Book Report

For well over a year, I have been reading the complete works of George MacDonald.  He was a Scottish minister/writer/poet who lived from 1824 to 1905.  He deeply influenced such writers as C.S. Lewis and Madeline L'Engle.  He was also a mentor to Lewis Carroll.  When I tell people about him, I don't often get recognition.  This is sad, because he was a very important author.

As you might expect, while reading many thousands of pages, the ideas that most interested me were those dealing with death, eternal life, grief.  I will endeavor to share some of these things with you, in the hope that they bring comfort and hope to you, as they did for me.

For those who face the grief of death of someone we love:
On the scripture "Jesus wept"and Lazarus' grieving sisters -  "It was the aching, loving heart of humanity for which he wept, that needed God so awfully, and could not yet trust in him.  Their brother was only hidden in the skirts of their Father's garment, but they could not believe that; they said he was dead-lost-away-all gone, as the children say.  And it was so sad to think of a whole world full of the grief of death, that he could not bear it without the human tears to help his heart, as they help ours.  It was for our dark sorrows that he wept."

"But things are unbearable just until we have them to bear; their possibility comes with them.  For we are not the roots of our own being."

"The merest trifles sometimes rivet the attention in the deepest misery; the intellect has so little to do with grief."

"For I found, as I read [the gospel], that Thy very presence in my thoughts, not as the theologians show Thee, but as Thou showedst Thyself to them who report Thee to us, smoothed the troubled waters of my spirit, so that, even while the storm lasted, I was able to walk upon them to go to Thee."

Regarding the hope of eternity:
"Jesus wanted to make them know and feel that the dead were alive all the time, and could not be far away, seeing they were all with God in whom we live; that they had not lost them though they could not see them, for they were quite within his reach-as much so as ever; that they were just as safe with, and as well looked after by his father and their father, as they had ever been in all their lives.  It was no doubt a dreadful-looking thing to have them put in a hole, and waste away to dust, but they were not therefore gone out-they were only gone in!  To teach them all this he did not say much, but just called one or two of them back for a while.  Of course Lazarus was going to die again, but can you think his two sisters either loved him less, ore wept as much over him the next time he died?"

Narrator is speaking to an old woman who had lost several sons to the sea. " 'But,' I said...'some of your sons were drowned for all that you say about their safety.' 'Well, sir,' she answered, with a sigh, 'I trust they're none the less safe for that.' "

"We have yet learned but little of the blessed power of death.  We call it evil! It is a holy, friendly thing.  We are not left shivering all the world's night in a stately portico with no house behind it;  death is the door to the temple-house, whose God is not seated aloft in motionless state, but walks about among his children, receiving his pilgrim sons in his arms, and washing the sore feet of the weary ones."

And my favorite:
"He who made this room so well worth living in, may surely be trusted with the next!"

Just An Average Day

Something spectacular happened to me today.

I was driving my high school route (I'm a school bus driver) and in the neighborhood I drive there was a group of boys.  Probably about 4th grade.  They were huddled in the garage of a house, Nerf guns at the ready, prepared for the "attack".  Crouched down and very stealthy.  I noticed them, but I didn't think they noticed me.

I turned the corner and started down another street.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the boys again.  One was dressed in camouflage.  They were all very intent on their enemy, but the one in front, the one in camouflage, noticed me.  And he saluted me.

Why do we worry about this generation?  They are fantastic.

Crying

I spend a lot of time crying.  I do it by myself.  Most people (until now) don't even know I do it. 

Am I embarrased?  Why should I be embarrased by tears for my first born child?  Why?

But I am.  I make people uncomfortable.  When I tear up, I see the panic in their faces.  It doesn't matter who they are - close friends, family, aquaintances.  I learned quickly that it wasn't a good idea to let others know that I am NOT over "it".

Perhaps I am not being fair.  Most people have no idea what it is like to loose a child.  It's every parents worst nightmare. Of course it is; it's my worst nightmare. 

Christmas

Since 1984, every Christmas has been filled with my children.  What specific thing do they want?  What can we do together that inspires that particular warm, happy Christmas feeling?  Cookies?  Let's make 20 dozen!  Look at Christmas lights? I've got the sound track for that (Charlie Brown Christmas).  Of course, there's the Christmas carols on Christmas Eve.  Reading the story from the book of Luke. Fudge and cheese dip and monkey brains to snack on.  Kids sleeping with their aunt under the Christmas tree. 

And now...
Not only is the number of children wrong, but the location is as well.  There's my Andrew and Emily in another state from me.  What is the point of Christmas without them?

I'll tell you what it is: it is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. It is about going on with life and making new memories.  It's about being grateful for the blessings of God in my life.  There's my husband, who is so wonderful, and funny and loves me so much.  There's new friends who bring so much joy to my life.  There's the evidence of God's faithfulness all around me. 

I could legitimately dread this holiday.   I could, you know.  I have that right as a bereaved mother.  I battle with that.  But my God is enough.  To hold on to that pain and use it as excuse to retreat emotionally is to deny the love of God for me. 

Does that mean I don't miss with every breath my beautiful children?  No.  I'm always going to do that.  It means that God's help is bigger.

Unexpected

Have you ever been walking along, say in a store, and all of a sudden your feet somehow get tangled, or you trip on a rug and you fall down?  It happens to me a lot.  You feel pain - actual physical pain associated with hitting some part of your person on something on the way down, say a shelf with pointy edges, or the floor which is hard.  Also, there is the possibility that somebody saw it happen.  That's so embarrassing. You laugh and pretend it's no big deal, but, I'm telling you from experience that those feelings stay with you for a while. 

I'm a school bus driver, and one morning somebody got on my bus smelling like Cheerios and bananas.  Wham.  Down I went.  That smell was like so many mornings in my house when my kids were little.  I was immediately in my kitchen, standing by the sink, watching my three eat, their personal blankets wrapped around them, maybe some stuffed animals or some action figures on the table watching as well. 

What happened to that life?  I still feel like the person that cut up bananas for my kid's morning cereal, but I'm really not.  There's Andrew and Emily - they've got jobs, school, lives of their own.  There's my oldest, my Jason who is unavailable to me currently. I miss them, often and intensely.

So what's your plan when you're driving a school bus with tears streaming down your face?  How do you overcome that shooting, debilitating pain and go on with your day?

I guess you just wipe away the tears, and focus on the job at hand.  I have to trust my Father to not put on me more than He is willing to help me walk through.  You have to remember all those hugs and kisses, all the stories you read and experiences you shared, all those Cheerios and bananas very fondly and trust that your little ones remember those things, too.

Made of Dust

We are...we are just made of dust.  These vessels that hold our spirits - our souls - are transitory.  They are going to fail - get old, get crippled, get cancer.   

It's the vessel that we see and fall in love with.  It's that sweet smile and goofy laugh.  It's the way our little boy makes car noises with his lips.  Watching their fingers as they reach for our hands.  The slow smile that spreads over his face when he gets a joke. 

Does that beloved form also translate to eternity?  I worry, because Jesus' friends had a hard time recognizing Him when He rose from the dead.  Is that because He didn't really look like Himself? 

How am I going to know my son?  Will he look like I remember him?  Will his soul shine through his eyes? 

My husband always says that if something isn't in "heaven" - the promised land, the other side, the New Jerusalem - then we won't miss it.  I've got to believe that my Father loves me, that He knows and gives us the best gifts.

I know what I want.  I want to see that silly, goofy slow smile again.

And Then...

The question then becomes what happens next.  It is evident that your life is never going to be the same.  The internal monitor that checks where your kids are and if they are OK is always going to be wrong.  Time doesn't heal all wounds. 

For a while, I didn't do anything other than the brushing the teeth, showering, breathing part of life.  I don't remember much about that first several months, except that I could be counted on to cry unpredictably.  There was no job to go to, and no demands on my time.  So much time to think.  That was probably the mercy of God.  I watched old family videos and looked at pictures.  I read some books.  I suppose it was good that I had uninterrupted grieving time.

Grieving time.  The name seems to imply there is a beginning and end.  "Aren't you over that yet?" Nobody actually said that, but the sentiment was conveyed on several occasions.  I would think to myself, "Is he back?  Can I touch him and look at him and hear him again?  No?  Well then, I guess I'm not over it."   

I didn't want my grief to be fake.  I read in "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis that he was afraid of being too romantic or inaccurate in his memory of his wife.  Making her more angelic or perfect and not remembering how she actually was. 

I wanted to remember every little thing.  I had the last voice message that Jason left for me on my phone.  I played it occasionally and played it for other people so they could see what he sounded like.  "Hey, mom, this is your son...Jason.  I don't have anything new to say...give me a call."

One day, instead of pressing 9 to save the message, I pressed 7, for erase.  How stupid of me. It felt like I lost him all over again.  And it was my own fault.  That bit of him, a proof that he had been thinking about me and made the effort (he didn't have a phone, so it was always tricky getting in touch with him) to contact me, that part that I carried around in my pocket so that I could have it when I wanted was gone. 

Eventually I could add other things to my day. Some visiting with people. Some church. And I got a job being a school bus driver, so I had to get up and get trained. It was a very good thing for me. You can get too much inside your own head and get trapped there, and then you are no good to yourself or anybody else.

My husband still wanted me around.  My other kids seemed to as well.  OK, then, I guess I'll just keep going.