Death

Just Sit With Me in the Ashes Here

/ Chris / 7 Comments

Sometimes it’s really hard to know what to say to people who are grieving. I still struggle, even though I’ve been on the receiving end of it.

But I was remembering something, recently, and it reminded me of something anyone can do.

The day my Mom died, after my sister and I were released from the hospital, we went back to the Miller’s house and pulled all the furniture together and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting like that. We sat there until we all went together to pick up my brother Marcel and his new wife Krista from the airport.

I remember my cousin Ellis coming. If my memory holds up, he was traveling in for the wedding and hadn’t heard anything until he was greeted at the airport by a stranger and informed about what had happened.

Others came and went spending hours trying to find things lost at the accident site or making meals or helping pick up the slack for the wedding still happening in four days and the funeral in three. The generosity and kindness of strangers still blows my mind six years later.

But one man sticks out in my memory. I can’t remember exactly who he was let alone recall his name. He came into Miller’s house and sat down on the couch in our little circle. I was a little afraid at first that I’d have to think of something to say. It’s funny how much work it is to respond to simple gestures of love and kindness during times of mourning.

But this man was different. Continue reading →

“Grieving” Revisited

/ Chris / 13 Comments

Prelude: 

I published this piece on my old blog two months and a couple weeks after my Mom died on November 6, 2012.

Written during the throes of the deepest grief I’ve experienced, I find my old thoughts still ringing true today. Yet in other ways, I am encouraged by the progress I see. In the second paragraph I talked about many of us not being willing to share honestly about the battles we faced. In the five years since I wrote this, I think that’s changed–at least among my friends. We are much quicker to “just be real.” It may even be to a fault, but I think I’d rather people be a little too honest about their struggles, then try to pretend they’re totally okay or perfect when they’re not. (I don’t know, what are your thoughts? Am I right about the change in atmosphere?)

From the very first two paragraphs, I can see the hand of God weaving a thread through my story that would eventually lead me to make a major, life-changing decision (watch for my next “Revisited” post a week from now).

I pray this is a comfort to those of you going through the same.

Continue reading →

“Hope” Revisited

/ Chris / 8 Comments

Prelude:

This post was written merely 17 days after my Mom’s death on November 6, 2012 (chronologically before my previous post, “[Not] an Accident”).

In the immediate after math of the accident, the Family of God surrounded our family with incredibly love and comfort. I can’t explain to you how healing and helpful that was. It breaks my heart that not everyone who experiences loss gets that kind of support.

If you know someone who has experienced loss—loss of any kind: a loved one, a baby, a marriage, a child’s faith, a church, a friendship, even significant material things—show them love. Sit with them. Take them food. Try not to talk to much, but do ask them questions. Ask them if they want to talk about their loved one. Don’t forget them.

These are the ramblings of a grief stricken soul under the tremendous grace of an Almighty God.

Continue reading →

“[Not] an Accident” Revisited

/ Chris / 9 Comments

Prelude:

In the fall of 2012, four days before my brother’s wedding, my mother, sister, and I were in a car accident. The incident dramatically affected not only the course of my life, but my very identity.

In the proceeding months, blogging, journaling, and writing poetry became one of the primary ways I processed the accident and aftermath.

Looking through my old blog, Fraction, I was recently amazed at how quickly this process began for me. My first post after the accident was only two weeks later. It was titled “Hope.”

Over the next several months, I want to revisit some of these pivotal pieces as well as publish some of the poetry and other prose I had written during that time, but never published. My hope is that it will not only be healing for me to remember what God has brought me through, but also healing for those of you who have gone or are going through a similar experience.

If that’s you, please know: You are not alone.

I’m beginning with a piece which describes—in details I had since forgotten—what it was like for me to wake up that day. Although some of my theology has matured since I originally wrote it, I do hope you find it encouraging and inspiring. 

Without further ado:

Continue reading →

Got Any Change?

/ Chris / 7 Comments

A year ago today I was headed over to Asia with my sister, brother and sister-in-law (my sister and I for two months). It’s crazy how much change happens in a year. I definitely miss Asia and all the experiences we had over there…

But what if we got our wish? What if we could stay suspended in time at our favorite moments? Sure, it would be a blast for a while, but we would eventually become bored and resentful at God. Because life is like a dance and every good dance needs good timing: ups and downs, slow and fast, smooth and bouncy.

I hate change, I hate goodbyes, I hate disappointments–if I could remove them, I would. But in order to remove them, I’d take away the movement of life’s timing and the dance would flop.

So let’s embrace the movement which change brings to life–because that’s pretty much what life is: constant change. Remember that the Master Choreographer is GOOD and knows what He’s doing. Every old and new move is according to His grand plan.

I loved Asia, more than I expected. My bones have been aching to go back and I probably would have hit pause, if possible. But I experienced so much rich LIFE since then that I’m glad I didn’t.

But coming home from a fun trip to Asia is not the extent of the change I’ve experienced. About every year and a half or so, half of our household moves away and is replaced by new people. Strange, right? You see, my family houses the volunteers for the ministry we work for, unfortunately, their terms are only a year or two long after which they move on with their lives. Every time one of them moves on, I get a little bitter about the whole change concept. But invariably when I look back and see where they are and where I am today and the relationships I’ve made with the new volunteers, I would not have it any other way. See, God does know what He’s doing after all.

And then there’s death. One of the irreversibles of change. Everyone will experience death, in some way. If someone does not experience losing a loved one, it means they died first. In every marriage, someone will experience the death of a spouse, most children lose their parents, some parents lose their children. Everyone will die.

But therein lies Hope. Because death does not have to be a period, separating one sentence from another. It can, and should be, a comma, which is a mark of transition, or a colon: emphasizing why. Those who are hidden inside Christ will overcome death and be raised to a glorified life where there is no separation (death) or pain–but if I know the Master, there will probably be change.

Thank God!

C.D.

Mom

/ Chris / 6 Comments

A mom is security, love and support;

She knows what you’re about, both inside and out.

You tell her the latest, the good and the bad,

And caringly she listens to the heart of the sad.

–

From childhood to grown up

She’s there in the midst.

She’s everything that matters

Like a precious jewel she sparkles and shimmers.

–

But you take her for granted.

Yet her love is not lessened,

Diminished or slanted—

It’s within her deeply planted.

–

And then,

–

You wake up and find,

The gem afore spoken

Sits there and is broken;

She’s moaning and groaning

And running out of time.

–

Oh what I would do,

Looking back with regret,

To whisper her name again and again.

To sing her sweet songs.

Oh how I do long

To shout with my life

–

I LOVE YOU, MOM!

–

I would tear down the sky

Just to say one last good-bye.

To hug her and kiss her

And let her see me cry.

–

The tears run so easy

Like never before,

She loved us so much—

Why didn’t I love her more?

–

But now she is gone,

Taken beyond,

To a land without shadow

A place that is hallow.

–

She’s traveled to Heaven

She’s taken to Jesus

And Jesus can love her

‘Cause He’s the true lover.

–

And though I can’t see it,

And hardly believe it:

I rest in this promise

For I know He will keep it.

C.D.

The Canvas

/ Chris / 3 Comments

There stood the white canvas on its easel, with a chair, all alone in a lush green meadow. Beyond the canvas in the distance towered a jagged blue range of mountains, and behind the canvas a dark forest was stretched out reaching for the great blue sky.

The Great Man approached the canvas, brush in hand. He sat down and began to paint. He painted and painted, loving every stroke. He painted His favorite things, which were from His heart. Once He had brushed out the setting, He added a new thing. He painted a figure resembling Himself, into the picture. He liked it and smiled as He sat back and stretched. He thought His picture a fine piece of art—and it was.

The Great Man’s servants came to look at the painting. They marveled at the new figure resembling the Great Man. With awestruck worship they began to sing for Him. The Great Man loved how they sung, and it made His joy greater.

But something strange began to happen on the canvas. The figure which the Great Man had painted started to drip off. The servants were shocked. Right there before their eyes, the painting’s most amazing figure was messing up the whole piece. The Great Man was devastated: He knew what had happened, and He knew what would need to be done in order to reverse it.

The Great Man sat down again and began to paint like never before. He painted with passion and love for His painting. He always painted what would ultimately make the picture more beautiful, but sometimes the figures in the painting did not understand. Sometimes the little figures thought that the Painter was making things worse—some even questioned whether the Great Man existed, or maybe He had forgotten about them and was letting the painting drip away into oblivion. The Great Man loved the painting and the figures, and He knew that if they would just trust His strokes, they would eventually understand His love for them, but they had become stubborn in their dripping.

The hardest strokes for the figures to understand were those which took other figures out of the picture. But the Great Man knew that sometimes figures had to be taken out in order to perfect His plan, and reveal His glory and love to them. If the figures had feared the Great Man while in the painting, He would breathe true life into them so that they could live in the Great Man’s world—the real world. But if they had not feared Him, they were forever separated from His guidance and presence—a most horrific thing.

Finally, all was ready for his plan to take affect. He gathered the servants around Him so that they could watch. And again He sat down, but this time He did not paint more figures resembling Himself. Instead, He painted Himself right into the picture.

The servants did not understand. What was going to happen? The Great Figure spent much time in the painting while the Great Man continued to paint. After much painting, the Great Figure dripped all over the canvas, just as the other figures did, and mixed up all the colors. But when the Great Man began to clean away the mixed colors, the servants saw that there were some figures that had stopped dripping. These new figures were beautiful.

“I love them!” the Great Man said.

The Great Man continued to paint. Fervently yet patiently He stroked out the figures, who sometimes dripped, but when they looked to the Great Figure who had been sent to save them, the Great Man forgave them.

He, the Great Man, did not intend for the dripping figures to remain this way forever—His plan was not finished. He decided that there would come a point on the canvas at which He would quit painting and discard it entirely. But first He would transpose all His beloved figures, who had been saved from dripping, into this awesome World wherein the Great Man painted. It was a much greater World than that with the drippings, and He knew the figures would love it there.

This was His plan and He was determined to continue painting beauty onto the canvas until He came to that one point. He loved each of His figures, and because He loved them He had given them the choice to look on the Great Figure for help, or to continue dripping. If they did look at the Great Figure, they were saved, if they did not—they were lost forever. It broke the Great Man’s heart to think that any of the figures would be forever lost and forgotten, but He restrained His passionate love in order that they might respond to His calling on their own accord.

If you were a figure, what would you chose? An eternal Heaven? Or a temporary painting?

C.D.