Barcodes, Coffee and Grief

It took my breath away.  

Walking into Caribou Coffee and seeing the man sitting next to the fireplace at the high-top table for two took my breath away. The shape of his shoulders, the style and texture of his shirt, the color and cut of his hair... this man, with his back to me, could have been my husband. 

It took my breath away because my husband died 5 years, 6 months and 5 days ago. This man, who looks so much like him, is a stranger.

In the early years of my grief journey many encounters stole my ability to breathe... the moments of pain came close together like the lines of a barcode. Honestly its been awhile since something like this has happened. The white spaces between the thin black lines of pain have broadened. 

In the beginning I held that there was no hope of the grief that accompanied my every waking moment ever fading. And, in this moment, I realize that the pain has faded into the background while the desire to be with my husband remains constant, deeply buried and ready to be unearthed.

Grief is odd that way, unexpected. And, if grief is what remains when the person we love moves on, grief is both unique to the love once shared and universal in the human experience.

"There are three things that amaze me—
    no, four things that I don’t understand:   

    how an eagle glides through the sky,
    how a snake slithers on a rock,
    how a ship navigates the ocean,
    how a man loves a woman." 

                —Proverbs 30:18-19 NLT [more]

Rw

 

Grief: Does Time Really Heal All Wounds? [more]

Caribou Coffee original logo [more]

tipping point

The meltdown happened Saturday at 1:27 p.m.

My heart had reached the tipping point and i called my husband in tears, asking him to come get me and bring me home.

The cheerful holiday chatter and smell of baking cookies in a house filled with four generations put me on edge. The silent rumbling darkness in my heart threatened to surface and unleash an infestation of unaddressed conflict and poisonous enduring contempt.

The rumbling began a few days ago when my fingers retrieved the red-scarfed rabbit from the box of ornaments for our Christmas tree. The rabbit is the tangible reminder of my own gullibility. The soundtrack it cues up is decades-old laughter at my expense, a memory laced with stupidity and shame: watching for the jackalope mile after mile and day after day on a family vacation road trip in the 1970s.

The timing is no accident. My faith community is focusing on a 3 Scripture tool for evangelism: Matthew 22:37, Matthew 22:39, Matthew 28:18-20.

My struggle is within Matthew 22:27: loving God will all my heart, all my soul and all my mind. 

At a recent coffee with my friend-and-pastor, he encouraged me to open my heart to God. Since that meeting i have been intentional in my prayer and meditation, asking God to remove whatever is keeping us apart.

The self- and other-centered contempt i hold within my heart is what God is revealing and redeeming.  He invites me to excise the bruised and wounded flesh, to make room for His gifts.

As my grandson and i add more decorations to the tree my heart ponders the question: What am i hoping for this Christmas? 

i am hoping to collect and affirm stories of triumph, celebration, joy and delight -- to love my children and grandchildren in a way that invites and embraces heaven here on earth.


tip·ping point

noun

noun: tipping point; plural noun: tipping points

1. the point at which a series of small changes or incidents becomes significant enough to cause a larger, more important change. 
   
   

   definition source: Google.com

your book, her story

"It's your book!" Joanna does not like the suggestion that her name appear on the cover as co-author.

"But, it's our story." I think it is a great idea ... —John Sumbo, An Honest Look At A Mysterious Journey

The opening pages embraced me like a well-worn upholstered chair at the cabin of a friend, a familiar place and time, an unexpected starting point for a mysterious journey.

Is it my own junk? Or something in simply being human that makes me want to avoid stories like this one, the crushing medical issues, the helplessness of the hospital bed, the difficult road of convalescence? And in writing that question, I find that the direction I was taking this post has turned.

There is an urge to quit typing.

Tell her to bake a cheesecake. js

This is the best part, my favorite page, the opening of the chapter STUNNED ... a mirror in my heart to the story of Moses, a man who asks God to choose someone else.

God asks us to trust. We struggle.

When God is clearly calling us to take a step of faith, to act

in some way, I don't think He's too excited when

we sit around and talk about it some more ... 

even if we're talking to Him. js

In my borrowed copy of the book, the author has written a message to my friends Melinda and Larry, and beneath it, tucked into the lower right hand corner, a notation: Ps 23

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 

He makes me lie down in green pastures, 

he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul. 

He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake. 

Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil, for you are with me; 

your rod and your staff, they comfort me. 

You prepare a table before me in the presence
of my enemies. 

You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows. 

Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life, 

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Rw

Captivated by the story Perfect Fit
The bedside wife Artifact

My Eulogy

Renee wanted us to remember the
5th grader, the girl deeply wounded and passionately driven.

A young woman who refused to accept the idea, "I can't. I can't because I'm a girl."

A habitual speeder, a magnet for traffic citations. A woman who had trouble relinquishing the steering wheel to God.

A woman for whom wisdom and a quiet spirit was an uphill battle.

A woman who left this world HAVING it all.

Having:
changed lives, a handful of lives,
the lives and hearts God asked her to touch.

Having:
loved and served God,
loved and cherished her husband, the man God designed to be her closest friend,
loved and mentored and comforted her children,
while hoping and praying she was teaching her children to love.

Having:
lived with authenticity,
stretched herself,
challenged us to something greater, helped us to stretch and reach.

Having:
embraced grief and joy on her earthly journey,
living her life in a way that left no doubt that God is with us.

I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may
 be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 

—John 15:11-13 NIV

My Legacy read more

My Manifesto read more

Me? read more

My Heartbeat read more

Rw
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Predictable Me

In the first cupboard I opened this morning - the first cupboard I open every morning - there is a greeting card.


Immediately recognizing that I am more than predictable, I laugh and close the cupboard door, leave the envelope unopened, wonder briefly why an R is scribbled beneath the MOM, why my husband would address a card to me as MOM.

Later I discover it is 'from' our black lab mix Dozer. He encourages me to share birthday treats, "trip while carrying cake to the table."

Another card awaits me in the upstairs office, atop Harley's dog food container. Predictably he wakes to breakfast every morning, in the office that doubles as his bedroom. Harley's card asks, "Did I train you right, or what?"

Yup.

There are sugared raised donuts - my personal favorite - in the fresh bakery bag next to my husband's computer. Not wanting to wake Harley too early, my husband's desk is where I often begin writing my almost-daily blog.

I am predictable.

Listening to a snippet of audio here, I am reminded that God has a way of showing up when and where and how He wants.

God is unpredictable.

The question today is, will I let go of control and routine, open my hand and heart to the unexpected?

Rw
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In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. Psalm 102:25 NIV
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Compass

In the comment section of a friend's blog, I discover:

Preach the gospel always, If necessary use words.
~ St. Francis of Assisi

As parents we often feel
our words fall on deaf ears,
or worse, that our attempts
to communicate actually
backfire, prolonging the
2-year-old's tantrum
or pushing the teenager
in rebellion in the
opposite direction.

2:16 a.m. Startled awake,
we feel anxious, afraid. When the familiar voice on the phone
asks for a ride home, do we prepare a stern lecture or give thanks, as we warm up our car?
When the voice reveals an accident, do we cling to panic
or choose to pray?

Parenting is an inexact science, unpredictable, without measured outcomes. We are ill-equipped for the position. Receiving on-the-job training, we journey by trial-and-error. Our job is
to equip children for an adult journey, to provide a compass.
God provides the itinerary.


10:00 p.m. Sidewalks and roads covered with fresh fallen snow.
1:30 a.m. The driver and passenger are both wearing seat belts.
2:16 a.m. Rescue personnel are on the scene.
1:15 p.m. Husband and wife embrace each other at home.

Parents, don't come down too hard

on your children or you'll crush their spirits.

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune

with each other, in step with each other.

Colossians 3:21, 3:15 MSG

The MoM in me is WoW'd.

Rw
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