"And everywhere I am, there you'll be"

Six years ago, around dinnertime on October 4th, my mother passed away after a long battle with cancer.

My life rotated around my mother. She literally meant the world to me. I wanted nothing more than to please her in everything I did, whether it was doing well in school, or simply drawing her a picture. Losing her was the most painful experience of my life so far, and I am amazed by how long it takes to truly grieve this kind of loss.

I spent much of my sophomore year of high school just trying to get through each day. My schoolwork wasn't a priority for me anymore. I had to figure out how to take care of my sister and brother. When your priority list includes things like "make dinner", "pack tomorrow's lunches", "get everyone off to school on time", and other care-taker tasks, schoolwork tends to slip further and further from the top of the list. People expected that I would need time to readjust. A mere few months later, however, I was expected to be able to get through my day, and keep up the spectacular grades I had maintained for years. While the "acute" phase of my grief may have passed, I still had a lot more crying left to do.

I didn't really get a chance to grieve properly that first year. In the time leading up to my mother's death, I took on more responsibilities with each passing day, regarding the care of my siblings and the household chores. I had to "stay strong" for my siblings when my mother died. How were they supposed to move on from their grief if I was falling apart all the time? I needed to keep myself calm, collected, and functioning in order for the rest of the family to keep going. There was no time to grieve.

My junior and senior year of high school, things became easier at home. We grew used to the new "normal" in our lives, and I was able to focus on my schoolwork again. But I still did not have time to grieve, and truly recover from my loss. I had to worry about too many other things. College applications, SATs, ACTs, graduation. There was no time to cry, and reflect on the time I got to spend with my mother.

Starting college brought a new set of problems. I had never been away from my family for more than a few days. I had never been away from home on the anniversary of my mother's death. There was no time to grieve. I had too much homework to do, and too many classes to go to. I couldn't request extensions on papers. If my mother had died that very week? Sure, that would be a reasonable excuse. But the third anniversary of a parent's death? I was expected to be able to "suck it up", to some extent, and move on.

Today marks six years since my mother's death. I've reached a place that I never thought I would. I don't mean that I'm living in an apartment, or that I'm preparing to graduate from college. I don't mean that I'm in a relationship with a beautiful woman, or that I've learned to overcome huge hurdles with my anxiety. The place I've reached is one that most people wouldn't see. I didn't realize it was the anniversary of my mother's death until halfway through my day. And it didn't ruin the happy mood I had started the day with. Instead, I accepted the fact and moved on. I am still sad, and I miss her terribly, but I am not overwhelmed with grief the way I was each year before this. I am in a place where I am finally beginning to heal.

While the demands of home and school played a huge role in delaying my grief, they were not the only factors. I needed to grieve in my own way, not in the way that everyone expected of me. At the wake, I didn't go up to the coffin until the very last possible moment. I didn't want to be there. Having so many people surrounding me at that time was simply too much. I needed privacy to grieve.

Some of my family members like to pause before meals at Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Easter, and say a few things in memory of my mother. But this sort of thing never helped me. I needed to grieve on my own time, at my own pace.

I think people are often confused by the fact that I don't visit my mother's grave. Once in a while, I would go by myself. I never enjoyed visiting the grave with other people. I think I have only been to see her grave three or four times since starting college. I don't need to be there to grieve. I know that her body is there, but my mother is not. As the famous poem goes: "Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep."

My faith has played a huge role in helping me to grieve at my own pace. Knowing that the Lord has been watching out for me is a comfort when nothing else can calm me. There have been many times over the last six years where I have distinctly felt His presence. Knowing that He will never put me through a trial I cannot handle, no matter how difficult it may seem, has gotten me through many hard days. Although I did not get the chance to grieve at the pace I would have liked to, my faith provided safety and security, as well as the gentle reminder that I could take as long as I needed.

And so I hold fast to my faith, as I let this day unfold as it will. There is no trial I cannot overcome, so long as I have faith in the Lord. And so, on the sixth anniversary of my mother's death, I can smile, where once I would have cried. 

~*~

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

Revelation 21:3-4 

Aches and Pains

I've never been very good at slowing down and resting as much as I need to. So naturally, there comes a point where it all becomes too much, and my body forces me to rest. This time, it is coinciding with physical illness. My thyroid condition is acting up. It's something very easily remedied, but it takes time for the new dosage of medication to work itself into my system. Until it does, I'm stuck feeling exhausted all the time. Just trying to muster the energy to get out of bed some mornings is a huge feat. The periodic sense of vertigo gets to be incredibly frustrating. My joints ache.

But the thing that bothers me most is the way this all affects my mind. With my hormones all messed up like they are right now, I can't focus very well. I am more easily distracted than usual (and I'm pretty easy to distract in the first place!). My memory isn't working at the speed I'd like it to. It's frustrating to try to hold a conversation, and lose focus midway through a sentence in an attempt to remember what word you wanted to say. Or forgetting completely what it was that I was talking about. Even if I write things down (which I nearly always do), I end up forgetting things. It's frightening.

Sure, it all goes back to normal once my hormones settle again. But until then, it's rather like sitting in the middle of a room filled with really thick fog. You can wave your arms around all you want, and shine tons of light everywhere, but you still can't see what it is you are trying to see on the other side of the room. Yet you know exactly what the room is like. You've spent forever in this room, and can describe every minute detail of it when the fog isn't around.

I have a tendency to get very cranky when I'm all out of sorts like this. So I have to stop and remind myself every now and then that this is temporary. This all goes away, and things return to normal. It's going to require a lot more patience than I'm willing to give, but I'll make it through this just fine, as I have every time before.

~*~

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

2 Corinthians 4:16

To see your life unfold

To my dearest brother:

This morning I watched your confirmation. I felt very blessed for the chance to take part in the laying on of hands, and to be there for that moment. I was so proud of you. Daddy cried, and I definitely teared up a bit.

Below are the lyrics to one of my favorite hymns, which came to mind as I sat watching you affirm your baptism. While the "I" in the song is supposed to be God, I feel a very similar connection. I was indeed there when you were born, and I remember the day you were baptized. And I'll be there for you for the rest of your life.

God bless you today and always, little brother.

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold. 

I was there when you were but a child,
with a faith to suit you well;
In a blaze of light you wandered off
to find where demons dwell."

"When you heard the wonder of the Word
I was there to cheer you on;
You were raised to praise the living Lord,
to whom you now belong. 

If you find someone to share your time
and you join your hearts as one,
I'll be there to make your verses rhyme
from dusk 'till rising sun.

In the middle ages of your life,
not too old, no longer young,
I'll be there to guide you through the night,
complete what I've begun. 

When the evening gently closes in,
and you shut your weary eyes,
I'll be there as I have always been
with just one more surprise.

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.

For my brother, as he prepares for his confirmation

Last night I returned home to attend the rehearsal dinner for my younger brother's confirmation. He's worked hard to reach this point, having attended classes every other Saturday for the last three years. Naturally, I find myself thinking back on my own confirmation, nearly seven years ago.

I was the only child in my age set to finish Sunday school. My sister stopped going after a few years. I don't remember if my brother ever went. I loved church. I felt safe and loved there. Anytime I sat in the sanctuary, whether for worship or just waiting in silence for a meeting to begin, I always felt something stir inside of me.

For all that I loved church, I found my three years of confirmation classes to be tedious at times. We lived a twenty minute drive from the church, which meant that we'd have to leave home at 3:30 in order to be on time for the 4:00 class. When we finished at 6:00, I had to decide  if I would stay for service (another hour), or if I wanted to get up early on Sunday morning instead. Either way, many of my weekends were scheduled in a way that made spending time with friends very difficult. So I certainly understand my brother's frustrations in giving up so many Saturdays for three years.

In our third year (or, Level 3, as we knew it) we had to write a series of five essays. We wrote about our childhood, our first encounters with our faith, where we planned to go in life. The most difficult essay for me was one in which we had to describe ourselves. As a fourteen-year-old, I was still a long way from discovering who I was. I sympathized with my brother as he struggled with those five essays. He managed to write the longest collection out of his entire class. I recently reread my essays, and I hope my brother will do the same in a few years, and smile, as I did, to see how much changes in such a short time.

Last night, my brother received a cross for his wall. It is the same as those my sister and I received. The same as the one that still hangs on the wall over my bed. The congregation gave each confirmand a pendant with the Lutheran rose on it. I wore my pendant so often that the chain broke twice, and the pendant itself is turning green (thanks to a stubborn refusal to remove it while swimming or showering). I pray that my brother will treasure these gifts and the faith they represent for many years to come.

I look forward to this Sunday, when my brother and his twelve classmates will be confirmed on Pentecost. I feel blessed that I will be able to attend and watch these thirteen young people, wearing the same white capes worn by my classmates and I in 2004, take this important step in their lives of faith.

~*~

Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity.

1 Timothy 4:12

Sink or Swim

Today, for the very first time, I woke up in the apartment where I will be living until next May. I'm still trying to find homes for all of my things, and trying to remember what got packed into which box or bag. But I'm settled in, for the most part.

It's a strange feeling realizing just how much growing up I have done at different points in my life. Many times, it seems to happen all at once, rather than gradually (as I had always expected it to). For instance, my mother's death forced me to grow up very quickly in order to help out around the house more, and look after my siblings every day. I didn't get to make that transition gradually at all.

Now? I'm moved into an apartment, no longer on a school meal plan. I have to buy my own food and figure out how to cook things. I had two appointments with new doctors last week, finally transitioning away from my pediatric doctors. It was really the first time I had gone to a doctor without my father  accompanying me. But I took it all in stride, and some minor anxiety aside, it all went very smoothly.

Growing up used to seem terribly frightening to me. The big, scary world wasn't something I wanted to face by myself. There are still so many things about it that I don't know how to handle, or that I simply don't understand. But I've come to realize that I will never be "ready" to face any of it. When I was a kid, my father threw me into the shallow end of the pool, after several years of trying to teach me to swim. I had never felt "ready" to learn. By getting thrown in, without warning, I had to learn quickly. I had no choice. But I learned, and despite a lasting fear of deep water (but I think I had that before this incident), the lesson stuck.

So I'm going to try to stop waiting for the moments when I'll be "ready" for things. When the time is "right", I'll be thrown in without warning, and I'll have to figure it out on the spot, just like everyone else. Looking back and thinking about all the times where I've already conquered those "sink or swim" moments, the future feels less frightening.

~*~

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

1 Corinthians 13:11

"Do not judge, or you too will be judged."

Someone called me a "whore" today.

I was having a lovely time, walking through town with a dear friend of mine, who has been visiting during our Spring Break. We had just finished a late lunch, and were headed off to wander through the nearest bookstore. As we were walking a very deserted street, a car drove past with their windows down and shouted at the pair of us, "Whores!" and drove off before I had caught half a glance of their vehicle.

My dear friend and I were holding hands as we walked, nothing more. She is, in fact, my girlfriend. We're only three short weeks into this. I've never been in a relationship of any sort before this one, so I'm wary about everything. But the fact that I was dating a woman? It didn't cross my mind as something to be wary of, except perhaps around some of my extended family members. Attending a very "open-minded", liberal-arts college has made me forget what the wider world is like. There are so many ignorant, and unkind people in the world, with no sense of the consequences of their harmful words.

My girlfriend and I kept walking until we reached the bookstore. The further I walked, the more the pain set in. It was an awful feeling, sitting right beneath my ribs. I ended up hiding among the stacks of books until I could find a place where I felt safe sitting down, to pretend to look at books while I recovered. While I know that there is nothing I can do about the situation, it doesn't make it hurt any less. My entire life, I have been taught only to be kind to others. But it's a lot easier to say that you'll turn the other cheek than to actually do so. When someone is shouting hurtful things at you, things that cut right to your core because you weren't prepared for them, and know them to be untrue, you can't always think clearly. A very small part of me wanted to fight back. I don't know that I had it in me. All I wanted to do was cry, and hide away until everything seemed safe again.

A part of me started thinking about how the church reacts to situations like this. Turn the other cheek. But what about when the situation involves homosexuality? The views are as varied as ice-cream flavors. Some are just as accepting of these people as of anyone else. Some are very guarded, and some are judgmental to the point of outright rejection. According to the official website for the over-arching church my home church belongs to, we are loved by God no matter if we are heterosexual, homosexual, or anything-sexual. It was a comfort to learn that. I don't know that I classify myself as any particular kind of sexuality. I like who I like, and I don't feel that gender has much to do with it. But I don't know how my home church will feel about the matter. I'm never sure. It's not a topic that gets brought up often, or ever that I can recall.

 I hate feeling anxious and threatened and uncomfortable in my own town. This is a place where I have grown up, and felt safe. The world becomes a different kind of place when you feel threatened. It's a dangerous business going out of one's front door, as I believe it was said in the Lord of the Rings.

~*~

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."

Philippians 4:6

Here Comes the Sun

The days are growing longer, the snow is finally starting to melt away, and day by day the air grows warmer. The sky is less gray, and the sun appears more often than it has for the last few months. Though it is still a long while before Spring will have arrived properly, I can't help but think about it every day.

This winter has been a particularly long one for me. Twice as much snow fell as I had anticipated. When it first arrives, snow is exciting and beautiful, but as time wears on, it becomes a hassle to walk through it all day long. I wore snow boots for two months straight, and had to carry around a pair of shoes to wear indoors. When the grass finally started to peek out from beneath its snowy blanket, and several birds began returning to campus, I felt my heart swell.

For all the grief my allergies tend to cause me, I think Spring might be my favorite season. It is a time when all things are becoming new. It is a time where trees and plants sprout new growth, and animals give birth to their newest offspring.

It reminds me of the New Jerusalem described in the book of Revelation. All things that came before are wiped away, and the world becomes new and clean. It also brings to mind an image of Noah and the ark. He had to wait through 40 days of rain, only to have to wait longer after it stopped for the waters to clear away. When the dry land reappeared, though, all was clean and new.

Palm Sunday and Easter are very important parts of my Spring memories, throughout my life. Easter is a celebration of rebirth, and perhaps that is why I am so incredibly fond of it. No Easter bunnies or marshmallow peeps (though I do enjoy microwaving them...) for me. I'd much rather go to church. After the long, solemn season of Lent, Easter really does feel like a day when all of us are being reborn, and granted a chance to start anew.

Easter is even farther off than the start of Spring proper. But I'm holding them both close to my heart this week, so that I may ponder them while I wait. I look forward to that chance to feel renewed, that I may make a fresh start.

~*~

But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

Romans 8:25