I think I'm coming to terms with the fact that I can't do anything to feel better right now, nor will any circumstances changing substantially help. My basic wiring is to want answer and resolution, to want to fix things and make them better. It's taken me a while to realize that none of that really works or is possible in this situation. There are things that I can and should do that will help: reading, prayer, counseling, time with friends, self-awareness, etc. But all the self-knowledge in the world, or the best care from others, won't make much of a dent on the desolation I feel right now. There is a deeper despair going on for me that isn't immdiately fixable.
If the chief end of man is to "glorify God and to enjoy Him forever", I guess I'm struggling with the "enjoying" part. I wouldn't have ever argued that enjoying God meant complete happiness or pleasure constantly. I think, instead, it means havin gyour identity and worth rooted firmly in God an dexperiencing the peace and contentedness that comes from that. I still think that that is possible for me. In fact, there are some ways that my identity is being even more deeply rooted in God through this experience.
But the peace and contentedness feel a long way off now, if not unobtainable. What the "good life" would look like for me now is a mystery. I wonder if things will ever feel good, now that the loss of Midi and Nathan will always be in the backdrop for me. It seems to me that the best I can hope for is carving out some kind of peace or acceptance for this version of the future that will never be what I would have really wanted.
Hence my question about enjoying God. Will I get to a place where I'm able to be completely content in Him again? Was I ever there before, if my version of contentment hinged so much on circumstances being to my liking? Will the sense of desolation ebb at some point or will that always be there for me, at least to some degree?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sister
It has felt inadequate for me to say, when asked what's been going on in my life, merely that I had a friend that died. Even relating that Midi was my best friend doesn't seem to cover it either. "Best friend" sounds like two little girls playing on the swings and sharing secrets to me. Midi was so much more to me than simply a close friend or confidant.
In a casual conversation or with someone I don't know as well, the best I way I can describe the unique nature of my friendship with her is to relate that we had talked about raising each other's children should anything have happened to either of us, in essence to act as family to each other. But probably the most apt analogy I've found comes out of the story of Jonathan and David in I Samuel.
I've always found that story a bit odd. There's no real build-up or backstory to their friendship; they all of a sudden have their souls "bound" to one another. We don't see anything that they really do together; what's related in scripture about their conversations is almost all to do with David trying to escape Jonathan's father Saul trying to kill him. But I resonate with the story deeply. Like Jonathan, I too felt that my soul was bound to Midi's and that I loved (love) her as much as I do myself. Like the two of them, it was the Lord that was between the two of us, why we were friends. While we enjoyed doing things together, even frivolous things like shopping or going to spas, the basis of our friendship really was helping each other follow Jesus, nurturing our souls and our relationships with God.
At a gathering last week of some of Midi's friends, a mutual friend Andrea who has a similarly deep friendship shared how she and Midi had talked about how blessed they were to have friends that were as close as a sister to them, Andrea with her friend Gaby and Midi with me. It meant a lot to me. Partly just to have someone else recognize and relate with how I'm feeling about losing Midi. Partly to hear again via Andrea how Midi felt about me. And to affirm the part of my soul that, like Jonathan, continues to say to Midi, "The Lord shall be between me and you, between my descendents and your descendents forever." Societal conventions may not allow me to say that my sister died on January 1st, but that's what happened.
In a casual conversation or with someone I don't know as well, the best I way I can describe the unique nature of my friendship with her is to relate that we had talked about raising each other's children should anything have happened to either of us, in essence to act as family to each other. But probably the most apt analogy I've found comes out of the story of Jonathan and David in I Samuel.
I've always found that story a bit odd. There's no real build-up or backstory to their friendship; they all of a sudden have their souls "bound" to one another. We don't see anything that they really do together; what's related in scripture about their conversations is almost all to do with David trying to escape Jonathan's father Saul trying to kill him. But I resonate with the story deeply. Like Jonathan, I too felt that my soul was bound to Midi's and that I loved (love) her as much as I do myself. Like the two of them, it was the Lord that was between the two of us, why we were friends. While we enjoyed doing things together, even frivolous things like shopping or going to spas, the basis of our friendship really was helping each other follow Jesus, nurturing our souls and our relationships with God.
At a gathering last week of some of Midi's friends, a mutual friend Andrea who has a similarly deep friendship shared how she and Midi had talked about how blessed they were to have friends that were as close as a sister to them, Andrea with her friend Gaby and Midi with me. It meant a lot to me. Partly just to have someone else recognize and relate with how I'm feeling about losing Midi. Partly to hear again via Andrea how Midi felt about me. And to affirm the part of my soul that, like Jonathan, continues to say to Midi, "The Lord shall be between me and you, between my descendents and your descendents forever." Societal conventions may not allow me to say that my sister died on January 1st, but that's what happened.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Communion
Connecting with God has looked a bit different for me the last few months. Some things have stayed the same; weekly times to journal have been vital in terms of self-reflection and talking to God, while daily prayer times tend to be more terse (this has been my spiritual rhythm since the advent of my kids). The overall feel, though, very much has been that I'm going through "the valley of the shadow of death", and in that place, God is present but not necessarily immediately seen or felt. I know He's with me, but in the same way you might know the road ahead of you is there as you drive through fog.
The one time each week the fog seems to lift has been during communion on Sunday mornings. At our church, communion is sort of a free-for-all; any time during the last set of worship, people can go by themselves or in pairs to take communion and go pray. Pretty much every Sunday morning in the last 3 1/2 months, I've spent that whole time of worship kneeling in front of a cross in our church, praying and crying. For some reason, that time of prayer is when I'm able to connect most directly with God. It's been a combination of mourning, being angry, asking questions, and hearing back from the Lord about what's been going on for me.
It's also been a fairly solitary experience, some of which has been hard for me as Midi's death has brought up a deep loneliness for me. But some of that seems appropriate, too. I need to hear what God wants to say to me, not what someone else thinks. And as I read today in Nicholas Wolterstorff's Lament for a Son, "Each person's suffering has its own quality. No outsider can fully enter into it." Those times of communion have been a sacred time for God and I to connect, for him to meet me in my suffering in a way that probably no one else ever could.
The one time each week the fog seems to lift has been during communion on Sunday mornings. At our church, communion is sort of a free-for-all; any time during the last set of worship, people can go by themselves or in pairs to take communion and go pray. Pretty much every Sunday morning in the last 3 1/2 months, I've spent that whole time of worship kneeling in front of a cross in our church, praying and crying. For some reason, that time of prayer is when I'm able to connect most directly with God. It's been a combination of mourning, being angry, asking questions, and hearing back from the Lord about what's been going on for me.
It's also been a fairly solitary experience, some of which has been hard for me as Midi's death has brought up a deep loneliness for me. But some of that seems appropriate, too. I need to hear what God wants to say to me, not what someone else thinks. And as I read today in Nicholas Wolterstorff's Lament for a Son, "Each person's suffering has its own quality. No outsider can fully enter into it." Those times of communion have been a sacred time for God and I to connect, for him to meet me in my suffering in a way that probably no one else ever could.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Midi's voice
Today I heard Midi's voice. I listened to a tape she made for David and I ten years ago for our engagement party. Midi was living in Korea at that time; she returned to the States just before our wedding. So she made a tape with her thoughts about our engagement that she sent over to be played at the engagement party.
I had honestly forgotten about this recording, until someone mentioned it in their recollections about Midi for the memory boxes Mark asked people to contribute to. But David had the tape stored away in a box and found it a week or two ago. I've been waiting to listen to it until I had some time to be alone.
It was as poignant as I thought it would be. The tape was full of her love for David and I, excitement for what was ahead of us, prayers she had for us. The thing that really shocked me was that she read Proverbs 31 to David regarding me. That particular chapter has been one I've been drawn to the last year or two especially. Some of that is that there just aren't that many passages of Scripture directed specifically to women. But the themes of a woman balancing family, ministry to others and love of God have been particularly relevant to me as of late. Even more gripping to me was that just 3 days ago, I had to write an epitaph for myself (this is the kind of homework you get when you take a seminary class on grief and death) and had chosen Prov. 31: 31 as part of it. It lent a sense of the prophetic to Midi's words 10 years before.
I also was just overwhelmed with the love Midi had for me, and for David and I as a couple. At one point in the tape she choked up as she was praying for us. I was so, so blessed to have her as friend. It makes me miss her all the more as I listen to this very tangible reminder of how wonderful she was to me.
I had honestly forgotten about this recording, until someone mentioned it in their recollections about Midi for the memory boxes Mark asked people to contribute to. But David had the tape stored away in a box and found it a week or two ago. I've been waiting to listen to it until I had some time to be alone.
It was as poignant as I thought it would be. The tape was full of her love for David and I, excitement for what was ahead of us, prayers she had for us. The thing that really shocked me was that she read Proverbs 31 to David regarding me. That particular chapter has been one I've been drawn to the last year or two especially. Some of that is that there just aren't that many passages of Scripture directed specifically to women. But the themes of a woman balancing family, ministry to others and love of God have been particularly relevant to me as of late. Even more gripping to me was that just 3 days ago, I had to write an epitaph for myself (this is the kind of homework you get when you take a seminary class on grief and death) and had chosen Prov. 31: 31 as part of it. It lent a sense of the prophetic to Midi's words 10 years before.
I also was just overwhelmed with the love Midi had for me, and for David and I as a couple. At one point in the tape she choked up as she was praying for us. I was so, so blessed to have her as friend. It makes me miss her all the more as I listen to this very tangible reminder of how wonderful she was to me.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Frustration and Vanity
This has been the first week of my sabbatical, but thus far it hasn't felt very restful. Some of this is the reality of children; colleagues who have gone on sabbatical have told me that they spent the first week or so just sleeping. They obviously don't live with little beings who bound into their room at 6:30 every morning.
But the deeper thing that has made it less restful has been the environment of frustration I seem to be living in recently. None of the aggravations have been anything horrible: lost contacts that took 2 1/2 weeks to replace, salary changes that didn't go through as scheduled, getting waitlisted for the one seminary class I wanted to take this spring, etc. But it has certainly felt than any smaller, logistical thing that could go amiss, has. Add to that everyday frustrations like hyper kids who missed their naps or holes in a new shirt, stir in my generally low emotional reserves, and I am definitely limping into this sabbatical.
I've been reading Ecclesiastes since Midi's death. Something has resonated for me with the idea that most of life is "vanity and chasing after the wind". It is especially true that many of the logistics causing me frustration these days aren't really that important, vanity in the larger scheme of things. I hope that as I do get some chances to rest a bit more, I will not experience as much angst over these insignificant things. It's also very clear to me none of these things are the real issue. The class I wanted to take (and which I did get into eventually) is called "Grief, Loss, Death and Dying"; during the first lecture I cried through half of it. So I'm hoping God doesn't just relieve the frustrations, but actually brings some deeper peace to me at some point.
But the deeper thing that has made it less restful has been the environment of frustration I seem to be living in recently. None of the aggravations have been anything horrible: lost contacts that took 2 1/2 weeks to replace, salary changes that didn't go through as scheduled, getting waitlisted for the one seminary class I wanted to take this spring, etc. But it has certainly felt than any smaller, logistical thing that could go amiss, has. Add to that everyday frustrations like hyper kids who missed their naps or holes in a new shirt, stir in my generally low emotional reserves, and I am definitely limping into this sabbatical.
I've been reading Ecclesiastes since Midi's death. Something has resonated for me with the idea that most of life is "vanity and chasing after the wind". It is especially true that many of the logistics causing me frustration these days aren't really that important, vanity in the larger scheme of things. I hope that as I do get some chances to rest a bit more, I will not experience as much angst over these insignificant things. It's also very clear to me none of these things are the real issue. The class I wanted to take (and which I did get into eventually) is called "Grief, Loss, Death and Dying"; during the first lecture I cried through half of it. So I'm hoping God doesn't just relieve the frustrations, but actually brings some deeper peace to me at some point.
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