else in the family was affected.  So, so thankful.

We were surrounded by the prayers of so many.  Meals were brought and left on our truck's tailgate, uplifting texts and cards encouraged us, and one intrepid and loving daughter braved the quarantine and dove into the midst of the sickness to help and love us.

So very, very Thankful.

Deep Waters

 

Doing Hard Things...

We will all be called to do hard things in this life.

A financial hardship.  A prodigal child.  An abusive relationship. 

A Cancer Diagnosis...

And how do we keep living though the hard without losing our hope?  When grief and pain and struggle marks our way...

Ann Voskamp speaks with a bit of truth:

"... the details of our hard may be different, but all our need for courage is the same."

Truth.

We all need courage to face our hard things.

Ann continues, "You have to keep hanging on, when you don't know how to go on."

When pancreatic cancer began taking mom from us, one painful, hard fought battle at a time, we were faced with a choice, Give up or Go on.

Mom's courage on the journey lit the way for our own.  It was one step at a time.  She knew how to do hard things and we learned that you can win the battle when you simply stay the course.  One step at a time.

There is a truth in the holy words:

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."
           ~ Psalm 119:105

When we carry a lamp out onto our path, the circle of light shines just far enough to illuminate our next step.  We trust that step and bring the lamp forward with us to bring focus to the next step... and the next... and the next.

It is a light unto my path.

It is the courage for the next step.

It is Hope in the midst of Hard Things.

There is a young girl who shares a story that kind of puts this all in perspective.  Her name is Hannah.  And her words speak it best:

"Proud doesn't even begin to cover it!

I don't talk about my mom's visual disability a lot, mostly because she makes it seem so easy that I forget about it.  I forget to be amazed at all the times she chooses joy despite monumental daily challenges with chronic vision loss.

It's been over three years since my mom first told me she was going to open a coffee shop employing people with disabilities, and today there was a line out the door of her shop for 4 straight hours.

Esteamed Coffee is an outflow of her heart and her own personal struggles of finding jobs as someone with a disability.  It's a way to decrease stigmas, positively influence her community, provide jobs, and create a space for all people to gather.  It's the culmination of her passions and pain.

Often times I wonder why the Lord allows certain hard things to pass through His hands, and I've wondered that about my mom's vision impairment too.  Today felt like a glimpse behind the curtain of all the good that's come from her experiences and how she's positively impacting the lives of tons of people in her community right now.

If you're ever in Cary, make sure you drop by Esteamed Coffee & pick up a great cup of coffee with a great purpose."

We can all do hard things.  One step at a time. 

When our passions and our pain collide, God's faithfulness will always light our way... May we find the courage to take that next step in the midst of the hard.

My Love,
Always,
           Jane

Hosana Blessings!

 

When God parts the Sea...

 He will make a way...

Finding Peace Tonight

Today would have been their 60th!

And for the first time in a very long time, there is peace tonight.

Dad has missed mom these past 9 years with an intensity we could never ease.  It was if he was incomplete, just half of a whole without her by his side.

He loved us and lived life well, but there was always the shadow of her passing holding his heart hostage.

Tonight they celebrate together, and there is a genuine joy in remembering their happiness.

The stranglehold of grief is released in the remembering...

So. Much. Love.

Peace for this heart tonight. 

Yesterday's a Closing Door...

Yesterday.  New Year's Eve.  Time to bid 2019 goodbye.

And I tried.  Wanted to.

But... it was hard.  Funny thing.  2019 was such a year of loss.  You would think I'd be ready to say farewell and embrace a new year.

You'd think.

And I know that grief can color a world gray.  Yet, it was more than the grief.

Saying Goodbye to 2019 moved me farther away from Dad.  Odd how a mind works.  But moving forward into a new year seemed to feel as if I was leaving him behind.

Each new day, each new memory made, will be one without him in it.  And that's ok. Truly.  Dad would want nothing less than for us to live our best lives.

My head gets it... but my heart has remained firmly entrenched in 2019.

Until a song spoke some truth.

The song... Tell your Heart to Beat Again by Danny Gokey.  It simply touched a place deep.

The music is beautiful, but the words were meant for me today...

Danny Gokey is no stranger to the grief valley.  To learn more of his story head on over to this interview with Danny on CBN, Find Purpose in your Darkest Moments.  It is a beautiful story of loss and love and learning to hope again... 

You're shattered, Like you've never been before,

The life you knew, in a thousand pieces on the floor.

And words fall short in times like these,

When this world drives you to your knees.

You think you're never gonna get back

To the you that used to be...

Tell your heart to beat again,

Close your eyes and breathe it in.

Let the shadows fall away,

Step into the light of grace.

Yesterday's a closing door.

You don't live there anymore.

Say goodbye to where you've been 

And tell your heart to beat again.

Those words, sung to a broken heart.  It is true.  The grief and the loss find a way to keep us living in yesterday's shadow.

Danny Gokey penned the truth.  For yesterday is a closing door.  We don't live there anymore.  It is time to say goodbye to where we've been, and tell our heart to beat again...

And if I wasn't already captivated by God's faithful assurance of His everlasting care, the next verse moved me to a place of hope and promise...

Beginning,

Just let that word wash over you.

It's alright now,

Love's healing hands have pulled you through.

So, get back up, take step one

Leave the darkness, feel the sun,

'Cause your story's far from over,

And your journey's just begun.

Tell your heart to beat again.

Without a doubt, that is the lesson I needed to hear at the start of this new decade ... Perhaps you too?

Our story's far from over.  Our journey's just begun.

Yesterday is a closing door.
We don't live there anymore.

Say Goodbye to where you've been,

And tell your heart to beat again.

God is just beginning to do a Great Work
And I can't wait to be a part of the journey.

Welcoming 2020 with a Heart full of Hope!
My Love Always,
                        Jane

This Christmas...

Wherever you find yourself this Christmas season,

may you find Grace right there in the midst of

the grief and the joy...

It's the message, beautiful and sacred, the angels proclaim...

this tiny baby born, as shepherds and wise men rejoice,

has come to face the grief of a cross.

A grief that is broken with a Resurrection
that brings the dead to life.

Graced to celebrate this Holy Season with joy midst the grief,
for He has come to proclaim the good news,
bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release the prisoner from darkness. 
                                                         ~ Isaiah 61:1

That is Hope and Blessing Abundant for this grieving daughter...

Sending My Love this Christmas,
Always,
    Jane

The Valley Road of Grief

Isn't it ironic that dad's memorial would fall the week of mom's passing?  If the grief weren't so deep, we would find that aptly fitting.  Dad has missed mom with an intensity that has never lessened with time.

We have all felt the grief come in waves this past week.  Dad's memorial service was on Monday and the anniversary of Mom's passing fell on Wednesday... We have journeyed the valley one faltering step at a time.

I believe that only God can sustain a body when the sadness would crush a soul.

Dad's service was small, a private gathering of his loved ones, family and friends that cherished and loved him so.

We shared stories, we sang his favorite hymns...there were tears and there was laughter... a promise of grace for the days ahead.

And a peace that felt right as we settled their urn into the columbarium, together, just as they had planned so many years before...

Family came from near and far.  A reminder of all the good there is along the valley road.  They cheered us, loved us, cried with us, and held us as we stepped into the unfamiliar, new normal of life without dad.

Then Wednesday morning found me walking back through the doors of the columbarium, alone, bearing the yellow rose that dad always brought on the anniversary of mom's passing...

Only this time, the chair he sat in was empty...

The memorial service was finished, the family lunch served, sympathy cards read and the friends and family gone... the suddenness of being alone on this day, missing dad and feeling the weight of these 8 years since I heard mom's voice and leaned in to her hug... the tears fell unheeded and the grieving tore my heart as I sat in the chair that had always been reserved for dad. 

Now it was my turn to sit and mourn. And remember. To reflect and grieve. And simply miss their very presence like crazy.  The tears would not be stopped...

And perhaps that is exactly what I needed.  A time to stop, and breathe deep, let the tears soak through, allowing the sadness and grief to just be.  For missing mom and dad is and will be my new normal.  And so are the tears...

"There is a sacredness in tears.
They are not the mark of weakness,

but of power.
They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues.
They are the messengers of overwhelming grief,
of deep contrition
and of unspeakable love."
                        ~ Washington Irving

Blessed with an unspeakable love this night,

Graced to grieve and hope and remember on this valley road...
For that is part of my new normal as well.

Resting on God's faithfulness,
Always,

     Jane

And Then...

If each of us live long enough, we are bound to encounter seasons of pain and suffering.

I knew that was true.  Sort of.

For the first 51 years of my life, the only real problems I suffered through were inconsequential, the hardships of budgeting for new tires (instead of a new couch) or the 2 year old tantrums that demanded cake (instead of green beans).  Really, to be honest, life was easy. happy. good.  Family Get-Togethers.  Birthday Celebrations.  Job Promotions.  More smiles than tears those first 51 years.

And then... Cancer.

Mom's pancreatic cancer diagnosis shattered that naive, confident, easy-breezy view of life. The problems of the before melted into trivial.  In moment's of sheer honesty, we'd go back in a heartbeat and live an entire lifetime dealing with the tears of 2 year old tantrums instead of the soul-crushing anguish of that cancer journey.

Perhaps you are struggling through a period of profound pain and suffering too.  Could be life has coasted along smoothly...until a Divorce, or Job Loss, or a shattering personal pain.

Cancer ushered in a season of intense grief, heartache and loss in our family.

It was Suffering on a scale that we had never before experienced.

I heard an interview on the radio the other day, didn't catch all of it, but the gist of it was that Suffering can be a Gift.

Caught my attention alright.  Denial was immediate.

Then I started listening (wish I could link the show, but don't have the name, please forgive)... and after a few minutes I was swayed to begin to look at suffering in a new way...

When pain and suffering take us to the end of ourselves... When the hurt and loss push us to question everything we once thought certain... maybe here it is where growth can turn the suffering into gift, the heartache into fruit... maybe...

I listened on to the wise counsel on suffering and began to engage just a bit, perhaps the seasons of hardship and pain can shepherd us to a better place.  And I remembered a quote by Josh Shipp:

You either get bitter - or you get better...

There is a question there... During what seasons have we grown the most?  Seasons of rest and happiness?  Or seasons drawn from pain and suffering?

What season pushed me to choose?  Get Bitter? or Get Better?

For me, it was the cancer journey. 

And the growth didn't happen all at once, or even in big, mind-boggling ways.  It wasn't like we somehow had arrived at suffering well.  Actually it was quite the opposite.  We fought the suffering part tooth and nail.  I think you could say we were in denial until mom's final breath.

But...

Looking back, I can see now that the growth, the changes, the strengthening... it was happening in so many small ways, hidden lessons in darkness, that have born fruit in the light.

We grew closer to the Lord.  I will never read scripture again without feeling the anguish of Christ's loss at the tomb of Lazarus... or his desolate cry in the garden of Gethesmane... oh Lord, we prayed too that our cup of suffering would pass us by.  There was a growing understanding of the depths of Christ's Love and Compassion.  A trust in His promise to never leave us nor forsake us.  And a growing step of faith to lay down our will for the perfect will of the Fathers.

Our eyes were opened in earnest to those who walked this road of suffering alongside us.  An outpouring of gratitude that we would never have felt if the cancer journey had never happened.  There is a blessing so infinitely sweet in the arms that held us during those grief-filled days and nights.  That Love healed our shattered hearts when I thought we would never smile again.

In walking through that dark Shadow Valley, we learned above all to trust in God's Faithful Goodness.  If we had never experienced the valley road, we wouldn't understand His utter goodness in making a way where there seemed to be no way.  We are confident that His grace walked that road with us and safely brought us though the overwhelming darkness.

And that lesson compels us to continue sharing our story.  The pain and suffering can be redeemed in the Hands of Grace... Greg Laurie speaks it well:

So, perhaps there is a truth in that suffering can be a gift, of sorts.

 And the thought made me dig deeper.  For I would never wish to elevate the cancer... it was the circumstance, yes, that threw us into a year of devastating loss, but I believe the choice to get Better came not from the cancer journey, but from the solid foundation of support surrounding us.

Because, if we are honest, pain and suffering can hollow out a soul and start a spiral down into a dark, dark pit that can swallow us whole.

What makes the difference?  To get Bitter... or get Better?

Time gives perspective as we've journeyed through this season.  It is not the same for everyone, this I know.  We all ride the waves of pain and suffering in very personal ways. Yet, I've seen a common thread in those who seem to suffer well, or as our radio host put it, those who find hope in the midst of suffering.

For us, the hope found root in a network of support. And others echo this truth.

The structure of community was our lifeline.  Loved ones stood in the gap for us, continually drawing our gaze back to Christ.  When we couldn't find the words, they humbly shouldered the grief and walked out love in our lives.

Within that community of support, we were given valuable coping techniques.  Each one gently offering their own experiences as a map for this valley road. Some tips were spot on, some advice perhaps not as useful to us, but all had merit and showed us a more excellent way to live life well, even in the midst of excruciating pain and suffering. 

One of the things that helped the most was taking a step of courage and meeting with the sweetest grief counselor.  Not easy.  And yes, I spent many of our sessions knee-deep in soggy kleenex, but, oh, the growth that came from those talks.  It was a gift, and a push, and utter encouragement to lay down our circumstances and choose Better, not Bitter.

Each of us will find the path that is right for us... when we make a conscious choice to take the next step... and the next, and the next.  Choosing Better over Bitter when we can.  Choosing to rest in Grace when we can't.  Cry, Breathe, Ask for help, Trust, Take the step... it is the way of living on this valley road.

Perhaps our suffering can be the catalyst for the kind of growth we could never have imagined. 

Trusting in the One who knows our suffering and Chooses Goodness every time.  That perhaps is the greatest gift of all...

Love, Always,
Jane

When the Familiar Slips Away...

I am utterly spent... my heart aches and I have struggled for words to wrap up these long days past.

2 weeks ago, Dad sold his house.  That's the black and white of it.

But, oh, it covers a multitude of deep and hard emotions...

That house... our home.  The place we all last remember mom, sitting in her recliner, smiling happy... cooking up a storm in her kitchen... entertaining friends joyful around her welcoming table... the boisterous Christmas celebrations all together...

That home is now empty... belongs to strangers... and the weeks leading up to the sale have been hard... filled with packing, so much packing and sorting... and talking... reminiscing... and just plain hard work, inside and out...

The sale makes sense.  It does, in the black and white of it all... After Dad moved into the assisted living at the end of the year, his house sat empty, utility bills piling up, taxes coming due.

The realtor was compassionate, but a bull-dog, and the home sold quickly... estate sale was a whirlwind, and all of a sudden, much too soon, the house was empty...

That was a hard thing... closing that front door and walking away from all the memories we have made over the years...

A piece of our heart remains...

for this has been a home filled with love and laughter

Being gentle with ourselves these days as we allow the sadness, weep over the goodbye, trace the legacy created here, and determine to carry the joy forward.

Trusting in the strength of family and God's sweet Grace

as we walk into our next chapter... with Hope

For There is Hope even in the midst of transition,

My Love, Always,

            Jane

A New Christmas Wrinkle...

Losing Mom right before Christmas has become a complicated part of our journey.

Pancreatic cancer didn't care about our wonderful Christmas traditions, nor the pain her death would cause each year as we faced the season without her... these past 5 years have seen our traditions change in many ways as we try to balance the beauty and grace of Christmas with the aching loss we will always feel.

And this year the tightrope of balance has been shaken hard, for after much agonizing, too many health  scares, and oh, so much prayer, Dad has made the decision to move into an Assisted Living Home.

This past month has been an emotional cauldron.

Decisions, questions, tours, talking, praying, discussing... and finally deciding...

Deep breath.  {It will be ok}

Dad has chosen a beautiful new facility just down the street.  And he moved in with a smile born of equal amounts grace and grit. This has not been easy.

We are calling it his apartment... and decorating like mad... making it home... learning new names to go with new faces... developing new routines... finding our footing...

It would seem that Christmas in our family is destined to be colored by change.  Even as I long for those traditions that comfort and soothe, we are breaking from the old and preparing for the new...

And a lightbulb blinks on in this weary head of mine... for that is exactly what Christmas is all about... yes?

A Christ-Child born to us... come to make all things new... for the old will pass away in the light of his wholly transforming gift of Grace.

 "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature:
old things are passed away;behold, all things are become new."

 II Corinthians 5:17

Amen... Amen... Balm to this aching heart...

{It will be ok!}