Tomorrow is Christmas Day. Promises of desired goodies will be piled high under the tree. The aroma of turkey, ham, and the fixin's will fill the house. Laughter and squeals of joy will ring through the rooms. It's going to be a wonderful day...tomorrow.
Right now, the floors need swept and mopped. The bathroom counter needs wiped down, and the mirror needs the smudges removed. Papers and magazines need to find homes, either in baskets or the recycle bin. Ingredients sit on the table waiting to be made into something mouthwatering. And, as usual, a few gifts remain in need of wrapping. Yes, I still have a to do list...right now.
But tomorrow... Tomorrow the waiting is over. Dreams come to life. Fulfillment pours from boxes, and rejoicing is abundant.
Tomorrow...dishes will fill the sink...and sit stacked on the counter. The refrigerator will have to be rearranged to hold the leftovers we don't want to spoil. Ripped wrapping paper and boxes will lie like carnage in heaps around the room. Recycle bins will overflow.
But right now those things don't matter. They are easily hidden in the shadow of the promised joy seen in the eyes of those I love and in the boxes under the tree. Right now I am lost in the promises of tomorrow, escaping the dreary demands of today.
And in the dreaming of tomorrow, it is easy to miss the blessings of Right Now.
Right now my daughter is laughing while she helps her dad wrap presents. My son is playing with his new Lego set he received in the mail today. The sky is dropping fat snow flakes.
Right now Anna is twelve and loves to cook with me. Robert is nine and wants all of us to play. Games are waiting to be played. Pieces of wood are ready to try a new form of art. Cocoa is ready to be enjoyed, and we have plans to watch a movie curled up together.
Right now I am sitting in my warm home, with my warm socks, and my hot coffee. Light streams through the window, and when I look out, I see the sky filled with clouds pregnant with enough snow to cover the ground. This is no small thing in Texas.
Right now the world is a wondrous place filled with God's blessings. I am overwhelmed with His goodness and gifts. My imperfect life with all its demands and needs abounds with fulfilled promises and evidence of His love. In this moment, I have all I need, and that is enough, and I choose to enjoy it...Right Now.
Copyright 2009 Jerri Phillips
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Reason
Good morning, LORD.
Right now, it is quiet in the house. The light is peaking over the neighbor's fence into the backyard, and the lights are glowing softly on the tree. Before long, the family will be up moving. Breakfast smells will seep from the kitchen, and the busy day of preparing for guests and gifts will begin. Right now, though, there are only the two of us.
In the quiet, I stop to ponder. It is so easy to let the "Reason" get avalanched under the "season". I've done a lot of "seasoning" this year, and I don't want the real stuff, the good stuff, the life-altering stuff to get buried or missed. So I'm getting still, pondering what is in my heart, pondering the Gift and the Giver, knowing to celebrate the Gift is not to merely see a babe in a manger or a Messiah on a cross, but to see, know, and embrace the daily presence of a GOD of love whose passion refuses to keep Him aloof or on a throne but compels Him to wildly pursue those He loves.
This is what I ponder now. The gift of pursuit. The gift of being found.
Growing up, I knew about the babe in the manger. Later, I understood the power of the Messiah on the cross. With tender healing, soft touch, and loving words, you showed me the heart of a Father. A few years ago you begin to reveal to me the passion of a Lover. Each new facet you revealed left me overwhelmed with you, overcome by the reality of a God madly in love with mere humans. Beyond my wildest dreams was a God who cared more about the details of my life than I did, who was far more realistic about my imperfections than I am but saw far more potential than I ever dreamed, and believed I could do the impossible because He wanted to do it through me. This God pursued me.
Even now such Truth takes my breath away. Such amazing beautiful gifts.
As always, you are the Giver. As always, you are the Gift.
This year you gave again. You gave me a gift I wasn't sure existed. I wasn't sure it could exist between an imperfect human and a perfect God. You stepped down from your throne and sat on my couch, and you became my Friend.
You have talked to me intimately. You have shared your heart in ways I never dreamed you would. We have sat together and watched the sun rise while you painted the sky for me to enjoy. You shared lovely morning concerts as we sat on my deck and listened to the birds serenade you. You opened your heart to me as we talked about people you love, how you want to bless them, healing you want to do, and then you asked I would use my authority you've given me to declare into my realm, to bring heaven to earth.
My realm. The place you opened your arms to and said, "I need you to govern here and do my bidding. I need you to be me where those whose spiritual eyes aren't opened see me in the form of you."
So many times you've placed pieces of heaven into my hands and said, "I need you to deliver this into your realm."
In an ICU room while monitors beeped and life was freed from his clay vessel, you sat with us. You allowed me to see you so clearly there. It was a side of you I had never seen. A side I hope I never forget. So patient. So understanding. So focused on the one you were taking home.
When my heart hurt more than I ever imagined it could without exploding in my chest, you were right with me. When I screamed, you never flinched. When I cried, you caught every tear in your hand. Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you sat quietly. Always you were there.
As I knelt on my knees searching for seedlings breaking through the ground, you were on your knees, peering at the ground with me, and at the hint of life, you got excited, too. And I loved how you wondered at the blossoms on the plants you created. Maybe "wondered" isn't the right word, but "enjoy" is really too small of a word. It was a pleasure that settled down deep inside you. I had never seen pleasure like that. Maybe next year, you can give me that gift, too?
And the morning glories! They exploded their praise to you, and you walked by, gently brushing your hand over them, as if to tell them they had done well, that they had given you a beautiful gift, and that you were pleased.
Oh, and do you remember the one lone sunflower that couldn't take its eyes off you but followed you from morning till dark? I loved that flower. I know. You did, too.
Even when I am "ugly" and struggling with attitudes or temptations, you are right there. "Talk to me. Why is this a temptation for you? What do you feel you are missing? Where do you feel I've failed you or didn't keep my promise? I want to lay this out in the open because I love you to much to let you think I would ever lie to you or not be all I promised to be. I want you to know I am wholly your Provider and your King. I want you to realize I'm not afraid of imperfections. I will not abandon you. When the enemy comes at you, I'm right with you, and we'll tear apart his strategy, understand why has worked in the past, and fix the broken area that allowed his access by filling it with Truth. I'm not 'skeered, Jerri. I'm in. For everything. Everyday. I'm your Friend. Talk to me."
These are the things I ponder. These are the things that humble me and bring tears to my eyes.
My heart is overwhelmed with you.
I am overwhelmed by how completely tangible you are, how clearly I see you now, and how loud your quiet whisper is.
I'm still trying to grasp how completely fascinated you are with me. You love taking things that most people dismiss as minutea, and you make it wondrous simply because you care about it. You get to excited when I find a gift you've given me. You love to surprise me. You get giddy with excitement when we share a joke or I find one of your "just between us" gifts. And I am amazed at how childlike is the God of the universe.
You fascinate me.
In Song of Songs, it says, "You have stolen my heart, oh beautiful one. You have stolen my heart." Words you spoke to me a month ago, wrap around me, opening my eyes to see you more clearly, to see me through your eyes.
You have utterly swept me off my feet. You have stolen my heart, oh beautiful one. You have stolen my heart.
You are more than an almighty GOD or a Messiah raised to glory. You are my Friend that I can't wait to see every day. The one I can't wait to share my life with, the one whose heart I want to know intimately. You are the one who takes me beyond my dreams into a love that consumes you...or perhaps you are the love that consumes me.
Right now, the house is coming alive. Children are now moving around. Murmurings of empty stomachs are coming my way. Feet are heard on the hard wood floors, and anticipation for the season's climax fills the air.
In twenty-four hours the empty area under the tree will be filled with brightly covered packages spilling into the room around it. In thirty-six hours, the mayhem of ripped paper, empty boxes, and stuffed bellies will be over. Travelling family will have gone home. The first wave of dishes will be drying in the dishwasher. The recycle bins will be overflowing, and hopefully, the children will still love their toys then.
And when the house has gone silent, you and I will sit, lights glowing softly from a tree soon to go back in the attic. Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't, but we will be together...friends and more...both of us the gifts...both of us the givers...our hearts wide open...fascinated and consumed...such is the wonder of the Reason...every single day.
Copyright 2009 Jerri Phillips
Right now, it is quiet in the house. The light is peaking over the neighbor's fence into the backyard, and the lights are glowing softly on the tree. Before long, the family will be up moving. Breakfast smells will seep from the kitchen, and the busy day of preparing for guests and gifts will begin. Right now, though, there are only the two of us.
In the quiet, I stop to ponder. It is so easy to let the "Reason" get avalanched under the "season". I've done a lot of "seasoning" this year, and I don't want the real stuff, the good stuff, the life-altering stuff to get buried or missed. So I'm getting still, pondering what is in my heart, pondering the Gift and the Giver, knowing to celebrate the Gift is not to merely see a babe in a manger or a Messiah on a cross, but to see, know, and embrace the daily presence of a GOD of love whose passion refuses to keep Him aloof or on a throne but compels Him to wildly pursue those He loves.
This is what I ponder now. The gift of pursuit. The gift of being found.
Growing up, I knew about the babe in the manger. Later, I understood the power of the Messiah on the cross. With tender healing, soft touch, and loving words, you showed me the heart of a Father. A few years ago you begin to reveal to me the passion of a Lover. Each new facet you revealed left me overwhelmed with you, overcome by the reality of a God madly in love with mere humans. Beyond my wildest dreams was a God who cared more about the details of my life than I did, who was far more realistic about my imperfections than I am but saw far more potential than I ever dreamed, and believed I could do the impossible because He wanted to do it through me. This God pursued me.
Even now such Truth takes my breath away. Such amazing beautiful gifts.
As always, you are the Giver. As always, you are the Gift.
This year you gave again. You gave me a gift I wasn't sure existed. I wasn't sure it could exist between an imperfect human and a perfect God. You stepped down from your throne and sat on my couch, and you became my Friend.
You have talked to me intimately. You have shared your heart in ways I never dreamed you would. We have sat together and watched the sun rise while you painted the sky for me to enjoy. You shared lovely morning concerts as we sat on my deck and listened to the birds serenade you. You opened your heart to me as we talked about people you love, how you want to bless them, healing you want to do, and then you asked I would use my authority you've given me to declare into my realm, to bring heaven to earth.
My realm. The place you opened your arms to and said, "I need you to govern here and do my bidding. I need you to be me where those whose spiritual eyes aren't opened see me in the form of you."
So many times you've placed pieces of heaven into my hands and said, "I need you to deliver this into your realm."
In an ICU room while monitors beeped and life was freed from his clay vessel, you sat with us. You allowed me to see you so clearly there. It was a side of you I had never seen. A side I hope I never forget. So patient. So understanding. So focused on the one you were taking home.
When my heart hurt more than I ever imagined it could without exploding in my chest, you were right with me. When I screamed, you never flinched. When I cried, you caught every tear in your hand. Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you sat quietly. Always you were there.
As I knelt on my knees searching for seedlings breaking through the ground, you were on your knees, peering at the ground with me, and at the hint of life, you got excited, too. And I loved how you wondered at the blossoms on the plants you created. Maybe "wondered" isn't the right word, but "enjoy" is really too small of a word. It was a pleasure that settled down deep inside you. I had never seen pleasure like that. Maybe next year, you can give me that gift, too?
And the morning glories! They exploded their praise to you, and you walked by, gently brushing your hand over them, as if to tell them they had done well, that they had given you a beautiful gift, and that you were pleased.
Oh, and do you remember the one lone sunflower that couldn't take its eyes off you but followed you from morning till dark? I loved that flower. I know. You did, too.
Even when I am "ugly" and struggling with attitudes or temptations, you are right there. "Talk to me. Why is this a temptation for you? What do you feel you are missing? Where do you feel I've failed you or didn't keep my promise? I want to lay this out in the open because I love you to much to let you think I would ever lie to you or not be all I promised to be. I want you to know I am wholly your Provider and your King. I want you to realize I'm not afraid of imperfections. I will not abandon you. When the enemy comes at you, I'm right with you, and we'll tear apart his strategy, understand why has worked in the past, and fix the broken area that allowed his access by filling it with Truth. I'm not 'skeered, Jerri. I'm in. For everything. Everyday. I'm your Friend. Talk to me."
These are the things I ponder. These are the things that humble me and bring tears to my eyes.
My heart is overwhelmed with you.
I am overwhelmed by how completely tangible you are, how clearly I see you now, and how loud your quiet whisper is.
I'm still trying to grasp how completely fascinated you are with me. You love taking things that most people dismiss as minutea, and you make it wondrous simply because you care about it. You get to excited when I find a gift you've given me. You love to surprise me. You get giddy with excitement when we share a joke or I find one of your "just between us" gifts. And I am amazed at how childlike is the God of the universe.
You fascinate me.
In Song of Songs, it says, "You have stolen my heart, oh beautiful one. You have stolen my heart." Words you spoke to me a month ago, wrap around me, opening my eyes to see you more clearly, to see me through your eyes.
You have utterly swept me off my feet. You have stolen my heart, oh beautiful one. You have stolen my heart.
You are more than an almighty GOD or a Messiah raised to glory. You are my Friend that I can't wait to see every day. The one I can't wait to share my life with, the one whose heart I want to know intimately. You are the one who takes me beyond my dreams into a love that consumes you...or perhaps you are the love that consumes me.
Right now, the house is coming alive. Children are now moving around. Murmurings of empty stomachs are coming my way. Feet are heard on the hard wood floors, and anticipation for the season's climax fills the air.
In twenty-four hours the empty area under the tree will be filled with brightly covered packages spilling into the room around it. In thirty-six hours, the mayhem of ripped paper, empty boxes, and stuffed bellies will be over. Travelling family will have gone home. The first wave of dishes will be drying in the dishwasher. The recycle bins will be overflowing, and hopefully, the children will still love their toys then.
And when the house has gone silent, you and I will sit, lights glowing softly from a tree soon to go back in the attic. Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't, but we will be together...friends and more...both of us the gifts...both of us the givers...our hearts wide open...fascinated and consumed...such is the wonder of the Reason...every single day.
Copyright 2009 Jerri Phillips
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Lovely Gifts
This morning I walked through my home in the early morning light and found myself wrapped in the joy of loving my life.
The fact is, I love my life.
I love the race car track spread out in the sunroom floor.
I love Anna's "I'm reading that" books liking here and there. Four in all right now.
I love the sleeping bags rolled up nicely and sitting misplaced in my bedroom floor, knowing on any given night, for reasons I may never know, my youngest will wander in, unroll one, and find peaceful rest sleeping on it on my side of the bed.
I love Robert's stained and wrinkled memory verse paper lying crinkled on the table beside the recliner where we learn the scriptures together.
I love pens, pencils, and crayons waiting for their next creative adventure. I wonder if they ever considered waiting in the tubs with the rest of the pens, pencils, and crayons. But then, what is the fun in being like everyone else, right?
I love Robert's waking up really early to see Rob off to work and then falling asleep in my lap in the recliner, where I leave him while I type in a few words of thought or sit a bit at Jesus' feet. Sometimes I just stay in the reclner, peaceful nine-year old spread across me, in wonder of how much his act of love reveals God's love for me.
I love the sound of our Millie-Mix snoring on the couch close to us. An abandoned dog tagged for destruction, rescued, loved, restored. In so many ways, I can identify.
I love the unmade bed where Rob and I spent a few moments this morning whispering in the dark, warm and content--and then the alarm went off....again.
I love the smile of remembering...
I love Bibles stacked in different parts of the house. Different versions. Different study notes. All used at different times.
I love the huge Christmas tree standing in the living room with its decades of ornaments...each one a piece of our history, a symbol of what has made our present...and the stories...the smiles...the sneaky tears that come with memories of those rejoicing in the wonder of Christmas every day...at Home.
I love the sun spilling through the windows, the creative remodel design bringing sunlight where darkness used to be.
I love coats waiting to keep us warm, mittens to protect precious hands, and scarves...a gift from Gran.
This morning I even love the two piles of laundry sitting in the living room waiting to be folded...and now ironed.
I love the Kleenex boxes, not put in away in tidy cubbies, but sitting out ready to render aid during this season of sniffly noses and too common sneezes.
Funny how things on a driven day--the day when I'm drowning in my to do list or the day when I'm concerned not so much about the people who live in this house but about what those outside think of it--funny how on those days, a book on a table instead of a shelf, a toy in the floor and not in a bedroom, or a child who is more concerned with how to love than how things look can be such nerve fraying burdens. However, there are times when wisdom whispers louder than the cacophony of life's uninterested demands, and I stop and ask, "Lord, what do you love?" When I listen closely, I find He loves the same things I do.
In that moment, I love my life all over again.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009
The fact is, I love my life.
I love the race car track spread out in the sunroom floor.
I love Anna's "I'm reading that" books liking here and there. Four in all right now.
I love the sleeping bags rolled up nicely and sitting misplaced in my bedroom floor, knowing on any given night, for reasons I may never know, my youngest will wander in, unroll one, and find peaceful rest sleeping on it on my side of the bed.
I love Robert's stained and wrinkled memory verse paper lying crinkled on the table beside the recliner where we learn the scriptures together.
I love pens, pencils, and crayons waiting for their next creative adventure. I wonder if they ever considered waiting in the tubs with the rest of the pens, pencils, and crayons. But then, what is the fun in being like everyone else, right?
I love Robert's waking up really early to see Rob off to work and then falling asleep in my lap in the recliner, where I leave him while I type in a few words of thought or sit a bit at Jesus' feet. Sometimes I just stay in the reclner, peaceful nine-year old spread across me, in wonder of how much his act of love reveals God's love for me.
I love the sound of our Millie-Mix snoring on the couch close to us. An abandoned dog tagged for destruction, rescued, loved, restored. In so many ways, I can identify.
I love the unmade bed where Rob and I spent a few moments this morning whispering in the dark, warm and content--and then the alarm went off....again.
I love the smile of remembering...
I love Bibles stacked in different parts of the house. Different versions. Different study notes. All used at different times.
I love the huge Christmas tree standing in the living room with its decades of ornaments...each one a piece of our history, a symbol of what has made our present...and the stories...the smiles...the sneaky tears that come with memories of those rejoicing in the wonder of Christmas every day...at Home.
I love the sun spilling through the windows, the creative remodel design bringing sunlight where darkness used to be.
I love coats waiting to keep us warm, mittens to protect precious hands, and scarves...a gift from Gran.
This morning I even love the two piles of laundry sitting in the living room waiting to be folded...and now ironed.
I love the Kleenex boxes, not put in away in tidy cubbies, but sitting out ready to render aid during this season of sniffly noses and too common sneezes.
Funny how things on a driven day--the day when I'm drowning in my to do list or the day when I'm concerned not so much about the people who live in this house but about what those outside think of it--funny how on those days, a book on a table instead of a shelf, a toy in the floor and not in a bedroom, or a child who is more concerned with how to love than how things look can be such nerve fraying burdens. However, there are times when wisdom whispers louder than the cacophony of life's uninterested demands, and I stop and ask, "Lord, what do you love?" When I listen closely, I find He loves the same things I do.
In that moment, I love my life all over again.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Grief
I started this nearly a month ago. However, due to the many activities and illnesses--not to mention a loss of words--it has not been finished. Tonight as I read over it again, precious people I love who are grieving a variety of losses due to death are on my mind. With a desire to help, I offer this:
In the pre-dawn hours of Wednesday morning, our family was called in to say goodbye as my uncle slipped from this world of broken bodies into the eternal one with perfected souls. Family and friends gathered to grieve and celebrate the life and love we experienced while we were blessed with his presence. Surrounded by people who loved him, he left us to be with Jesus.
Who could blame him?
Mortal bodies are broken things. They break down, and we patch them up. They are not meant to last forever, and eventually, they are beyond all of our abilities to mend. Sometimes the effort of living with the brokenness is tolerable, and sometimes...well, at some point, it is easier to simply let it go.
It was time to let it go. Time for him to let go of fighting to hold onto this temporary place, and for us to let go of him.
I'm not going to tell you the world is a darker place. It isn't. In fact, it is still a world filled with possibility. While the Lord led my uncle home, He introduced two new bundles of promise to our mortal reality. Two more answers to prayer. Two more answers to the world's problems. Two more lights to shine in the darkness. It's not a darker place, but for several of us, it is a sadder one.
I don't know when the sadness will pass. My dad has been gone over six years, and sometimes I'm still sad. Sometimes tears still find their way down my cheeks. It is because of this that I lift up my cousins to the Lord. Their grief is so deep today. Their hearts so raw. But then, why wouldn't they be? They each left a chunk of their hearts in a coffin at a cemetery today. Open heart surgery of the most unwelcome kind.
I try to think of what to tell them. Having walked this road before them, what road map can I offer? I look in all the nooks and crannies of my psyche...of my still falling tears...and I find so little. I pick up the parts I keep tripping over and hold them out hoping they offer some form of wisdom.
Grieve deeply. It's okay. It is not weakness to grieve. It is not faithless or hopeless or failure. It is what comes when our arms are forced to release what our hearts hold dear.
Laugh boisterously. Don't just laugh. Laugh with your whole body, your whole mind, your whole heart. It is okay to be joyful again, and to remember and be joyful gives great honor to the one you love.
In the pre-dawn hours of Wednesday morning, our family was called in to say goodbye as my uncle slipped from this world of broken bodies into the eternal one with perfected souls. Family and friends gathered to grieve and celebrate the life and love we experienced while we were blessed with his presence. Surrounded by people who loved him, he left us to be with Jesus.
Who could blame him?
Mortal bodies are broken things. They break down, and we patch them up. They are not meant to last forever, and eventually, they are beyond all of our abilities to mend. Sometimes the effort of living with the brokenness is tolerable, and sometimes...well, at some point, it is easier to simply let it go.
It was time to let it go. Time for him to let go of fighting to hold onto this temporary place, and for us to let go of him.
I'm not going to tell you the world is a darker place. It isn't. In fact, it is still a world filled with possibility. While the Lord led my uncle home, He introduced two new bundles of promise to our mortal reality. Two more answers to prayer. Two more answers to the world's problems. Two more lights to shine in the darkness. It's not a darker place, but for several of us, it is a sadder one.
I don't know when the sadness will pass. My dad has been gone over six years, and sometimes I'm still sad. Sometimes tears still find their way down my cheeks. It is because of this that I lift up my cousins to the Lord. Their grief is so deep today. Their hearts so raw. But then, why wouldn't they be? They each left a chunk of their hearts in a coffin at a cemetery today. Open heart surgery of the most unwelcome kind.
I try to think of what to tell them. Having walked this road before them, what road map can I offer? I look in all the nooks and crannies of my psyche...of my still falling tears...and I find so little. I pick up the parts I keep tripping over and hold them out hoping they offer some form of wisdom.
Grieve deeply. It's okay. It is not weakness to grieve. It is not faithless or hopeless or failure. It is what comes when our arms are forced to release what our hearts hold dear.
Laugh boisterously. Don't just laugh. Laugh with your whole body, your whole mind, your whole heart. It is okay to be joyful again, and to remember and be joyful gives great honor to the one you love.
Celebrate what they were...and what they weren't. When our friend David passed on, we were all thirty-three years old with small children. Instead of grieving his death, I chose to celebrate his life. He taught science, so my children and I either visited the science museum or did experiments at home. He loved music, so we sang loudly. His favorite thing was his family. We had a big family night with special food, a special movie, or a special game. We celebrated David.
When my dad passed on, my heart was shattered by the empty places left by the dad he wasn't. For a long time, I was angry, and I asked God, "How are you going to redeem this? How are you going to heal this? How are you going to restore this?" He redeemed it by putting in my heart the idea to be the parent I wanted my dad to be. I sat down and made a list of things I wished my dad had done, and I did them with my children. Sometimes I made check lists to be sure I covered everything. Did I read to them? Did I play with them? Did we snuggle? Did I pray over them? Did I speak something positive into them? This was my daily check list, and on my dad's birthday, I did special things that fell into the realm of things he never had time to do.
My questions about healing and restoration brings me to the next thing--be willing to let God fill the gaps. I never expected God to heal and restore me by giving me another dad, but He did. My dad had been gone a little over two years when my step-dad proposed to my mom. I liked my step-dad a lot, and it never bothered me that they were going to get married. I thought it was great for my mom. I had no idea what a powerful healing presence he would be for my mom, myself, and my brother. It leaves me in awe. The impact is that profound.
So don't be afraid to let God heal you. Wylie has never tried to take my dad's place. He's just himself, and I am proud to introduce him as my dad because he is. I've been blessed with two great dads, and I am thankful for them both. It's okay to let God do something new. It does not diminish the love for the person lost. It simply embraces the promise of something new.
Let God do a new thing. In Isaiah 43, the Lord says He is doing a new thing. He is making streams in the wastelands and water in the desert. Have the courage to do a new thing, to let God speak life and hope into your wasteland and desert. So often we prolong the grief or deepen it by looking back. For me, it was Mondays. My dad passed on a Monday, and every Monday sent me into a tizzy. One day I told our friend Chris that Dad had been gone nine weeks, and Chris asked, "And why are we counting this?" I had no idea. It brought no honor to my dad. It only swallowed my day in a sense of loss. Why do that? So I quit. I allowed God to make a new Monday routine, and I moved on.
I think for people who have been care givers it can be intensely hard to find a new normal. It is hard to go from being a necessity to not being needed. Except, you aren't "not needed." You are still here because you are still a solution and someone still needs you. Find a new way to be useful. I'll give you a little tip: Shopping may be a good escape, but it isn't feeding your need to be useful, so you won't feel any better $20,000 of debt later than you do right now. However, dropping off a meal, reading to children, just visiting someone that appreciates you is good therapy.
Of course, the reality is no matter how much you "bounce back" there are going to be hard days. Roll with them. There will be things that blindside you. Don't fight it but don't wallow in it. The first Christmas I was married, my dad wanted a red lumberjack shirt. I looked everywhere but didn't find one. The first Christmas he was gone, I was shopping in a store, had stuff in my cart, looked up, and in the middle of the aisle was a whole round rack of red lumberjack shirts. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. A wave of emotion slammed me. I grabbed my purse and headed for the car--cart still sitting with stuff in it in the middle of the aisle. I jerked the door of my van closed just in time to fall apart. I held onto the steering wheel and sobbed until all the sobs were done. I went home and took a nap. Later, I went back to that store, bought what I needed, walked by the red lumberjack shirts, and didn't feel any reaction at all. It really was okay.
I don't think there is one way to grieve. In my journal, I wrote, "While loss is personal, it is universal. Grief is as generic as aspirin and as individual as the person taking it." While no one can tell us the specifics of the right way to grieve, I think there are general things we can do along the way to keep from hindering the process. For what it is worth, these are a few of the things I found worked for me. Maybe they'll bless someone else, too.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Gratitude 27--Everyday Extraordinary
Moments when I whisper, "Thank you, Lord," that bring a smile to my face and joy to my heart...moments when appreciate is real and deep...moments when I am intoxicated with joy or relief. Slipping past at the speed of life...appearing suddenly...disappearing subtly...in my own silence...
Lord, today, I choose to hold on to the extraordinary in the everyday...to You showing wondrously showing Yourself in the mundane...
And I grasp...
676. Veins and arteries with blood and ink coursing through the legs of my dad
677. A surprised doctor trying to explain the difference between a sonogram spotted with blockage and a scope that finds nothing
678. A little boy, wondrous, laughing, asking to be tickled...again
679. 30 purple scarves for 30 women whose lives are wrapped up in Whose they are to be, not what they are to do
680. Conversations I never want to forget
Me to Son: You are acting like a dorkoid.
Son laughing: Mom, that is what boys are supposed to do.
Me feigning dismay: Oh! Here I thought I had you so you could do dishes and the laundry, but really, your whole purpose is to be a dorkoid?
Son with eyes twinkling, laughter about to explode: Uh, yeah. Sorry for the confusion.
681. Quiet in the house
6582. A day for hubby to resettle and relax
683. Bare feet on a wooden floor, so much for quiet mice. :-)
684. Good books to get to know
685. Warm blankets
686. Chilly nights
687. Cups of warm coziness
688. Hoody jackets
689. A wonderful brother, celebrating the masterpiece he is
690. An amazing homeschool co-op
691. Encouraging emails that settle deep in my heart
692. A husband who can drive our family safely to appointments when I am too dizzy to drive
693. Negative flu tests
694. Four young ladies who make photography so much fun
695. Two drama students who do not let missing cast members stop the show
696. Sister who sleeps in Little Brother's room when he needs company
697. Crushed ice
698. Early bedtimes
699. Fans for white noise
700. People with compassionate hearts who pray for strangers in need
701. High school students that add a punctuation of joy to my Fridays
702. Gifts that remind me of friends far away.
703. Rechargable batteries
Lord, today, I choose to hold on to the extraordinary in the everyday...to You showing wondrously showing Yourself in the mundane...
And I grasp...
676. Veins and arteries with blood and ink coursing through the legs of my dad
677. A surprised doctor trying to explain the difference between a sonogram spotted with blockage and a scope that finds nothing
678. A little boy, wondrous, laughing, asking to be tickled...again
679. 30 purple scarves for 30 women whose lives are wrapped up in Whose they are to be, not what they are to do
680. Conversations I never want to forget
Me to Son: You are acting like a dorkoid.
Son laughing: Mom, that is what boys are supposed to do.
Me feigning dismay: Oh! Here I thought I had you so you could do dishes and the laundry, but really, your whole purpose is to be a dorkoid?
Son with eyes twinkling, laughter about to explode: Uh, yeah. Sorry for the confusion.
681. Quiet in the house
6582. A day for hubby to resettle and relax
683. Bare feet on a wooden floor, so much for quiet mice. :-)
684. Good books to get to know
685. Warm blankets
686. Chilly nights
687. Cups of warm coziness
688. Hoody jackets
689. A wonderful brother, celebrating the masterpiece he is
690. An amazing homeschool co-op
691. Encouraging emails that settle deep in my heart
692. A husband who can drive our family safely to appointments when I am too dizzy to drive
693. Negative flu tests
694. Four young ladies who make photography so much fun
695. Two drama students who do not let missing cast members stop the show
696. Sister who sleeps in Little Brother's room when he needs company
697. Crushed ice
698. Early bedtimes
699. Fans for white noise
700. People with compassionate hearts who pray for strangers in need
701. High school students that add a punctuation of joy to my Fridays
702. Gifts that remind me of friends far away.
703. Rechargable batteries
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Even on Days Like Today
God is good. And I know it. Even on days like today.
Today is a hard day. Actually, I've had a serious of tiring days, which is why I have been gone so long.
About five weeks ago I had to go into the doctor because I had symptoms of the flu. Thankfully, it was a sinus infection. The head got better just in time for me to have a reaction to the antibiotic. Got past that in time for my youngest to get sick, and when he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well. Got us mostly well, and my uncle passed on. I don't know if it was really unexpected, but despite what anyone says, there really is no way to prepare yourself for it. The next weekend was the fabulous Keeper of the Flame Proverbs 31 conference. I missed Friday because my husband was so ill. That was two weeks ago. My husband went to the doctor today. Whatever he had is now an infection. And of course in the midst of this are the everyday things of laundry, groceries, homeschool, and other commitments.
All of that flowed right into today.
Today started rough.
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. with a horrendous earache. Finally got the pressure relieved and lay down to doze about 7:00. Woke up to find out my mom had called. Her brother was in emergency surgery following a heart attack last night. The next 24 hours are critical.
My son has not had the best day. Barometric pressure changes knock him for a loop, and the rest of us are along for the ride.
Realized someone I love is not adjusting to some major life changes very well. That was hard to see.
And my family is packing for an impromptu, but very necessary, trip to my in-laws over the weekend. Due to previous commitments, I won't be going, but I might as well be. I am still getting everyone ready to go, and of course, there are all the last minute things like realizing our two suitcases are broken and the children's small suit cases are...small. Errands to run. Laundry to wash, dry, and fold. Last minute shopping to do. And then, I found out my dad's wonderfully affection and fun dachshund was run over and killed. My heart breaks for my dad, who is so very saddened by his loss.
And if I may be honest, I am so tired. My head hurts so much from the tension in my shoulders and neck that I feel like I could cry, but I won't because if I did, it would only hurt worse.
Yeah, a hard day. And now I'm crying.
Still, God is good. He still loves me. He is right with me. He hurts for the people for whom I hurt.
He holds my dad's hand and sits beside him whispering words of comfort, touching his chest gently.
He listens to my cousin grieve for her dad and sees her hurting heart instead of listening to her hurtful words.
He has his arm around my aunt sitting in the ICU waiting room asking Him to let her husband live.
He rides the mood waves with Robert and thinks he is still phenomenally amazing, and He still find great joy in His this fabulously creative creation of His. I wonder when Robert makes something new, if God says, "Yeah, he gets that from me." A pretty neat thought actually.
And when Anna makes clay beads and spends hours meticulously mixing clay and decorating them so they look exactly alike, does He see His own perfect hand working in hers and through hers? Does He stand behind her, His hand wrapped around, disappearing into hers? How much joy does He get from such pleasure of being part of her and her being part of Him?
And on days like today, when I pick up my computer and decide I will not let Satan steal this day--the day when my Lover chooses not to condemn my weakness but to show His strength--do His hands rest on mine as mine wander across the keyboard? Does He whisper these words I write? Is He reading over my shoulder? A smile on His beautiful face? And how excited is He that in all these things I see Him and am insanely, excitedly aware of Him?
How much joy does it give Him for me to find such great joy in Him...even on days like today?
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009
Today is a hard day. Actually, I've had a serious of tiring days, which is why I have been gone so long.
About five weeks ago I had to go into the doctor because I had symptoms of the flu. Thankfully, it was a sinus infection. The head got better just in time for me to have a reaction to the antibiotic. Got past that in time for my youngest to get sick, and when he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well. Got us mostly well, and my uncle passed on. I don't know if it was really unexpected, but despite what anyone says, there really is no way to prepare yourself for it. The next weekend was the fabulous Keeper of the Flame Proverbs 31 conference. I missed Friday because my husband was so ill. That was two weeks ago. My husband went to the doctor today. Whatever he had is now an infection. And of course in the midst of this are the everyday things of laundry, groceries, homeschool, and other commitments.
All of that flowed right into today.
Today started rough.
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. with a horrendous earache. Finally got the pressure relieved and lay down to doze about 7:00. Woke up to find out my mom had called. Her brother was in emergency surgery following a heart attack last night. The next 24 hours are critical.
My son has not had the best day. Barometric pressure changes knock him for a loop, and the rest of us are along for the ride.
Realized someone I love is not adjusting to some major life changes very well. That was hard to see.
And my family is packing for an impromptu, but very necessary, trip to my in-laws over the weekend. Due to previous commitments, I won't be going, but I might as well be. I am still getting everyone ready to go, and of course, there are all the last minute things like realizing our two suitcases are broken and the children's small suit cases are...small. Errands to run. Laundry to wash, dry, and fold. Last minute shopping to do. And then, I found out my dad's wonderfully affection and fun dachshund was run over and killed. My heart breaks for my dad, who is so very saddened by his loss.
And if I may be honest, I am so tired. My head hurts so much from the tension in my shoulders and neck that I feel like I could cry, but I won't because if I did, it would only hurt worse.
Yeah, a hard day. And now I'm crying.
Still, God is good. He still loves me. He is right with me. He hurts for the people for whom I hurt.
He holds my dad's hand and sits beside him whispering words of comfort, touching his chest gently.
He listens to my cousin grieve for her dad and sees her hurting heart instead of listening to her hurtful words.
He has his arm around my aunt sitting in the ICU waiting room asking Him to let her husband live.
He rides the mood waves with Robert and thinks he is still phenomenally amazing, and He still find great joy in His this fabulously creative creation of His. I wonder when Robert makes something new, if God says, "Yeah, he gets that from me." A pretty neat thought actually.
And when Anna makes clay beads and spends hours meticulously mixing clay and decorating them so they look exactly alike, does He see His own perfect hand working in hers and through hers? Does He stand behind her, His hand wrapped around, disappearing into hers? How much joy does He get from such pleasure of being part of her and her being part of Him?
And on days like today, when I pick up my computer and decide I will not let Satan steal this day--the day when my Lover chooses not to condemn my weakness but to show His strength--do His hands rest on mine as mine wander across the keyboard? Does He whisper these words I write? Is He reading over my shoulder? A smile on His beautiful face? And how excited is He that in all these things I see Him and am insanely, excitedly aware of Him?
How much joy does it give Him for me to find such great joy in Him...even on days like today?
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Gratitude 26--Normal, Everyday Gratitude
Last week, my uncle, Lanny Ray Kelley, passed on to be with Jesus. I spent several days doing whatever my cousin needed. Today I am home, and it's just a normal, everyday day. I'm thankful.
Thank you, God for...
651. being home with my children today.
652. a great night's sleep.
653. the ability to turn the ringer off the phone.
654. amazing weather.
655. little boys still happy to snuggle.
656. an absolutely fabulous husband.
657. your Word that is new every morning and ready to face whatever we do.
658. loving me so mindboggling much that with each new adventure, I see a new side of it, feel it fresh all over again, and fall even more madly in love with You than I've ever been.
659. laundry in need of washing.
660. a counter piled high.
661. trash out on the curb just in time.
662. clean dishes in the washer.
663. lessons waiting to be learned.
664. a sunroom filled with the evidence of fun had by two loving siblings.
665. friends who understand that really what I need is NOT to talk.
666. morning coffee.
667. quiet time.
668. warm socks.
669. routine.
670. having nowhere to go today.
671. growing girl still snuggled warmly in her bed.
672. cereal and cold milk eaten at my table with my children.
673. a Fluff-a-poodle lying on my feet
674. quiet.
675. a smile on my face.
Thank you, God for...
651. being home with my children today.
652. a great night's sleep.
653. the ability to turn the ringer off the phone.
654. amazing weather.
655. little boys still happy to snuggle.
656. an absolutely fabulous husband.
657. your Word that is new every morning and ready to face whatever we do.
658. loving me so mindboggling much that with each new adventure, I see a new side of it, feel it fresh all over again, and fall even more madly in love with You than I've ever been.
659. laundry in need of washing.
660. a counter piled high.
661. trash out on the curb just in time.
662. clean dishes in the washer.
663. lessons waiting to be learned.
664. a sunroom filled with the evidence of fun had by two loving siblings.
665. friends who understand that really what I need is NOT to talk.
666. morning coffee.
667. quiet time.
668. warm socks.
669. routine.
670. having nowhere to go today.
671. growing girl still snuggled warmly in her bed.
672. cereal and cold milk eaten at my table with my children.
673. a Fluff-a-poodle lying on my feet
674. quiet.
675. a smile on my face.
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