A muddled heart but God is holding my hand

December 26, 2010

We hosted the sixth annual Fab family Christmas party a few days before Christmas.  The turnout and energy this year seemed especially high as the kids and parents hung around later and were very engaged with each other and our family.

As I worked around the group and especially as I chatted with the boys and girls who were Daniel’s closest friends in high school, I struggled with the complexity of my feelings.  In so many ways, these kids are thriving as they go through their third or fourth years in college, facing the new questions about life with its romantic challenges, new ideas and concepts they are being exposed to through their academic work, and now, questions about what to do next as they began to see graduation on the horizon.  I found myself incredibly excited by them and for them and inspired by their enthusiasm and zest for life, while also struggling mightily at times to hold off my jealously and even resentment that Daniel is missing out on these same experiences.

In my humanity, I yearn so badly to see my son growing up and blossoming along with these beautiful friends of his.  Yet somehow I also hold onto the sense that Daniel is okay in his heavenly state, all the while feeling the loneliness and sadness of the separation.

My heart remains very muddled.

God is holding my hand through music and prayer

As we celebrated Christmas this year, I found the tears coming when we sang Silent Night at the Christmas Eve service and when I tried to finish saying grace at our family’s Christmas morning breakfast.

Somehow my emotions open up and come forth when I also am opening up my spirit to God.  It seems like during these moments of song and prayer I feel God’s gentle touch and that in turn opens me up to feeling the pain and loneliness that I carry.

It is almost as if God my father is reaching down and holding my hand, inviting me and enabling me to be honest and free in that moment to feel more fully and to express my deep brokenness and abiding grief.

Acknowledging the one who died

December 5, 2010

Carol and I went to a neighborhood friend’s annual Christmas party last night where the main activity is a silly white elephant gift exchange.  It is typically a fun and sometimes raucous time, with a lot of laughing and joking about the various and most ridiculous gifts.

We saw several casual neighborhood friends at this party, including one couple in particular who were part of our generation of families that we tracked with in schools beginning at Montview preschool when Daniel was there.  As is often the case, it was interesting how Daniel came up in conversation and how bringing him up at first created one of those awkward moments in the middle of otherwise surface-level, pleasant small talk.

When this moment comes, I am often struck by the fact that I want to let the subject come up – I want to acknowledge Daniel and his death so much more than the other person seems to be comfortable doing at the time.  In fact, I often am almost just waiting for the first natural opening in the conversation to mention or acknowledge Daniel and the fact that he died, especially when I am in a situation where his life was a central part of what brought us into a relationship with another family such as the one we were chatting with at this party.

Acknowledgement is such a huge thing in this process and it is intriguing to me how much I want it and how much it seems that others do not want to give it to me.  No one seems to wants to bring Daniel up, so I often feel like making sure that I create an opportunity to do so.  (In last night’s case, it was pretty easy since this other father had to be reminded that his second son and Daniel were classmates from preschool on.) 

Sometimes this urge to bring the topic of Daniel up in a conversation almost feels like an obsession to me, but most of the time it feels very natural and very much an imperative – I have to do it in order for a conversation to feel complete.  Daniel was a huge part of our family’s life when he was alive and in reality, he continues to be a significant part of our life even though he has been gone now for more than two years. 

I really don’t understand why people often seem a bit shocked to hear me say his name, especially since in my own mind I am still thinking about Daniel almost constantly.  To me, talking about him is very natural, but to others, talking about my dead son seems to make them very uncomfortable. 

Whatever the case, I will not stop acknowledging his life and death and the impact that this had on my heart and on our family.  This is a reality that is larger than most people seem able to imagine – I certainly cannot comprehend it – why would others be able to?

Prayers echoing in my soul

November 20, 2010

 

I woke up this morning with a song going in my head from the Broadway musical, Les Miserables.  Since this is one of my family’s favorite musicals, Carol and I have seen it a few times, including once with the kids.  In addition, we have the soundtrack and have listened to it many times – thus, some songs are memorized by now in my mind.

 

This song, “Bring Him Home” is sung by the main character, Valjean, as a prayer over Marius who has been wounded during the battle at the barricade.  It is a beautiful fatherly prayer to God to save this “son” that Valjean never had though he is the young man that his adopted daughter deeply loves.

Valjean’s fatherly prayer goes like this:

God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there

He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.

Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy

You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

Those words – “you can take; you can give; let him be; let him live” – continue to echo in my soul.  They express the deep longing that continues to reverberate in my heart ever since I said similar desperate words of prayer over Daniel as he lay dying in that Missoula hospital. 

Desperate words echoing still in my heart and soul . . .

“Where is God when it hurts? God is in us . . helping to transform bad into good.”

November 14, 2010

I have been recently read some excerpts from Philip Yancey’s book, Where Is God When It Hurts? – now I need to get the whole book and read it.  Some of my favorite entries include:

“The Bible consistently changes the questions we bring to the problem of pain.  It rarely, or ambiguously, answers the backward-looking question “Why?”  Instead, it raises the forward-looking question, “To what end?’  We are not put on earth merely to satisfy our desires, to pursue life, liberty, and happiness.  We are here to be changed, to be made more like God in order to prepare us for a lifetime with God.  And that process may be served by the mysterious pattern of all creation:  pleasure sometimes emerges against a background of pain, evil may be transformed into good, and suffering may produce something of value.”

“Paul makes a grand, sweeping statement in Romans, ‘And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.’  That statement is sometimes twisted and made to imply that ‘only good things will happen to those who love God.’”

“Does God introduce suffering into our lives so that these good results will come about?...We have no right to speculate…Instead, response is our assignment.  Paul and other New Testament authors insist that if we respond with trust God will, without doubt, work in us for good.”

“Where is God when it hurts?  God is in us – not in the things that hurt – helping to transform bad into good.  We can safely say that God can bring good out of evil; we cannot say that God brings about evil in hopes of producing good.”

Redemptive suffering

October 23, 2010

Redemption:  the act of saving something or somebody from a declined, dilapidated, or corrupted state and restoring it, him, or her to a better condition.

Richard Rohr closes his book on Job with reflections on the similarities in the stories of Job and Jesus and what each story teaches us about suffering, including several pithy and insightful comments such as:

“History is a spiral led by grace, not a straight line led by logic.”

“Suffering can be sharing in the passion of Christ – laying down one’s life for others.”

 “Sacrifice comes from the words sacrum facere – to make sacred or holy.”

“Making a wound sacred means reconnecting it to the whole – making it holy.”

“The wounded one is always the gift giver.”

“There are two things that draw us outside ourselves:  pain on other people’s faces and the unbearable beauty that is other human beings at their best.  Or, in other words:  cross and resurrection.”

 “Redemptive suffering always generates immense life in others – that’s why it is ‘redemptive.’”

Rohr’s insights inspire and encourage me in many ways. 

In our natural humanity, we seem to want to avoid pain (probably a good trait overall), but, at least in the developed world, we also take that to an extreme by wondering why anything bad or painful would ever happen to us.  This step seems to inevitably set us up for a showdown with God when almost any level of personal or collective disaster strikes.

On top of this natural tendency, Christians seem to layer what I would call a theology of blessing that basically teaches us to believe the following:  if we follow some rules, mouth the correct language about God and others, and constantly ask to be blessed while piously asking the same for those we love, then somehow we are inoculated or protected from harm and indeed almost guaranteed as much of the “good life” (the blessings) as we want.

As I have struggled in my heart and mind through the aftermath of Daniel’s death I have often wrestled with the obvious problem for me with this theology of blessing.  Like Job, I don’t have an explanation and like Job’s friends, this theology and many similar ones that circulate in our culture today come up very short for bringing any peaceful explanation to my soul.  In fact, most of the popular thinking on the subject of suffering leaves us mourners in the same bind as Job’s friends attempted to put him in:  cause and effect thinking, an attempt at constructing a theological “logic” to explain suffering seems to always take us in a big circular, nonsensical pattern and never satisfies our soul’s ultimate dissatisfaction with our loss.

Rohr on the other hand nails it by simply stating the obvious – understanding why anyone suffers is most often impossible to us as humans.  When pain, loss, or suffering come our way, as they inevitably do, our only real hope is to accept them in their mystery, embrace our natural response of grief, and struggle to incorporate this all into our lives – integrating our pain and struggles somehow makes them sacred or holy because we connect them not only within ourselves, but also into our relationships with God and with others in some patterns that hopefully become redemptive.

God:  I pray that my grief and suffering will be redemptive and immensely life-generating for me and my family, friends, colleagues, and everyone whose lives I intersect.

Depression and Saturday

October 9, 2010

I find that Saturdays seem to be my worst day in terms of slumping into a depression.  It seems that work and other activities are good distractions for me on all the other days, but when my time is less structured and I am at home more, than it comes, the shroud of dark emotions covering over me.

People say that I should focus on my happy memories of Daniel.  I do, at times, but it is very difficult to also not lapse back into deep darkness when I think about all that we are each missing as a result of Daniel’s death. 

Hannah turned 18 a couple days ago and she should be hearing from her big brother on what this means and what it doesn’t and the fact that she is still his kid sister.  Daniel should be her confidant and sounding board as she churns through college possibilities and sorts out where she might choose to go.

Ben is learning how to drive and here to, he should be experiencing the brotherly banter that Daniel would bring him on that subject.

Carol and I struggle with our heavy hearts as we watch our kids miss out and as we see all Daniel’s contemporaries finding romance in their lives, contemplating their next steps after graduation, and more. 

So much excitement and life in front of all these young people – where is our other son?  He should be in the middle of it all.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted: really?

October 2, 2010

A friend who has some views on spirituality different than mine told me this week that I have an obvious aura or spiritual energy about me.  I am not sure what this means, but Carol’s response was interesting when I shared this conversation with her – she simply said that our grief is the reality behind this sense that others see something uniquely spiritual going on in my life.

Perhaps what this friend is seeing (not so much physically, but in my demeanor, attitude, behavior, and words) is the result of some sort of blessing and comfort that seem to be coming to us as we grieve.  In this pain, I also have a sometimes odd (for me) sense that God is closer to me and I am closer to Him. 

It feels like so much of my psychological protection was stripped away.  I feel more vulnerable and exposed to everything, but in this state, there is also a weird peace and freedom that is beginning to take hold.  Oddly, this state of being or spiritual mindset feels like a blessing to me at this stage, even though I am hesitant to use that term anywhere near a reference to Daniel’s death.

Perhaps this whole process is somehow producing an expansion of the soul (as Jerry puts it) or a transformation of my heart that is visible to those around me who are watching.  Might this be a "blessing" for those of us who mourn?

Can grieving become a spiritual discipline?

September 30, 2010

Conversations with a co-worker and Carol this week have stimulated a new thought for me – can grieving actually become a spiritual discipline? 

Richard Foster describes spiritual disciplines as exercises that place you before God so that He can transform you.

By this definition, working through grief – grieving – can serve as a spiritual discipline if it moves you toward God and puts you in a position where God is able to transform you.  Of course, for many, grief seems to result in them moving farther away from God, in some ways, further from his grasp since the intense pain in loss seems to have a hardening effect on many hearts (understandably so, I might add).

For me though, my grieving seems to mostly push me toward God.  Sometimes in anger but always in pain, I have a much deeper longing or yearning for being with God in some relational kind of way.  I want to know this being we refer to as God and I want to be assured that my son is with Him and that my faith and hope in this assurance is true and permanent.

In my case, perhaps grieving serves as a magnet, drawing me closer to the source of all that is good, right, and true about all of creation, including we human beings.  In my pain, I yearn to be transformed.

 

Rituals: putting grief into a context

September 20, 2010

 Over the past month or so, our family has observed Daniel’s 21^st birthday and his death by:

• Going out to dinner on Daniel’s birthday at his favorite restaurant, Annie’s, for the third year in a row where his little brother Ben ordered Daniel’s (and now Ben’s) favorite burger;
• Gathering with several of Daniel’s high school era friends (Eric, Lizzie, Chris, Tyler, and Nate) later that evening in our backyard to catch up on each others’ lives, share memories of Daniel, and eat smores together around a charcoal fire;
• Climbing another 14,000 foot peak (our second annual memorial climb) with a two of Daniel’s closest friends Malory and Riley and his Godfather/our dear friend Steve;
• Playing with another group of Daniel’s friends (Foote, Lyle, Beth, Mallory, Hayden, and Ellie) in their third annual Dan Burtness Memorial Frisbee Golf tournament on the campus of DU;
• Carol and I sitting with Steve and Mallory to rehash our shared experiences of being with Daniel together during his last days and hours at the hospital in Missoula; and
• Carol and I traveling to Spokane to see the inaugural presentation to the first two recipients of Daniel Burtness Leadership Award at Whitworth and hang out with several of Daniel’s friends. 

Each of these activities is wrought with different layers of meaning and emotion as we remember and miss Daniel, while also finding moments together to celebrate him, his life and his unique spirit, and the gift that he was and is in our lives.  We continue to ache deeply over our loss while also laughing at some of our memories, cherishing the many ways that Daniel endeared himself to us and to so many, and marveling at the lasting impact he had on so many lives through his love for God and love of people

I believe that we repeat several of these activities with an almost ritual-like precision because they help us to put into some sort of context the array of struggles, pain, and happy memories that we have related to Daniel’s life and death.  We need to eat burgers and climb a mountain (with its own physical challenge and accompanying pain), play Frisbee, and most importantly, share these and other experiences as a family and with Daniel’s friends who continue to love us and “go there” with us in our collective journey through this horrible life experience.  

Doing these activities together is somehow helping us put this deep loss and our grief into a context that enables us to live with it more fully and intentionally.  Perhaps these activities actually form a structure to carry this grief in, enabling us to “carry it more comfortably” as Jerry Sittser describes the process.  Maybe it is even accurate to say that these rituals form a carrying case of sorts for our grief.

If there is a way to find meaning or perspective in Daniel’s death, perhaps it will come as we continue to practice these and other “Daniel rituals” together.

The Wisdom of Job

August 26, 2010

I continue to slowly work my way through the book of Job and Richard Rohr’s commentary on it entitled Job and the Mystery of Suffering.  Rohr, a Franciscan, has some very insightful comments, with a heavy emphasis on Job’s honesty and enormous struggles with God, coupled with his enduring faith in God’s goodness and desire to be in relationship with God in spite of his suffering.

I keep coming back to the touchstone verse in the first chapter at the beginning of this series of discourses where Job simply declares: 

“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”

Or as some translations state the second phrase:  “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

The remainder of this amazing book chronicles Job’s struggles to come to full terms with both sides of this declaration. 

Job vacillates from intense arguments with God – actually screaming matches and fits of rage and sarcasm from the tone of the words recorded – to tender pleas for God to not abandon their relationship.  Job’s friends bumble their way through and offer advice and perspective that they think will be helpful, though they are mostly focused on trying to explain away the mystery of the first half of this declaration with some “rational” explanation as to “why” God gave and then took away.  Their explanations are simply distractions for Job in his ultimate struggle to reconcile the terms of this declaration and live beyond his overwhelming losses.

Job knows better than his friends – there is no “rational explanation” for his loss from a human point of view – his losses are simply a mystery and will remain so.  We cannot really understand where life comes from – we can choose to believe that God somehow gives it, an impossible leap of faith for some, or not.  “The Lord takes away” might mean a number of things as well and theologians and philosophers have debated this phrase since it was written.  As humans, we simply cannot fathom the ways and means of life and death – it is a mystery to us for the time being – there are no clear answers.

Yet in spite of this profound tension Job wants to find it in his heart to choose to bless or praise the name of the Lord, continuing to trust in the goodness of God and wanting to nurture this relationship that he will not give up on.

In comparison to Job’s enormous losses, our loss of Daniel seems so simple, but it is far from so.   I am now experiencing some of these same struggles – can I live in the mystery of the Lord giving life and then it being taken away? 

And, will I choose to bless the name of the Lord in spite of my discomfort with this very mystery and with the pain of this loss?  

God give me strength to say yes to both.

Meandering thoughts

August 2010

A cure or livng well with an incurable chronic disease?

We attended another program at the Children’s Hospital bereavement services and that got me thinking about the ongoing debate in my head – will I ever be healed, if being healed is the same as being cured, or is my condition incurable?

Left to ponder our questions with no answers

We saw another one of Daniel’s friends yesterday and caught up with him about his exciting summer serving as a staff person in another city for a short-term mission organization.  It is wonderful to see and hear about the exciting things happening in the lives of all these young people, yet it also brings Carol and I back to our bittersweet conclusion:  if only Daniel were here and having those same experiences!  Oh, how we miss him now more than ever!

This type of experience is also hard since it leaves me feeling guilty – I don’t want in any way to discount the beauty of the other young man’s life – he deserves to be growing up and having these transformative experiences.  But, I also struggle with a sense of jealousy and resentment – why didn’t my son get this same opportunity?  Why don’t I as his parent get to see him growing into this same type of even more beautiful young adult man?   Why aren’t Ben and Hannah seeing their big brother take these new steps into adulthood, blazing a wonderful path for each of them to follow in their own journeys?

Of course, these questions have no real answers.  We are simply left to ponder our complicated feelings, including the guilt and confusion that comes when we feel the competing tugs among feelings of happiness for another, jealousy for ourselves, and sheer agony over the person and experiences that we are missing.

Honoring the Memory

Last weekend we did both the Dan Burtness Memorial Climb of a mountain on Saturday and the Dan Burtness Memorial Frisbee Golf Tournament on Sunday that some of his friends have now organized for the third year in a row.  Both activities were fun and painful at the same time.  Steve, Riley, and Mallory joined us four on the climb of Quandary Peak – it was a great day to be outdoors, our kids seemed to enjoy the activity and being with these dear friends, and Carol and I did OK, in spite of the physical challenge of not really being in shape for the climb up a 14,265 foot mountain.  The frisbee tournament was more low key but very pleasant, with Foote, Mallory, Elle, Hayden, Beth and Lyle joining us.

Both experiences remind me of how amazing it is to have our close friends and Daniel’s friends still willing to literally walk this journey with us.  Perhaps hiking up a mountain and walking around a local college campus trying to throw a frisbee in a friendly competition are also meaningful since they involve literally walking – taking a journey – vital symbols of the greater reality we are experiencing together.

Most days are not easy and it is incredibly important to me that we are able to do activities in which we somehow remember Daniel and try to honor that memory – even activities like climbing up a mountain or playing a silly game with plastic disks.

I am not even sure what I mean by “honor that memory” but it feels right when we are doing and even when I am trying to describe it.  It feels like we are trying to collectively remember how special this boy was to each of us, how much we loved him, cared for him, and appreciated having him in our lives, and ultimately, how much we continue to miss his presence among us in our lives even now.

Holy Grieving

Another random (not really) thought that has been recurring recently is the whole series of questions I am contemplating related to what I would term “holy grieving.”  Since Christians say that we believe we are somehow created in God’s image, it seems to me that our basic human emotions, and perhaps especially grief, are actually part of what makes us God-like.  I need to think about this more and read more about how God and Jesus grief in the Bible to get a better sense of my developing ideas about this.

A Heart of Flesh

Finally, yesterday at Men’s Group a friend shared from Ezekiel 36:26 and God makes this promise in the passage:

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

My friend shared where he sees God at work softening and transforming his heart through many life experiences.  In response we shared our thoughts on how this process is working among us.  I commented that these words are the lyrics from a song that Daniel was into when he died and which I have recorded and now listen to often in my car. 

For me, grief has been the catalyst to soften my heart in new ways, though I know that I still struggle in so many other ways with a hard heart at times in many relationships in my family and with others. I don’t think that I have ever experienced a heart that is any more “flesh” – human and open, even if it is broken – than I have experienced since Daniel died.

Missing his 21st birthday

August 4, 2010

21 years old

Yesterday was Daniel’s 21^st birthday.  It was a melancholy day for me in many ways as I felt oddly detached from my work sitting through a morning staff meeting preoccupied with missing my son.  I left after lunch to be with the family.

I spent a lot of time these last few days and weeks wondering what Daniel would be like now – what he would be doing as he prepares to go back to Whitworth for his senior year – what he would be dreaming about and planning for his life.  Waves of familiar sadness overtake me as I contemplate these questions and am left to simply wonder and wish there were answers.

Five of Daniel’s buddies again joined us last night – Lizzie, Eric, Chris, Tyler, and Nate.  As usual, they were sweet and it was bittersweet to be with them.  Watching Ben wrestle with Eric and Chris in the backyard was heart warming and heart breaking – he so badly misses this key relationship with his brother but these young men are now angels in his life.

Yesterday I was thinking about how much I miss Daniel and how I am somehow now getting more used to or familiar with living with this feeling of loss – almost.  I don’t really understand how this ever present feeling is shaping me or changing me, but I sense I am marked forever and different than I was before.

 

Death can teach us how to live

June 23, 2010

Get back on and ride, or hide?

The old adage about getting back on the horse or bike after you fall off and riding again is intriguing to me now. 

Since Daniel died, as a father I struggle with many small and big “dangers” that my two surviving kids and my wife and I might face.  Do we get back on and ride through life, or should we go hide and try to minimize our exposure to the dangers that could befall one of us?

One week from today the four of us get on a plane and fly to Uganda for a two-week mission at Watoto orphanage, and then for five days as tourists in London on the return trip home.  I am a nervous father as I contemplate this adventure for us – we are definitely “getting back on and riding” with this trip, and not hiding.  But, one can also argue that this sort of trip increases our exposure to more of the world’s dangers.

All these questions and speculations do make me pause.

At the same time, losing Daniel prematurely also stimulates me to say "let's go for it” – we must follow our dreams and live life more fully and completely, trusting that though we have no guarantees for our future, we believe that God is still good, and in the end (figuratively and literally) “all things will work together for good” even though there may be horrendous loss and pain along the way.   

So as we head to Africa, I do pray for safety, but even more so to be useful helpers at Watoto and for us each to be enlivened and transformed through these experiences.

Daniel’s death continues to teach us how to live.

 

“You cannot solve the problem; you can only live the mystery.”

June 21, 2010

Richard Rohr in his book Job and the Mystery of Suffering writes:

“Job’s three friends, practical, righteous, and religious, appear as God’s self-appointed messengers with what they are sure is God’s answer.  They offer the glib, pious platitudes of stereotypical clergymen.  They’re all theologically correct, yet entirely inadequate. 

What they do, in effect, is try to take away the mystery.  They try to solve the problem, whereas Yahweh says you cannot solve the problem; you can only live the mystery.  The only response to God’s faithfulness is to be faithful ourselves.

Theology does not provide the answer to this dilemma, only spirituality does.  It’s disappointing that we Christians have emphasized theology so much more than spirituality.  We have emphasized catechism and religious education much more than prayer.  But for the predicament we have here, there is no answer, only a prayer response, only the willingness to remain in communion, to hang in there, to keep talking.

We see in the dialogues of Eliphaz of Teman, Bildad of Shuah, and Zophar of Naamath that they constantly talk about God.  They’re good men and their answers are, to a great extent, correct.  But the only one who talks to God is Job.  Out of his intense pain and depression – he is on the edge of despair, if not actually in despair, throughout the entire book – Job breaks through to address God.

This is probably one of the greatest books on prayer that has ever been written.  It breaks our stereotypes of prayer.  Certainly, most of the things Job says to God are not what we Christians have been trained to say to God.  The pretty words are mostly gone.  There’s no ‘beseech’ and ‘vouchsafe’ and ‘deign’ and ‘thou’, the stuff Christians love to put in their formal prayers.  Instead he dares to confront God, the very thing we were trained never to do.  In fact, we called it blasphemy.”

Loving Differently

May 30, 2010

4:00 AM

Our God-daughter Hilary leaves later today on a six-month service learning adventure in South Africa.  Her college sponsors a program on international issues called HNGR and its classes and overseas internships expose the students to issues around hunger, poverty, and development.  Last night, we attended a party in honor of Hilary and her trip, and we participated in offering prayers for her safety and success in this exciting adventure.

As her Godfather, Steve asked me to offer the last prayer for Hilary and as I did so, my voice cracked with emotion as I attempted to put words around the feelings I have for this second daughter whom I have known and loved for almost 21 years.

Since Hilary preceded Daniel in birth by just three weeks, their lives and those of our families are intertwined in a myriad of ways.  They grew up together and we have shared many wonderful times, most especially highlighted by our annual trips to Deer Valley Ranch every Memorial Day weekend.

The party I describe fell in the middle of this year’s Memorial Day weekend. 

Thus, when I opened my mouth last night to pray aloud for Hilary, I was very aware of not only how much I care for this beautiful young woman, but also the depth of love that I have for her family and the relationships we share as families.  I was also acutely aware of how deeply I miss Hilary’s “twin” God-brother Daniel – how much I yearn for Daniel to be present and in the middle of these same moments of life – how much I am missing the opportunity to see him grow and thrive like Hilary is thriving and pursue these wonderful life experiences like traveling to South Africa to work with orphans whose parents were killed by HIV/AIDS.

Whether I should or not, I can’t stop thinking about what Daniel is missing, and what we as his family are missing.  I still am excited and thrilled for Hilary and what lies ahead for her, but somehow this is also shaped and perhaps even sharpened by this current of emotions around Daniel.

As I struggled to not completely lose it during my prayer, Hilary reached over and grabbed my hand – she knew and she felt some of the complexity of those emotions as they were occurring.  That connection carried through our departure, and as I hugged her, I realized that I am loving her differently now that Daniel is gone.  My love feels different – feels more deep and much more alive and real in the context of the pain I carry from losing Daniel.

Is this some sort of “silver lining” in this loss?  I chose to say no, mostly because I find that question somehow demeaning and trite.  But, I will accept the notion that loving others differently is perhaps another way of seeing God’s grace at work in my life in the midst of my grief over Daniel dying.

God:  bless Hilary richly as she goes forth in her life to South Africa.  May she be transformed through this experience and may we all relish in her adventure.  Thanks for the love we share and the grace you give.

Will we laugh or ever have that much joy again?

May 24, 2010

Carol and I went to the wedding of a friend's daughter this evening.  At the reception we sat with another set of friends and their young adult children.  Everyone was so happy – the young bride and groom, and their friends, including our table partners.  We watched all the laughter and joy, and at times shared in those moments or at least probably looked like we did.

By the time we got out of the parking lot as we left the reception, Carol was in tears, wondering if our family can ever laugh like this together again or if we will ever experience this much joy in this life.

It is hard to imagine any success at this for us as a family right now.  I feel like it is hopeless – we cannot have that much joy again in our lives without Daniel present.  I hope I am wrong but I cannot imagine being so.

Encounters in Dreams & I Can Only Imagine

May 5, 2010

Another dream

I had another dream with Daniel alive in again last night.  The context was weird:  a golf tournament with a variety of acquaintances playing.  Daniel was in the foursome ahead of me, but we ended up hanging out together at some point, seated next to each other with other participants around a table. 

I was totally focused on him, observing carefully how he looked, his face, hair, etc.  He looked just like he did when he went off to college – same hairstyle, glasses, Peruvian winter hat, and dark blue nylon jacket that he always wore.  But his facial features, especially his nose, still looked like it did when he was a toddler. 

As we chatted about nothing in particular, the last thing I remember is grabbing him around his shoulders, embracing him, and burying my face in his neck and sobbing.  In my dream I also seemed to be aware that this encounter was a gift and was temporary since he had already died.

May 13, 2010

I can only imagine

Since the day I heard this song recorded by Mercy Me as we planned Daniel memorial service, I Can Only Imagine has become sort of my theme song in my grief.  I just listened to it in my car on the way back from lunch and, as usual, the words brought me to tears as I wondered what it will be like for me when I die and what it is like now for Daniel. 

By faith, I simply believe that Daniel is in Jesus’ presence right now though I have no clue what that really means or what that is like for him. 

 
I can only imagine . . .

Two Years: less raw but not less cruel & living with grace

April 28, 2010

Two years ago today Daniel died.  It is still very hard to fathom the death of my son, such a blossoming young man, full of energy, life, love of God and others, and oh so much potential.

No explanation of God’s sovereignty, or fate, or whatever rationalizing process some people would like to apply to this event really suffices for the broken heart that one feels.  I still miss my son very deeply every day.

I watch my kids and wife miss him – I watch his friends miss him.  We all wrestle with the same longings and wonderings – what would it be like now to still have Daniel in our lives? 

I feel a mix of pride and regret when people tell me how much Daniel’s life and death has impacted them, how they were inspired by the way he lived, and how they want to live differently as a result.  These are all beautiful things for me to ponder as his father, yet all these words also remind me of how much I still miss him and regret that this sort of influence was cut short so harshly by his death.

May 1, 2010

“Less raw but not less cruel”

These words came from a friend to me in an email exchange regarding the anniversary of Daniel’s death:  “it feels less raw, but not less cruel.” 

Cruel, brutal, painful, harsh – all these terms are accurate in describing death, particularly the “premature” sudden death of a person as young and vital as my son.

The brutality or cruelty of his death leaves me still filled with shock, anguish, sadness, and pain.

“Living with grace”

I also heard these words from three friends this week as they commented on Daniel’s death and the way they observed Carol and me handling it now two years later.  They each said that they saw us living with grace and generosity as we embrace our grief and others who share in it with us.

I am reminded (and I reminded my friends) that this grace ties directly to my faith in Jesus – indeed, it is emanating from my faith since it a gift from God and is not originating within me.  I feel pain and at times, depression and anger in my human frailty as Daniel’s father.  Daniel’s death continues to haunt me and seem very cruel to me – it leaves me feeling even now in utter despair and unspeakable grief.

In my natural state, I cannot live graciously or generously with this loss, but God is somehow giving me grace to do so and that is what these friends are observing.

I can only thank God for this amazing grace!

Grief, Grace, & Faith: the last words of Jesus

April 2, 2010

I have come around to another Good Friday as a grieving father – I am not sure what all “sharing in Christ’s sufferings” can mean, but perhaps we who mourn or grieve are among those who can be counted as somehow sharing in Christ’s suffering.

I went to the Stations of the Cross service today and followed our priest and congregation around the church as we recited the events leading to Jesus’ crucifixion.  It struck me that Jesus went through at least three phases that are recorded in the different Gospels. 

Grief and perhaps anger:  as Jesus was suffering, in enormous physical pain and what seems like spiritual anguish, he cries out “Father, why have you forsaken me?”

Grace:  later on, Jesus expresses enormous grace as he says to his Father “forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Faith, trust, and hope:  finally, Jesus puts his ultimate faith into the good hands of his Father as he cries “into your hands I commend my spirit.”

If we are somehow mysteriously created in God’s image as Scripture teaches and if we accept the premise that Jesus, while God, was also fully human in his incarnate state on earth, then perhaps sharing in Christ’s suffering can include experiencing stages such as those outlined here. 

I mentioned to my men’s group this morning that I thought we could experience healthy depression – time-limited and retaining the ability to “snap out of it,” but depression that is perhaps something akin to Jesus feeling forsaken by his father.  At that moment in human time He was utterly alone, fully aware of this feeling of abandonment, and I can imagine perhaps even greatly depressed and distressed by this awareness.

Thus, when I suffer hours or days of episodic depression over Daniel’s death and, at times, even a feeling of utter abandonment by God, I take some consolation in the fact that Jesus seems to have felt some of these same feelings with even greater intensity as he hung on the cross.

A Seeping Heart

March 29, 2010

I had another vivid dream last night, though Daniel did not show up in it directly.  I was on the phone talking to the mother of one of Daniel’s Whitworth friends (Justin’s mother Debbie) and describing to her Carol and Hannah’s trip to Washington state this week, and the opportunity they will have to view the quilt square we created for the donor organ quilt at the transplant program offices. 

Every time I tried to explain what this visit meant, I sobbed uncontrollably and struggled to get any words out.

As I awoke from this dream, I had a vivid sense that this sorrow is slowly seeping out of my broken heart.  I don’t know how else to describe it – the image in my mind is that of a cracked container of liquid, and the liquid is slowly seeping out.

I still can cry uncontrollably in my dreams but in my waking moments, I feel like I am simply slowing leaking this sorrow out of my heart.

Mourning and Music

March 16, 2010

I have recorded two CD’s of some of Daniel’s favorite music from his I-Tunes library on his laptop and often listen to them in my car.  Today I had some time as I drove between meetings, so I listened to one of these compilations.

The first three songs that came on illustrate a lot about Daniel, how he was living life when he died, and how much I long to be with him even now. 

The first was a classic from my generation – “Brown Eyed Girl” – a song that Young Life uses constantly at camps and other events to get the kids warmed up and singing.  It is about youth and love, and Daniel obviously loved this song and everything else about Young Life, but especially camp and being rowdy with his friends and the younger kids he was working with as he became a leader.

The second was “How Does She Know?” from the movie Enchanted.  Daniel immediately loved that movie when he saw it with us, and took his silly connection with this fairly tale to Whitworth where he quickly endeared himself by asking his newfound friends – especially girls – what Disney princess or prince they would most like to be.  He found the simplicity of the fairy tale personally captivating and shared that spirit with ease with those around him.

The third song was by Braddigan, the Dispatch drummer who went solo after the band broke up.  The song – City on the Hill – includes these lines:

Haven't you heard that we are free?
Haven't you traced the steps back from Calvary?
We have the greatest reason of all
We'll build a city or we'll fall
We'll build a city without walls

Though I never had a chance to really discuss this song with Daniel, I know it appealed to his youthful zeal for God and serving others – living in the freedom of his faith in Christ and out of that, knowing we have the greatest reason of all to build a city and especially, one without walls.

Once this song ended I turned off the CD so I could gather my thoughts and ponder the feelings and longings that surfaced as I listened to these songs in sequence. 

As I drove along pondering all of this, a forth song – Give Me Jesus – came to mind and I began to sing it as well.

In the morning, when I rise, In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, Give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world, Just give me Jesus.

When I am alone, When I am alone,

When I am alone, Give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world, Just give me Jesus.

When I come to die, When I come to die,
When I come to die, Give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world, Just give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus. Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus. You can have all this world,
You can have all this world, You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus.

 
This last song somehow ties all the rest together in my troubled and broken heart.  Though I miss this son terribly and long to hear him singing all of these songs as he engaged in life, I also cling to the hope that Give Me Jesus brings. 

You can have all this world, just give me Jesus!

Un-success Stories

March 12, 2010

At men’s group this morning, a couple guys shared very personal “success stories” about answered prayer, citing a relative whose potential recurrence of cancer had turned out to be benign and an experience of recovery from a broken neck after a car accident.  Not to be outdone, another guy regaled us with a story of seemingly miraculous experiences in the life of a persecuted Chinese pastor including an escape from jail that seemed to be orchestrated by God himself.

When I hear such accounts, with the phrases like “God answered our prayers” repeated numerous times throughout, I often feel confused and bewildered with my own life experience and its inevitable and unanswerable question:  why didn’t God answer my prayers and save my son’s life?  In fact, I sometimes have such strong reactions that I have to monitor myself carefully to keep from either lashing out in my anger and anguish, or getting up and storming out of the conversation as I struggle to contain the strong emotions I am feeling.

I left the group this morning with my head spinning in this cycle between the success stories and my sense of un-success or failure as we watched Daniel die before us.

This evening I read a passage in Yancey’s book where he talks about the church’s propensity to promote and focus on success stories in spite of the fact that he argues the Bible and human history are full of many more stories of “failure” in prayer – people not getting the answers to prayer or the results that they wanted.

I suppose it is human nature to want to focus more on success than failure, but somehow I sense that many of us need to acknowledge our experiences that feel like failures if we are going to maintain any perspective or even a continuing sense of faith in God’s goodness.  It is too bad that so few Christians seem willing to “go there”.

Choosing to Believe and A Sense of Otherness

January 30, 2010

Choosing to believe

I had breakfast today with an old friend I had not seen in awhile.  Over the last few years, he has gone through some losses – a divorce of his own and of one of his children, and other challenges for another young adult child of his.

It was good to catch up and spend some time reflecting on how we each have dealt with our losses. 

I came away convinced again that we all have choices – we can either embrace our loss, pain, and grief, and choose to seek ways to still believe in the goodness of life and in a good and gracious God, or not.  If we choose not to believe in these things, we can and probably will stay in our natural anger and bitterness over loss, shaking our fists at the God or fate that we think has dealt us such lousy hands.

Making a choice to believe does not negate or somehow heal me from my pain – I still miss my son deeply and probably always will.  Living in both realities – pain and loss, and hope and joy is the way I must live and the only way I can even imagine living now.  I must honor my son and my love for him, all the while choosing to believe that in the end and in between, “all things will work together for good” even when it is a good that I was not planning on.

February 4, 2010

A sense of otherness

Those are the words that Carol used last evening to describe herself.  She feels like she has a “sense of otherness” about her – she is no longer the same person she once was – losing Daniel has changed her at her core forever.

I also have this same sense – like I have crossed over into some new reality and taken on some new identity – I am no longer the person I was.  Some days this means that I do feel disconnected; I sit through meetings and conversations and feel like I am listening to words, but not really hearing them or understanding them.  It is almost like I am sitting among people speaking a different language and I literally cannot understand them.  At times, this feels like I am not even really present in the way that people perceive that I am, but instead I am hovering outside my body and watching the activity from a different reference point or even from some other dimension.

In those moments, I feel both disconnected from “real life” (what is going on at that moment in time) but also somehow connected to some greater reality – to a transcendent place where we might realize that what we think is real is not necessarily the only thing that is real.  When I am having this momentary experience, I often find that I actually have some sense of peace and sadness coincidentally as I realize that I both miss Daniel and somehow know that he is in a good place and I will see him again.

A Dream and an Embrace

January 23, 2010

I had a very vivid dream last night in which we were at our church, but participating in an unusual Sunday morning service where many of our long-time friends who don’t normally attend our church were present.  There were several odd features to the opening of the service including the fact that it began in utter darkness and then lights came on at some moment as a celebratory song was sung.

At a break in the service, we all went outside for some reason (not the way it usually goes on Sunday mornings) and as I was looking for my family from whom I was separated, I came around a corner of the building and saw Daniel standing with two friends, one of whom was Riley.  They were talking and laughing as I approached them.  Daniel looked very normal, at ease, grinning, and very much enjoying himself and these friends in that moment.

As I approached them, I seemed to be aware that this representation of Daniel was not fully real and that I might not be able to engage him or actually hug him.  Sure enough, as I reached where they were standing Daniel seemed to either disappear, or somehow become unapproachable to me.  Riley, though, turned to me, embraced me, and he and I began sobbing in each other’s arms.

About then I was conscious of this being a dream and I sensed I was waking up, wondering if I indeed would be sobbing as I awoke.  When I woke up I was not crying but I was very sad as I lay in bed realizing how much I miss Daniel and how badly I just want to walk up to him and embrace him again.

At times like these, the grief seems to come back full force, becoming “unspeakable,” seemingly impossible to either describe or even feel like I can even bear it.  The ache in my heart and my soul is so deep and so profound; on days like this, it makes everything else in my life seem so meaningless.

P.S. to this journal entry:

Though this pain may make everything else in my life seem so meaningless, after reflecting on this for a few more hours I know this sense is not really true.  Everything else cannot be meaningless since I am aware that Riley, his family, and many others as well also feel this same sense of pain and loss over Daniel's death.

I don't really understand what "meaning" there might be around Daniel's death, but I do know that having others to share it with me means that life cannot be seen as meaningless.  We can and we do embrace and weep in each other’s arms.

Growing pains of the soul and Stained Glass

January 21, 2010

Growing Pains of the Soul

I love this concept from Jerry Sittser, that your soul can expand as a result of walking into and through the grief over your loss, and that perhaps God can enlarge your soul – your capacity for living and feeling – as a result.

Living in the confines of my own skin and mind, it is hard to tell when and if my soul is expanding.  In some ways I sense a deepening of my capacities for pain and love, and an awareness of grace and goodness – this feels like my soul indeed may be somehow enlarging.  At other times, I too often feel like my trigger for anger, bitterness, and resentment is shorter and I can follow down those paths with increased ease as well.

Perhaps a larger soul actually allows for both increased experiences of good emotions and larger amounts of empathy and compassion, as well as quicker responses of the negative.  I pray that God continues to shape me in the positive direction – in my capacity to feel the joy and pain in my own heart and in the lives of those I love and those I live and work among.

Maybe I am awake right now at 3:38 am in the morning writing this because, like a child whose limbs can physically ache when are experiencing “growing pains,” my soul too aches to some degree as it expands.

Am I stained glass to my world?

I am reading through a book of compiled writings by Philip Yancey.  In an excerpt I read last evening Yancey described how he is reaching a point in life where he realizes that he really doesn’t have to compete or prove himself to anybody anymore, but rather he is realizing that his job is simply to be “stained glass” and allow God’s light to shine through him so that others will recognize God as that source of light and life.

I am not sure I can presume to be living with this same awareness with any consistency (stained glass vs. it’s all about me and my performance), but as I read these musings I do know that I was immediately drawn to the metaphor and want to live with this freedom from having to perform, impress, compete, and win at all costs.

With very little effort, I also realize how many of the people I engage daily who are so stuck in the performance roles they see as their only options in life.  I feel so sorry for these folks and the ways they each are so wound up and so stuck on self-imposed treadmills of performance measures that they feel they must live up to and are so frustrated when they cannot.

Rather than judge them for this, I feel empathy and sadness as I watch their struggles against life.  I do not want to live in this mode of being on that treadmill that is always increasing in speed and in the pitch of its upward angle. 

Instead, I want to lose this way of life for God’s sake and simply acknowledge that I want to be stained glass that God can shine His light and life through, so that others will see God’s hand at work in my life.

A Watershed Event

January 5, 2010
 

Living in Colorado, we sometimes venture onto the top of the Continental Divide and see signs there indicating how the rivers flow down each side either toward the Pacific or Atlantic oceans. This is the ultimate watershed on the North American continent.

In the same way, events can form watershed moments in our lives.  Everything prior to that event seemed to flow in one direction, but afterward, life is now flowing in completely the opposite direction, or so it seems.

Thus, my life now seems to be divided between time before Daniel died and time since he died. At some point almost everyday, I become aware, as if for the first time it often seems, that something has profoundly changed in my life, a seismic shift has taken place, and the waters are flowing in the opposite direction.  I often still feel surprised and somewhat bewildered at that moment – it feels like I have just awakened and am only now realizing that my life's river is no longer flowing in one direction, but has stopped and somehow shifted itself into a flow completely opposite of what I think is normal.

In these moments, I feel the opposite of normal or at ease – indeed this shift feels very abnormal or unnatural to me and I feel a sense of dis-ease at these times.

Perhaps this is very normal when someone close to you dies.  All the same, it is weird, distracting, and a disconcerting feeling, especially as it is repeated so often.  Maybe I should be getting more "used to it" by now – I don't know.  In many ways, I don't want to.  

I want this watershed to remain what it is – life altering.  The question is – where does this stream take me now that is flowing in the opposite direction?  We will see.

Choosing to believe: Great is Thy Faithfulness

December 29, 2009

Some days I wake up singing a song in my head and today it is “Great is Thy Faithfulness”:

Great is thy faithfulness, oh God my father;

There is no shadow of turning with thee;

Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not;

As thou hast been, thou forever wilt be;

Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness,

Morning by morning new mercies I see;

All I have needed thy hand hath provided,

Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Even in my roller coaster emotions of life, I still see God’s hand at work, providing for me and my family in remarkable and simple ways.  Of course I can choose to believe that this is all a result of my intelligence, great planning, and hard work, but I know better.

Instead I choose to believe that it is God’s faithfulness and grace at work in our lives and in the world around us.

A missing child and glad tidings of great joy

December 26, 2009 – 4:00 am

Another Christmas with a child missing and “glad tidings of great joy”

We made it through our first more traditional Christmas celebration at home this year since Daniel died.

In some ways, it was a very pleasant Christmas week with family activities, a beautiful church service, and a few gatherings with close friends.  I think we all enjoyed most of this time together and were able to participate in these experiences with a sense of joy and gratitude.

Carol and I fully understand how much Ben and Hannah need to have this “normalcy” in their lives and how much we also need to share in these experiences with them in meaningful and honest ways as well.  Toward that end, I feel like we had some success in our celebrations together.

As is often the case, all this is true and yet there is also a sub-plot to our current story in terms of how we each must wrestle with our hearts as we go through these experiences without Daniel in our midst.  There have been many moments this week when Carol and I have been very aware of missing Daniel – watching our kids or listening to some conversation, seeing in our mind’s eye how Daniel would have been in the middle of these engagements, and deeply missing him in those moments. 

At these times we become acutely aware of the still fresh pain in our hearts – the yearning we feel for Daniel to still be here among us.  We yearn to be able to see this boy who was seemingly so naturally full of joy and was so able to share that joy with his siblings, family, and friends – to simply see him continue living joyfully and get to experience these relationships and moments together.

Carol (more so than me lately) has had some “grief bursts” throughout these days – Alan Wolfelt’s apt description of the emotions that come when these longings come up into our hearts and consciences – sudden bursts of tears coming from “nowhere”, though the source is all too clear in our minds.

So we trudge on, not knowing exactly what to do with all of these paradoxical feelings of joy amid sorrow, darkness shadowing the light, and grief alongside grace.  These complex mixtures of dual realities seem to define our journey now and perhaps forever will.  Loving Daniel for 18+ years during his life on earth cannot simply end just because he died – there is no switch in us to turn off that love, so we continue to love him and thus to miss him deeply.

At the same time, Christmas reminds us and indeed is an annual celebration of our Christian hope – that Jesus was born in a lowly manger 2000 years ago so that he might die on a cross, be resurrected and in this great mystery, pave the way of salvation and eternal life for all who believe. 

Though many choose to not believe this mystery, as a grieving father, my faith this Christmas somehow provides a peace that Daniel lives on somewhere in a place we call heaven and I will get to see him again someday and catch up on some of what we have now missed in our relationship with him on earth. 

Perhaps all I can do is to simply accept this realization as a gift – an example of “glad tidings of great joy” that the angels announced to some bewildered shepherds tending their flocks on a hillside on that first Christmas morning.

Deep loss birthes deep love

December 19, 2009

“Deep loss births deep love”

We hosted our fifth annual Fab Family Christmas party last night.  The Fab Families include the original Fab Five group of Daniel’s close high school male friends from Young Life who met in a weekly disciple group, several additional girls (Fabettes) and young adult YL leaders who were part of Daniel’s journey, along with their family members.

Midway through the evening, the Fab kids paused to give us a charming and very special gift – a framed photo Mal took related to Daniel with personal messages written on the mat about Daniel.  As they presented the gift, the Fab and Fabettes, and a parent or two, took turns sharing thoughts about how Daniel’s life and death continue to resonate and impact them.  In turn, each described how different memories of Daniel continue to occupy their minds and hearts, how they sense that God continues to teach them things as they reflect on the passion and faith that guided Daniel, and how losing Daniel is changing how they view life in many different ways.

Hearing these stories about the ways our son’s life continues to impact his closest friends was both heart-warming and heart-breaking.  Carol and I shed tears but were deeply blessed by the words spoken, as were Hannah and Ben who sat in the middle of this amazing group of 25 young adults and parents and soaked in their love. 

Matty’s father, Jim, summarized it beautifully at the end of the evening when he shared with me, “deep loss births deep love.”

We are deeply loved by this amazing band of friends.  The deep loss that we have each experienced in different ways as a result of Daniel dying has somehow birthed a deeper love among us as we continue to connect and work out what our relationships mean in our lives.

It was an amazing evening – exhausting, exhilarating, and profoundly touching all at the same time. 

We feel loss deeply, yet we feel loved deeply as well.  Somehow this love is imbued with a supernatural essence and quality – indeed, it is “God present” among us, working through this group of dear people to love and encourage our family and each other with amazing grace and hope. 

I don’t know how you deal with this type of loss without this type of love, grace, and hope.  Thanks be to God for these gifts to our family and friends!