Peace, Acceptance. and Glimpsing the Eventual Gifts of Suffering

May 18, 2014

Peace that surpasses understanding

I woke up the other day with thoughts swirling around the concept of peace.

About six months ago I abruptly lost my job due to some organizational restructuring.  Within a few weeks, my mother made her last trip to the hospital and then on to hospice where she died.  A few months later, we marked the sixth anniversary of Daniel’s death.

Though a job loss pales in significance to witnessing the death of my mother and still struggling years later to fathom the death of my son, this combination of experiences has blended into making the first half of 2014 unusual and challenging emotionally and spiritually.  Over these months I have experienced many moments of feeling these deep losses and grieving the changes to life that they bring.

And yet when I woke up the other morning, my first conscious thought was one of peace.  

Somehow in the midst of loss, death, and grieving, I seem to “be at peace” with God and with life, sensing that indeed all things are somehow working themselves out for good in my life and in the lives of my family.

Is this a taste of the “peace that passeth understanding” that St. Paul describes?  (Other translations say “peace that surpasses or transcends understanding”, words that describe it even more clearly.)

I trust that this peace is coming from God since I know I don’t have the capacity to conjure it up on my own.  

June 29, 2014

Acceptance of loss:  “sacrificing our Isaac”

I was a lector at my church this morning and read the story from Genesis of Abraham taking his long-awaited son Isaac up the mountain at God’s bidding and making the decision to trust God to the point of being willing to sacrifice Isaac on an altar as directed by God. Of course the story takes you to the climax where Abraham is ready to slay his own son, only to have God call out at the last moment that this is not necessary and the boy is saved.

As I read this passage I was aware of the intensity of feelings that Abraham must have been struggling with as a father on the verge of losing, and actually sacrificing, his beloved son.

Father Stace preached eloquently on this scripture, highlighting that we are all called to be willing to “sacrifice our Isaac”, whatever it is or whoever it is that we think we have to hold onto to in order to survive or to be content or fulfilled in life.

I realize that I had no choice in Daniel’s death and so my experience of losing a son is totally different than the emotions that Abraham might have been wrestling with as he anticipated sacrificing his own son.  

And yet, I also realize that even now I am faced with the challenge of whether or not I am willing to accept this loss of a son and the sacrifice of so many dreams and aspirations that I had for him and for our family of five.

Losing a son feels like a huge sacrifice in my life and one that even six years later I struggle daily to accept.

Am I capable of sacrificing my “Isaac” – am I willing to accept Daniel’s death and thereby sacrifice the dreams and aspirations for him and for our family as a whole?

God:  grant me the enormous grace required to do so.

Glimpsing the eventual gifts of suffering

I ran across a poem recently while reading a thoughtful blog reflection on the aftermath of a recent college campus shooting by Jack Levison at Spiritchatter, http://www.patheos.com/blogs/spiritchatter/2014/06/a-memorial-service-memory-and-the-eventual-gifts-of-suffering/)

 At a campus memorial service after this shooting, this poem was handed out to participants; it speaks eloquently to my heart.

For Suffering, by John O’Donahue

May you be blessed in the holy names of those
Who, without you knowing it,
Help to carry and lighten your pain.
May you know serenity
When you are called
To enter the house of suffering.
May a window of light always surprise you.
May you be granted the wisdom
To avoid false resistance;
When suffering knocks on the door of your life,
May you glimpse its eventual gifts.
May you be able to receive
the fruits of suffering.
May memory bless and protect you
With the hard-earned light of past travail;
To remind you that you have survived before
And though the darkness now is deep,
You will soon see approaching light.
May the grace of time heal your wounds…

These phrases stand out to me:

“May a window of light always surprise you”

“May you glimpse its eventual gifts, May you be able to receive the fruits of suffering”

“May memory bless and protect you with the hard-earned light of past travail”

Rich, rich words that convey deep and profound meaning from Donahue, an Irish poet, former Catholic priest, and philosopher.  

Am I now beginning to glimpse its eventual gifts and perhaps to experience any fruits of suffering from losing Daniel?  

Is there some hard-earned light from this past travail that is beginning to shine through the windows of our hearts?

God:  grant us eyes to glimpse the eventual gifts of suffering, hearts to respond to its fruits, and an awareness of the hard-earned light that it provides in our lives.

Purpose, Hope, and Remembering

April 13, 2014

Purpose and tragedy

Is there a purpose going into or preceding a tragedy or does purpose come from or out of a tragedy?

I don't believe there was a purpose for or purpose in Daniel dying in a precipitous way - I don't believe a purpose came before and thus led to or caused him to die. 

But, I absolutely believe there is a purpose that emanates from his death or comes out of his death - a purpose that is the result of the horrific loss that we suffered and the grief that we still must bear.  I sense that we have to find a different purpose for our lives as the result of his death - we live differently because he died, hopefully more graciously and with more forgiveness and a greater sense of lightness, in a more relaxed, less controlling state, because we know life is fragile and we have little or no control over the ultimate outcomes. 

Since we know that life can be snapped away from us in a heartbeat, we know that we are here to love each other, serve each other, forgive each other, care about each other, and to be God's redemptive hand for each other.

We are not on this earth to control and to force our will on others

I want my purpose in life to be absolutely different as a result of Daniel’s death.  I want to live differently, openly, with more care and grace and peace and calmness and forgiveness.

Lord, hear my prayer.

April 20, 2014

Resurrection hope

Earlier in this journal I mentioned that my posture toward Easter and the resurrection of Jesus has clearly shifted since Daniel died.  His death has challenged me to my core in so many ways, including my belief in Jesus’s resurrection and the implication of that in Daniel’s life and my own.

Easter became even more personal on April 28, 2008 when Daniel died since all I have now is the hope that resurrection from the dead is real and that I will see him again.

April 28, 2014

Six Years of Remembering

Today is the sixth anniversary of Daniel’s death and as a family we once again face a day of remembering and pondering his life and our loss.

We have heard from dozens of friends and family today and in recent days several local friends approached me to share their love and concern as we approached this day.

Grieving a loss like this is so very personal and yet I feel the enormous power of God’s love through the words and care of so many wonderful people.  Perhaps that is why I chose to share these intimate thoughts in this journal and on this blog; indeed we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses even on this earth and the combined care, compassion, and love of this group bolsters us on our journey as we continue to wrestle with our human emotions of pain and constant longing for the son and brother who is gone.

As this day winds down, I miss Daniel terribly and yet I remain grateful for the privilege of fathering him (and his siblings!) and for the gifts he brought to us during his lifetime.  And I am grateful to receive the love and encouragement of so many who are walking beside us on this journey.

Rest in peace, dear son.  See you soon.

A Grace Story

In an earlier entry I described another wonderful book by Jerry Sittser called A Grace Revealed:  How God Redeems the Story of Your Life.  In the weeks since my mother died, I have reflected more on this concept relative to her life.

God reveals his grace in some unique ways through each of our lives and the circumstances of our lives. Thus when we look at the story of someone's life the question becomes - how did God use that life or engage with that person to teach us or reveal something to us about his grace?

In the case of Vivian, I see a life marked by ordinary openness and honesty, combined with an ornery faithfulness - my mother was very approachable and accepting of many kinds of people who were able to share their hopes and their doubts equally without being judged by her. 

Even though she was open and approachable, she also often challenged us in her own ornery style to step away from our perspective, see a bigger picture, and do the right thing even if that was harder or more uncomfortable.  At times, this fearless honesty focused on her fellow church members and peers as she challenged them to love people more unconditionally and fully.

Her call was to be a wife to a small town minister and a mother to her sons, and yet her own grace story goes well beyond these people as she left her mark among many other extended family and friends during her 90 years on earth.  

I have only begun to understand my mother’s grace story with its own unique richness and flavor, but I know enough already to have a heart full of gratitude for the legacy that she leaves behind.

Thanks be to God.

Groping for Words, but Comfortable in the Thin Spaces

January 28, 2014

Groping for Words

I am sitting with mother in the Denver Hospice on day two of her stay and I am overwhelmed with this amazing place - it is a beautiful facility with caring and compassionate staff.  Everyone is very attentive, kind, gentle, and helpful.

It is all about comfort here - helping the patient be as comfortable as possible as their bodies either rebound from their diseases, or as their bodies succumb to ailments or the natural progression of just wearing out and failing.  Hospice is designed to help people die as peacefully and painlessly as possible.

And so we sit, holding a unique vigil with Mom, listening to her breathing, holding her hand and talking to her, and as of today, not getting any real response. (Yesterday I did get one response of "I love you" when she briefly woke up and realized I was holding her hand.)

Sitting vigil like this brings a lot of random thoughts to mind as I reflect on this woman's 90 years and the myriad of people she has influenced and impacted, including me. Being married to a minister gave my mother a unique opportunity to connect with a lot of people both in our churches as well as in the communities where we lived. My Mom also had a very natural rapport with people of all ages including many younger people like some of my cousins and their spouses.

One of my cousins called me this evening to discuss my mother's condition and their last conversation just a few weeks ago.  He shared that he is “groping for words” to explain the range of emotions that are coming as he thinks about my mother dying, as well as others from her generation like his parents going forward.  

I agreed:  we are all groping for words.

January 29, 2014

Comfortable in the “Thin Spaces”

Sitting with my mother today as she is in the process of dying and listening to the soft contemplative worshipful music of John Michael Talbot, I sense the we are in the spiritual thin space between heaven and earth.

Since losing Daniel five years ago, this thin space seems oddly familiar and incredibly comfortable. 

In fact, I sense that moments I spend in these thin spaces are as "real" as life on this earth can get.

Thanks be to God!

A helpful article on trauma and grief

I came across a very good article this week on dealing with trauma, both from the perspective of one who suffers it as well as from providing some helpful understanding for those who love us when we grieve.

A New Normal: Ten Things I've Learned About Trauma, by Catherine Woodiwiss

Loving him in eternity

January 11, 2014


Yesterday morning I corresponded with one of Daniel's friends from high school, Ellie, a young woman who lives out of state with another young woman who is also a member of this circle. And then yesterday evening, we hosted our annual party for Daniel's inner circle of friends, the Fab, and their families.


Both occasions caused me to pause and reflect again on why these relationships and connections continue to be so compelling to us.


My morning email to Ellie included this observation about why I thought these relationships had such power and meaning for us:


"Though very bittersweet at times these relationships are very important and meaningful to us perhaps partly because they help us continue to acknowledge how much we loved Daniel on this earth and love him still in eternity."


"Acknowledging how much we loved Daniel on this earth and how we love him still in eternity" seems to sum it up well.


Our love for Daniel continues and we have to find ways to express it. Being with these young adults, the friends and mentors who loved Daniel so deeply and powerfully shaped and enriched his final years on earth, provides one very important outlet into which we can continue pouring our love.


As we interact with them, celebrating their new relationships and milestones (college graduations, new jobs, engagements, and weddings), we get to continue to engage the relationships and people who were most connected to Daniel in his final years.


Somehow in all this joy and the laughter, hugs and occasional tears, we are loving Daniel as well, missing him desperately on this earth in this moment, but also loving him in eternity at the very same time.