Omens

KA-THUNK

 A crash echoed from the library. We had just moved into an early 20th century farm home, in a small rural community, along the southern edge of Michigan. Flooded with concern for our new home I wanted to figure out what had made that awful noise. As I entered the front room there it was again.

KA-THUNK 

A bird in mid flight flew straight into the window. Without a second thought, I shook my head and walked back to the kitchen to continue my daily routine.

KA-THUNK

A third and final blow fell upon the window. "What strange birds. What could possibly cause them to do that?" By the soft glow of my cell phone I texted a good friend about it. "That's an omen for death."

Generally speaking I'm not a superstitious person. There are certain things I believe in. I believe there is more to our world then what we can physically see, for example. I believe there is a God, Jesus is real, and I'm a Christian. I believe there are spirits and demons and I've seen too much evidence to not believe in the supernatural presence of ghosts. However, Omens are not something I give much merit to.

 The past decade of my life has been relatively quiet on the death front. My grandfather passed away expectantly though. His health was failing and we were well aware he did not have much time left. Compared to the first 23 years of my life when I was attending a funeral or mourning for someone I loved every 6 months, one death, one funeral was easy.

There is a verse in 2 Corinthians 1: 3-5 that says

                      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. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of 
                     Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.

Through those difficult years I clung to this verse. The words reverberated through my soul giving me some sort of purpose for all of the tragedy. Reasons why my heart had to be shredded over and over again by the overbearing pains of death and loss. Eventually, my young mind, in an effort to console myself decided I had to be cursed. That could be the only explanation for what I had endured.

As a young woman my empathy was my defining ability. No matter what someone had gone through I could relate or at least that was how I felt. I had a merit vest of tragedy badges but a combination of fear and trepidation kept me from sharing my experiences. A boy in middle school had once told me "No one cares about what happened to you." I internalized that message. The thought and idea raced through my inner most being. The words haunted me and kept my grief, pain and compassion on the inside. How could I share in someone's sorrow when no one cared about my life?

While attending Olivet Nazarene University my mind eventually broke. I could not go on holding everything inside. The carefully crafted facade I had erected to keep my inner struggle hidden from the outside fractured. The combination of a bad relationship and confrontation of the events of my life forced me to stop and evaluate who I was. Dragged through the deep and dark mires of depression and anxiety I was eventually forced to realize I could not continue my educational journey at Olivet. I had gone through counseling, dug into the sorrow, bitterness, fear and anger. The worst part of the experience was failing. My perfect facade of happiness and success had brought certain expectations for what I was able to achieve. My classmates, my professors, my high school teachers and pastors all "knew" I was destined for greatness. Dropping out of college was a stab through my heart, a diploma for the tragedy of my early years.

As time continued to walk on I grew up, married my college sweetheart, had three beautiful children, held my breath as each grew past the age when my brother had died, moved around, worked well and received commendations at nearly every job. Best of all no one I was close to died. The life of tragedy seemed like a bad movie from my past.

The words from my first therapist reverberated in my head, "Are you sure all of this happened to you?" In my mind I knew and remembered the experiences of my past but in my present, in my happiness, I could not recollect the feelings of overwhelming sorrow. My empathy had fizzled. I was living a good life. We bought our first home, I worked where I have always dreamed I would work, I had nearly completed my first of many degree programs.

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A week after the birds hit the window, my phone lit up with messages from my sister. Her mom was in the hospital with what looked like a heart attack. She would need open heart surgery. Of course I did what any sister would do, I made arraignments to head north and help in whatever way I could.

The doctors assured us she was strong and she would survive the surgery. The surgery was unexpectedly pushed back and I was unable to be there when it happened. Our worst fears were realized. Nana had complications. The surgeon could not close her chest.

We prayed, we cried, we pleaded for God to heal her. I continued texting my sister. She was doing well, She turned a corner. The doctors expected her to make a full recovery. I went into my Monday night class fully confident that she would be fine. After three hours of class I checked my phone, "She's Dead, my mom is dead."

The birds claimed their first victim. I frantically called my sister's phone.

"What do you mean she is dead? How the hell did this happen? She was fine. What did they do?"

I wanted answers. I demanded answers. My heart was broken into millions of tiny pieces. Nana had promised me I would see her next time I came up. She promised we would take the kids to Frankenmuth and she would come see my new home. All of that was gone in an instant.

A horribly familiar suffocating feeling rose through my chest. I knew I was dying. My heart and lungs seized with dread and pain. Tears streamed from my eyes and I struggled to stay on the road.

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"Have you heard about Naomi?" Messenger flashed this simple question from a co-worker.

Naomi was married to one of my closest friends in high school, college and when we first moved back to the area. There kids spent time with my kids. We went to the same church. We played board games and shared in our love of all things geek.

Then Cancer happened. Naomi was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Our group fell apart or maybe just left us behind. No matter how many times I offered to help do something it wasn't needed. There was no way for me to be angry though because she had cancer and what she wanted was more important than any petty feelings from me of being needed. Selfishly, I felt the echoes of those words from my past, "No one cares about you." But this wasn't about me. This was about Naomi and her fight.

We grew further and further apart emotionally and geographically. Naomi, her husband and children moved across the country to be closer to her family. She beat the cancer. I celebrated from my home with her. Eager anticipation of a long life and the beauty of family, a hope for the re-connection of a lost friendship was felt through my soul.

A different type of cancer attacked her body. With a great hunger I grasped at scraps of information I was able to glean from Facebook, mutual acquaintances who were once some of our closest friends, and blog entries posted by Naomi's sister. I prayed and cried and hoped for another cure.

Finally across my news feed was a celebratory video of Naomi announcing the cancer was manageable and no longer progressing. She would change to a different type of chemo. She would live with cancer instead of dying from it.

A couple months later, I had no longer been diligently checking her Facebook or the blog because Naomi was fine but the message sent me on a search. I stumbled across a new blog entry. Naomi's cancer was aggressively attacking her body. She had weeks maybe days to live.

In desperation, I reached out to my friend, her husband. My heart was breaking for him. I simply could not fathom the depths of his pain. The bird has not claimed her yet but he is coming.

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Monday morning my phone flashed with a voicemail from my husband's mom. His father had taken a turn for the worst. The past year and a half he had been in and out of rehabilitation facilities. Something was wrong but no one could put an official label on it. He seemed to have a sudden onset of dementia. One day he knew what was going on and the next day he was confused.

His mind and body were betraying him a little more each day. He could no longer walk, barely move his arms, couldn't eat without getting sick. He wasted away from the once burly man to a former shell of himself. During the last month of the summer we were able to take a day trip out to visit him in Chicago. I kept the kids at his family home because we wanted to remember their grandfather as the vibrant man he had always been not as a husk of the shell of their Grandfather.

We mourned everything he had lost. He was still with us and we didn't know if he had years or months left. In the voicemail, Kyle's mom's voice quavered with urgency to reach out to his brother. He soon passed after my mother-in-law and his sister had said final good-byes.

The final bird had claimed it's victim.

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This morning as I was going through pictures for Kyle's mom, I was reminded of a verse. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says,

                        Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to

                    be uninformed about those who sleep in death, 

                    so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind,

                    who have no hope.

The verse reminded me why my sadness is not as deep as in earlier years. As time gone on, I have come to learn that the end of this life is a natural, beautiful part of our circle. When we die here we are reborn into the next phase of our lives. Eternity has begun before death enters the picture.  My heart may not be as numb to the pain as I thought but rather have reached acceptance of what has happened. Only time will tell in the end how my mourning will reach fulfillment. Perhaps this is the comfort I have received and am meant to share.

This blog entry is a departure from the series I am currently working on because of the nature of what has happened within the past 24 hours. The blog about the journey to becoming the woman God has created me to be will continue tomorrow. Thank you for bearing with me through the pain of this story. Please feel free to share your journey of grief below in the comments.

All images are not my own but came from creative common licensing from twitter.

Who am I becoming?

About 75% of the week my house resembles something less from a Home and Garden catalog and more from an episode of Dangerous Weather and the Destruction It Causes. Frequently clothing both clean and dirty mounds in corners, my bathroom can be found to have unidentifiable wet places, my dishes take on characters of their own, my bed is not always made, my marriage is far from perfect, my children are not always respectful, they occasionally go to school without having finished all of their homework and sometimes they eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. My life often feels like a whirlwind spinning out of control. 

The Proverbs 31 woman seems to be an elusive creature. This gem of a passage tucked away at the end of Solomon's book of wisdom continually throws me for a loop. When I come across this passage I am reminded more of my inadequacies and less that this is a goal to attempt to obtain. After all, how can I attempt to manage my fields when I can barely manage my home, my marriage, and my children? 

How can I possibly fall into the footsteps of this woman?

             "Who can find a virtuous and capable wife?

                      She is more precious than rubies.

             Her husband can trust her,

                       and she will greatly enrich his life.

             She brings him good, not harm,

                       all the days of her life.

             She finds wool and flax

                       and busily spins it.

             She is like a merchant's ship,

                       bringing her food from afar.

             She gets up before dawn to prepare breakfast for her household

                       and plan the day's work for her servant girls.

             She goes to inspect a field and buys it; 

                       with her earnings she plants a vineyard.

             She is energetic and strong,

                       a hard worker.

             She makes sure her dealings are profitable;

                       her lamp burns late into the night.

             Her hands are busy spinning thread,

                       her fingers twisting fiber.

             She extends a helping hand to the poor

                       and opens her arms to the needy.

             She has no fear of winter for her household,

                       for everyone has warm clothes.

              She makes her own bedspreads. 

                       she dresses in fine linen and purple gowns.

              Her husband is well known at the city gates,

                        where he sits with other civic leaders.

              She makes belted linen garments

                        and sashes to sell to the merchants.

              

              She is clothed with strength and dignity,

                       and she laughs without fear of the future.

               When she speaks, her words are wise,

                       and she gives instructions with kindness.

              She carefully watches everything in her household

                      and suffers nothing from laziness.

             Her children stand and bless her.

                      Her husband praises her:

              "There are many virtuous and capable women in the world,

                     but you surpass them all!'

             Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last;

                     but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.

             Reward her for all she has done.

                     Let her deeds publicly declare her praise."

Here I am looking at this high calling and pondering how am I suppose to be this woman? Could it be possible? I can honestly answer I do not know but for the next 90 days I'm going to make a concentrated effort to try. 

Donna Partow wrote a book called "Becoming the Woman God wants Me to Be." It is a 90 day guide to living the Proverbs 31 life. 

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Honestly, I'm not sure if anyone reads this blog. I find I do not have friends who I can be broken and honest with. I'm the girl who always looks like she has it together. When people come over to my house I generally make sure everything is spotless. I have pretended for a long time to be the strong woman who never falls apart. Admitting my imperfection is one of the hardest things for me to do. Pride is by far my biggest sin. But here I am on this journey. I genuinely want to be a better wife, mother, co-worker, Christian, and over all person. 

Today's assignment was to write our personal vision statement. A sum of who we want to be as we "grow up". This is who or rather how I want to change the world:

I seek to help create a harmonious, calm and balanced world through education and acceptance of every persons quirks, including my own. I will remain open minded and willing to get to know a vast variety of individuals through conversation and relationship.

Flickr

I want to help the world to see the beauty of the rainbow of individuals. We are each lovely on our own but a rainbow is brightest when all the colors join together. When I think of a Proverbs 31 woman this is who I see. Hopefully I am a little closer to this by the end of the next 90 days.

What is your personal vision statement? 

Answer these questions to find out.

1) What are two unique personality traits you possess?

2) How do you enjoy expressing these qualities?

3) What does an ideal world look like to you?

4) Combine all of this into a sentence.

Please, feel free to share your personal vision statement in the comments below.

Images are not my own but found on Flickr with Creative Commons Licensing. 

Partrow, Donna. Becoming the Woman God Wants Me to Be Revell; Grand Rapids, MI,                      2008.

Sometimes I feel crazy. I feel like my world is spinning out of control and I don't know what is going on. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, underappreciated, scared and excited all at the same time. Is it this constant connected feeling? Everyone expecting me to pick up the phone or answer a text at a moments notice? Is it the constant Mom, Mom, Mom from my wonderful but crazy children? Is it the emptiness inside my heart because my dad is not here and it's not by his choice or my choice but by the cruel hand of fate?

My emotions feel like a whirlwind. Tossing me back and forth from the shore of contentment to the shores of anger and fear. The foreboding other shoe to drop hangs over my head. Life is so beautiful and good right now and in these moments I sense the shadow looming. Maybe growing up in the life I had where it seemed bad things happened every day is what has shaped this. It leaves me questioning my faith. Wondering am I good enough to be a Christ follower?

The answer coming back to it doesn't matter how good am I. Somehow despite all my crazy I'm loved by my heavenly Father. Even when I'm screaming at my kids because they won't listen or won't stop coming out of their rooms. Even when I'm wondering why when I open myself up people scatter. Even when I feel more alone then ever despite being in a crowd. God loves me. He brings me calm amidst the turmoils of my inner storms.

This is my moment right now and I don't really have much more to add. If you happen upon this and think "she's mad." That's fine because these blogs aren't for you. They are between me and God but if you resonant or have something to add or share please don't hesitate to contact me.