Brave, Anyway

Tag: parenting

  • Purposes

    Purposes

    Only two months remaining in the year of purpose. At the beginning of this year, I was a little worried to focus on a word. While I hoped that I might have some sort of epiphany about my place on the planet, I also wondered if I should set careful expectations given how the year of freedom went.

    What I think about purpose has changed this year. Specifically three things.

    1. If we spend all our time focused on one big thing, like a job or something we might do, we risk spending months or even years thinking we don’t have a purpose or we’ve missed our purpose.

    2. We have an opportunity to live with purpose every day. If we waste time and energy on seeking one big thing, we’ll miss thousands of chances to make a difference in our world.

    3. Time and healing are the key ingredients to understanding the purpose of things, people and events in our lives.

    When something crappy inevitably happens, we can spend a lot of time caught up in whys. Or even what is the purpose of this? I think the better question to focus on is what is my purpose in this? Is it to take action, learn, pray, listen, bring peace, raise hell, set an example?

    Our purpose is not about one thing. It’s a thousand things in a thousand moments. We can have totally different purposes in moments 30 minutes apart. And our purpose in one season can change for the next season. My overarching purpose in the last decade has been to provide stability and a firm foundation for the girls, but as they are getting older now I can see that this purpose is winding down.

    I am excited about a new season where I might have a little space for things I’ve always loved or been interested in – to explore what my purpose might be in them and to explore what purpose they might have in me. Things like getting more involved in the community, advocacy, and working the polls on election days.

    However, as I am firmly middle-aged entering this next phase, purposes will now need to be between 6:30 am and 9 pm. I cannot even fake being at my best at midnight.

    A year or so ago I watched a sermon by Dharius Daniels and he said something I knew was for later and saved in a note on my phone: Your uniqueness will feel like awkwardness until you get to a season where God shows you its relevance. Another way to think about that might be your uniqueness will feel like awkwardness until you get to a season where God shows you its purpose. What if the things we sometimes think make us strange are the things we need to lean into so we can really fulfill our purpose(s)?

    Life changes. Purposes change. With each purpose fulfilled, our happiness grows and the puzzle that we are gets closer to finished, or whole. And suddenly one day in the middle of a purpose the person always staring back at us on Zoom is stronger, wiser, and braver.

    Sometimes I wonder if Zoom is my purpose.
  • February 16

    February 16

    A year.

    It’s been a year since my Dad died.

    It’s been a year since my Dad passed away.

    It’s been a year since my Dad went to heaven.

    Just typing the words makes me feel like I can’t take a deep breath. Like a brick is laying on my chest.

    I hate that I didn’t talk to my Dad the day he died. I love that the last time we did talk he was focused on how he might get someone stubborn to believe in God and go to heaven.

    He was a prayer warrior, a prankster, and a protector. He was tenderhearted and yet he was steel.

    Sometimes I look at the girls and think he’d be so proud of them and how they’ve handled this year. And then I think he sees them and he knows.

    Valentine flowers

    I picture his smile when I see yellow flowers or smell honeysuckle.

    I picture him holding his hands up in prayer every time we left the house as I watch Audrey walk to the bus stop each morning.

    I picture his hand placed lightly on my back, encouraging me, each time I have something new or hard to do.

    Perhaps because I was searching for them, this year was filled with signs he’s still close. Eagles hovering near the house. People named Paul. Finding long forgotten books.

    I love opening up his old bibles and books and seeing his handwriting, his highlights, and his notes. I had a full circle moment last week that I know would have brought him such joy. It came via a text from Ella. She took one of my old bibles to school with her, and on a night when she was struggling she opened it to see a 25-year-old affirmation of mine: The healing power of God is working in me right now.

    Thankful for his example.

    Thankful for almost 50 years with him.

    Thankful his prayers are still at work today.

    Thankful his example is still at work today.

    Thankful.

  • Freedom With No Answers

    Freedom With No Answers

    Today is my Dad’s birthday, and in just two weeks the year of freedom will draw to a close.

    I’ve spent months trying to figure out why this was the year of freedom, taking notes when freedom thoughts hit me and assuming that by year’s end it would all come together and I would understand. And yet, still I do not understand.

    In fact, I’m just confused. And the coconut cream from one of his favorite boxes of chocolates offered me no clarity. The mailman also did not deliver.

    Every year until this one, I’ve been able to reflect on my word for the year and clearly see the areas of impact and why God planted that specific word in my heart. I didn’t have an epiphany this year, perhaps because this year has been pretty taxing or perhaps because I’m just not smart enough to see the overall message. Maybe both. Or maybe my notes were just bad.

    * The freedom that comes with procrastination is not nearly as precious as the freedom that comes with proper preparation and timing – the latter freedom comes with no anxiety.

    * Ella could not wait to be the age of 18. The age of freedom! It’s so funny how not free and still reliant we are on real adults at that age. Ella’s graduation into legal adulthood did bring about a new freedom for me that I unexpectedly really enjoy – stepping back, guiding only when asked, seeing what she can do and seeing what God is doing through her.

    * There is freedom in death, for those who died and for those still here. Freedom from the aging bodies and sickness we have in this world. Freedom from the expectations of others. Even when we miss people terribly, it’s okay to acknowledge that some things may be simpler when they are gone. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love them wholeheartedly; it means you’re able to be honest with yourself.

    * We all have the freedom to put things in God’s hands. When I do this, it’s almost always as a last resort when I’m exhausted. I need to start doing this much sooner so I can feel peace and freedom faster.

    * Paul wrote in Galatians that we must hold on to our freedom. The context is different but the message applies in all sorts of areas: it is our job to not let go of the freedom we have. Falling back into behaviors or thought patterns that aren’t good for us requires action on our part, not just a hope and a prayer.

    * When I was a youngster studying history, it seemed like freedom of speech was to ensure truth could always be spoken. The further I get into adulthood the more it seems to allow communications of anger and hatred to flourish.

    * The path to freedom is primarily paved with forgiveness. Of others and of ourselves.

    * Sometimes I put on my face creams in the wrong order. This does not mean I have too many creams or I am ridiculously old. It means I am tired. Or perhaps I am exercising my freedom to mix them all up to make a paste to see if they’ll work better as a group.

    * One person’s struggling partner is another’s ticket to financial freedom.

    * We can spend so much of our lives hoping to one day be free from things. Fear. Jobs that don’t fulfill us or that drain us. Old heart wounds. Sometimes when we’re struggling – many times, I think – it’s our job to free ourselves and we just don’t do it. And the thing that keeps us from freeing ourselves is laziness. It’s easier to complain, blame others or wait for magic than it is to take action, ruffle feathers, or make changes ourselves. The freedom in change is so worth the pain of the pruning.

    Yesterday on my way to pick up Ella for her Christmas break, I thought about how my Dad used to make the long drives to get me at Emory. Halfway to Richmond with my whole music library on shuffle, Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus) by Chris Rice came up. Although the song was already a few years old by then, I first heard it not long after my Papa died. I have never made it though the whole song without crying and this year I’ve hit next within a second every time it comes up. But yesterday, for the first time in a very long time, I listened. I sang all the way through and I did not cry.

    I did imagine my Dad laughing as I sang the last part. Perhaps the path to freedom is in keeping perspective: I may not have answers today, but I’ll one day laugh on Glory’s side. And with my Dad again.

    Sometimes the way is lonely

    And steel and filled with pain

    So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then

    Cry to Jesus

    Cry to Jesus

    Cry to Jesus and live!

    O, and when the love spills over

    And music fills the night

    And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then

    Dance for Jesus

    Dance for Jesus

    Dance for Jesus and live!

    And with your final heartbeat

    Kiss the world goodbye

    Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and

    Fly to Jesus

    Fly to Jesus

    Fly to Jesus and live!

  • Forward

    Forward

    If you remember anything about Robert Frost from your high school CliffsNotes, it’s likely some version of “the best way out is always through.” Maybe that’s true sometimes, but other times I think the way out may be to go back or even to be still. What I’ve come to believe is more true, particularly in navigating grief, is that the way through is forward.

    Forward.

    One step at a time. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

    The morning after my Dad died, I received a very clear message that the timing was on purpose. Tough days were ahead for my girls, and how I behaved would be what they looked to and what they remembered later. I needed to show them how to live and how to grieve – specifically how to do both at the same time.

    In the last 10 weeks, my girls have lost both their grandpas and their Dad. They’ve watched me cry and they’ve watched me laugh. They’ve watched me watch the same old episodes of Criminal Minds repeatedly, they’ve watched me do the crappy paperwork that comes with notifying companies that someone has passed away, and they’ve watched me excitedly buy all the shirts we even remotely liked at the VCU bookstore. They’ve watched me in funeral homes, shopping malls, church, the hospital, prom dress boutiques, long car rides late at night, and even doing my own yard work which they know I hate. They’ve watched me very purposely put time into projects where we could all see the progress and then the completion, and they’ve watched me take steps to plan things we can look forward to later in the summer and year. They have heard me pray for healing, peace, and knowledge of God’s presence in their lives and in the lives of people that I didn’t pray for for a very long time. And I am just not sure it was enough. Or that I showed them good balance in terms of moments of sadness and Easter basket hunting.

    I’ve been thinking a lot in the last few weeks about the word forward and how it relates to grief. What propels us forward, what stops us from moving forward, how best to move forward. Especially when life is unfair, or things are unfinished or unresolved. How will I help the girls move forward? What can I say? What can I do? How can I show them the way?

    I think maybe the key to forward is found in 3 other f words. (None of which is that f word.)

    Forgiveness. Forgive that they left, and believe they didn’t want to. Forgive yourself for relief they are not in pain anymore. Forgive them for old wounds you’ve been hanging on to. Forgive yourself for having mixed feelings about these people you grieve and love. Forgive that they weren’t perfect and forgive that you aren’t perfect.

    When at first I will not listen, God will send a message through Words With Friends. Because I am stubborn.

    Freedom. We must give each other and ourselves freedom to grieve anywhere, freedom to grieve differently, and freedom from any timeline. We must also acknowledge that someone’s death brings them and us freedom, and that’s not something to feel badly about. They are free of all the yuck that comes with living in this realm and we are free to live without them here. The people who really love us, our people, delight in seeing us thrive – whether they exist here on earth or in our great cloud of witnesses.

    Faith. Holding on to your faith can be especially hard in this time but is especially important in this time. People will say things like God needed another angel. They mean well, but they are just wrong. (And if I find out this happened, the fourth F is Fite and I will make it stop.) God does not make people sick and God does not need more angels. You know who God is. It is deeply ingrained in you. HE is deeply ingrained in you. He grieves with you. And He promises in Matthew that those who mourn are blessed and will be comforted. Whenever you question this, and you will, it’s remembering His faithfulness at other times in your lives and in other areas of your lives that will give you peace.

    He knew death here is not forever…He wept because knowing the end of the story doesn’t mean you can’t cry at the sad parts.

    I guess the simple truth – without steps and f words – is that the way forward is on a path of grace. Grace for ourselves, grace for those around us, grace for those who are gone.

  • Dear Dad

    Dear Dad

    I’m tired. I’m guessing you know that, but I’m really not sure. Can you see me now, hear me? Do you know the things I’m talking to God about? In the last 6 days, I have thought more about what heaven is like than I did in all the 18,000 days prior to now combined.

    You’ve moved to a new place, and I’m not sure what it looks like. I have no pictures to help me visualize it, so basically I’m making it all up. It’s got a beach, mountains, fields of wildflowers, valleys with streams and wildlife, far east countryside, and even a middle of the ocean with no land in sight – and you can constantly move back and forth, and experience all the different kinds of land and sea scapes that brought you joy, and that you loved to just watch and feel and smell. Is that even remotely what it’s like? I doubt it, because according to Corinthians Things that no eye has seen, or ear heard, or mind imagined, are the things God has prepared for those who love him. I’m so happy to know without a shadow of a doubt that you’re in heaven, but it makes me sad not to be able to picture you somewhere.

    Now that you’re in heaven, assuming you see me, do you see me only as I am today or do you now have greater knowledge about all the things I said and did that little girls hide from their Daddies? Because YIKES if it’s the latter. I guess none of it would surprise you or change anything, but still – a girl should get to keep some secrets! Perhaps the thing I am the most thankful for right now is how many times you said to me “I am proud of you, Beth.” Sometimes you asked me to stop what I was doing and really listen to you say it, because you wanted me to hear it and absorb it. And I realized this week that I do really know it, and what a fantastic gift that is. As you would say, I know that I know that I know you’re proud of me – and that’s because you were a great Dad and you purposefully said it and made me pay attention. (I’m really hoping you didn’t say it so many times because you already knew about all the YIKES stuff and figured I might need extra convincing at some point.)

    I love that you kept this little piece of scrap paper for probably 40 years. I wish I knew or remembered the story of that day.

    Why did you die in the year of freedom? What’s the lesson for me there? I haven’t figured it out yet. I just don’t know now why my word for the year is freedom. Is Romans 8 a part of it? I have to think more on this.

    Message received, loud and clear, that this timing is by design. On purpose. God’s plan. How I live and behave and speak in these days is critical, showing others the way to grieve and to live. I’m doing my best. There has been some mild cursing.

    Sending us a police officer named Paul, who has parents named Paul and Linda, was the absolute best reassurance that God is with us, went before us, and we shouldn’t be discouraged.

    The day after you went to heaven, I ate the can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup you always kept in the pantry for when anyone was feeling under-the-weather. You were so wrong to try to pass that mess off as some sort of Biblical cure because some Army guy from 1958 told you it was called Jewish Penicillin. It was salty, awful, zero stars and do not recommend.

    The song for this week was Van Halen’s Jump. I know you scowled every time I restarted it – but you have to admit that my awesome air drums were the perfect way to get my brain to shift from overwhelmed to focused, and to keep me from crying at stoplights. Rock and roll is not all sex and drugs and evil. I am right about Van Halen being talented, and since you’re not here to argue with me, I win.

    I spent time at Stumpy Lake this week thinking how you’d love all the sights and sounds out there, and looking for my eagle. I was frustrated not to see her. But then I realized she’s somewhere up there in the sky, even though I can’t see her. Just like Jesus. Just like you.

    While I was there yesterday, I Facetimed a friend and I was shocked to see myself for the first time. To find that the person staring back at me looked the same. The world feels so different, so I assumed I would look different.

    The world is full of pressure right now, from all sides. But I very clearly remember your instruction for when this happens:

    * Do not stop.

    * Keep pushing back and keep going.

    * An enemy knows when he’s losing. He will throw all he has at you in his last ditch effort, just before he surrenders.

    I was worried about Audrey’s dental work this week, because you weren’t here to pray. But Joy convinced me that your years of prayers for all of us keep working. I had no idea! Why didn’t we talk about this while you were here?

    I know it hasn’t looked like it at all moments, but I am OK. We talked about this time on numerous occasions and I am so thankful that you very intentionally spoke to me about it. I don’t always feel it, but I believe I am equipped because you said it. At the same time, I feel a little like I did when I realized that What to Expect When You’re Expecting in no way prepares you for having an actual baby.

    Miss and love you, Beth

    PS: It looks like Jimmy Carter is headed your way soon. You should maybe not tell him what you thought of his job performance and just focus on his post-Presidency work.