March 2017

Here’s the crazy thing: after working on a draft documenting a significant hurt in my life in the area of grief, I took it down. I don’t want to know how many edits it went through, fifty?

Fifty-seven, I just checked. But I took it down. Back to draft status it goes, at least for now.

You see, I never intended to publish the piece and then I did by mistake. It needed to come out, what I wrote. But the piece doesn’t need to be out there. It was about my grandparents, my dad’s parents. My only living grandparents.

All it took was a Facebook message from cousin Audrey for me to take it down. Not that Audrey is aware of my writing spot on the web. I love Audrey, dearly, by the way. She’s a favorite. It’s just that no one in my extended family knows about my writing.

Grandpa’s not doing well, you see. He hurt his back helping Uncle Johnny move. And he’s loosing weight, too much weight. Why, you may wonder, was a ninety-four, soon-to-be ninety-five-year-old man involved in a move?

Knowing Grandpa, he couldn’t not help. Keeping busy, working, helping, moving, that’s Grandpa.

Grandpa and Grandma’s anniversary party is cancelled, even though it’s four months out. They are feeling overwhelmed. Aunt Laurie is worried, because let’s face it, he’s almost ninety-six. Grandpa’s going to bounce back or not.

I’m not sure how I feel about their anniversary party in the first place, before it was canceled. I’m filled with regret now that it is.

But hearing the news of Grandpa’s misfortune, via Facebook Messenger no less, it weighs my heart with sadness. And I’m so very angry. But mostly, I’m sad for my aunts and uncles. I’m sad for my granparents. I’m sad for me, heartbroken for us all.

Oh, Lord, don’t take him now. Quiet the soul of a man who never rests. Help him find rest and be well. Mend his back, his body. Speak to him. Let him hear your tender voice. Help him know you are God and how much you love him. Help him know you were in all of it, all of his life hurts.

My heart is being pulled across a mountain pass, to a walking trail around the Spokane River, to the brick and wood rambler near the community college. Spokane calls to me.

Oh God, help.

Edited to add: My grandfather, Clarence Beck, passed away on July 2, 2017, a few weeks after his ninety-fifth birthday. Due to circumstances beyond my control, beyond any of our control, I was not able to say goodbye to him. Toward the end of his life we found out it was cancer, not a back injury. I was not close to my grandparents, but I think of Grandpa with fondness. He was a kind, kind man, and a handsome one at that. He was a hard worker, much like my husband.

Originally from February 2015. Unless you happened to catch or attend the first and second IF: Gathering, this post probably won’t make sense.

I’m a year behind. I accidentally bought and watched last year’s IF: Gathering, thinking it was the one from this year. I’m caught up now, having just watched the final session this morning as I have a sick one home from school and time to spare.

About the Remembrance Stone. At the IF: Gathering, those present were given a small stone to record what God was laying on their heart to do next. I didn’t know what I was going to write on my rock, but I knew God was calling me to take a step of faith and participate in the activity.

I didn’t even have a rock. Then I remembered the landscaping rocks that grace our small property. Since Greg and I know almost nothing about plants and flowers we literally have tons of landscaping rocks of various shapes and sizes to fill our yard and make it look like we know what we’re doing, at least we did before the kids messed with them.

I paused the session, slipped my feet into the brown leather clogs I keep by the sliding door to take the puppy out, and marched out to the back yard, full of purpose in search of the perfect rock.

And there it was, past the sliding door, at the edge of the house almost to the fence. There it was sitting amongst the smallest piles of rocks. I chose the smallest rock. I wasn’t sure there would be enough room to record my next step. But it jumped out at me, radiant amongst the others, practically luminous, purplish in contrast to the plain stone-colored variety. This was my rock, my remembrance stone, a permanent reminder of what God was saying to my heart pertaining to the next step of faith. I didn’t yet know what He was saying, but my heart was ready. I had my rock.

Then, for a moment, going back to my house I got distracted by a second pile of landscaping rocks, bigger rocks, gorgeous rocks with plenty of room to record God’s goodness. And I thought to myself, Mine is the wrong shape. The other rocks are prettier and there is more room to write. I glanced down at the tiny rock in my hand. It didn’t even look purplish anymore. It looked plain and ugly, hardly set apart from the others. My rock was small, too small, unimportant and nothing special.

Immediately as I began to compare and complain, God nudged my heart, confirming I made the correct choice.

Back in the house, sitting in front of my computer screen, I wasn’t sure what to mark on my stone with the black sharpie. The Lord already spoke powerfully to me about being quiet before him at the beginning of the year. But what was the next step? I didn’t really know. But I had my rock. I began jotting down notes as I resumed play on Session 4 as others shared their Next Step.

The Spirit is quiet but moves like thunder. As I diligently took notes, he reminded me that as I follow him, being the one he made me to be, I will be luminous, shining like stars amongst this dark generation (Philippians 2:15). But that was not all. He gently reminded me that, like my rock, I was not the wrong shape. He called me to stop comparing myself to other woman, both in physical shape, ministry or calling. Praise the Lord, as I have been struggling, seriously struggling, with this battle since I shared a story with IF: Local friends about my past with disordered eating.

Now, I too, have a rock engraved in black sharpie, my little remembrance stone.

I will shine like the stars and I will not compare myself to others.

Archives for March 2017