The Grief of a Father

 Good Friday... a day so filled with grief that the sun's light failed.  Christ hung on a cross meant for me...

"... and darkness came over the whole land until three, because the sun's light failed."
                                                                                                      Luke 23:44

The dark, all-consuming.  A grief that swallows hope.

And until I lost mom, that grief was always fleeting, transient, something to ponder on days like Good Friday.   

But walking out our monumental grief had a way of making the sorrow personal.  Painful.  Real.  Perhaps you know that kind of darkness, where the sun's light fails you.

I saw a recent post by  Rachel Lewis:  She knows grief.  She's walked through the despair and anger and darkness too. She captures the feelings of Good Friday from the depths of that darkness and the heart-rending bereavement felt by God the Father... a Father who understands our grief better than we ever knew.

"While it was the Son who died, it was the Father who looked on, no doubt wishing he could change places with his Son.

While the Son felt every physical pain, the Father felt the deepest pain of separation and loss—a feeling he, no doubt, had never experienced to that extent before. Especially when he turned away.

“What keeps me coming back is that God understands my pain.”

While the Son rose after three days, the Father took on the role of a bereaved parent and will forever know what it feels like to lose a child.

While Good Friday used to only point me to the Son, the beautiful sacrifice so we could know the Father—I now look at Good Friday as the day the Father made the even greater sacrifice—letting go of his one and only Son.

On this Good Friday, I remember not only the death of the Son but the bereavement of the Father. Not only did the Son share in our weakness, but the Father shared in our grief.

There is still so much I don’t understand about God or faith. When my friends suffer devastating loss, when senseless tragedies occur, my heart always questions why God allows such pain to exist in the world.

What keeps me coming back is that God understands my pain.

And on my darkest days—the days when I can’t see hope, or light, or goodness—I can go to him and tell him about all I’m feeling. And he knows. Because he’s been there too.

He sits in my brokenness with me, as only another bereaved parent can."

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

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

Final Alarm...

This week past another Ft. Worth Firefighter was laid to rest.

It hits too close to home for this mama.  And not just because our son has served with the Ft. Worth Fire Department these past 9 years.

Captain Keven Teague passed away from pancreatic cancer last Friday, May 24, 2019.  He was only 46 years old.

Pancreatic Cancer.

It is a shockingly cruel disease.  Our son called us 2 weeks ago.  We heard it first in his voice.  Solemn. Quiet.  As the words spilled out, we learned of Captain Teague's diagnosis.  They had worked together when Travis was just beginning his FWFD career.  He thought highly of the Captain and we talked long about treatments for pancreatic cancer... The same cancer that had taken his grandmother.

How is it that I could have lived half a century before pancreatic cancer knocked on my door, and then our son has watched 2 people he cared about suffer through the agonies of this disease in his too short years?

Pancreatic Cancer.  Ruthless.  Cruel.  Devastating for those caught in its deadly grip.

And for Captain Teague, only 2 weeks between diagnosis and his passing.  It is inconceivable.

Our hearts break for the young widow he leaves behind and grieve for his 2 sweet children.  We pray for strength, for comfort, for peace... May they feel the arms of a grateful community holding them close, and the great love of a Faithful God giving Grace and Mercy for the days ahead.

The Final Alarm has sounded for Captain Teague...

Your tasks complete,
Your duties well done,
The bell rings your final alarm,
Rest easy comrade,

You are going home...

Preservers of the Legacy...

{Love}

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

She was the Queen of Soul.

She sang for Presidents.

She sang in her father's church choir.

She was a beloved mother and grandmother.

She was adored as an artist.

She was 76 years old.

This morning at 9:50am, Aretha Franklin lost her battle with pancreatic cancer.

The loss is enormous.  The world is a quieter place today without her voice...

There will be tears and grief, and accolades and memories shared over the coming days.  She was an amazing woman, strong and resilient, but pancreatic cancer was stronger.  And it makes my heart hurt.

According to Dr. Phillips, Aretha's oncologist, she suffered from the rarer neuroendocrine pancreatic cancer tumors.  These tumors only affect about 6% of pancreatic cancer sufferers.

Most pancreatic cancer cases are exocrine or adenocarcinoma cancers.  That was the name given to mom's cancer.

But in the end, it doesn't really matter what the doctors call it.  Pancreatic cancer is deadly.  So very ruthless.

And no respecter of persons. Aretha Franklin knows. You can demand
R-E-S-P-E-C-T all day long, but pancreatic cancer is brutal. You may be Rich or Poor.  Young or Old.  Man or Woman.  Famous Celebrity or an Ordinary, Beloved Mom...

This cancer does not care, leaving in its wake a nightmare of suffering and grief.

And if that was the end, this would be a very sad day.

A friend shared his pastor's sermon from this past Sunday, and I find it perfectly timed.  God knew there would be questions... there have always been questions... about His Goodness. His Sovereignty.

For how can a good God allow such sorrow and pain?  The debate has roared throughout the centuries.  From the time of Adam and Eve and a garden, the brokenness has brought humanity back to God either on their knees or with fists raised...

The pastor was clear and passionate as he shared from Romans 8:18-28.

"God is not a God who causes suffering, but He will not waste it."

I needed to hear this, today, truth proclaimed,

"God's goodness is not locked in an outcome.  God's goodness is locked in His Character.  He uses the brokenness of our story to mold us, shape us into the image of His son."

The sorrow doesn't magically disappear.  Oh, but He will not waste it.

This passage in Romans is so rich with Hope.  And Hope is what we so surely need when the suffering turns our days to night.

Mom shared this poem with us shortly after she was diagnosed with cancer:

Cancer is so limited.

It cannot cripple love,

It cannot shatter hope,

It cannot corrode faith,

It cannot destroy peace,

It cannot kill friendship,

It cannot suppress memories,

It cannot silence courage,

It cannot invade the soul,

It cannot steal eternal life,

It cannot conquer the Spirit.

                               ~ Author Unknown

It Can Not Conquer the Spirit.

This is the Hope we cling to this night,

In Grace, Always,

            Jane

Splash Pads and Starbucks...

Texas in May... it's been a HOT May.  Like really Hot...

So it's no surprise that an invite to the newest Splash Pad with some cute grandkids just made my day!

So Much Fun!

And after all that fun, we piled into the car and stopped at the nearest Starbucks for cake pops and Frappuccino's (if there was a Dairy Queen closer it might have been ice cream and Blizzards, just saying!)...

But that Vanilla Bean Frappuccino was the perfect closer to a morning in the sun.

And in a blink, I was reminded that Pancreatic Cancer rages on.

The headlines blare the news that the former CEO of Starbucks has lost his battle with the disease.  Pancreatic cancer continues to devastate lives... 

While we enjoy the sweet treats at our local Starbucks, Orin Smith leaves behind a family that will miss him every day... Every. Single. Day.

And there are so many others... Wives, Husbands, Sons, Grandmothers, Friends, Loved Ones... so many that never make the news, except for the families that fight shoulder to shoulder with them against a cancer that takes no prisoners.

For so many the only notice the newspapers give them will be the obligatory obituary for the grieving family.

And the heart hurts...

For each one touched by this cancer. 

Praying Grace and Strength and Hope over the hurt and the loss... sometimes there are just no words to wrap up the sadness into a pretty ending. 

Walking out this pancreatic cancer journey with the grit and determination born out of a promise that we never walk alone...

"This is My command: be strong and courageous.  Never be afraid or discouraged because I am your God, the Eternal One, and I will remain with you wherever you go."
                                                                       ~ Joshua 1:9

When the Holidays are colored in Loss...

Losing a loved one during the holiday season changes things...

It's been 3 weeks since Leroy's mom passed away.  The missing comes in waves... Christmas will be so very different this year.

She has been the Rock of our family for as long as I can remember, quiet and faithful, the hub around which we gathered.

Yes, Christmas will be different... the beauty of the season somehow feels at odds with the grief we're wading through.

Tonight we spent time reminiscing over faded photographs.  Seeing her smiling face brought back precious memories... and tears... but happy tears because of the love we see shining back at us.

We have been very loved... and blessed.  Very, very Blessed.

Mildred Alice

June 7, 1931 - December 1, 2017

Loved, Cherished, Remembered

Always Loved!