Author Archives: diane.connis@gmail.com

The Uncertainty of Certainty

It’s a new year. A new decade. In my life time, I’ve marinated in environments where it’s expected I should declare prosperity, health, blessings and all things good for the new year. And why not? Isn’t that what we all hope for?

But honestly, we don’t know what a year will bring. I’ve had good years and others where things have gone horribly wrong, with no foresight of what was coming, no matter what I had declared at it’s start. Years where the collision of my bless-me-club-membership faith and actual reality shattered me into tiny pieces and everything I was certain of, understood and believed, lay broken at my feet.

As the years come and go I‘ve come to ask myself, are these declarations of only having what I define as good in life, nothing but a demand for God’s stamp of approval on what I want? Isn’t it arrogant to believe I can take a few scriptures mixed with my wants, my desires and throw them at God, as if He’s some genie in a magic bottle or cosmic vending machine, demanding He heal, prosper, alleviate, rescue me from every heart rendering circumstance of death, despair, disability and disillusionment?

Ask? Yes. 

Declare and demand? No.

Maybe we should just declare that whatever happens God will be with us. In it all. Maybe all He wants is us, not all our plans or demands. He just wants to be inside this life with us whatever that ends up looking like. 

Maybe He just wants us to discover the simple certainty of this, He is Emmanuel. God With Us. He will not abandon or forsake us in 2020 or any other time. 

And maybe knowing that is enough for a new year.

A Jon View of Loss

I found this photo today, upside down on an end table in the family room. An old one, judging by how we’re dressed, possibly taken in the late 1980’s or early 90’s. 

A snapshot of happier days with Mike’s youngest sister and husband, and me and what used to be my husband. Used to be is the key phrase here, because two years ago my husband died. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. And as you can guess, he was in this picture. If you look closely his hand is draped over my right shoulder.

As soon as I flipped this photo over, I saw Mike had been scratched out. And I knew who did it. But I wasn’t sure why. What I do know is Jon is still internalizing the loss of his father, as am I, and though he’s spoken little of it from the beginning until now, this is proof.

I took the photo to Jon, put it down in front of him and very gently asked, “Jon, why did you you scratch your dad out of this picture?” It was a shot in the dark to ask and I really didn’t expect an answer from my mostly nonverbal son.

He glanced at the picture and looked away. “He’s gone,” was the reply. So much sadness in his expression. So much hurt and pain in his eyes. Maybe my disabled son thinks scratching his dad out of a photo somehow makes it all go away. I wish it was that easy. Wish I knew Jon’s thoughts. Wish we could have that conversation. Wish he could open up and pour out everything he’s feeling inside. But he never has. He doesn’t have those words. 

So he just makes his father disappear. 

In the past we’ve been told by ‘experts’ and believed that grief is on a timeline, it’s not. Two years is nothing compared to the lifetime we had Mike with us. Thirty seven for Jon. Forty three for me. So you will excuse us if it takes us that many years to ‘get over him.’ Please?

Honestly, I doubt we ever will. As much as we would love to scratch the sorrow and pain of loosing him away, we can’t. Mike not being here has impacted us greatly and it’s painfully difficult. Still. We are so aware of his absence, his physical presence missing here, in our daily life. 

Time does not erase the memory of him. Or the loss of him. We’re simply learning, with the passage of days, months, years, how to live without him. Maybe time will permit us to be better at that. I hope so, because scraping Mike’s image off every photo we can find, certainly won’t. 

In the days ahead, I pray I can find the wisdom to help my son’s heart know this. And mine too.

Two Years Later

It’s been two years. Today.

What I never knew, what you can’t know until you’re here, is the large part of you that dies with your spouse. It can’t be helped. Through the years of togetherness your existence becomes so completely entangled and intertwined, you loose entire pieces of yourself when they’re gone. 

Not only do you suffer the loss of a person but also the unique history the two of you created. The glances, the personal jokes, the comfortable silence only you both understood. The way you often knew what the other wanted, liked or thought without even asking. The decisions made together that shaped the path of your life. The parts of your mind, soul and body only your loved one knew. All of the small nuances and intimate sharing that was just the two of you. These all have vanished and nothing or no one else can ever replace them. 

I lost so much when I lost him. 

Ironically one of the last sermons Mike preached was on how to handle loss. One statement he made that has stuck with me is this, “God is the God of all we’ve lost and the God of all we have left”.

For seven hundred and thirty days, I‘ve lived in the aftermath of stumbling, faltering attempts to move forward. My heart has been much slower to accept what my brain has known since the evening he left me, Mike is gone from this earth and he’s never coming back. And while the passing of two years has done nothing for the missing of him, I must continue to live. 

Discovering who I am without my husband is a daunting task. I still don’t know. But God does. 

“The LORD says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” Psalm 32:8

He is the God of what is left of me. As year three begins, only He can show me where to go from here. I‘m Hoping. Trusting. Listening.

(In)Dependence Day

It’s July 4th. USA’s Independence Day. A time to remember our journey of becoming a nation. The day we celebrate our historical release from the rule of a British monarchy.

This land was founded on independence, which in many ways is good. It holds each of us responsible for our own choices, our own path and fuels much of the creativity, innovation and freedom we enjoy.

Taken to the opposite extreme, however, it’s not good. There we come to believe, “I don’t need anyone. I can do it my way. Don’t need you. Won’t listen to that opinion. Not letting anyone else in.”

There all sense of community is lost. The desire for belonging, every human craves, is gone. We are no longer our brother’s keeper. We isolate, judge, withhold.

We are meant to be the hands and feet of Jesus in this world. Literally. Physically. Not just talk but action. Will we ever perfect this on Earth? Probably not. But we are always meant to try. 

We don’t have to rescue the entire world, only help the one set before us. Today. In whatever form that may unfold. Anything from a simple hug and smile to: 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m here to listen.”

“Can I pick up anything at the store for you?”

“Let’s go out to dinner. My treat.”

“Would you like me go with you to that doctor appointment?”

“I‘m coming over to mow your grass, fold laundry, watch the kids, bring lunch, help organize your garage, clean leaves out of the gutters, paint that room, plunge the toilet or just keep you company for a while.”

There’s so many ways we can help the people whose life intersects ours, some may even require opening our wallet.

Independence says: 

“I‘m too busy”. 

“I don’t have time”. 

“That’s their problem.”

“That’s not my concern”.

“They’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know what to say/do.”

And a host of other excuses we come up with to stay independent from others.

Dependence requires sacrifice of our time, energy, emotions, money, resources. Love asks, “What can I do to make your world a better place today? Right now?” Then puts action to it.

In it’s rightful context, there’s nothing bad about independence, but there can be a whole lot right about dependence, a dependence on God and each other to get us through this life.

Happy Independence Day to America!

And Happy Dependence Day to Us!

Galatians 6:2 “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

James 2:15-16 “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?”

1 John 3:18 “Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”

A Widows Prayer

Good Morning Father. I’m awake. 

Another day, and my first thought as always, is he’s gone. 

Still. 

His side of the bed unruffled. 

Comforter flat and wrinkle free. 

Pillows smooth and in place.

Here I am without him. 

Again.

I can’t do this widow thing. 

But You can.

I can’t do this single mom/caregiver of a grown son with disabilities thing. 

But You can.

I don’t have enough faith. 

But You do.

I am without hope. 

But You’re not.

I’m not strong. 

But You are.

So I will push this blanket back. 

Put my legs over the side of this bed and my feet on the floor.

I will stand and get ready for whatever this day brings.

I’d rather pull this blanket over my head and stay right here. 

But You’re with me.

He’s not here. 

But You are.

Thank You for never abandoning us. 

You and Your Son have not forsaken me and mine.

You have and are everything I need.

I place my trust in You.

We will do this day together.

Here we go.

Useless Words

I admit, I‘ve run out of words.

Well, ‘run out’ might not be the exact terminology. Words still exist, but they are a continuous whirlwind of thoughts, crashing into each other and shattering in uselessness to the bottom of my brain. I‘ve been asked, why I‘m not writing and posting regularly like I was. When you can’t make sense of anything, expression can be difficult.

Everything I once thought I knew, believed, subscribed to, seems trivial and irrelevant. All the knowing-of-things I once held dear, is nothing but the fluff of a spent dandelion blowing in a tornado.

I need to drown out the noise of this world, the constant chatter both past and present, ricocheting off the walls of my heart and mind. So many words and ideas others have spoken into me since childhood. Piled deep and high. I’ve been stripped inside to the nakedness of my soul and exhausted by years of ideas, opinions and dogmas I have heard and still hear.

Confession time? Complete honesty? All my cards laid out on the table? I‘m too tired to figure it out anymore. Too broken to put me back together. I‘ve reached the end of myself and I don’t care how unspiritual it looks. The mask is off. I can’t fake it ‘til I make it. Can’t stomach the cliches and pat answers I always thought were truth.

I am asking God to help me understand Him in ways I never have before. I am begging my Father to reveal Himself to me. Not from the interpretation of others. And not from my own contrived misconceptions of who He is. But for Himself. 

What about Him do I not know? What about Him do I not understand? If I’m going to move forward from here I desperately need to hear His voice and understand His heart. 

For me. 

There’s little to say right now.  I must be still and learn to know He Is God. I‘m like Mary, who after the angel appeared to tell her she would bear God’s Son in human flesh, pondered all these things in her heart. 

Or Job, who after striving with so much sorrow before his Creator, put his hand over his mouth and shut-up, realizing he had spoken things without knowledge, from the limits of human reasoning.

Or Paul, who considered everything he had ever accomplished prior to knowing Christ, the power of His resurrection and fellowship of His suffering, nothing but garbage. Manure. Useless.

The encouraging news in the dark night of my soul is this; even the dandelion, that blooms, withers and blows away, is rooted in solid ground and when the winter is over, lives again. Even the garbage heap can be recycled into new usefulness. Even the manure pile is tilled back into the earth to enrich a new harvest. In the fullness of time and the proper season of renewal, all can be restored.

So in this season, I exist on what I still know that I know to be true. God is good. He is faithful. He does not abandon. And He loves me. 

At present little else matters to me. It is all the words I have. And it is enough.

For now.

 

Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I Am God.”

Luke 2:19 “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

Job 40:4-5 “I lay my hand over my mouth. Once I have spoken, but I will not answer; Yes, twice, but I will proceed no further.”

Job 42:3 “I have uttered what I did not understand, Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.

Philippians 3:8-10 “ Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith—  that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.”

Lamentations 3:22-24 “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

Matthew 28:20 “I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”

Broken Bootstraps

The American Dream was built on a mind set of individualism and independence.  The idiom ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ is deeply ingrained in the western worldview and taken to a positive outcome has helped our country and culture evolve into an innovative and creative influence in the world. 

The origin of this descriptive phrase isn’t known. It refers of course to boots and the straps that some boots have attached to help the wearer pull them on and to the imagined feat of a lifting oneself off the ground by pulling on one’s bootstraps. This impossible task is supposed to exemplify the achievement in getting out of a difficult situation by our own efforts

There are life circumstances that come along and leave us so weak, broken and devastated  we have no strength left to pull ourselves up or out. Our own efforts are dismantled and truthfully God never meant for us to rely solely on our own striving and limited human understanding in life. We are designed to depend on Him and each other. 

So what do we do when our bootstraps are broken? Who and what do we rely on when our inner resources are drained?

I’ve been told many times in the past months to ‘stay strong’, ‘be strong’. Not helpful. You can’t be strong when you’re not. It’s like asking someone with broken legs to walk on them. Anyone with logical thinking understands this is a crazy expectation. 

These are the times we are to be strong for each other, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ,“ Galatians 6:2.

What is the law of Christ? Jesus made it clear before He went to the cross. “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another,” John 13:34. 

Loving each other means there will be times we are called on to carry someone else when they are too weak, too devastated, to carry themselves (even Jesus needed help carrying the cross to Golgotha). 

It means we will need to cover another with our own faith in their time of lack. We step into their situation, however uncomfortable, not to advise, fix or offer theological cliches, scripture quoting or explanations for suffering, but just to be near, to hold up, to ‘weep with those that weep,’ We show up. We climb into the devastation. We stay for the duration.

We are all meant to be boot straps for one another. There may also be times when we need to be someone’s boots, never mind the straps! 

If someone near you is too broken to pull themselves up, pick them up and carry them. Transfuse some of your own presence, strength and faith to another for a while until they are back on their feet.

You never know when you’re own bootstraps might be broken and you’ll need someone to carry you.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another.” Romans 12:15-16

Moving On or Moving Forward

Mike and I moved many times through the years of our marriage (read about that here).

Whenever we relocated we left houses and some unnecessary things behind and carried many possessions with us to the next destination. 

Such is the nature of life. Change comes and we have to decide what to carry with us and what to leave behind. It’s rarely an all or nothing proposition, but a mix of both.

Since the death of my husband, a little more than year ago, I’ve learned the pervasive thought of modern western culture is to grieve on a linear path of stages for a while, get through it, get over it and finally move on to a happy, contented new life. 

Grief is a problem to be ‘fixed’ rather than an experience to be acknowledged. 

Our culture doesn’t deal well with death, pain, suffering or grief. We personally avoid these at all costs and we often don’t know what to do with those who are experiencing them. Our convenience loving, pleasure seeking, short attention span, hurry-up-and-make-bad-stuff-go-away culture, often and unintentionally places grieving people in a position of pretending to be alright or having to defend their sorrow, eventually forcing them into suffocating silence.

Moving on implies leaving everything behind. To not speak of our dead loved one again, acting as if they never existed, if not ridiculous, is at the very least, unfair and a dishonor to our departed and the love we shared with them.

The truth is, our love for a person doesn’t die with them. We never ‘get over’ it, because their life and death are ingrained into our experience and become an integral part of who we are. As long as I breathe, I will carry Mike’s life and death forward into the future I learn to live without him.

Recently someone was brave enough to tell me they had heard about Mike’s death and said, 

“That must be so difficult.” This was an acknowledgement of the pain. 

“Tell me about him. What was he like?” This was an honoring of his existence.

They didn’t dance around the reality of his life or death and what I was going through. They didn’t assume I didn’t want to talk about it. They didn’t offer cliches or platitudes. And they weren’t afraid of my sadness or tears. They entered into the loss with me.

It was a beautiful thing and something we all need to practice as we enter into one another’s pain and suffering. When we do we are mirroring God’s heart for the broken.

He didn’t avoid our pain and suffering or run from it. He put on a suit of skin and entered totally into the experience of humanity. The blessings, fear, joy, sadness, laughter, tears and darkness. 

God chose and still chooses to be with us in all of it. He doesn’t pretend to make the hard stuff go away but enters into it with us.

He promises to be Emanuel. God With Us!

And moving forward, especially during the sadness of another Christmas season, I can be thankful for this, even when it’s difficult to be thankful for anything else.

One Year Later

One year ago today my husband and I woke up and went about business as usual with no hint of what the day would bring. 

By it’s end, Mike was gone, instantly and without warning. Death came calling and the life we had together, the one I had known for so long, suddenly evaporated. 

“Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.” Proverbs 27:1

Honestly, it’s been my worst (and there’s been some tough ones) year ever. It feels like yesterday, still so fresh in my mind and heart. I still can’t believe he’s really gone.

The gnawing sadness and giant void that replaced what Mike’s existence once filled, remains. I wonder if it always will. I miss him constantly. I miss all that was us. 

This year my faith has been severely tested. The past twelve months have been a season of grasping, clawing, failing, falling, leaning and learning. I’ve taken some steps forward and just as many backward. 

I’m learning how to make decisions and handle situations on my own and deal with emotions never experienced before. There are still nights of fear and anxiety and days when giving up seems to be a better option than moving forward. 

A year ago, I could never have imagined a life without Mike in it. When I think I won’t make it through another day God, who is The More I desperately need, is patiently guiding me on a growing faith journey like none I‘ve walked before.

Today is a day of remembering and sadness. But also a day of thankfulness because I’ve survived. I didn’t know I could at first. Didn’t think I would, especially in those early days when just continuing to breathe seemed impossible.

So I take time today to thank God for being More. More grace, More comfort. More peace, More strength. More provision. More faithfulness. More mercy. More love. More trust. 

More of everything I am not, without Him. And More of all there is the possibility of becoming because of Him.

“God has the power to provide you with more than enough of every kind of grace. That way, you will have everything you need always and in everything..” 2 Corinthians 9:8

Let Me See

Job 23:2 “My complaint is bitter again today. I try hard to control my sighing.”

I’ve read the book of Job many times through the years, but reading it with a grieving heart is eye opening. I completely relate to all the raw, brutal emotion, the questioning, flailing and anxiety of humanity displayed there; a cacophony of thoughts and words flowing from a broken heart. Tossing, turning, struggling with answers to a deluge of why questions. 

I admit to finding consolation in the story of Job, since some of his experience is also mine. I am not unlike him. Desperate prayers and pleas erupt from a mind, that is often a tornado of chaotic thoughts. Fear, insecurity and desperation leer in the background of my days. The battle is real. 

In his suffering, Job exhausts himself further, trying to reach God, trying to understand why he has been targeted for such loss and pain. We don’t know how long it took Job to reach the other side of his grief. The story is read in forty two chapters so we assume it’s short, but I doubt that, because grief never is. Could have been months, even years. What I do know is, though he never seemed to find the answers he was searching for, in the end he found a clearer revelation of God.

Job finally tells God, “You asked why I talk so much when I know so little. I have talked about things that are far beyond my understanding. You told me to listen and answer your questions. I heard about you from others but now I have seen you with my own eyes,” Job 42:2-5.

Grief and loss have a way of knocking the props out from under us, forcing us to re-prioritize, re-think, re-evaluate everything we thought we believed. I pray I eventually emerge on the other side of this season with a broader sense of how great God is and how deeply He loves, especially when nothing makes sense.

‘Well, you were a pastor’s wife, you should already know such things,’ some may think.  No. Regardless of expectations or ‘titles’, my limited lens on life and it’s purpose will never measure up to God’s panoramic view.

Relationships are in a continuous tension between struggle and growth. God created us for relationship. In the pleasant and hard places, God longs to be up close and personal. He only waits for the invitation that my hurting heart delivers.

I want to be able to say with Job, “In all my days up until this, I had ‘heard about you from others but now I have seen you with my own eyes.’ He can still be trusted. He is still worthy to be known.”

In my struggle, let me SEE you, Lord.