Yesterday I posted some of the more relational things we are learning from crisis and grief. In case you need reminding, we are a mess of cluelessness – toddlers tripping and tumbling our way through this season. What I’m sharing is just stuff we’ve found to be helpful to us.
Today I wanted to share some of the hands-on stuff. In both posts it is super hard to limit the number (and I’d encourage you to add more in the comments), but here are three: Continue reading
We have an incredibly close family that has been referred to as the “Leave it to Beaver Cleavers”. You know – the all-American family who goes to church every Sunday, and takes family vacations. They love the boy scouts and the 4th of July, and the major drama is when the family dog gets hit by a car (but of course miraculously survives).
All that to say, we’re rookies at pain, and loss because, well, life has gone pretty well for us.
There are many, though, who will read this who have a Phd. in pain and suffering and have much to teach us, and I hope they’ll add their thoughts in the comments.
There are others who have a limited experience with grief, but who care deeply about their friends and want very much to minister to those in pain.
But whatever group you fall into, all of us, I think, want to get better at being companions who walk well with our brothers and sisters through the dark, confusing alleys of crisis.
Over the past 4 months, we had the remarkable privilege to sit with my little brother in hospital rooms, and care for him at home in hospice, and mourn when he took his last breath.
We experienced so many holy moments and such thoughtful care from the Body of Christ. Our extended family rallied as a team in ways that brings tears to my eyes as I think of the gift God has given us of each other.
Some of the things we learned ranged from the absurdly practical, to the nuances of EQ. I thought I’d share a few of them and encourage you to add your own in the comments. Today I’m going to start with the more relational, and tomorrow will go to the more practical: Continue reading
This is not a blog meant to be about me, or my family. It contains a lot of personal stories, but my prayer is that by the end of each post you feel that it’s about all of us and God and His everyday grace. I’ve written a lot lately about my brother’s fight with cancer in the hopes that some will gain encouragement or insight from our experience. I won’t write much more about this, but thought I’d share with you what I said at David’s memorial service. We are so grateful for the love, support, and prayers from family and friends.
Until I was 11 years old and David was 9, Cris 7, we lived in a house on Highland in Glen Ellyn. I had my own room, but David and Cris shared a room next to mine. Every night we would all be put to bed at the same time and after the lights were out, I’d hear the voices of my brothers coming from David and Cris’ room.
David would say: Hey Cris?
Cris would respond: Yeah?
David would say: Just wanted to know if you were awake.
Then silence for a minute and Cris would say: Hey David?
David would reply: Yeah?
Cris would say: Just wanted to know if you were awake.
This would go back and forth until one of them was too tired and fell asleep.
Today, in one sense David has been the one to fall asleep, but in another he is more awake and alive than he has ever been.
And this is what he wanted us to know.
The chapter of his life with cancer was filled with pain and prayer and hope and questions, but mostly, the refrain, “God is the Author of my story and He is good. I trust Him no matter what.”
As wonderful as my brother was, he was far from perfect (after all, I told you before that he pulled out my Mousey Moo’s tail when I was 8, and for that I think he should have to pay), but he was forgiven for that and everything else, and lived a vibrant life seeking to honor God.
He would want me to tell you, that if you don’t know it yet, this same Life can be yours if you just turn to Jesus and say “I’m sorry for the many ways I’ve messed up. Please forgive me and be the Author of my story. I just want to be a supporting character and let you be the Writer.”
You may think, “Why would I want an Author who let such a great supporting character like David die?” and I’m with you. Continue reading
My sister-in-law, Susan is a strong and courageous woman of faith. She read this and asked me to post it in the hopes that it might encourage, comfort, or inspire others. We know that many are walking hard roads with challenges we can’t imagine.
It’s a glorious summer morning as I sit on my brother’s front porch in a wicker rocker. Birds are chattering about new-day things. A bunny is nibbling breakfast in the front yard near the hydrangea and today’s paper waits in the driveway to be picked up. A jogger and a dog-walker pass by.
As a friend says, “This is the Lifiest time of year.”
People open junk mail, play a set of tennis, watch a friend’s wedding video on Facebook, water gardens, laugh at jokes, cut the lawn.
Inside the house my brother dances back and forth with one foot in heaven and one still on earth.
This feels surreal. It can’t be happening. Life and death, and life and Life.
Things beginning, things ending. Things growing, things dying.
I stare at the pictures rotating through my screen-saver. Photos of us in foreign countries – with kids thirsty for clean water in Africa, with survivors of a tsunami in Sri Lanka, with Palestinians in a refugee camp longing for home – the World outside our world.
Every day, people trying to choose Life.
This is a week when, in some ways life is on hold and we’re just waiting; day to day, minute to minute.
We’re simultaneously holding our breath and trying to breathe.
But in other ways everything is so…normal. We do all the regular stuff and wonder, “How? How can we do life while David seems to be moving towards death?”
I wake up off and on throughout the nights and pray, “God help. Hold. Heal.”
We say “Prayer changes things”, but what we really hope is that prayer will just change “THINGS” and not change US.
This time God seems to want to change us – to make us “Lifier” people with an ear to heaven and an eye on eternity. Continue reading
Dear Baby David,
I keep thinking of that time a few years ago when we all were gathered at the Lake House for Memorial Day weekend.
It was the same as every year – too many kids and dogs to count. Card games, and tubing, and Dad threading gooey worms on fishing hooks, and sitting at the long harvest table on the porch in soggy swim suits for lunch.
Memorial Day is notoriously a little early to be swimming in Wisconsin, but still, we launched the boat and plunged into the water as always. We’re a “Choose-life-no-matter-what” kind of family.
It was cool and cloudy and super windy that year, but you kept trying to convince me to go sailing with you on our little Sunfish. “Come on, Laura! It will be great! Me and you!” I can hear you as clear as if you were saying it to me today.
Finally I relented and we took off, you at the rudder (because I don’t actually know how to sail) and me along for the ride. Aunts and Uncles, grandparents and kids and dogs watched from the shallows as the wind immediately whipped up and started speeding us across the lake.
I’d say it was approximately 10 seconds before I watched helplessly as you fell off the back and I was on my own, speeding away.
I can picture you treading water and laughing so hard, like such a brother.
Everyone on shore was yelling instructions as I got further away from land, and some scrambled to jump in the ski boat and rescue me.
David, I keep thinking of this, because I feel like you’re slipping off the back of the boat again. And I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to sail on without you.
I hate it that cancer is eating away at your strong body. I hate it that you’re suffering. Maybe it’s time to let go of life, in order to embrace Life, but oh it’s so sad to watch you slip away.
We know that God can calm the wind and waves as He has before, but so far He’s chosen not to. So far.
And saying “this is hard” is like saying a heart surgery without anesthesia is hard.
We hurl confused, grieving, tearful words at God in our weakest moments these days, but we trust Him too. We don’t understand, but we choose to continue to believe He is good, because we have had a lifetime of sailing with Him.
You’ve held tight to the rudder, Baby David. You’ve fought the wind and waves courageously, but it’s ok. You can let go now if you want.
When you go I will miss you so much. Words can’t express…But even now I can picture Jesus and Grams and Gramps waiting for you on the other side. You and Gramps will talk trains and Mr. Punnymoon. And I know you’ll be waiting for me too, with that mischievous grin and twinkle in your eye, ready to go sailing with me again.
I love you,
Your head cheerleader
I’m sharing this publicly with Susan’s permission because I want readers to know what a difference faith in Jesus Christ makes. He is everything.
We are so, so blessed to have a family and heritage of believers to walk through this dark time together. We don’t have pat answers. We aren’t always happy-clappy. We’re impatient, and selfish and quirky just like all families. But we do not grieve as those without hope. (1 Thes. 4:13)
Tuesday night, David was moved home to hospice care. His wife Susan was on the phone with my mom telling her that the oncologist had said David was the most courageous patient he had ever had, with such a positive attitude. David was awake and overheard her. In a moment of semi-lucidity he said, “Oh, but did we remember to tell him it’s just because of Jesus, Susan?”
“Yes, Dave, we did. We did.” she said.
As most of you know, this summer has been an emotional roller coaster for our family as my little brother battles cancer. Honestly, I’ve had all the crazy irrational thoughts like…
“If I don’t think about David in pain, it’s not really happening.”
“If I don’t go see him he’ll continue to live.”
I’ve had some precious time with David, and am so grateful for faith-filled family and friends who have leaned in with us. I’ve prayed and prayed til I think if God was lesser He’d tell me to get lost and stop bugging Him. But He doesn’t.
Tuesday David was moved to home hospice.
Bottom line is that I’ve craved a mixture of meaningful and soul-strengthening stuff to read, but most are escapist, with themes of redemption and happy endings. As I mentioned before, I get a lot of book suggestions from my friend Joanne’s reading blog.
The first isn’t a book, but a great new app I found called Abide. It has guided prayer for many different situations. You’ll quickly find some voices you like better than others (somehow, the men bug me, but I love the women). It’s been a lovely, quiet guide.
Also, most nights John and I watch an episode of the West Wing. This is nothing new, but if someone in our family hasn’t gotten you hooked on this inspiring show, you haven’t talked to us in the past 8 years. Watch the episode, Shibboleth from Season 2 anytime you’ve had a rough day. Here’s a clip.
Then there are some lovely (and fun) books I’ve been reading also…
Joy in the Journey: Finding Abundance in the Shadow of Death
Last year we walked alongside our friends, Steve and Sharol Hayner from a distance as Steve battled pancreatic cancer. In February he went from life to Life. Perhaps it was God preparing us for this season with my brother. We “walked” this with Steve and Sharol through their Caring Bridge posts. Because those posts ministered to so many, IVP has created a book from that content. I re-read it yesterday and it was a gift all over again.
The Royal We by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan – Such a guilty pleasure! American twin, Rebecca Porter goes to study for a semester at Oxford and ends up falling in love with the future king. Although it depicts a debauched lifestyle, there aren’t lurid details and it’s a really engaging read.
Water From My Heart – Classic Charles Martin, one of my favorite authors. This is the story of Charlie Finn, a former drug dealer whose devastating life choices lead him to Nicaragua where he finds redemption through a relationship with an old man, a young woman, and her daughter.
The Red Notebook by Antoine Laurain “He was about to commit a forbidden act. A transgression. For a man should never go through a woman’s handbag.” This is the story of a bookseller in Paris who finds a woman’s abandoned purse. When he empties it, there is no phone or contact information, but there is a red notebook with some clues as to who the owner is, which he begins to follow. Meanwhile, the owner, who has been robbed of her bag, lies in a coma. This is a quick, clever, delightful read.
Ordinary Grace by William Kent Kruger. I loved this book! A beautifully written, compelling coming-of-age story of mystery, tragedy, love and redemption set in a rural Minnesota town in 1961. You can read Joanne’s full review here.
Your turn! What are you reading that you’d recommend?
I snuggle into the overstuffed nest-like chair in my bedroom with knees pulled up, feet against the ottoman, Bible and books scattered around me.
It feels safe here.
Through my window I see there’s a tug ‘o war going on between the clouds and sun that mimics the push and pull of the thoughts in my head.
Outside the gray is winning.
Inside…
I’m reflecting on the plot line of the story God is writing with my brother, David’s life.
How many millions of times, with how many different words have I prayed for healing for my brother?
Please, please, please… Write the story THIS way Lord!
Now I’m out of words. Or when I have them, they end up feeling rote and empty of meaning or power. Like some mumbo jumbo incantation from an old tired magician. Now there are only groans and sighs left.
It’s not my words, after all, that hold any power. It’s just You. You hold the pen.
Come Holy Spirit. Have mercy. Pray in my place please, with all the right and mystical and holy words that I don’t have.
I breathe. I listen. And then I remind You of how well Your razzle-dazzle work with Lazarus and Jairus’ daughter played, in case You forgot. I suggest that showing off with a healing like that again wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Write another amazing blockbuster!
I fluctuate between wanting to distract myself with a happy clappy crowd of people, and craving silence, and just You, Jesus.
Like an overloaded African truck, I strain under the most recent tonnage of words like “It’s spreading too fast to fight”.
I share the weight of those words with both You and praying friends.
But once I’ve dumped them one last time, I end up sitting very still and breathing.
Not thinking. Not carrying. Not burdened, but just being. And breathing. Breathing in You. Reassured that no matter what, You are good and nothing – NOTHING – can separate us from Your love.
David is afraid of how this might affect his boys – seeing their vibrant, active dad, weak and helpless. But I tell him they are seeing a different kind of strength in him now; a strength of faith and character that far outweighs the importance of physical strength. It is a picture of Your strength that Kyle, Cris, and Cooper need so desperately. A strength that serves, and submits to a larger story.
1 Corinthians 12:9 My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
There are so many physical choices Dave can no longer make – the choice to hike, to fly-fish, to ski, to golf. But he is doing hard and holy things. Each day he makes the loving choices he can – calling each of the many doctors and nurses by name, thanking them, affirming what a great job they’re doing, even as he is in tremendous pain. This is Your strength.
My sweet brother knows You as the Lover of his soul, and looks forward to spending forever with You, but he’s worried that if he dies, his boys will blame You. There are a million reasons why he wants You to heal him, but this may be number one.
He knows that in spite of how we may read our chapter, You see all the characters, all the plot lines, the beginning and the end and you weave them together for Your purposes. You are good and perfect, but we live in a world bent by sin, and that can leave us angry and confused and wanting to shout very bad words in frustration when the story doesn’t go the way we think it should.
Throughout the past months Dave has said repeatedly that You are the Holy Ghost-Writer of his story and he’s just a supporting character. Each day, he has shown up and waited for what You want to write. He’s looked for the moments to cheer You as the Hero. He’s been honest about the plot twists and turns that seem confusing, the times the Villain seems to be winning, times when he’d like to grab the pen back from You.
You are writing an epic Love story, while we sometimes want to settle for pulp fiction.
But David continues to trust You as the Master-crafter who already wrote the end to our story when You went to the cross. On Golgotha, we were afraid maybe You were writing a tragedy. Or maybe You weren’t the hero we thought You were. Maybe it was just a story of death. But it wasn’t. We waited and discovered three days later it is a story of Life. And it is a good story.
My younger brother, David, is an amazing man of faith, humor, kindness, and courage. Many of you know he has been on a grueling road trip. As I write this, David has been admitted to M.D. Anderson in Houston. His road is one of ups and downs, medication, and fatigue. Recently, through the haze of pain, he bravely tried to reflect on last week’s post and share some personal thoughts. Here are his words:
Let me first start by saying I love to travel. Planes, trains and automobiles are my thing. I’ll bump off the interstate and take a US highway just to roll down the window, smell the alfalfa fields, and look for grain elevators every 6 miles like clockwork.
I know there isn’t much to like about air travel but every time I see the Arrival and Departure signs at an airport my heart skips a beat and I recall the first time I flew as a 12 year old on a Delta Airlines Super DC 8 stretch.
And don’t get me started on trains as there is NOTHING better than a private bedroom with a large picture window and a good book while watching the American west from one of Amtrak’s western long hauls.
They all connote road trips for me and they certainly are a far cry from Abram packing up his tents, livestock and family and putting one foot in front of the other on the way to where? The Promised Land? With no return ticket?
Monday’s post about Abram, his idols, and his journey struck a chord with me. You see, I’m on a journey of sorts myself, and like Abram, it’s not one I willingly signed up for. In January I was diagnosed with stage IV Melanoma cancer.
For those of you who travel a lot, I’m sure you’ve become expert packers. You know which clothing you can get multiple wears out of. Your carry-on is packed with extra charging chords, toiletries ready in one clear quart plastic bag, and the indispensable People magazine. You are efficient and have exactly the right amount of “stuff”.
There are those of us, however, who arrive back home only to find six shirts never worn, untouched work out clothes, and a pair of Topsider deck shoes and Hawaiian shirt because “Weren’t we supposed to have a Cruise Night Party?”
Just like Abram, I started my journey with everything I had and yet God wanted me to pare down a few things. While the word “idol” sounds so ancient, there were things I worshipped that were excess baggage – mainly ego, pride and control. Continue reading
My phone pings and I look at another text update from my sister-in-law.
My brother David, who is two years younger than me, my brother who is strong and fit, my brother who is faithful and kind and always has a great sense of humor, has cancer. Stage 4.
And day and night we, his home team, in the bleachers and on the bench, pray for healing. For relief from unbearable pain and nausea, for strength and courage.
We are a family of Jesus-followers with a long heritage of belief and a sound-track of “Great is Thy Faithfulness”. We trust in a giant of a God. We know without a shadow of a doubt that our God is powerful and loving and can heal David with both hands tied behind His back (so to speak).
In the past two years one of our closest friends was healed from Pancreatic cancer. Unheard of. A miracle. Another close friend died of Pancreatic cancer. Both were faithful, both trusted the goodness of God and the power of prayer.
So what do we do with that as we walk with David through this fiery furnace? How do we pray with total faith and hope for the kind of healing we want for David while acknowledging that, for whatever crazy reason, it may not be God’s will to show off?
I think the hardest thing we do is to join Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in being “if not” Christians. Continue reading
There are many different ways to be brave, but it’s always a choice.
Yesterday I posted my friend’s thoughts on forgiving hard things and hard people. I marvel as I watch her and others in my life who have endured deep, deep emotional pain, and, with God’s help, have made the choice to be truly brave – to face it and forgive it.
And it has made me think too, of friends who are enduring tremendous physical pain that weakens them to the point where they could question if their life is really a life at all. And in the midst of it – with God’s help – they have persevered. They have been truly brave, choosing to greet each day as a gift.
Still others have chosen hard, sacrificial roads of service to those who feel hopeless or left behind. With God’s help, they’ve been truly brave, choosing to bring justice and mercy to dark places.
All of us have stuff that makes us want to give up, or give in, or yell at the top of our lungs “THIS ISN’T FAIR!!”
But instead, we can choose to be brave. And fight for life, or our marriage, or our kids, or for justice, for redemption…
There are many different ways to be brave, but it’s always a choice.
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