The dark times.....

“In the dark times 
Will there also be singing? 
Yes, there will also be singing. 
About the dark times.” 
― Bertolt Brecht


This is one of the darkest times of year for many people.  I am struck by the fact that hope and light do not always shine during this dark time for everyone.  Many are missing loved ones, struggling financially, are blinded by the consumerism of the season, or simply missing some much needed sunshine.  It is hard for many, and I am struck by the emptiness that can be found in such a "full" time.

I have no magic cure for this feeling...for the dark times.  But I do know this: there is always light.  We do live in a dark world, but it is not without light.  The first place I look for light is in my Jesus, after all, He is the light of the world. There is also light in others.  Look around.  Watch The lady smiling at you at Chick fil-a.....the cable repair guy who was on time....the friend that you can always call....the lady that bought coffee for the person behind her in the Starbuck's line....the fact that most of the homeless shelters are booked for volunteers this year for Christmas.  

There are lights all around.  There is light in you- have you hidden it? Divided it? Dimmed it in fear? Let it be covered up by other things?

I find myself, during the dark times, looking for a "cause" to certain miseries.  If I am unhappy, it must be someone's fault.  Usually, I find it easiest to point my finger at the closest unsuspecting victim.  Poor Will.
I am not the only one that does this. This happens all the time in marriage.  Our logic: "If I am unhappy, then it must be my husband/wife's fault." The fallacy or error here is: It was not your spouse's job to make you happy....it is not the purpose of marriage. Let me say that again. Happiness and Perfection were not God's purpose for marriage.  It isn't the purpose of your job to make you happy.  It isn't the job of your kids to make you happy. It isn't your friend's responsibility to make you happy.  It isn't your church's job to make you happy. It isn't your parents' job to make you happy......

Starting to feel alone?  Are you asking yourself: "Who is left?......I am unhappy. I am alone."

Good. Then God has you where He wants you....empty and needy and ready to be filled to the brim.  He sure can't fill you to the brim when you have tried to cram all those other things in your tank to try to make yourself happy.  Besides, the bitterness and anger that comes from these things not meeting your happiness needs will drive you to destruction: divorce, alcohol, overeating, emotional paralysis, immobilization, drugs, isolation, depression......you name it.... You know what I am talking about:
 "I fell out of love"
 "Noone values me in my job"
 "My friends don't call me"
"I drink to have a good time"
"We just weren't happy at that church"

So, a Christmassy cheerful challenge........

To stop looking at who or what is making you unhappy and focus lighting up your own life.
1) To look to your Savior- the one that came and died for us and would have done that if it had just been you and you alone on this earth....
2) To look around and appreciate those that are shining their light- to serve them, honor them, thank them for lighting up this dark world.
3) to decide today that your light is your responsibility and not the responsibility of your husband, your boss, your mom, your friend....You are the only one who can find true joy- true happiness- the kind of joy that doesn't disappear when the bills come, or when tragedy strikes, or when your marriage doesn't look like you want it to......the Joy of the Lord....the kind that is in you even in the darkest times....

What are you doing to seek that Joy?.....experience that Joy?.......spread that Joy?


Too harsh?  Not if your life is at stake.......

Plan B

This little girl's name is Vivienne.  That is the original French spelling.  I love the way the name trails off with an "e"....I am a little obsessed with it.....For a few reasons: 

1) It is French

2) It is an older name

3) It means "Alive" and "Life"....Not just in symbolism, but in the Latin origin.

but most of all

4) When I mentioned it as a possibility to Will, he literally put his hand on his heart and gasped.  He then proceeded to call her "Vivi" and he put his head straight to my belly to talk to her.  I was hooked.

God has spoken to me very clearly a few times about this baby.  I already mentioned to you that he gave me the word "Spunky" for her...which, I know doesn't seem like a word the Almighty might use...but He did.

The next thing that He spoke over her was that her life was in the hands of no Doctor or nurse....no professional.....not even in our hands.  

The thing that He has revealed to me in this advent season about Vivi is that she is no Plan (B).  

I was meant to conceive and carry Branson for the exact time that God gave her to me.  I was meant to bond with her, dream of her, learn about her personality.  I was meant to be blessed in His giving, and I was meant to experience the loss of her.  I am done asking "why".  I simply continue to ask Him "how" to walk it out...how to be honest about the grief and the joy that I experience every day.  Vivienne is not a replacement baby, just as dinner doesn't replace breakfast.  You need both.....Both were meant to feed me, nourish me, teach me. Both are blessings from the Lord.  Both are my girls.

It is still a mystery- the perfect will of God. I believe that He has ordained my path, that He holds my life in His hands, that His plan for the universe included His plan for my days. 

 I also believe that our choices dictate how much of His will we get to walk out ourselves.  My choices concerning Branson, for example: to have never been willing to get pregnant and try for a 3rd baby......to have aborted her when I learned of her health concerns.....to have disregarded and dismissed her as a life, a daughter-never acknowledging her personhood after she was gone.......to become bitter after she died- angry at God and unforgiving- drowning in self-pity.....to allow her death to create a pattern of walking in fear in my life from here on out....to decide God was mean, sadistic or just didn't know what He was doing.

There were so many choices. Each of those choices determined whether or not I would experience and learn the will of God in the way He had set out for me... 

My life is not a series of Plan (Bs).  God did not look at my screwed up choices and wonder "what am I going to do with her now?"  He knew my shortcomings, my experiences, my gifts as he formed me inside of my mother.  He loved me enough to give me the freedom to choose and blessed me over and over again even when I failed Him, even when I chose to go my own way- He drew me back to himself time and time again.

Why am I learning this in Advent?  Because it isn't the first time that a baby has NOT been God's Plan (B).  Jesus was not a last minute effort by the Almighty to save us.  It was His plan from the fall.  It was the only way to bring restoration to the world. It was the only thing that would satisfy the wrath of sin. It was the only perfect sacrifice that would atone for my choices.  It was part of THE Master Plan....and so is Vivi.  

JKB

My dad was 100 different people to 100 different people.  
He fit in everywhere....
Even when he had "worn out his welcome", he would simply disappear for a while.....when he returned, you had no choice but to simply be happy he came back.


My big "brother" Bo put it best....He told me this one time: Sometimes, I would be going somewhere I knew he was gonna be...and when things weren't good I would be so mad...I would resolve on the way there to not speak to him or even give him a piece of my mind for the ways he may have hurt you or your mom....but then, I would get there.....and he would smile and laugh and I would find myself in a high-five or hug within minutes.... He just had a way of making you remember who he was deep down.


My dad grew up the middle of 2 girls.  His dad worked hard, and after a car accident that medically paralyzed my grandfather, the dynamics became different between them.  My grandfather taught himself to walk again, but my father never seemed to get over the realization of how frail life was...and now, how seemingly frail his dad was.


He was handsome...thick curly hair, slender build, wickedly sparkling dark eyes. It was almost as if he had perfected some dashing character that would allow him to cause mischief and walk away untouched.  This kept him from reaping many of the consequences of boyhood.  He was able to maneuver and manipulate his way through almost any circumstance.  He was smooth...and like I said: when he wasn't smooth anymore, he would just pick up and move circles for a while...let you forget.....then, when he popped back in, you would be happy to see him....smooth.


Ace Miller, the owner of Golden Gloves Boxing in Knoxville, was a friend of my dad's for years.  He had promised Ace one night that he would take photos of the fights if Ace bought this new camera equipment.  They discussed the details, and about 3 hours into the fight my dad shows up....late and drunk.  Ace could barely tell the rest of the story for laughing. In order to make things right, my dad had found an old derby hat and stuck a card in it which read "press pass." Ace said that he just couldn't be mad at a guy who made sure he came late, drunk AND in costume.........


It wasn't always funny that he came drunk, late and in costume...Don't get me wrong. I do not want to make light of the very disease that took my dad from me- took the husband from my mom.   The character qualities within who my dad was remained the same.  Alcohol kept him from being his best, kept him from providing for his family, allowed him to forget his priorities and loosed a tongue from hell. It caused more hurt in his lifetime than anyone should experience.  However, who he was- his personality did not change.
I can read excerpts from his yearbook and know that he was the same way in 10th grade.  Smooth, sweet, funny, articulate, smart....and a dreamer.  


His yearbook drastically changed from Junior to Senior year. He went from being involved in many things to being involved in nothing. The girls stopped saying things like "stay sweet" and started saying things about past times and "remember when" and the messages from guys got cruder, uglier and full of the loss of hope. It was easy to see his circle had changed, his goals had changed.....It was easy to see the invasion of alcohol and depression.....depression and anger....anger and alcohol....the cycle...who knows why it started or which one caused which....and it doesn't matter now. 


He loved sports. He would tell highly animated and dramatic stories about scoring the winning touchdown in the championship game. He most always left out the detail that that "game" was an 8th grade club team. He told me at least 5 different stories of how he lost his front two teeth..and I overheard at least 3 other versions as well.  He recalled his youth with vivid storyline and characters came to life- Spider, Monkey, Duck, Otis..... He had friends that knew everything about him...all of it, the good and the bad.  When I get a chance to spend time with them it makes me feel close to him...because they have all yelled at him too...they have all held him in a hug, loaned him money, cussed him out and drove him home...
They all know his story....his stories......


He was an artist....but a perfectionist.  A hard combination for creativity.  He was hard on himself.  The story I remember is of him erasing holes in his kindergarten writing paper trying to get it just right.  I watched him work on paintings, paint over them, start again, working on them for months.......
He was rarely satisfied with his creative work.  He wrote short stories, poetry and songs.  He was good.  He was never validated in that....except maybe by a few teachers, family members and me.
He always wanted fame, recognition, validation, affirmation.  


He loved to give gifts- and they were followed with months of "did you like it?"......sometimes the little boy inside was all too visible to the outside world.


An easel under the Christmas tree with a note from Santa on it- a new bike wheeled in from the next room...the gifts were never what I had asked for- they were always beyond my understanding, what he knew I would not expect- and it was all in the presentation...the surprise, the event.  So, naturally, when he was absent from the event, the hole was deep....the absence was tangible and thick.


He was a romantic, a dreamer- found ways to romanticize anything- a song, a starry sky, an 8th grade football story, the loss of a dog, a letter from prison- they call carried with them an air of fictionalized drama...of personal quest and adventure.  Some people call this lying;)


He used to bring Jaden 2 Quarters, 2 Dimes, 2 Nickels, and 2 Pennies everytime he saw her....He wanted to be remembered...for them to have "a thing".....History, stories, a past, a memory...it was all very important to him. He had "a thing" with everyone...each of you that knew him could describe something you "always did" or he "always said to you"...He wanted to make sure he mattered to you..that he had left an imprint.   I think it worked.






As his only little girl, his only child I will say this: I think he was the most wonderful and beautiful man on the planet. Not a day goes by that I do not think of him, wish for time, regret decisions, remember, laugh, and ache for him.   

Papa- the journey through losing my dad.

The stages of grief: 
Shock and Denial
Pain and Guilt
Anger
Depression
Upward Turn
Reconstruction
Acceptance




4 years ago today, I stood teaching a 12th grade English class.....At 10 am I noticed my phone blinking a number I did not recognize.  Partly because I was teaching, and mostly because I was angry and stubborn, I did not answer it.  


I was angry and hurt....because after 2 years of partial sobriety-the longest he had ever gone- my dad was on a binge....It was December......he was an alcoholic.....the pattern was all too familiar, and I was all too fed up. I knew this dance, and I usually played it with anger- then forgiveness.


I had decided I was not ready to make nice....and I did not speak to him.  He did not call again- 


The following day, a Friday, I received a phone call that he was gone.  He had died in his bed- trying to recover and detox.  He was 54 years old.


I could go into all the details- the beautiful conversation that occurred between he and my mother the night before- the AA books out- the Bible open beside his bed littered with gatorade bottles- the journal of letters to me I found after his death- the perfect restoration of who he now is in heaven...but I don't want to.


Today, I am feel hurt and guilty and angry.....stuck all the way back in stage 2.....


I guess what I am saying is that I miss him....and that grief, loss, conflict, anger- they all ebb and flow....and I don't pretend to know what tomorrow holds.  I do know this: I wish that forgiveness had been wrapped in truth...instead of withholding it until I felt like it... It is possible to forgive when you don't feel like it..and most of the time, I should.


Tomorrow marks 4 years and I miss him more than ever.  The missing him keeps him close- and I like it that way.

I miss you.

maybe it is the weather.......

we have had some wishy washy weather here lately....70 degrees and drizzles and two days later- freezing temperatures and snow flurries.  Is it any wonder that my emotions have been following the weather patterns?- and when I say patterns, I mean absolutely no warning or direction whatsoever?  

This has been one of the first Christmases that I have actually been able to really rest and enjoy the season. I did my shopping online...was able to really relax about the decor....have been focusing daily on Advent. The Advent part has kicked my tail- it is so cool to see God reveal things again and again to my "old" heart. He makes me young again, and I am filled with wonder at the fulfillment of the prophesy...of the hero story that was being told thousands of years ago.

Last night, the youth group lay hands on me and my baby girl.  Then, when I got home, I had a beautiful message from a friend about the fact that she missed my Branson.  I was able to watch Branson's video again- but this time, I was feeling kicks. Kicks from her sister.  It was a powerful night.


This morning, I awake to cold sunshine....I think the weather is now copying MY feelings:)

worst blogger ever.

I'm not sure why I have not been writing....perhaps it is confusion- the jumble of my thoughts....or perhaps the hectic nature of the holidays....i doubt it.
I think, more than anything else, it is the positioning of my heart in still expectation.  I find myself standing at attention in the presence of this miracle that is occurring within me.  I find myself holding my breath- attempting to enjoy moments instead of worry them into the next trimester. I find myself happy.  But more than happy, I find myself knowing I am walking within that path He has for me.  Most of the time, I am aware of His presence.

There are other times, however, where I forget to hold his hand crossing the street. I forget to look for traffic, listen.  I walk without Him. Usually this happens on the cusp of a doctor's appointment. I find myself looking to them for answers, for comfort, for reassurance.  It is never found there- I only end up running desperately back across the street for the hand of my Savior.  He is still there...in fact, He walked me across the street anyway- never left.

It isn't as if my prayers haven't answered.....I conceived, am carrying an active and perfect baby girl.....a GIRL.....a girl.... I keep saying it.  I am amazed.  A girl. Branson's sister.  An amazing gift to us on the anniversary of Branson's due date.  I couldn't be more thankful.

I still covet your prayers. Can I spell them out? Can I be specific?

1) Health for her and for I...and for the rest of the family during this time.
2) for a newness of this season. Because of the exact same due date, I find myself repeating the year...wearing the same maternity clothes to the same holiday events, remembering Branson's pregnancy, having semi-deja-vu experiences...feeling like I have been pregnant for so long......Pray for newness and fresh memories.
3) for the kids as we near the 30 week mark....as we remember finding out about Branson's health problems.....for their peace and faith.

Most of all
4) For Will: For peace and strength for him. That I would be a  helper to him. That he would feel the presence of the Lord in these moments. That God would strengthen him from within...miraculously. That he would feel a release of pressure, anxiety, discontentment......Please pray for him.

As for me, I am basking in the glow that is this holiday season...feeling so grateful...remembering the babies not with us this season...and marveling at how beautiful their sweet caroling voices must sound to our Jesus.