Posts tagged Answers to Prayer
FIRE FOR WATER [repost]

I have had many, many people reach out to me in the last 48 hours, each carrying heavy burdens of grief of their own, trying to make sense of their own sorrows. My heart goes out to everyone who hurts – because I hurt, too. While I don’t repost my essays, I felt it would be useful to share this again because of the many private inquiries regarding my thoughts on God and suffering. 

The following is my original post:

Mitchell’s final days were so very hard. We had learned that excessive sleeping was a sign that death was near, and he began to sleep more and more. Perhaps what makes my son’s passing additionally hard for me is there was no formal goodbye. It wasn't like he was boarding an airplane, or car, or a boat – as if to go on a long journey. There was no clear demarcation where I could give him a hug and look him in the eye and say “This is it, son. Oh, how I love you. Thank you for being such a good boy and I am so proud of you. I’ll see you soon.” He was awake and talking one moment, then he just drifted back to sleep and never woke up. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late, and he was unable to open his eyes or talk. I know he heard us the night he passed because he could squeeze our hands in answer to our questions. And that night we did tell him we loved with all of our hearts as we wet his hands and face with our tears. But my heart and soul wanted more.

For reasons I do not understand, this was my son’s journey and I wish with all of my heart I could have taken that journey for him. But such a path was not part of God’s plan for my son or my family. My son’s death has taken my own heart, a heart that already cried at commercials or subtle acts of kindness, down a path that has caused it to be tenderer, still. My broken boy broke me. But I am putting myself back together once piece at a time.

A colleague said to me recently “There are two types of people in this world: those who admit to being broken, and those who don’t.” A poignant reminder that we are all mortal and there are always broken things to mend.

When it comes to the death of my father or my son’s disability and death, I have never experienced anger. I’m told anger is a necessary part of the grief cycle – but I feel no anger. At least for me, I have accepted those hardships as something from which I am meant to learn. What’s more, what does anger toward God profit a man? I have seen what the fire of anger can do to one’s self and to others; it consumes and destroys. Water, on the other hand, renews and gives life.

So while my soul trembles with grief and sorrow, I don’t shake my fists at God; angry at the burden we must bear. Instead, I kneel before Him and ask for mercy as I stumble to learn what I must. And while I weep because I miss my son terribly, my heart is also glad that I was blessed to be his father. Some of the greatest blessings come at the greatest price. 

As often as possible I will trade fire for water; anger for tears. Instead of scorching the soil of my soul, I will water it with my tears and hope to grow.

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TRAVELED BY ONE

Mitchell’s funeral was a year ago, tomorrow. I have done a lot of public speaking in my life and there was no address more difficult than speaking at my son’s funeral. Although a year has passed, my knees still shake and my hands tremble from grief. 

On the day of his funeral I couldn't believe all that was happening – everything was surreal. The months following I would awake each morning with feelings of absolute horror and breathlessness. I would scramble out of bed in a panic hoping that somehow everything was an awful nightmare. Some mornings, half awake, I would run to his room only to discover it empty- then fall to my knees in utter grief. Not a day has passed that I haven’t wept for my boy. Although I feel an increase in peace these days, I still cry and I still grieve. I think I always will.

It wasn't until we took Wyatt to a Grief Camp last fall that I realized how individual grief truly is. Although my wife and I could love and guide our 7 year-old son through his sorrows, his pain was his alone to process. I couldn't do that work for him … no more than anyone can do the same for me. Later that night I wrote in my journal “After all is said and done, grief is a journey traveled by one.”

I have discovered managing the grief of losing a child is incredibly complex. How does one save another from drowning when they are drowning themselves? As a husband and father I have sometimes found myself hanging by a thread, desperate to tread, while trying to process my own sorrows. I have sensed that grief, if not managed, could easily swallow me up. Yet I know there is more to this equation of sorrow than me. At the same time I see my sweet wife, who aches just as much as I do, and also in ways I do not know – for I am not a mother. I reverence her sorrow more than my own. On top of our mutual grief, I have my other children who each hurt in their own, real ways. I must also care about their sorrows, too.

To be clear, I am not drowning in grief – though I tread its waters and I can tell they are deeper than deep.

I am learning new things about grief every day. So far, I have found if I set aside my sorrows, even if only for a moment, and try to lift and love my family who also hurt, somehow I hurt a little less. Oh, I still hurt - but just a little less. Therein is that heavenly paradox of which I've earlier wrote … that the only way to save ourselves is to save others. 

Yet, after all is said and done, grief is a journey traveled by one.

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A CONSTELLATION OF TENDER MERCIES

Last October, just after I wrote the essay NIGHTFALL I sat at my computer and began to chart some of the more significant tender mercies we have received along Mitchell’s Journey. As I began to read my journals, meditate, and prayerfully reflect on my life my eyes were opened and I began to see like never before. What’s more, realized Mitchell’s Journey started long before he was even born. In fact, 30 years prior to his birth things were put in motion that would directly prepare me for this hardship. 

Were you to download this image and zoom in you would more easily see the constellations of tender mercies. The lines between the stars are purposeful and illustrate the interrelationship between them and it is largely chronological, from left to right. The color of the stars is also purposeful and has special meaning.

I have removed the labels for each star and will not share the details of these tender mercies because they are sacred and for me alone to know. I can say that each one of these events is absolutely real. It was only upon stepping back, allowing my spiritual eyes to adjust and to see the larger picture that I began to discern the majesty of God and all that He has done for my son and family.

I have now printed this chart on a large glossy plot and it now hangs in my home office as a reminder that if God was in the details of my life then, He is surely in the details of my life today. 

So where to go from here? I don’t know. All I know is the sun will rise tomorrow, my son will still be gone and my heart will still be heavy with grief. I also know, no matter how dark, difficult and lonely this journey may have felt at times, I have never been alone. 

I used to stand at the edge of an abyss with its mouth yawned, inching to devour my son. I now sit on the shore of a vast ocean peering into its infinite horizon. It is night, clouds lay low and are sparsely scattered and the heavens are clear to see. There is no storm in my heart this day and I can feel a gentle breeze, as if a whisper that all is well. As I look upward I can see these heavenly constellations that tell me I have never been alone. I must cross the waters now – and that is a journey, too. 

Over the last few weeks I have felt a certain peace come into my life. It is unlike anything I've ever felt. Surely there have been tears and moments of profound sorrow, but there is an ebbing tide of light that is washing over me and filling my soul. I don’t entirely understand it, but I am grateful just the same … for that is another tender mercy, an evidence of God’s love.

With each day I am learning to adjust to life without my son. It isn't easy – but it is happening. I also have a lovely wife and 3 remaining children who will continue to receive the same love I have always offered them, and Mitch. That is not lost on me and I find great joy in them every single day. 

There will be difficult days ahead, no doubt, and I will write of them. But I will also write of our happy times and discoveries we made along Mitchell’s Journey – way back when to now.

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