Morsels of Merry

Today marks six years since I received that dreaded phone call that my dad was killed in an early morning accident. Nothing prepares you for that type of call. There are no adequate classes, books, or speeches that prepares your heart to say a final goodbye to a loved one. There’s absolutely nothing that teaches your mind the etiquette of not replaying memories of that loved one at your most vulnerable of moments.

It’s the smallest instances and minute occurrences that trigger a flood of memories. It’s the way someone glances your way or a chuckle from a passing stranger. It’s that familiar scent from an often visited restaurant or a joke that made you laugh until you cried. Your mind is not kind. At the drop of a hat you’ll cry before you even realize it. You’ll choke back tears and blink away the sting in your eyes to maintain a somewhat calm composure in public. Yet, sometimes, those memories are not enough.

My dad always asked me if I was going to have children. I never told him about our infertility struggles. I simply would say, “Of course, dad!” To which he would reply, “Don’t wait too long.” Two years after his passing I would welcome my first child. Memories of him wanting to be with his grandkids were not enough. I needed him present, at that moment, sharing in the joy we felt. Now I have a second child that will miss opportunities with grandpa. A picture and stories just won’t do.

There will always be those times when we just want to sit and talk with that loved one. We want their opinions, guidance, wisdom. We just want to know they are a phone call away. Maybe just down the hall. Wherever and whenever, we just want to keep having access to them. I have. Yet, the mind is cruel. It plays back those memories everyone say are happy, but they only feel bittersweet. The mind remembers the last conversation, but also the not so good conversations. Maybe an argument or disagreement. Even so, the heart still wants that loved one back.

The best explanation for grief I’ve heard is expressed in this quote:

“The bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

—Anne Lamott

So we do learn to dance and limp along life’s winding roads. Yet, there are still times when memories are just not enough. Saying, “I miss you!” to the wind is inadequate. The heart just wants them back earth-side, reunited just a little bit longer; making memories again without considering that one day we’ll have to say a final goodbye. Then, memories just won’t do.

I recently read a Facebook post from a member of a group I’m in that stopped me in my tracks. The member stated she was experiencing loneliness and asked if other members were dealing with this issue and used the group as a coping mechanism. In a moment’s time, a number of strangers rose together to acknowledge their own battles and offer solidarity and strength. I didn’t answer, but I read every comment. It hit home because I, too, was battling with loneliness. This stranger’s post touched me. It made me stop, acknowledge, and reconsider my own inner turmoil.

This is not the first episode. I naturally tend to be a loner. I keep to myself. I’m a homebody. Groups are not my thing. I enjoy moments of solitude, especially if fuzzy blankets are involved. However, I’m not alone. I have a family that keeps me busy. I have awesome friends that I can reach out to at the drop of a hat. My babies are with me 24/7. No, I’m not lonely, but I FEEL lonely. That is how the problem starts. We fall into the trap of how we feel and drown in our own unacknowledged solitude of melancholy. It’s a trap, so don’t make it home.

It’s this cry of loneliness that is rarely heard at the beginning of a heartache. It’s usually seen once a person has spiraled down to a dark place of depression. It’s the loneliness that’s physical, emotional, or psychological that plays against reality. It makes us feel like life is against us. Circumstances feel unbearable and magnified. Silence is loud and deafening. Tears are hot and often lead to sobs of pity. Sometimes we cry and not know why we are crying. Sounds like depression? Yes, but it’s not. Loneliness is one of those side roads we find ourselves on that often lead to depression. It’s OK to be alone. We need to be alone sometimes. However, living in loneliness is not healthy. The quicker we navigate this path, the better.

I will never forget that Sunday morning I realized my body was terminating a surprise pregnancy. I had only received that positive pregnancy test a few days prior. I was planning a surprise announcement for the hubby, so he didn’t even know yet. It was thirty minutes before musician’s practice and I was an emotional wreck. I quickly took another pregnancy test and noticed how faint the lines were.

That was the hardest drive to church I have ever made. It was an even harder task to go through practice, worship service, and after service fellowship with my poker face intact. That feeling of grief left me in a lonely state of mind. I was surrounded by people who loved me and would have wept with me, but I chose to keep it to myself. There has been many instances of loneliness I’ve endured: the loss of my father; not having a lifelong best friend who just gets me; being overwhelmed with life responsibilities; disappointments that noone is aware of; and the list can continue. We all face these types of challenges and disappointments. We just can’t stay there.

I will admit that I prefer to keep my feelings to myself, but I respected the woman in that group for being open. Loneliness is rarely noticed without someone pointing it out. I realized that, sometimes, getting over a struggle is not about breaking the cycle. Most days it’s about keeping our head above the waves. That requires us to keep moving, keep treading water, until we can rest in safety before the next wave comes. Some days we need to make our cry louder so that others can recognize our plight and be the support we need.

The days you feel forgotten. The life moments that seem empty. The room void of your heartfelt laughter. These are the times to remember your support group and those with a listening ear. Keep connected to that friend who has a shoulder to cry on. Confide in someone trustworthy. Volunteer in a cause you seem worthy. Do something that boosts morale. Whatever you do, just don’t quit and stay trapped. Seek help. Accept help. One day you, too, will be someone’s support and recognize their cry for help.

Remember when everyone was posting how 2020 was going to be all about renewed vision, clear vision to success, and goal achievement? Yeah, we are so far from that vision of happiness and prosperity. Current events make it hard to believe that just a few months back everyone had such a positive view of this year. However, here we are. A year of Covid-19, political unrest, murders, riots, unexpected deaths, loss of employment, and separation from loved ones. People are scared. People are mad. People are anxious. 

2020 has truly made each of us take a good look at ourselves; to refocus on what’s really important to us as individuals. The proverbial cover has been removed to reveal where we stand between fear and faith. We are no longer able to hide behind associated groups, affiliations, or even families. Every action, every choice is being scrutinized by associates and strangers alike. 

The beginning of the pandemic brought out several unknowns. Many were willing to do their part to help prevent illness and death. Sadly, the more things progressed the more people turned against each other. We have gone from a highly scientific society to a people arguing over the validity and usefulness of a fabric mask. Neighbors and strangers are willing to rat out anyone they feel are putting others in jeopardy of contracting Covid-19. Fear has brought out the unfriendliness, nosiness, and pridefulness of our hearts. 

Never in my lifetime have I witnessed such direct and open confrontation of my Christian faith as it is happening now. I have never been made to feel as if going to church was a lack of neighborly love as I’m being told now. Today I must decide openly whether it is truly best to obey God over the opinions of mankind. Is God’s mandated framework of how His church operates through worship and outreach, neighborly love and compassion still relevant? Can I still say if He doesn’t heal me I will still trust Him? 

Where fear is the inward battle of coping with what we can’t control, faith is the inward assurance that God has everything under control. It is that peace through faith in His love for humanity that people need today. You can almost see the internal struggle on people’s faces who are trying to decide if being in public will harm someone. The old adage “the eyes are the window to the soul” rings true. Our masks may cover expressions, but it doesn’t hide the uncertainty, fear, disdain, or inquiry in our eyes. 

If you know of someone who is struggling, whether emotionally or circumstantially, now is the time to put faith into action. We must settle in our own hearts whether our faith will see us through and be courageous enough to encourage those struggling with what to believe and how to show it. We have all been in that miserable place of not knowing whether to throw in the towel or give faith a chance. So, let compassion and empathy continue. We know what God can do, so let faith remind us that He is willing and able to do those things for each of us. Then find a way to spread the peace and love of God to those who are fighting the oppressive abuse of fear. 

I took a crash course a few weeks ago on the topic of social media marketing. I wanted to make sure I had all the current tools and skills needed to advance my online boutique and ensure this new blog format was appealing to my target audience. The presenter demonstrated the use of various lighting filters, screen overlays and color adjustments. Just a few tweaks of a filter or color depth and the photo was brilliant! The subjects were accentuated. However, it was the advanced filters, overlays and photo editing tools that caught my attention.

I’ve had an interest in photography, especially photo journaling, for several years. Watching the application of a few photo editing tools reminded me how photo journalism has evolved. No more are we capturing objects as they are and tweaking the lighting on the photo to make it clearer, we are now capturing an object at a distorted angle and completely changing true colors, backgrounds and even removing objects. In most cases the edits changed the whole story of what was captured. These past years I’ve seen photos posted on Facebook that appeared to be real, but a caption or comment revealed that the picture wasn’t at all what it appeared to be. The protrayed location wasn’t the actual location. The person really didn’t resemble in real life the image pictured.

This made me think of the childhood story The Velveteen Rabbit. In this story a little boy receives a stuffed, velveteen rabbit, along with other toys. The story then takes us through the rabbit’s transformation from a beautiful, new toy to a dirty, shabby one. With the help of one of the nursery’s oldest toys, the Skin Horse, the rabbit learns that he can become “real”, but it will be an ugly and painful process. One cannot become “real” without being loved.

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real.”

Therein lies the problem. We don’t truly love ourselves and barely love others. True and honest appreciation for others is a rarity. Take away the heart emojis, pretty filters, and quirky captions under fake smiles and ask yourself, “What if I’m real?” What if my true story is worth telling? What if my non-picturesque life was shown? What if my life wasn’t viewed under someone else’s filter of what beauty is supposed to be? What if I stopped trying to make every dark moment look better or more dramatic? What if I paused from capturing every photo-worthy minute of my day and simply lived through the moments, unfiltered and raw?

“Does it hurt? asked the rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are real you don’t mind being hurt.”

Hurt people hide. Hurt people doubt. Hurt people want positive validation. Hurt people want to be loved. In our digital society of “likes” it seems that being real is not always desired. Everything has to appear better, sound better, and look better than it really is. Quotes must sound profound. Cellphone photos must have the quality of professional photos. Poses are artistic. No unkempt backgrounds shown. No real emotions. No genuineness. Depression is masked. Aloneness is replaced. Tears become sparkles.

” … once you are real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

But what if I were real? What if I appreciated my quirkiness? What if I expressed my griefs? What if my photos captured the kids’ daily clutter of toys on the floor? What if I voiced unpopular concerns? What if I appreciated myself and valued my own opinions? What if I loved others regardless of our differences?

If I were real, I’d be open to the hurt of those who were not real without the need to be retaliatory. I would be free to show empathy. I would be willing to see the world as it truly is. I would be inviting to those who are different from me. I would not need to hide. I would be consistently me. I would finally realize no one could duplicate me. My thoughts, my opinions, my life matters … because I’m real. “Real” born through hurt lasts forever.

How many times have you needed an answer from God and was met with silence? Did you ever ask Him to work out a situation for you and yet, here you are, still waiting? Waiting is so hard. We fear what we don’t know and can’t see. Too often we fret over what we can’t control. Think of this as your winter season.

In winter, almost everything dies. It’s cold. Lonely. A time when you can clearly hear the echoing of your own voice. There’s beauty all around, but you’re stuck hearing the silence and feeling the loneliness.

I was reading the story of how Joseph became second in command in Egypt when another story jumped out at me. Here is Joseph fulfilling God’s plan, meeting a widespread need, and putting feet to the visions he had as a young boy while Jacob is over there half living. You see, Jacob, the same man that wrestled through the night and was called a prince of God, was in his winter season.

Jacob believed his beloved son was dead and completely lost hope in living. God could have easily sent word to him to comfort him or remind him of Joseph’s dreams, but He didn’t. Fifteen years have passed from the time we read that the seventeen-year-old Joseph is the favorite son, until he is about thirty-two-years-old seeing his brothers during the famine. For Jacob, that’s at least fifteen years of silence from God. Fifteen years of choosing to half live; to succumb to fear; and to live without hope.

I can only imagine the restrictions he placed on Benjamin due to his fear and over protectiveness, as shown in the scriptures. Then again, aren’t we just like Jacob at times when we don’t see that God’s been working things out all along? We struggle to believe. We doubt. We give up hope. We struggle with depression. I want to remember this story to help me choose to believe. Even though I can’t see it, He’s still working! I chose to believe.

Oh, the joy of a successful adoption story! Tragic are the stories of children who are unwanted, orphaned, born into dire situations, parents who have no other alternative, or parents who unexpectedly die. We feel for them! What joy to see how these children and families begin a new journey of love and live a life they never dreamed could be a reality through adoption.

But there’s the other side of the coin. The unlovable who refuses love. The uncaring who rejects care. The merciless who discards mercy, and yet, He still loves. He cares. He extends mercy. To the spiritually fatherless, He says, “Come!” A new life full of possibilities, promises, blessings and privileges await those who willingly accept the Father’s love and take His name.

Each Father’s Day I take the time to reminisce those precious memories experienced with my dad. Lots of laughs were shared over the years. There were also hurts, disappointments, frustrations, and seclusion. Although he has gone on to his reward, I’m glad to have a heavenly father who is still able to wrap me in His arms, wipe away the tears, and listen to whatever I have to say. I will always love my earthly daddy, but I’m grateful for my spiritual Father.

I glanced one more time in the mirror. The puffiness around my eyes was still there. I blinked a few times. My red-rimmed lids held back a few rogue tears. I hate confrontations. I know I said hurtful things and wish I could take them back. I didn’t realize the level of bitterness that was tucked away in my heart. It only took one heated moment to cause it to surface from its hidden space in my heart. I breathed out a trembling sigh as I turned for the door. Time to make this right. God and I will have to sort this out later. That’s a confrontation I’m not looking forward to, either.

Psalms 139 verses 23-24 are not for the faint of heart. Asking God to search our hearts and try us is like praying for patience! Things are going to get real very quickly! When you pray this, you are inviting Him to enter places even you have not entered. Thoughts and emotions will be brought into the light. Situations will arise to verify your utmost trust and dependence on Him.

Yet, those who love Him have nothing to fear. For they have also prayed for any hidden sins, faults, failures and shortcomings to be covered by His blood. It’s in sincerity that they seek His careful scrutiny and watchful guidance. They have entrusted their fragile lives to the skillful and meticulous Potter. They know their broken pieces become something beautiful in the Potter’s hands. To them who love Him, eternity is an important matter. A confrontation between the Creator and the buried secrets of the heart will put our heavenly goals into perspective. In the end, it’s worth being tried by the Master Restorer.