Category: Death / Grief

Green Pastures and Still Waters

by Becca, posted in Christian Living, Death / Grief, fear, trust, uncertainty

This past week has been a bit of a journey for me…in more ways than one. I was accepted into the Seminary at my post-secondary alma mater, which is located in a small town in Saskatchewan. A town which holds a lot of significant memories for me – most of them…not great ones.

It’s the town where I moved when I was only 17 years old. A child still. It’s the town where I made friends and said goodbye to them. It’s where I struggled to figure out who I was and who I wanted to become. It was the town where I experimented and made a lot of poor choices. It was the town where I consumed my first bottle of wine, where I dated (too many) boys, where I was first engaged (and promptly cheated on by that fiancé), where I first had sex, where I struggled to find my identity and place of belonging in the world. It is the town where I met my first husband, where we dated, where we were engaged, where we got married, where we had our first home, and where I wondered if maybe I had made a mistake in that decision. Needless to say, coming back to this town was wrapped in much anxiety.

On Day One, I arrived and found my allotted accommodations for the week and decided to go for a slow walk before unloading the car. I found myself meandering toward the Seminary, still in some disbelief that the Lord would lead me back here 22 years after first setting foot in the campus. I walked around the old dormitory buildings, remembering rooms that I once called home for a semester at a time. And I walked through the empty parking lot which once house the skating arena where my first husband proposed to me 18 years ago. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our first home. And I kept walking.

On Day Two, I headed straight to my classroom, excited that I was finally pursuing the degree I had wanted to so long ago. But my heart and my head were filled with anxiety, recognizing the hallways, noticing what has changed, noting what hadn’t, and fearful of entering the chapel portion of the academic building – where my first spouse and I were married. At lunch, I could no longer handle the significant anxiety that was threatening to take over me, so I decided to face my problem head on. With my hand over my pounding heart, I marched into the chapel, and looked at the spot where I stood and made my wedding vows before God, family, and friends. And I forced myself to address it.

There is so much tension we tend to hold on to with our pasts, isn’t there? Sometimes, it seems easier to simply “leave the past in the past” and place distance between ourselves and whatever the “past” is for us. But that expression doesn’t bear much weight when our past is what haunts our present. How do we learn to navigate the now if we haven’t allowed ourselves to acknowledge the before…in a healthy way? Our past has the power to dictate our present and our future. But I’ve also learned that there is good news here. It doesn’t have to! I was wrestling with how to do this, and perhaps it may seem too simplistic to you, (and I certainly don’t want to trivialize people’s very real pain), but there is power in bringing our pain before our Friend Jesus. “What a privilege to carry everything to the Lord in prayer.”

So, that is what I did. When my past mistakes and failed hopes and dreams threatened to choke the joy out of my present, I sat down in the very spot where I first made my marriage vows, and I gave all of these things to Jesus, asking Him to lessen the pain of my memories, giving them fully to Him to carry, and to help me be fully present in the place He has allowed me to be right now. And slowly, my racing heartbeat calmed, my shoulders relaxed, and I could feel His presence with me. I hope to be back in this town and on this campus much more over the next few years and I did not want these past memories to destroy the potential joy of the here and now.

I asked the Lord, “How can I even walk through these areas and not be reminded of those things?” I don’t know how I didn’t notice it until this week, but in that very spot where I was first married, up high where the tall walls meet the roof, there lies a cross. And I felt Him reply quite simply, “Look at me instead.” And there it was. The reminder…the knowledge…I’ve needed all along: “Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.”

It has not been an easy journey. But it has been a holy one. The years that I would cry out to the Lord, begging Him for peace, never knowing how to find it…He heard me. The 17 year old girl who would stand on the back road of this small town and wonder who she was and where she was going, has finally found peace that the Lord has guided and will continue to guide her footsteps. It doesn’t mean that my life is currently full of peace. That’s far from true. It’s still chaotic at times. But I’m recognizing that when the Lord, Who shepherd’s us so very well, sometimes makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters, it doesn’t mean that our current situation is actually green or still. Sitting on the floor in that chapel was anything but what I envisioned to be fields of green or peaceful, lapping waters. But because He met me there, it was peaceful. Because He is my peace. Not my circumstances. Not my location. Not my past. Not my failures. Not even my memories. Jesus, Himself, meets us where we are – in our anxiety, in our grief – and becomes our peace, our comfort, and our strength to continue on. We have nothing to fear when He is with us.

I never envisioned that coming back to a place where significant portions of my adult life development occurred, where choices and core memories were made, albeit, mostly negative ones, would be the place the Lord would lead me back to in order to provide healing for it. But I can truthfully say that I’ve walked through that chapel (and other areas in this small town) numerous times since Day Two, and each time, I turn my eyes to the cross. And I smile. And my heart stays steady. And I take a deep breath. Because He is with me. He has the capability of turning our places of hurt into green pastures and still waters. You only need meet Him there.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” – Psalm 23

Interior of an empty rock tomb with a rolled-away stone and burial cloths at sunrise.

When the Tomb Still Feels Sealed

by Becca, posted in Changing Seasons, Christian Living, Death / Grief, easter, fear, trust, uncertainty

Over the years, Easter has always been a weekend I have appreciated with, typically, significant anticipation. I have observed the practice and season of Lent, watched the movies, read the stories in various forms, and subscribed to the daily devotionals, preparing my heart for remembrance. This year…was different.

This year has been one of busyness, chaotic emotions, numerous unknowns, stress, and grief. Such profound grief. This year, Easter seemed to sneak up on me and I didn’t realize it until I found myself in a Good Friday service, attempting to focus my mind on remembering the sacrifice of Christ while shutting out the fears that have been running rampant in my mind for weeks…months…the past few years, if I’m really honest. Perhaps you know the feeling I’m referring to. The one where you watch silently as something you love so dearly seems to slip away. I’ve recognized that, in times like this, I do two things. First, I try and keep those things within my control, in every attempt to grasp onto it, to keep it, to protect it, to not let it slip away. But I also tend to bury my head in the sand, so to speak, and simply try not to think about it.

I have some experience in the realm of watching the things I love slip away, while I shed silent tears, praying and watching, knowing there is nothing more I can do to hold on to them. But when it comes to your children, that grief hits differently. This past Good Friday, I made the decision to gently let go of my efforts to control, knowing that in the long run, it wouldn’t do any good; hoping, praying for a miracle.

This morning, as I do every Easter Sunday morning, I listened to the old song by Carmen entitled, “The Champion”. It describes a descriptive story of the spiritual battle that occurred between God and Satan during the original Easter weekend. On Friday, Satan believes he was victorious in the battle as Christ died. It goes on to the countdown to Sunday morning where the crescendo echoes Jesus’ victory, “He has WON!” Tears rolled down my face as I loaded the dishwasher, knowing the very real spiritual battle that has been going on in my home and in the lives of my children. As my husband wrapped his arms around me, I whispered, “It doesn’t feel like He has won.”

After wiping my cheeks, I went to church this morning, feeling a heaviness in my heart, as though a part of me was missing. As people smiled and greeted one another, hugging family members, singing songs of victory and hope, cheering over baptisms, my heart was filled with grief. I was surrounded with joy, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to feel the same. My grief has been so pronounced. Heavy, these past few days. It’s the kind of grief where I realized that if there was a way to trade places with the child I love so very much, for eternity, I would do it. And that’s when it hit me. That’s precisely what Jesus did. He traded places with us, His children, so we could have the choice to spend eternity with Him. The grief He must feel over those that choose to reject Him…

So, where does that leave us? The people living in the season of “heavy”? The people where joy is not something we feel, even on Easter Sunday? The people where there is no end in sight of the difficulty of the life they are living? The people who are living in what feels as though darkness still reigns in the tombs of our lives?

I wish I had the answer.

A few week’s back, a friend of mine sent me a message regarding something I’m not ready to share with the world just yet. But, a part of his message struck me and I’ve been trying to apply it in every aspect of my life. His words were, “Go in curious and you’ll do well”. I’ve been repeating the mantra to myself “remain curious” in almost every new situation I find myself in and I have found it to serve me well so far.

This grief is no different. I’ve chosen to let go of my control, knowing, believing, trusting that Jesus loves my children more than I ever possibly could. All I can do now is love them, nurture them, support them, and pray for them. Oh, how I pray for them. But, the message of Easter IS one of hope. In that, I’m also choosing to hope in the Jesus that I’ve chosen to trust, so many times over, remaining curious as to what He will do. Because, as I have been telling my son…and myself, I do believe that God still works miracles. If He can raise people from physical death, He most certainly can raise them out of spiritual death too. As the season of Easter comes to a close, I will continue hoping and will remain curious. I’ve seem Him take the things that have slid away from me in the past and make them beautiful. I know He can do it again.

Tribute to a Godly Woman. A Personal Memoire.

by Becca, posted in Christian Living, Death / Grief

I was given the opportunity to share at my Nanny’s funeral today and the following is my testimony to her life – and a life well-lived, it was indeed.

As a child, I had the unique opportunity to come to Ottawa and live with Nanny, Poppy, and Shirley for a significant portion of each summer. As a result, I had the privilege of spending countless hours with Nanny, and I’d like to take the next few moments to share with you some of my fondest memories and personal observations of her character.

First off, Nanny was resilient. She encountered any obstacle that came her way with dignity and with grace. I remember asking her (I was very young at the time) why it was that she had dentures. She told me it was because she was so poor growing up that she and her siblings had only one toothbrush to share so she didn’t get to use one very often. There was no bitterness in her tone when she told me that. It was just the way it was. She accepted that.

Second, Nanny was courageous and brave! She somehow managed to stay at home with four young children while her husband was serving in Israel as a peacekeeper. She made nutritious meals on an incredibly low budget, managed her home, still attended church services every Sunday (with her and her daughters in matching dresses, which she sewed herself), and still found time to teach her children about the love of Jesus.

Nanny. Was. Frugal! Honestly, she could make many meals off a dime (or from all the food she kept in her multiple deep-freezes or cold room storage of canned goods…which she did all herself). I still remember newspapers spread across her kitchen table with the coupon sections cut out. One fond memory that still makes me chuckle is the time she came home from work at lunch and stated that she didn’t feel like cooking – a first for her! She informed me that she had some coupons for Burger King and asked if I would like to go there for lunch together. This was a BIG DEAL. Not only was Nanny willing to eat at a fast-food establishment, but she was also willing to pay to eat there. I remember being in utter shock at her suggestion, but excited, I quickly corrected my eyes which were wide in disbelief and said, “Yes!” What’s even more amazing about this story is that this happened the next day AND the next! By Day 3 I didn’t know what had happened to Nanny or who this woman even was. But I enjoyed those Burger King lunches, dodging Ottawa traffic each day to get there, and after one of those visits, going with her to the park, just walking around, and taking in the sights of the Rideau Canal, hand in hand.

Nanny was a hard worker. I still shake my head in disbelief when I think of how hard she worked, for so many years. I honestly don’t know how she managed to do it all. She cooked three meals a day, found the time and energy to grow and tend a large garden, can all the produce from the garden, hang the laundry on the line to dry, sew dresses and matching outfits, sew on buttons and hem items for her grandkids, work outside the home part-time, still manage to run home on her lunch break to make and serve lunch to Poppy before going back to work in the afternoon, pay the bills, mow the lawn, plant flower beds, and knit a plethora of items, just to spend every second Saturday at CARP – Ottawa’s farmer’s market – to sell her hand-knit creations. I enjoyed spending those mornings with her at the market. Sometimes, she would open her cash box and give me a bit of change to go buy snacks at another vendor’s booth. She may have been frugal – but she was also very generous. Not only with her money, but also with her time. I remember waking up one night just before midnight and, noticing the kitchen light still on, I made my way out to the kitchen just to find her sitting at the table, knitting a dishcloth – a common occurrence. Instead of being bothered by the fact that I was out of bed in the middle of the night, she just asked me if I was hungry and promptly made me a peanut butter and jam sandwich. I ate it while I watched her knit quietly. I asked if she’d be going to bed anytime soon since it was late, and she casually replied that she had about another 10 dishcloths to knit before market the next morning…so she’d be awhile yet. I just assumed that adults didn’t need sleep after that.

Finally, Nanny loved Jesus. And she made Jesus known. She taught Christ and His love to her children and to those around her. This is evident in the lives of her descendants and in the way she treated others. I remember vaguely her expressing frustration one day because a patient she had been assigned to sit with wasn’t receiving the level of care she felt her patient needed or deserved. To Nanny, the situation was unfair and unjust, and she was going to make her thoughts known to whoever it was that was in charge. She gracefully fought for justice when she could. She aimed to show Christ’s love and character to everyone. I distinctly remember seeing her Bible open on the kitchen table (amidst all the coupons) so very often. Before tucking me in at night, she would kneel beside the bed, gently brush her fingertips over my eyelids to help me sleep and would pray with and for me. I’ve never forgotten how loved that simple action made me feel. She was a very good Nanny to me. With fond remembrance, at times I still glide my hands over other sleepy, little eyelids, and I have to say, that trick still seems to work.

Nanny was by no means perfect. She had her faults. But I will always be grateful for the gentle and loving manner in which she treated me. I am forever thankful for the legacy she has left. She loved Jesus. And, if you knew her at all, then you know her life was evident of that.