Bulbs

Something caught my eye last week as I hurried through the garden center at the hardware store.  (The afternoon temperatures where I live seem to challenge the fact that the first day of fall is just around the corner.)  I was surprised to see the bags of bulbs on display.  As I rushed past them, I found my thoughts drifting to another time.

I vividly remember the cold February morning when two friends knocked on my front door.  It was about a week after Scott's memorial service. There they stood ~ gardening tools in one hand and bags of bulbs in the other. They simply announced that they had come to plant bulbs for spring flowers.

There was something so symbolic in their work that day.  I watched through the living room window as they dug down through the cold dirt. Carefully they placed each bulb in a warm bed of earth just below winter's chill.  And there the bulbs completed their winter rest ~ protected from the last blast of cold air, warmed by the ground which entombed them.

It was not many weeks before I noticed the first push of tiny plants through the dirt in the garden.  Then the thin stalks began to grow and buds appeared.  Sure enough ~ as winter became spring ~ so the buds on the stalks opened to reveal the beautiful display that had been tucked away in each bulb.

As I reflect on the bulbs planted in my garden that winter in 1996, I am amazed how the experience often parallels my own life's journey. Each of those bulbs is really a dwelling place ~ formed to protect the beautiful plant from winter’s chill, just waiting to be roused by the warmth of spring. The bulb also contains nutrients to ensure the plants' survival during its winter nap. Many plants that grow from bulbs are perennials. Although each will die back to the ground during a dormant period, they are protected from the harsh realities of winter, as they wait for the promise of spring to bloom, year after year, at their appointed time.

And so it seems with my life ~ the seasons come and go. I know there will be winters to endure, times to nurture and renew my soul. And at an appointed time, the warmth of spring will bring forth the beauty of redemption and restoration.

Deep inside every man there is a private sanctum

where dwells the mysterious essence of his being.

A.W. Tozer 

Good Grief

Today I share my blog once again with Jessica ~ one of my traveling buddies.

My traveling buddies are friends and family who find themselves on a similar path . . . a journey with no up-grades, many road closures and a heavy burden of grief. We are members of what I call, The Bereaved Mothers Club. Membership is weighty: placing a precious child in the arms of God.

Jessica, and her husband Travis, lost Kade, their sweet two-month-old son to SIDS in the fall of 2007. Kade's birth and death dates are coming soon. Jessica knows she is entering a season of grief. She shares with honesty about how moving toward her pain has brought healing along her journey.

It's Good for Me ~ by Jessica

We went to the dairy together last night to take a ride on the new mule. (No, not an actual mule; it's a cross between a golf cart and four wheeler.) The girls rode in front with Travis, and Brody and I rode in the back. It was a fun little outing and the cool evening breeze was refreshing.

We always love being at the dairy as a family and I know it means a lot to Travis that we are enjoying it. He especially loves it that Macey can carry on an actual conversation about the dairy. Tonight Travis told Macey that a calf had been born and it was a girl. To which she replied, "Oh, it was a girl? Don't you mean a heifer?" Travis darted a surprised and proud look in her direction and put up his hand to offer her a high five. It was a proud moment for both of them.

As we made our way around the dairy, we came to the maternity barn to see the calves that had been born just hours earlier. In the first pen lay two heifer calves. Their mama was leaning over their lifeless bodies, lovingly licking their bodies clean. My mind started racing as Travis explained that they were stillborn.

Why did you just leave them there? I asked. I felt annoyed and a little angry. I felt protective for the mama cow, and didn't want her to have to stand there unable to revive her babies. I didn't understand why Travis didn't hurry and take the calves out to keep the mama from knowing that they hadn't survived. My eyes began to burn.

It's good for her, he explained in a compassionate tone.

I began to feel emotional as I tried to understand. How could that possibly be good for her? It's just plain mean. But as I thought about it more, the Lord began to remind me of some precious truths that he's revealed to me.

Kade’s season is upon us, and my heart and mind are in full processing mode. I have had a busy few months; working through my feelings and grief has been put on the back burner. They are always there but just a little tucked away. I have moments of my own, usually in the late evenings during Brody's last feeding. My mind often wanders to what life would be like if Kade were here and how although our home is full of life and busy little bodies, it can somehow manage to feel a little lonely and not quite noisy enough. My days are full and I sometimes feel unable to handle it all. But how I wish I had a 3 year old little boy running around adding to the chaos. I miss him so much I ache inside.

After our ride at the dairy, I couldn't stop thinking about those words. It's good for her. My mind went to all of my sweet friends, near and far, who have had to give a child back to the Lord. Some I know well and some I may not meet until glory. I thought of their experiences and how the Lord has made the process good for them.

I thought of my own experience ~ finding Kade's lifeless body; the car ride to the emergency room; the look on all of the doctors and nurses as they left the room after being unable to save Kade; the coroner driving away with his body; the loved ones who came to love and serve us; planning a funeral; picking out a casket and burial plot, and many other memories that have become fuzzy with time. That process was horrific. I remember feeling like I was in the middle of one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you try you can't wake yourself up. I've been living this nightmare for three years now, and I've learned that although the process is often brutal, it is vital.

Those days that I spent preparing to bury Kade played a huge part in my healing. I took time to celebrate his life, to honor the Lord and acknowledge that although His plans were proving to be far different than my own, I was going to follow Him. I took the time to care for Kade on this earth in any way I could. I picked out burial clothes, decorations for his service, flowers for his casket, and my mom and I even cleaned the room at the funeral home where his viewing would be. I was intentional about feeling it all, facing my heartache head on so that I could begin healing in a healthy way. I didn't want to ignore anything only to uncover it years later after it had festered and become rotten bitterness in my heart. All of that was good for me.

That mama cow was spending time with her babies ~ smelling them, licking them, and in her own way loving them, and in those things, finding healing. She was getting a chance to care for her babies even after they were no longer living. This process would make it possible for her to live a full life, give birth to more calves and produce quality milk. She would be able to serve her purpose on this earth more fully by going through the process. Isn't it incredible that the Lord created that process for animals too? Amazing.

As I near this season for the third time, I am amazed at how the Lord has been so faithful. I can hardly believe that Kade would be 3 . . . 3! Crazy. I feel like this is the first time that I am actually looking forward to the process. I don't feel afraid of it or unsure of how to handle it. I'm not wondering if I'll survive or be unable to function. Allowing myself to go through the process has given me the chance to fulfill God's purposes for my life. I have not been hindered by my grief, rather I have allowed the Lord to use my grief to comfort others with the comfort I have received. Although each year has been different, I have learned to be confident in the Lord's perfect plan for the process and that celebrating my precious son is joyful, painful, emotional, healing and, it's good for me.

To read more of Jessica's journey, you may visit her blog, Seeking His Face.

What a Difference an * Made!

It was at my high school graduation when I realized that I had believed a lie about myself for many years. When June comes each year, I am reminded how words can destroy or transform the way people view themselves and the future.

I distinctly remember the night of my graduation from Lakewood High School. We were all so done with school by the time that night finally arrived. We marched into the stadium to our high school band playing their best rendition of Pomp and Circumstance.

I remember I walked next to Narcy Hogan.  Narcy was the smartest person I knew. She had a gold tassel on her cap as well as a gold stole and cords draped around her neck, showing the world her academic success. I was proud to call Narcy my friend. We had been friends since our days together at Herbert Hoover Junior High. And now we were experiencing the last event of our high school days together.

We took our seats in the metal chairs set up in rows on the football field. I opened the program we were handed as we walked in. I looked through the order of events, the special guests and when the choir was to sing. Then I began to read the names of the graduates.

When I came to my name, I noticed something unusual. There it was, followed an asterisk.

Bonnie Jean Goodrell*

I leaned over and asked the smartest person I knew ~ Why is there an asterisk by my name?

I'm so glad Narcy was not only smart, but also thoughtful and kind.

She excitedly replied, It means you graduated with honors!

With honors?

Really? So many thoughts ran through my mind during that graduation ceremony. I remember standing on the risers with my choir to sing No Man is an Island and You'll Never Walk Alone. I know I walked across the platform to receive my diploma. But in all honesty, I was not really there ~ at that time; at the place. In my mind, I was no longer sitting on the football field of Lakewood High School.

As soon as Narcy spoke those words, It means you graduated with honors! ~ I was transported back to Oliver Wendall Holmes Elementary School. I was running my hand across the tiny desks. I was playing on the playground with the slide and swings and monkey bars. I was sitting inside the classrooms looking out the windows. All of those things flashed through my mind. And then, as if someone placed a record on the turntable, and slowed the rpm's way down, I heard the voices of my elementary teachers. They seemed to be repeating the same thing, again and again, in that slow-motion kind of voice that just stays with you ~

Bonnie has so much potential, if only . . .
Bonnie could be such a good student if she would . . .
If only Bonnie would . . .

Those are the words I heard year after year from my teachers. Those are the comments I read on the back of my report card when my mother brought it home from parent conferences. And sadly, those are the things I grew to believe about myself. Because that is what I was told.

But something changed that evening in 1970 as I sat in the metal chairs placed neatly in rows on the football field of Lakewood High School. One small * asterisk made all the difference in how I viewed myself, my potential, my future.

You know what? I drove back to Lakewood High School the next morning. I walked up to the window of our small student store on campus. And for $1.00, I bought my gold tassel. I never had the chance to wear it ~ to let others know I had potential. But I wanted it for myself. To remind me that words can hurt or heal.  Words can destroy or transform a child's view of how they see themselves. Comments made in frustration, even if meant as motivation, crush a child's spirit.

It brings tears to my eyes every time I retell this story.  To think that I did not believe in the grades I received in my high school classes that qualified me to graduate with honors. I believed the words that played on a tape in my head. I had believed a lie. Words spoken about me years before that I allowed to rob me of future joys.

Yes, it's June and time for graduation.  It is both a time of excitement ~ to think about what is to come, and a time of reflection ~ to remember the many experiences that have taken place to bring each student to this place and time. I wonder what words these graduates will hear as they reflect upon this journey?

I pray they hear words that transform and redeem their futures!

Sharp Contrast

Sometimes, life is harsh ~ and I admit ~ it is difficult to see a redeeming path through suffering.

Quite honestly, I have found that redeeming the future requires a conscious effort to look for beauty amid the sharp contrast of pain; to look for a glimpse of hope in the middle of despair.

As Tony worked in the yard this morning, he noticed some new blooms.  He called for me to come and see "something beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

There in our small cactus garden was beauty ~ in sharp contrast.  It would be so easy to miss these tiny flowers, unless your eyes were trained to look for beauty, even in the unexpected places.

Oh that we may train our eyes to see a redeeming path, in sharp contrast, to the pain and suffering that comes our way.

A Healing Place

It’s Mother’s Day, and it has been an emotional day. Grief is an unpredictable companion along life's journey.

We had a lovely day together as a family. The guys and the grandchildren fixed a scrumptious dinner for us, and we finished off the day with fresh strawberry shortcake.  But even as I celebrated with my daughter, Amy and her sweet family, I found myself thinking about how many should be sitting around our family's table. I wondered what this day would be like if Scott had not died. Especially today, I found myself longing to feel his hug one.more.time.

Yet, with this burden of grief, my heart finds comfort tonight in the imagery of Psalm 85:10.  There the psalmist speaks of a healing place where “Mercy and Truth have met each other: Justice and Peace have kissed.”

Each element ~ truth, justice, mercy, and peace ~ brings perspective and potential for experiencing peace with loss.

For those who grieve, Truth is about what to remember and how to remember. Truth casts her eyes toward the past, remembers the way it was before the loss, and underscores the value of treasuring my relationship with Scott. Justice is about what can be done now to restore wholeness in my life and renew the relationship that has been forever changed by death. Justice looks at the present and recognizes the full weight of grief. I am so thankful the psalmist did not stop with Truth and Justice, but included Mercy and Peace.

For Mercy and Peace look to the future and help me consider ~

How can I live without Scott in my life?
How can I transform my relationship with Scott from one of presence to one of memory?

Yes, Mercy and Peace gaze toward the future and what life can and will be like as a result of this loss.

I love the way John Paul Lederach writes about this imagery in his book, The Journey Toward Reconciliation ~

For Truth without Mercy is blinding and raw; Mercy without Truth is a cover-up and superficial. Justice without Peace falls easily into cycles of bitterness and revenge; Peace without Justice is short-lived and benefits only the privileged or the victors.

As another Mother's Day comes to a close, I recognize that along my journey of grief some days will be harder than others. Some days will scream for Truth and Justice. I am also aware that there is a healing place where the reality of my loss is embraced by Mercy and transformed by Peace.

And for that, I am ever so grateful.

Walking In My Comfort Zone

I'm stepping out of my comfort zone.

I just signed up to participate in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. The goal of the 36-hour walk is to bring awareness and raise funds for cancer research.  (I am glad it is a relay of 36-hours.  I will be walking with Tony in the 6-7 a.m. slot.) 

It will be inspiring to walk along side cancer survivors and their family members.  I am proud to raise dollars that will fund research that may someday put an end to pain and suffering caused by this dreadful disease.

And yet, I am entering a different kind of comfort zone.  Matthew 5:4 promises that those who mourn, shall be comforted.  You see, my reason for participating in this relay walk is actually quite personal.  I'm walking to make a deposit in a bank of a different kind.  A deposit in the memory bank of family and friends who mourn the loss of a loved one from the ravages of cancer.

I am walking in the memory of my niece, Heather Smalley Stevens.  She fought a long and heroic battle with pancreatic cancer, which took her life in June of 2006.

As I have posted before, memories are such a gift for those who grieve.  Remembering the time shared and the life lived helps link us to those who have passed away.  Norman Cousins said it best ~

Memories are where the proof of life is stored.

If you would like to contribute to this cause, to support my efforts or to donate in the name of someone dear to you, please click here to go to my personal page.  You can choose an amount to donate and enter the name of someone you wish to honor.

I'll let you know in a future post how much we raised together and how I survived, out of my comfort zone.
 

{this moment} . . .Spring

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.