How often do you stop to take a moment to ponder the impact others have made on your life? Who has helped you fulfill your destiny? Who has pointed you the direction you should go, to bring you to where you are? We all have those people. I remember one particularly well, as I mourn his loss this morning.
There was a moment in my life, where I was young, insecure, and searching for my place in life. I found myself at the Christian Youth Center in Joliet, IL. I was nervous and dejected about being there, but quickly found my place. Throughout my time there, my life was touched by many, but it was there I found my calling. Working with children was what I was meant to do, as I fell into a new place at day camp. My director pushed me, challenged me, and inspired me to be the very best I could be at what I did. Because of the work he did, I found my day camp voice and never looked back. Because of him, I found my stage presence, and I danced my way through new characters, with a new found confidence. I am broken hearted by his loss, despite the length of time that has passed since we were friends. I wish I had taken the time to consider the immense and profound effect he had on me before this morning. More importantly, I wish I had shared that thought with him.
He has touched many people, and I can only imagine the rejoicing in heaven as he walked through those gates. Thank you God for the gift you gave me through him. Please take care of him until we all see him again. Please take care of his family as the miss him.
I know I shared a couple posts back that I had recently come upon the blog http://www.laylagrace.org/. Someone shared it with me. It is probably one of the saddest and most uplifting things you will ever read. Layla Grace is a little girl who was diagnosed with neuroblastoma just after turning 15 months old. Her blog was an avenue for her family to share their journey with many people, and her following grew large. Sadly enough, little Layla Grace met God yesterday. I have to say, that I am feeling some anger and injustice at this. I'm glad that she is resting peacefully in Jesus' arms, but am broken yet again by the suffering and unfairness of it all. I'm truly inspired by her family's faith and strength through such troubling times, but I ache for them too. Which brings me to a question that I discussed with a friend at work yesterday. Anger at God. I have found myself in a terrible place in the past, a place of anger and resentment at God because of what I have had to endure. I have come full circle to a place of appreciation for everything I have come through, and the strength and support of myself and those I am close to.
When I lost my mother to domestic violence, I was devastated and angry. Due to peripheral circumstances connected to her death, I questioned her salvation and ached at the thought of the truest kind of loss. A loss of a loved one to the place no one talks about. I still have my moments of wondering, moments of questioning, but for about a year after her death, I stopped talking to God. I stopped going to church. I huddled in my house on Sunday morning and watched Food Network. I barely looked up as Jeremy left the house for the early service. I refused to be a part of something that would be fake for me. Now let me clarify a point. I never for a second denied God's existence, or my need for his salvation, I simply had a huge fight with God. I was angry for losing my mother, and in a way for losing my step-father. I lost 2 parents the day my mother passed, and that was a huge loss for me. What I have come to realize though, is that anger is a normal part of desperate human existence. We mourn, we ache, we long for what we cannot have. We are a reflection of God, and I think that He understands that anger. He doesn't want it to last forever, but He longs for us to turn to him in our times of sorrow. Sometimes it feels nearly impossible, but I don't think He experiences the bitterness we feel when others are angry with us. He waits patiently, knowing that in time we will return, perhaps a little more worn, perhaps even broken. He waits there for us, ready to heal, ready to right us one more time.
I'm thankful for what I have been through. I have become far more compassionate than I ever could have been, for what I have been through showed me the true meanings of love and loss. I am also thankful for God's enduring patience. He waits for us. He is there no matter what. Which reminds me of a song that takes me back to that place of being left with nothing to give.
Thank you God for continuing to wait patiently for us to return. Please be with little Layla Grace's family as they endure this difficult time.
Sometimes I feel like life is a semi-truck that has just lain me flat. While I am laid out on the pavement I struggle with even attempting to get back up, or whether I should stay put. If I stay put, there is a good chance that the next semi will roll right over me without so much as a bump or a bruise. I can avoid the pain that will come with the next rumble of tragedy, as those wheels come barreling at me. I can cower and wait. I can cry and pity myself and those that are affected by life's latest surprise. That is what I could do. It sounds easier. Peaceful almost. That warm pavement pressed against my face sometimes feels safe, familiar. I'm so used to being back there, smelling the tar of failure or regret. Feeling the gravel dig into my skin like so many unanswered questions. But I get back up. I cringe as I pull myself to stand, bracing for impact. I forgot how nice the cool breeze feels upon my face, so different from the hot black top. I breathe, and as the crisp air fills my lungs, I am renewed with as much hope as oxygen. I brush off the gravel, and stifle the "what if's." I turn away from the traffic and walk. Life is so much more the combination of these hikes and traumas. And as I listen to the noises of the birds and look into the vivid blue sky, I remember how much better it is to keep walking. Pressed flat against the ground, I miss the wind.
