Monday, November 15, 2010
Homesick
You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you
I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways
The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know
But, even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same
Cause I'm still here so far away from home
I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
In Christ, there are no goodbye
And in Christ, there is no end
So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have
To see you again
To see you again
And I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now.
God is moving in my life right now. I don't necessarily see it or feel it, but I know He has to be, because I'm crying out to Him every day. If there's anything He's taught me, it's that even when I can't sense Him, I know He is working and has not forgotten about me. Elaboration later....
Sunday, May 2, 2010
See, Hear, Feel, Want...
See you in the children,
In the games,
In the competition,
In the laughter,
In the tears.
In the letters,
In the surprises.
In the airplanes,
In the nature.
I hear you in the music,
Hear your voice in the phone,
In the thunder,
In the pounding rain,
In the darkness
And my scary dreams.
In the light,
And the awe of His majesty.
And I want you,
In my pain,
In my joys,
In my adventures,
In my excitement,
In my failures,
In my successes,
In my future,
In everything you cannot be here for now.
I want you in all that you’ve left me to experience without you.
I want you in this city.
I want you to be proud of me.
I want you to smile at me,
That smile that I know only you can ever give.
I want you to tell me I’m beautiful
And I’m your princess.
And I miss you in all of it.
I miss you in all that used to be,
In all that is now,
And all that will be.
You were so good to us,
The best I could have ever asked for.
I can’t put it any other way, but these words don’t do my feelings justice,
I miss you.
So, very, much.
Yes, indeed, I miss you, loved one.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The DTR (a short piece)
He spoke the words she sensed were rapidly approaching. She tried and tried to deny the feelings developing in her heart, but to no avail. And then came the moment of truth; there they stood. The world around her ceased spinning as he held the power to make her produce tears of joy or tears of sorrow. He never meant for it to come this far.
She closes her eyes, attempting to force time to freeze. He squeezes her hand to remind her of the reality. She pleads and begs, desperately, for it all to be a dream. But when she breathes deep, and her eyelids shoot open, the icy cold air stings her eyeballs--a blatant reminder of reality. The clock strikes twelve, and they stand there, staring, breathing, caught in suspension and disbelief. Eyes locked, fists clenched, hearts burning—hers for his but his for another. The tension is painstakingly loud and as visible as their breath intermingling between their faces.
They can feel the warmth of their breath mixing with the thick, cold air: birthing the storm. Here comes the thunder; she blinks, and the lighting strikes as he lets go of her clenched hand. A slap in the face; a gasp for air; a wind-sucking blow to her gut. One last look of deepest, sincerest, painful apologies, assuring her of the happiness they once shared, confirming it was all real. He lingers for a moment, letting their thoughts meld into an unwanted, mangled mess of shared history—now lost with one, solitary conversation. Then, as he blinks, he turns, destroying everything to her.
She stands alone, shivering, tears streaming down her cold, rosy cheeks. She weeps. Arms hanging limply by her side. Achingly lonely.
Why? She pleads. It hurts. But any response she longed to hear failed her ears. Hot tears roll down her face. However, as the cry of her soul rings out, a blanket of Protection swiftly wraps itself around her.
She whimpers quietly, as she feels Him—knowing He could have prevented this. But where else can she go? She relents. Their fingers intertwine as she holds onto His promise. He walks with her, and she knows that He will wipe away every tear, make her smile, and heal her heart. He saturates her with his unfailing, suffocating, eternal love.
There is Hope. And Healing. And New Beginnings.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Different World
But for me, the New Year has different meaning. You see, I am more concerned with what quickly follows that New Year.
What’s so special about March? Not much. Maybe the beginning of spring, the Ides of March (but I only ever learned of that when I read “Romeo and Juliet” in high school). One bonus in March for me is the birthday of some of my very special friends. But other than that, I dread the month.
In March, there is no getting around the recognition that he is gone. No matter how far I have come, and no matter how much progress I have made, my emotions and feelings and logic are twisted into a mangled mess of devastation and pain.
But it’s not even the remembering that specific day that he died that hurts the most. And I’ve decided to tell you what it is.
And since the day he’s been gone, I have met countless new people; I have grown in countless new friendships with people. My dad would love all of my new friends. The majority of new people I have met are my friends at camp (BSE ’09) and my friends from Moody and Chicago. I would give so much to have my dad meet these special new people in my life.
This is what I mean about living in a different lifetime. In this time of my life, every single new person I meet will see my family as having four members (aside from my brother’s fiancĂ©e). No one I met starting three years ago or will meet in the future will EVER know one of the most important people in my life. They will never fully grasp who he was to me. Granted, many of the people I meet will never even meet my family at all, but many will—especially those I am closest to. The idea of them not knowing him is almost inconceivable (does that word make anyone else think the “Princess Bride” every time they hear it?) to me.
But, inevitably, here I am. Almost three years from the day I lost him. And what do I do? I could go on to describe the pain. I could go on to describe how exactly my life is changed. I could proceed to talk about the things I miss about him. But this post is long enough, and I have written extensively about all of those things already on this blog and in my journals. And besides, there comes a point, when sharing things online becomes impersonal. Our lives are special and personal. They deserve to be explored and shared through more than just the Internet. So I am always willing to talk more, but this is enough of my thoughts.
So, what I want to conclude with—before all of you who want to criticize me for not being joyful in all the good that has come from this experience, and all the wonderful ways God has worked in my life—is the acknowledgment of the fact that I am healing.
As much as one part of me hates to say it, life goes on. Obviously it does, because it’s been three years. The earth keeps spinning and spinning. I hate the term “moving on” because it seems to imply to some that my dad is less important to me, and his death isn’t as major as it once was. So, I don’t want to say that I’m moving on, but I do know that as time goes on, the pain will lessen. It will take a long time. But I heard a quote last night that I think sums it up. I’m not sure who said it, so if you said it, let me know, and I’ll give you credit.
“Acceptance is not about forgetting, it’s remembering with less pain.”
Just because I accept that he’s gone, and on March 15th 2010, he will have been gone for three years, doesn’t mean that I’m leaving him behind. I’m just able to remember him with a little less of a sting. I will always wish he was here, and I will always talk about him. I will never let anyone forget him, and my heart will always ache a little bit. But the pain will become less—eventually. Maybe not now, but it will come.
And in thirty years, when I tell someone that I lost my dad thirty-three years ago, I know they will shrug it off more easily than they would have now. Honestly, that will probably bother me. I will want to shout at them, and tell them that I still love him as much as I did the day he died. I will want to pound it into their head that he is as much a part of who I am as he was when he was living. But I won’t do that. I’ll let them think what they want, and I will simply remember, with less pain.
Now, I will actually conclude with telling you that I love the Lord, and I am forever grateful for the time he gave me with my dad. He never promised me I would have more than seventeen years with him, and I recognize that. So before you think you need to tell me that God will bring good from this, and I need to stop grieving my loss. Let me assure you that I have already seen God’s goodness in my father’s death. Just because it’s painful, doesn’t mean I’m living in misery and self-pity. I have already witnessed God’s sustaining Love and Power in my life and the lives of those around me, and I know I will continue to witness God working. I haven’t walked away from God, and I never will. I know I could not survive this without him. I’m striving to use the experiences He has put me through in order to bring serve Christ and glorify God.
God, let me always glorify you no matter what you allow to happen in my life. No matter what your sovereign plan involves, no matter the pain, and no matter the joy, may you always receive the honor and the glory.
And Daddy, I miss you. I always will. The day you died is a day my heart broke in a way that will always cause it to ache. But you brought incredible joy to my life. You were a gift from God. You made sure to always acknowledge that you were my earthly father, and you told me, I need only to rely on God—because he is the only Constant, and the only One who will never let me down—because if I do that, “everything else will shake out fine.” Thank you, Dad. I love you.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Inevitable
My grandpa Magers died when I was young; I remember him, but I never had a relationship with him, as he died before I could really get to know him. But as I grew up, I became very close with all my other grandparents. My mom’s parents were divorced when she was in middle school so I’ve always had two sets of grandparents on her side, because they both remarried.
Recently, my grandpa Leichty—my mom’s step dad—died. Grandpa and I were close with each other. He loved to talk, and I loved to listen to him. He wrote me a letter when I was in eighth grade that I couldn’t read until I graduated, and it is one of the best letters ever written to me. He was always full of wisdom and knowledge. I remember, when I was younger, playing with my Grandpa; he was lively, active, and strong. My brothers and I always had fun with him. But inevitably, he aged and grew weaker. He had a stroke or two, and was left very weak and dependent on others.
His wife, my grandma Leichty—my mom’s mom—has endured much in her life. She is a strong-willed woman, and she supports others. She doesn’t slow down, and she really cares about others. She is such a servant.
I also remember my grandma Magers being very spry and independent. But I have witnessed her being forced to sell her house and living in an assisted living home. She can’t even write her own letters anymore. She does have a very good memory and can still have coherent conversations. Visiting her is one of my favorite things. But it’s been hard, watching her get old. Seeing her cry at my dad’s viewing and funeral was one of the most painful things I have ever seen. She lost her baby, and you could see the anguish in her eyes.
My grandma Martin—my mom’s step mom—has always been a wonderful woman in my life. She cares so much about her grandchildren. She always checks up on me. She has always been one of the strongest women I know. Over the past few years, as I have grown closer to her, I have realized what a wise woman she is. She has endured quite a lot of difficult circumstances in her life—things I won’t get into now—yet she still has faith, and she still serves others.
Grandpa Martin—my mom’s dad—has also always been very strong, but recently he was hospitalized for a heart condition. He is out now and doing much better, but it is still scary.
Now, the other day, I was at my grandma and grandpa Martin’s house and my grandma began talking about my cousin who was recently hospitalized at Riley’s for a heart condition. She was describing what happened when they visited him at Riley’s. While they were in there, my cousin began slurring his words and having other complications. As my grandma described the situation, she started to cry.
It was heartbreaking to me. As a kid, you just think they are invincible. But I am facing reality now, and I’m not saying I’m going to lose any of them soon. It has just been hard to see the way they change. They can’t do as much as they used to, they are more open with you, you find out things you never knew. It’s difficult for me to handle. I want them to never be hurt. I want them to stay young forever. I want them to be exempt from the effects of ageing. But they aren’t, and no one is.
Nothing I can do will keep them here with me longer; their lives are not in my hands. Therefore, the best I can do is just cherish the time I have with them. I can be grateful for the time I have with them, and I can remember their precious, valuable words to me. Thank the Lord they are even in my life at all. Each one of them has played a very important role.