Seething

I have the window open this morning. Not because it's hot inside, by any means, but so I can hear the robins singing. Every morning they serenade our neighborhood and encourage the warmer weather to stick around. Lately, the weather hasn't been taking their melodious pleas into account. I'm glad the robins keep singing, though. It does make the mornings all the more beautiful. I've got the curtains opened as well, to let in as much sunlight as possible. Sunlight has become literal fuel for me. Fuel to keep hoping, though for what, I'm not entirely sure. I feel like if the sun is shining, there is less for me to worry about. Less for me to fret over. Something about the bright and warmth gives me clarity and peace of mind. Perhaps it's because the plentiful sunlight signals a sure change in the seasons, and we can say the dark days of winter of behind us once again.

I'm a fickle individual when it comes to change. I typically resist change when it's implemented or introduced by someone other than myself. When I get "funky", as Brent and I call it, ("funky" in our speak means down in the dumps, in a literal funk) one guaranteed cure-all for me is to rearrange furniture. I have always loved switching up my living space. It's something new, it's something I created, and most importantly, it's an environment I control.

You caught that, right? I'm not sure there's a one of us who doesn't like to have control, or say, in the matters that take place in our lives. The fact that none of us could have done anything differently to change the outcome of Harlynn's birth, that we couldn't control or change those circumstances, left a deep wound on our hearts. Sometimes when the wounds are deep and there is nothing we can do, our feelings of helplessness turn to feelings of inward seething. Anger.

Anger is tough emotion to pin down, let alone write about. It comes in so many different forms, and is brought on by so many different variables. Usually, anger is associated with yelling, fighting, slamming doors, swearing, and a whole host of outward bursts of rage. In grief, however, it can take on a different persona altogether. I've found in my own journey, I've wanted to scream. I've wanted to hit things. Or people. I've wanted to throw something. But only in my head. I don't have the energy, or the nitty-gritty desire do actually do any of those things. When I've been angry in my grief, I tend to shut down. I don't want to talk, I don't want to be talked to, I don't want to be around, or see, or listen to anyone or anything. I simply want to be. I have no one to blame, I have no one to label as responsible for my daughter's death, I have no one to hold accountable for her not being here. I have nowhere and no one to direct my anger toward. So yelling, slamming, swearing - none of that would do a bit of good, not even for me. It wouldn't make me feel better to rage along for no "productive" reason. So I sit. And seethe. (Seethe: be filled with an intense, but unexpressed anger.)

As Christians especially, we feel that allowing ourselves to be angry - let alone express that anger - is playing with fire. And it can be. However, in the context of grief, anger is such a normal, natural, and honest emotion. I would caution you in two ways: Do not let your anger consume you, yet at the same time, do not ignore your anger.

This is a tricky topic to tackle, and short of turning this post into it's own series, I'm going to summarize my points as best as possible. There is a lot of room for discussion, and certainly more points could be made, but I'm keeping my focal lens small for the sake of your attention, and my cause.

There are so many things that will stir up anger in a grieving person's heart. The situation itself, of course, (the unfairness, injustice, randomness, etc.) being at the top of the list. Then there is how you're treated by others, what they say, what they don't say, fear, confusion, new situations that arise, being put in further uncomfortable situations, being hugged when you don't want to be touched, not being touched when you need a hug, losing control over the smallest of things when you already feel helpless to begin with - all of these and so many more, stir anger. Resentment. Seething.  There is no adequate way to express the grieving anger. It can seem a very desolate, lonely, dark place. When there is no outlet for expression, there often times seems to be no available resolve.

The Bible is laden with warnings against anger. It seems like every time you read of someone becoming angry, someone - or lots of someones - ended up dying. Whole civilizations wiped out because someone got angry. This is where I caution another in anger. If left unaddressed, it can certainly create strife, bitterness, and a whole host of trouble. I'm not going to delve into the theological differences in anger and righteous anger (though please know, those exist), but I do want to point out some encouragement.

1 Corinthians 13 is what we've deemed the "chapter of love". It may have been read at your wedding. Or a wedding you attended. Love is patient, love is kind..... "it is slow to anger". You know what that says to me? You're going to get upset. You're going to get mad, but just cool it when it happens. I myself, am not "slow to anger". I tend to go from 0 to pissed in one second flat. Over the years, however, what has slowed is my acting out in my anger. I tend to think more before speaking or reacting. And it's done a lot more good than harm since learning that discipline. In grief, however, anger seems to appear slowly, more often than not because it takes a while to recognize anger is the emotion you're feeling. We try so hard to suppress so many feelings, when anger rises within us, it takes even longer to realize what it actually is. 

Ephesians 4:26, another verse that is quoted often times in relation to marriage begins with "In your anger, do not sin."  Again - you're going to get angry. Why? Because it's human nature. There are things that should make us upset (the point of righteous anger), and because it is a feeling stirred by convictions (and unfortunately, often fed by desires), we will get angry. The key is to not sin in our anger. Don't seek revenge. Don't become eternally bitter. In order to not become bitter, however, I think it's important to recognize anger when you feel it, confront it, and address it. That may be as ordinary as saying, "Okay. I'm angry." It may need journaling. Counseling. Long walks in solemn reflection. Please don't ignore it, or avoid it, or think it will just eventually go away, however. That will give rise to a parasitic inflammation of ire within you. It will take over, and by then, it will be too late.

Outwardly expressing anger in grief, at least in my case, feels like expressing sadness more than anything. Again, the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness in not being able to have any control, or say, or ability to change the outcome, gives way to a buckling of pride and worth that leaves me on my knees. I'm sad, absolutely, and I'm more than upset because there's nothing I can change about losing Harlynn. Nothing.

I have only one more part to address, I think, so part IV will be forthcoming. Thanks for sticking around so far. I hope it's been helpful to you, and given you a glimpse into the heart and mind of a grieving heart.

To be continued...

Prev: Sadness

Sadness

Picture this: You've had a normal life. Normal things have happened to you. You've felt normal feelings about those normal things. Things were normal. One morning you wake up normally, only to discover you're missing an arm. An arm. Gone. You had two arms yesterday. Today you have one. You're devastated. You have no answers. All you know is you had two arms when you went to sleep, and now you have one. You try to go on as you once did, but everything is so much more difficult. You can't eat. You can't drive. You can't type as fast. You can't hold your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. Your arm is missing, and you'll never get it back. Eventually you realize you have to do things differently in order to get them done at all. You can't go on like you have two arms, you have to live with only one. You rearrange everything for the simple fact you need to function. Things will never be the same, but you're doing the best you can with your "new normal". 

At first, people are sympathetic. "Sorry you lost your arm." Then they start to expect from you things they always expected from you. They invite you to play catch. They reach out to shake your hand, and even though they know you're missing that arm, they still expect you to shake their hand somehow. They reach up to give you a high five and you have to set things you're holding with your one hand down, so you can reach across and high five them. You do whatever you can to accommodate their idiosyncrasies and try not to make them feel uncomfortable around you, even though you're the one with the missing arm. You grow tired of their ignorance, and eventually start to remind them, "You know I only have one arm, right?" "You do realize I'm still missing my arm." These reminders start to grate them. After all, it's been a long enough time, you should know how to live with one arm by now. You need to quit being sad about it, and just get on to the next thing because that's what people do. They start to look down upon you for being so weak-minded. 

One day you're walking down the hall, carrying everything you can under your one arm. Someone not paying attention bumps you and you drop everything all over the floor. They keep walking. You've reached your breaking point and you start to cuss or cry as you helplessly try to gather everything in a pile so you can pick it up again. Someone bends down and puts a hand on your shoulder. Finally, someone to help. Someone who understands. you think. Instead they say these words: "Have you thought about taking an anti-depressant?"

I don't know about you, but I might leave my pile as it were, and haul off and smack them with my only hand. Twice. Chuck Norris style. I ONLY HAVE ONE ARM! HOW AM I NOT ALLOWED TO BE UPSET I LOST ONE OF MY ARMS?! 

Such is grief. Such is losing a loved one. Such is losing Harlynn. 

Personal disclaimer: I know about clinical depression, and I know and agree that there are people and cases where prescription anti-depressants are appropriate and absolutely necessary. I used to suffer from PMDD myself, and I've seen the importance and impact of medications. My point in this post is this: there is a difference between grief, and clinical depression, and it is important to realize the difference. Please seek medical advice or help to further explore the possibilities of depression. Noting the difference between the two conditions, I think it is important people stop pushing pills, and start allowing grief to be expressed as it is: grief.

The morning after we delivered Harlynn, the on-call doctor asked if I wanted her to prescribe me anti-depressants. Still in disbelief from delivering our daughter without a heartbeat, my disbelief was furthered that the doctor would immediately suggest "masking" my personal pain with the prescription of a pill. I declined. Some prescriptions can take in the neighborhood of two to three months before one is able to notice their impact, or even side effects for that matter. The way she was offering it up, it seemed like it would be some magic mood-enhancer that would begin to work immediately and mend my broken heart. 

My last hospital stay, coincidentally that same doctor released me. As I cried, explaining how stressful this was to be admitted and sent home, admitted and sent home again, without having a baby, and so close to the one year anniversary of losing Harlynn, her response was a calculated, "Would you like me to prescribe you an anti-depressant?" I shook my head and prayed she would just quickly get out of my room. Apparently, after a year, I'm not allowed the freedom to be stressed out, or upset, or still grieving the fact that the last baby I carried, the little sister Little Miss was anticipating so much, died. DIED. Obviously, silly me, there's just a pill for that.

I believe, for whatever reason, we've lost the ability to feel or express feelings without being judged. Without being measured. Eventually, people who haven't lived through it, tire of those of us who have, and just want us to get on with life already, so they don't have to be uncomfortable. It's a stark reality, and a bitter truth, but it is, in fact, truth. Live it, deal with it, get on to the next thing.  Why? When did that change?

In biblical times, this is what people in mourning did:

1. They tore their clothes. Ripped them apart. Ruined them.
2. They covered themselves in ashes and/or sackcloth. 
3. They shaved their heads. No more hair. Gone. Full, flowing locks, to sunless-white bald.
4. They wailed in the streets. Wailed. Loudly. For days.
5. They had others, some even hired to, wail with them. Public display of weeping. 

Public display of everything. There was no question one was in mourning, and everyone who witnessed it, knew the person had every right, and every freedom, to mourn as publicly and as intensely as they needed to. 

What we do today:

1. Cry. But only a little bit, and only because we've been trying not to cry, but some tears still sneak out.
2. Plan/attend a funeral.
3. Hide our pain from everyone else.
4. The moment that pain resurfaces, have someone offer an anti-depressant.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this? I lost an arm - our daughter. Why is it not okay for me to be sad about that, or express that sadness?

Jesus (and no, I am not comparing myself or anyone else to Jesus) knew what he was going to face. He was prepared for the suffering he would endure, and he knew the entire time it was coming. Even as He prayed in the garden, He asked that the cup be removed from Him. On the cross, He cried out to God, "Why have you forsaken me?" He was not taken by surprise by anything that happened to Him, yet he still, our mighty Savior, cried out to God in his physical and emotional pain and anguish. What would you say to Him? "Well, you knew this was going to happen, Lord. So....maybe you should just own it and get on with saving the souls of mankind. Forget all this emotion stuff, because...I mean, what good is it?" 

Ecclesiastes 3:4, one of the verses that the Byrds sang in their "Turn, Turn, Turn" song, reads "a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance." For so many years, I was guilty of interpreting this as "cry for a little bit, then be happy for the long-haul." That is not what it says at all. It says there is a time. Not "one and done". Time goes on and on, and the sun rises and sets. Repeatedly, in fact. So if there is a time for the sun to rise and a time for the sun to set - every single day - then surely we are allowed periods of time to grieve one moment, celebrate the next. Grieve again. Celebrate again. There is no set time. There is simply set-aside time. "When the time comes" to do whatever it is your heart needs to do, do it at that time! Then, do not be ashamed or confused when that time comes around again. 

One of my new favorite people was talking to me the other day and asked if I "took anything". I shook my head. She commented that lately she'd been having some angry days (she lost a baby as well) and felt like she just needed to start taking medicine again. I don't know her history or her chemical composition, so I have no place to comment, especially since she is the only one who has experienced her happenings. It did get me thinking, though. The reasons she provided were, she was having "angry days". She was catching herself getting emotional at random times. She was just trying to go on and do her job, and she kept getting choked up because she would think about her baby. I wanted to ask, "and what about that isn't okay?" 

Later in Ecclesiastes (7:2-4), we read this:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart. Frustration is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.

Proverbs 14:13:  Even in laughter the heart may ache, and rejoicing may end in grief.

There is a time to grieve. To feel. To question. To suffer. And when that time comes, do not disallow yourself that expression. Do not get mad at yourself for having feelings of brokenness. Do not hesitate to cry out to God. Do not let pride, or someone else's expectations, get in the way of your path to healing.

To be continued...

Prev: Strength
Next: Seething

Strength

I'm about to get my preaching on. I have a lot to say, a lot of points to make, but I don't want to lose in you a lengthy run-down. Be prepared to see a few of these posts over the next few days - simply a continuation of each other.

I hear it often: "You're so strong." It comes in other formats, too: "I don't know how you do it." "I wouldn't be able to face each day like you do." "You have such a strong faith." Often times, I acknowledge the comment as vaguely as possible, not agreeing or disagreeing. Depending on the person or circumstance, I sometimes want to retort, "Do you think I have a choice?" There is no procedure manual. There is no instruction book. There is simply putting one foot in front of the other because you have to. Continuing to breathe because you have to. It doesn't take strength. It doesn't take thought. It doesn't take willpower. It just is.

I want to encourage those of you who find yourselves on this path. Floundering clumsily along the journey you never chose, you will fall. You will sit down and stay put for a while. You will wander aimlessly, not wanting to see what lies on the road ahead. You will feel vulnerable, weak, desperate, and isolated. And you will hear those comments, "you are so strong." In disbelief, you'll forge ahead, having no clue how your legs are moving, or how you arrived in one spot from the last. The misconception of strength will envelop you, as you struggle to define what it really means to be strong. Surely it can't mean moving on, because you won't. It can't mean not crying, because you will. It can't mean suppressing fear or sadness, because you will wrestle with those daily. Being strong simply means: being. Whatever you feel, whatever you think, whatever you emote - doing it. Being it. Living it. That is strength.

Often times, if we aren't already being pressured by others to maintain a societal definition of strength, we pressure ourselves. We fight our feelings of sadness. Of anger. Of fear. We suppress them. Hide them. Ignore them. Discredit them. If someone says we're strong, then maybe it's because we "need" to be, and therefore we have to be on guard against being weak. Whatever that means. I want to share a few examples with you on why it's appropriate and acceptable, to let feelings of weakness, fear, desperation, anger, etc., run their course.

King David, (as in: ruler of all the land, Your Royal Highness, etc.) the author of so many of the Psalms, lamented frequently. He was nearly always desperate, lonely, and insecure. He cried out to his God in the truth of his circumstances. He didn't pretend to be braver than he was. He didn't push aside his anxieties for a show. He didn't hide his heart. He laid it all out there. Nightly. Daily. He didn't understand what he was going through or why, but he understood he would be carried through to the end. He acknowledged where he needed any strength at all to come from, because he couldn't produce it for himself. The man cried all the time. Cried. Wept. Tears. Wailing. A man. A king. If King David can grieve openly and beg God to reveal himself without being punished for it, we can too.

Job, the man who suffered unimaginable loss, was so strong God knew his faith would withstand his sufferings. Let's not forget, Job didn't stand in the face of his trials and brush them off with reckless abandon. He was indignant in his mourning. He cursed the day he was born. He didn't understand why, or how, all of this tragedy could rest upon him. His friends, after being awesome for seven days (sitting with him in silence as he mourned), decided they suddenly knew better and were going to get it out of him why his life stunk, and tell him what he could do to improve his situation. Ugh. His wife - the love of his life - told him to suck it up, curse God, and die. What makes a horrible situation worse? A support circle that does anything but support. Even though Job proved faithful and committed to God, he still buckled under his grief, he still questioned God's plan, and he still wished for death for himself to escape it all. 

Soapbox Side Sermon: I feel it's also incredibly important to remember Satan inflicted all of this suffering upon Job on purpose. The devil had one goal in mind: get Job's soul. Get Job to renounce his faith and steal his hope. It wasn't that God placed the suffering upon Job. It was that Satan was so desperate to take one of the good guys, he pulled out all the stops. Be one of the good guys, and defeat Satan in his own game.

Martha and Mary. Remember when Lazarus died, and Jesus wept because he mourned with those who mourned? What did both sisters say? "If you had been here, he would not have died." You think they're saying, "Oh shoot...you just missed him, Lord! Dang, I wish you had been here four days ago!" No. These were heartbroken sisters. Reading between the lines, I hear, "Where WERE you? Why did you not save him? Don't you love him? Don't you love us? Where WERE you?" And did Jesus rebuke them? Did he chastise them for feeling angry and sad and desperate to have their brother back with them? No. He didn't. He simply reassured them their faith was the real deal. Their faith, even in the face of their grief and despair, would carry them through.

Jairus was a synagogue leader who approached Jesus in an effort to save his dying daughter. When I say "approached' I don't mean he stood by, and hoped Jesus would make eye contact with him so he could toss out a request. I mean he fought his way through a crowd of people, elbowed his way in desperation up to the very face of Jesus and pleaded with him, desperately, to come save his dying daughter. Pleading. Desperate. Unashamed, outright begging for help. Did Jesus scoff at his urgency or fear? Was Jesus frustrated that this guy was worried about his daughter? No. Jesus just up and went with him.

Why did I choose these examples? To show you a few things:

1. It's important to be honest and forthright in expressing your feelings. You can't hide them from God, so why should you pretend for the sake of others you're thinking or feeling different emotions than what you really are experiencing? 
2. A continuation of point #1. The Lord knows your heart. There is no sense in being an impostor simply because you feel it might earn you some faith-street-cred. Cast your cares upon Him. He's told you to. He expects you to.
3. Being desperate, outwardly mourning, and crying out to God (or what we might deem as "being weak and vulnerable") are all things that people God loved very much did. They weren't punished for it. You won't be either.

You've heard, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." False. What doesn't kill you doesn't kill you. Period. I am no stronger for having lost my daughter. I cry at a moment's notice. Or no notice. I falter in making decisions because I'm afraid to prepare for things when I know the unexpected can and does happen. I don't just suit up and put on because others think I'm strong. I'm a fragile, frail being. 

What about, "God won't give you more than you can handle." Um, what? So because we're so "strong", God just pointed his power-finger and said, "Eh...she and her husband are toughies. They can handle their daughter being stillborn." (*poof*) And it was so. And those who are weak don't have to suffer as a result? DID I MISS SOMETHING HERE? No, I didn't. This is just total baloney. In this world you will have trouble (John 16:33) and do you know why? Because sin and Satan are in this world. I lift my eyes unto the hills, where does my strength come from? My strength comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2) I can't handle a lot of things, but I don't have to. It's not because I'm strong or weak or anything in between. It's because I have Someone being strong for me.

Matthew 5:4:  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

    Let it out. Feel it. Live it. You'll be blessed (though it may be hard to see), you'll be comforted, and you'll be reassured that whatever you're thinking or feeling is normal, appropriate, and acceptable.

Romans 12:15:  Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.

     There is a time to mourn. In that time, expect others to mourn with you. If they can't, then give them some space until they get a clue. Troubles in this world are guaranteed. Deal with them as troubles, not as events you somehow have to solve or dismiss emotionally.

Revelation 21:4:  He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

     This time hasn't come yet! So in the present, in the now, there will be death. There will be mourning. There will be crying. There will be pain. These will happen. We are expecting them to happen at some point. Putting on a brave face to get through it for someone else's sake or advice, is fruitless. One day we won't have to cry anymore. But that day is not today.

To be continued...

Next: Sadness