Stalemate

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My dad was a tool and die guy. He owned his own company and for most of my childhood, his shop was located in a garage in our backyard. We spent countless hours in that shop. Working on the drill press, or shining some steel that needed to be packed up and sent away. We could make a few dollars cleaning up the endless amount of steel chips that covered the concrete floor or sit by the Bridgeport and tell him about our school day while he worked. My dad liked to create things. It came with the work, I suppose. I remember one time he proudly came into the house to show Amy and I the new earrings he had made us. It was one of those moments where you smile and say thank you, knowing full well you would never wear a pair of earrings made of scrap steel to junior high. The teasing was bad enough as it was, without homemade jewelry.

My favorite homemade creation of his though, was a chess piece he made to replace the rook we lost. The rook is the corner piece, the tower. Although, if I remember correctly, our rook had a face and arms. He looked more like a statue from Easter Island, but we needed him. Often, after a long day at work, my dad would come home, eat dinner and then challenge either Amy or I to a game of chess. This didn’t happen every night, but when it did, I would quickly find something, anything else to do. I loved setting up the board, but I hated playing the game. A few reasons, I think. First, my dad never just let us beat him. He was not the type to worry about us needing a win here or there. He wanted us to know the game and fight for our victory. Second, I’m not a fan of competition. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I understand that some people thrive in that environment, but I don’t. I know that about myself, and I’m ok with it. And finally, chess frustrated me. It wasn’t the losing, the check or checkmate that irritated me, as much as the stalemate games. The ones where you are left with no more options. It’s not good, it’s not bad, you didn’t win, you didn’t lose, it’s nothing. A stalemate. Restart the game.

Grief takes you on so many different roads. For months I was a wreck. I cried all the time. I woke up with puffy, swollen eyes each morning, and learned how to apply eyeliner on uneven lids like a prize fighter. There were months that I spent angry. Little things would make me upset. I’m pretty good at keeping my words in check, but I would hit our punching bag until my knuckles bled. Then there were days, sometimes weeks of feeling sorry for myself, hating the life I was living and wishing it had been me and not her. Often these roads, or stages like some call them, would repeat…still repeat. Sadness, anger, self-pity, and so many more, in that order or out of that order, lasting for days or months or maybe just hours. Looping around, for who knows how long.

But my least favorite road, the one that I’ve found myself on sometimes, completely without warning, is numbness. This is not listed in the 5 basic grief stages, so if you find yourself here, please know, it’s normal too.

In my life it looks something like this….

A very sweet friend of mine passed away last week. She was older and she had spent the last 8 months of her life in and out of rehab and in a lot of pain, but as I sat at her funeral recently, I felt nothing. No tears, no sadness, nothing. I’ve been here before, so I know when this wave subsides I will again feel the normal emotions that come when a person you love passes away, but for now, no win, no lose, stalemate.

This is not to say that I’m feeling nothing about anything. I found Grace’s old iPod the other day and after charging it, I was overcome with joy, amidst the sobs, when I found video and audio of her that I had never before seen or heard. Minutes of her voice, her smile, her laughter. Things I miss more and more as each day passes. So I feel, I cry, I’m sad, but only about this loss. While I’m on this path of indifference, it’s like I can’t handle any more than just this one thing.

These are the days I depend on the Truth, what I know to be real. The love of my heavenly Father and the love of my family and friends.

So many times since my dad’s death, I have wished that I could make the short walk from our house to the shop, sit on the work bench next to the Bridgeport and just talk to him about life and the twists and turns it’s taken. He would listen, like he always did, until I was all done, and instead of trying to fix the problems, he would hug me and tell me that he loved me. He understood that while he could fix the chess board or fix us a pair of earrings, he could not fix our hearts. That was something only God could do.

Sometimes in life, like in chess, a stalemate is called. There are no more moves to make and no clear winner can be determined. It might be frustrating and I might hate it, but I’ve learned, especially in the last 18 months, to just clear the board and start again.

 

Stalemate

Marble Hope

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It took much longer than I had anticipated. We sat down with the funeral director over 10 months ago picking out the shape, the color, what the words would say, which picture would be etched in the marble. Then spring blossomed and bloomed, the summer breezed through, and the fall left its color. The few times I would visit, the only marker was a small plastic plaque with just a name and two dates. One date carrying with it one of my greatest memories, the other date, my worst fears realized.

They told us it would take a while. They said the type of stone we chose would have to be shipped in from overseas, but I needed it to happen, and I can’t even explain why.

So on Tuesday, this past week, we got the call. The area had been shoveled out from the recent snow storm, and the stone was set in place.

I was hoping that it would give me peace, a sense of completion, I guess, and it did, sorta.

I waited until Wednesday to see it. The black marble heart is visible from the road. It stands out like my beautiful Grace did. The words, etched in the stone, Love God, Love Others, were the very words she lived by. And the picture, taken in the summer of 2015, reflects the joy that poured out of her on a daily basis.

It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what I had hoped it would be…

But, it’s cold. It’s marble. It’s a stone and the emotion that overwhelmed me was not peace.

A sense of finality rushed over me. The last piece to this tragic puzzle had been put in its place. I have nothing left to accomplish for my girl. It’s done. Now memories become my task. Making sure I don’t forget her voice, her walk, the way her nose would bead with sweat.

And oddly enough, while I knelt in the snow, with my fingertips numb from the frozen stone and my forehead pressed against her picture, my thoughts settled on Christmas, at least why we celebrate this season.   

Death entered this world through the fall of a man, but death is not the end because of the birth of a man. God desired eternity with us and so we celebrate Jesus. Isn’t that really what we rejoice in?

The fact that even in grief, there is hope. Even in tragedy, there can be peace. Even in the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by empty, soulless tombs, the promise of eternity can cause a flame that will burn at the hearts of man, melting away the ice of death.

I found myself hoping again. It’s always there. Sometimes the hope can be strong and thick, sometimes, it just barely flickers, but it’s always there.

Hope for a future home. Hope that my arms will hold my Grace again. Hope that death holds no victory.

Hope…wrapped up and laying in a manger.   

Marble Hope

Who Is God?

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Yes, I believe God still heals. I believe He completely restores health, at times. I have seen it happen. I have known, first hand, people who have gone back to the doctor after already receiving the dreaded diagnosis, only to hear, “we don’t know how this happened, it’s just gone.”

I have also fervently prayed for a miracle, believing a healing would come, only to sit at the edge of a bed, holding the callous hands of the first man I ever loved, as he slipped into eternity.

I also believe God saves and delivers, at times. My dad was in a head-on collision when I was a little girl. Both vehicles were going highway speed, my dad was not wearing his seatbelt, and to everyone’s amazement, he walked away, with nothing more than a few scratches. When he got home, he relayed the story to us, and we sat in wonder as he said, “I saw nothing, but I felt someone strong, pushing on my chest and keeping me in my seat.”

And, as you all know, at times, that’s not always the story. As I sat next to my first born in that hospital, looking at her silent face, with the only visible injury being on her forehead, I asked God why? Where was her rescue?

The questions will always be asked, the answers may never come, but none of the doubt or blame pointed at God, changes who He is and what His intention is for His children.

Faith will always be based on who we understand God to be, not on the situation we are facing. If we seek to understand the why of everything that happens here, I really think, we could drive ourselves mad.  There will always be death, there were always be abuse, there will always be injustice, because there will always be a fallen nature, sin will always be present, during our time here. However, who is God? Is He a loving God who seeks a relationship with His children, or a God whose character changes depending on what situation you are in?

God doesn’t change, ever. He is the same loving God that rescued the Israelites from slavery. He is the same loving God that walked in the furnace with the three Hebrews. He is the same loving God that created a way for us to be saved, by grace, through faith in His only Son. And He is the same loving God that held my heart, as it broke so many months ago.

Ask your questions.

Stand and shake your fist at Him in anger, He can handle it.

When all is said and done, remember He hasn’t changed, your circumstances may have, but He remains the same.

Charles Spurgeon once said “It’s not the strength of your faith that saves you, but the strength of Him upon whom you rely.”

Allow Him to be your strength today, tomorrow, the rest of this year. He handles your pain with the same loving care that He handles your joy. Trust Him today with both.

Who Is God?

Hold on…Let go

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A month or so after the accident, an opportunity to volunteer on the playground, at the school, presented itself. I quickly jumped at the chance for two reasons. First, I love spending time with kids. They rarely ask questions, they don’t notice if your eyes are red and puffy, and they just live to enjoy life. I needed to be surrounded by some old-fashion joy. Second, being home, especially alone, is a torture that few can understand. Alone, with my thoughts, fears and sadness, walking through rooms that, not that long ago, were filled with laughter, silliness and hope, is a place I try not to put myself in too often.

I still work on the playground, once a week, for only an hour, but in that hour, I have the chance to play. I watch routines on the bars, play catch with whatever they are throwing and, everyone’s favorite, push the six kids that made it to the swings the fastest, while everyone else waits in line for their turn.  

Some want an underdog, some want a slow push and some just want to swing themselves while talking to me about the woes of elementary school life. I love it.

I find myself saying two statements though, over and over again.

Hold on and Let Go

I tell them to hold on when I’m about to push. Hold on with both hands. Hold on tight.

And when they slow down enough to jump off…I tell them to let go. Let go with both hands. Let go or you’ll get hurt.

I’ve seen the ones that don’t hold on tight when I push. They end up swinging lopsided, on an angle, almost colliding with their neighbors.

And I’ve seen the ones that don’t fully let go when it’s time, trying to jump while still holding the chain with one hand. They usually end up flat on their backs, laying in the woodchips, wondering where they went wrong.

Today, I realized how often I make both of these mistakes in life.

Hebrews 10:23 “Let us hold on unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.”

Holding on to the promises of God allows me to swing straight when I get pushed or challenged. Loosening my grip, even just a little, leaves me feeling on edge, uneven, angry and bitter. It can cause me to collide with those on the same path as me, sometimes with my words, sometimes with my actions, but always affecting more than just myself.

At the same time, though, not letting go, when God says to let go…

Philippians 3:13 “But one thing you need to do is forget (let go) of what is behind you and reach forward to what is ahead. Press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

Letting go of the past, the pain, the hurt, the confusion and letting go with both hands, allows me to land firmly on my feet, when God calls me deeper. If I try to hold on, even with just one hand, I will find myself on the ground, struggling to understand where I went wrong. Burdens still strapped to my back and sore from the fall.

So remember today, on this rainy October 1st….

Hold on to His promises and Let Go of the pain.

Hold on…Let go

Worship With Me Mom

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I grew up in a denomination that loves its praise and worship. I have been to song services that have lasted for hours. I have heard teachings on worship, been to workshops on the power of praise and have even led the song service a time or two. When I hear a new worship song, I usually memorize it within minutes, share it with a few people and allow its words to seep into my soul.

Worship is powerful. Singing praise and thanksgiving to our Heavenly Father, even in the midst of trials, will often be what drags us back up, out of the depths of despair.

And the enemy knows this.

If he can’t convince you to stay home and not attend a service, he will give you reasons why you shouldn’t participate, once there. The music is too slow, the music is too fast. They aren’t singing new songs, they haven’t included any old ones. Don’t look too excited, people will stare, don’t look too bored, people will wonder what’s wrong.

Or, if you’re in my shoes, the enemy will replay the events of January 25th over and over in your head, until it’s all you can do to even stay standing.

I’m just going to be honest here, our worship services have been so powerful and Spirit-led lately, I look forward to being in the service each week, but each week I fight the enemy of my soul. Not that I don’t fight all week, but he seems to push certain buttons on Sunday morning from 10:30-11:30, that are specifically designed to keep my mouth from singing praise and my heart from entering into worship.

But, that’s when I press in and you know what I’ve found behind the enemy’s line of attack? The sweetest worship I have even known. And the beautiful knowledge that I am not alone. Not only am I joined in unity with my husband and my sweet Evelyn and my dear church family, whom I love, but when I can push beyond the noise, beyond the enemy’s whispers, and beyond my own distractions, I find myself worshipping my Jesus, next to my Grace. There is no time when I feel closer to her, no time when I feel more at peace.

See I know that when she took her last breath on earth, her next breath was filled with praise, to the one she was standing in front of, face to face. I know there are books upon books about Heaven and what happens there, and most of what I read, I’m unsure about, but the Bible is very specific about the amount of praise and worship that will take place.

I can no longer open my eyes during a Sunday morning service to see my Grace on stage, singing to Jesus and smiling back at me, but now, when I close my eyes on a Sunday morning, I can almost hear her say, “Worship Jesus with me mom.” And so I will, for the rest of my breaths here on earth, until we are joined again, side by side, worshiping hand in hand once again.

Worship With Me Mom

Love Is…

13567114_10209888148748510_52781305637643714_nThe above painting is one that Grace, Evie and Jim did a few years ago. They each put their thumbprint on the bottom corner. Below is a poem that Grace wrote. It was among the writings of hers that we found after the accident.

Love
By: Grace Achatz 
What is love?
Is it a racing pulse?
Or complete stillness?
Is it being held by the one you care about most?
Or watching from a distance?
Is it wanting to be with the one you love?
Or simply smiling?
Is it writing love notes to your closest friend?
Or being afraid to tell them how you feel?
Is it like watching a newborn pup and its mother?
Or watching an older married couple?
Love is all of those
It’s keeping by the one you love
A racing heartbeat
It’s sharing hopes and dreams for the future
Watching from a distance, or up close
It’s not being afraid to come to them with anything you need
Complete trust and faith in one another
It’s smiling just for the sake of smiling
A high-pitched voice
It’s simply saying
I love you

I just wanted to add a few more thoughts on love…

Love is…a husband who wakes up at night when I am crying and can’t sleep

Love is…having family who randomly send funny pins and pictures to me, just to make me smile

Love is…getting texts from friends with songs that they know I will love

Love is…having best friends who will hold my hand when I’m fighting a battle or will hug me until I’m ready to let go

Love is…a school family who supports and grieves along with us

Love is…having joy mixed with sorrow upon the daily reminders that my baby is with Jesus

Love is…while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us

Once when Grace was around 10, she came downstairs from her room and told us that God had just spoken to her. What He told her was that love was the key that unlocked heaven’s door.

She lived that word from the Lord. She loved, and she loved fiercely and without shame. I wonder how many unlocked doors stand wide open around heaven because of the love that Gracie freely extended.

Show someone love today, hug a little tighter, look in your friends faces, see what they are hiding. Be Jesus to those around you. Seriously, it is the greatest commandment.

Love Is…

Auto Focus

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It’s hard not to think about what is coming up at the end of this week. Friday night, the night New Life parents and friends will gather around to celebrate the graduation of Grace’s 2016 class. For us, it should have been a night filled with the perfect white dress (that we already had picked out in early January), the perfect blond hair (which she had already planned on having Faith do), the perfect nails (which she had begun to grow out, just for the French manicure), and the perfect evening, filled with family, friends and future plans.

I began to think about what we would be missing out on. What we no longer get to enjoy, what we don’t have. And all those feelings and emotions are normal and fine to feel, but this time, as I started to dwell on what I didn’t have, the Holy Spirit reminded me of a few things that I did have.

I did have the pleasure of raising one of the most amazing people I have ever known. I spent 17 years, side by side, with a girl who loved Jesus, her parents, her sister, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and almost everyone else she came into contact with.

I did have the joy of nurturing a child who was not without her faults, who struggled with some difficult things, but saw the beauty in the struggle, the beauty in the battle for holiness.

I did have the chance to walk alongside an amazing beauty, who would bend down to lift a child up and cuddle with them, but also, had fight in her, that would only well up on the basketball court.

And above all else, I did have the chance to watch my 17-year-old walk the Christian walk, unwavering and unmoved by outside pressure. I saw a girl who finished the race set before her, all the while, glorifying the One who set up the course.

I could spend this whole week focusing on what I don’t have or what I’m missing, or I could auto-focus on what I did have, the knowledge and memories of one amazing Grace. 

Sometimes reality will wake you up in the morning, screaming. And when you lay your head down to sleep, reality will replay the bad over and over, like a movie reel. Sometimes reality is less reality and more the enemy of our souls, who wants to keep us trapped by only what we can see with our human eyes.

Romans 4:17 is talking about the reality of Abraham being too old to have children. The end of verse 17 says, though, that the God that we serve, calls things that are not as though they are.

Am I missing something terribly? yes…But is God still on the throne? yes

Am I sad and often overcome with grief? yes…But does God say He will turn ashes into beauty? yes

Is this going to be a hard week? yes…But is God bigger than any hardship? yes

What I choose to focus on will change my outlook. This week, as hard and sad as it may be, my auto-focus will be set to the things the Lord has told me, not the pain the enemy wants to keep me bound to. This might be a constant refocusing, it may take several times in the course of an hour, but how else do you get the perfect picture, the one that God will hang in the gallery of battle-worn soldiers, who fought the good fight, and finished the race, only to hear ‘well done.’

 

 

Auto Focus

Mayday

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Tomorrow begins the month of May. May used to be my favorite month. I love spring. I love the new leaves on the trees, plants emerging from their winter sleep and my flowering pear trees, that bloom white and make me smile whenever I see them. I also enjoyed the fact that May ends with Memorial Day (one of my favorite holidays) and my birthday.

After my dad died, something I wasn’t prepared for, was the drastic change I felt for holidays, special events and my birthday. I didn’t want to celebrate them anymore, especially my birthday. My dad would race the family to be the first Happy Birthday any of us would receive on our day. It kept getting earlier each year (mainly because my dad and sister were competitive) which kept us laughing. But on May 31, 2010, there was no early morning phone call, and I realized that there never would be again.

And now another loss, a greater loss….and so I am preparing myself for this month. A school play, she won’t be acting in, a spring concert, she won’t be singing in, a Mother’s Day that will be missing half of what makes me a mother, a graduation ceremony, she won’t walk in and a birthday that will be another “Happy” short.

Below is an entry from my journal a week after the accident:

“I have told a few people that I lived in a self-built city. It was a beautiful city. If you looked around you would see a house for each of my daughters, one for my husband and I, a work house, a church house and so on, in my lovely city. There were problems, where aren’t there problems, but at least I knew what they were, I could see them coming, I could deal with them. Then last Monday night, in a crippling blink, my city was attacked, my oldest daughters house fell, and as it toppled, it brought with it my entire city. I now stand in the ruins of what was a beautiful city. I stand, staring at my husband and remaining daughter, and I wonder, how am I going to ever rebuild.”

I realized this morning, while reading Psalm 31, (my 2016 chapter), that my city is still under siege. And May is going to be a month full of attacks. When I picture this in my mind, I see a “Lord of the Rings” type castle, with enemies all around the wall. In verse 22 though, David says “In my alarm or panic, I said ‘I am cut off from Your sight, Lord!’ Yet You heard my cry for mercy when I called to You for help.”

Every time something comes my way this month, every time another special event or holiday approaches, I have the choice to tell myself one of two things…I am cut off from God’s sight, He doesn’t see, He doesn’t care, I am alone, or I can tell myself…He hears my cry for mercy, He shows me His wonderful love daily, and in His dwelling I am safe (not free from sadness, but safe).

The very last verse of chapter 31 says, “Be of good courage, and He will strengthen your heart, all you who hope in the Lord.” My sweet friend reminded me this morning that our job is to have the courage and hope, but it’s God’s job to provide the strength, which He will faithfully do.

Then Jim reminded me that God is still God in May, and because He is, I will be safe in my city, even when it’s under attack, because in His shelter, I will take refuge.

Mayday

Dangerous Prayers

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I have prayed a few prayers in my lifetime that I won’t pray again unless I’m really prepared for an answer. “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.” Psalm 139:23. I was diligent about praying this scripture years ago…and when God began to answer it, I underwent a few solid years of intense awareness of my own thoughts and how “what a man eats does not make him unclean, but what proceeds from the heart (Matt. 15:18) and that “the heart is deceitful above all things” (Jer. 17:9). It was a time in my life when I would battle internally for days, weeks, months, with unwanted thoughts, and I would ask, beg, plead with the Lord to deliver me from them, but I learned so much through those difficult days. I learned that God was, in fact, strongest when I was weakest, that His grace was and is sufficient for me and that my thought-life, although hidden from the outside world, was not hidden from my Heavenly Father, and it was something that He desired to be Lord of too.

Another prayer that should be carefully considered is the one that asks God to teach patience. Now I don’t know why some prayers get answered quicker than others, but if you pray for added patience, please be prepared for ample opportunities to practice this fruit in every area of your life. In your home, with your family, at the grocery store and especially on the road, when your running late. You have been warned.

So I am going to post below one of the prayers Grace wrote out a few months before the accident. I have read and reread it and wondered if I would have the courage to pray the same prayer. Grace’s life brought honor and glory to the Lord, but her legacy does also. Am I willing to allow the Lord to do anything with my life, as long as it’s what glorifies Him the most? Am I willing to allow this grief stage of my life to point others to Him? Or will I get stuck in what I wanted my life to look like, instead of what God is prompting me to accept?

 

My Purpose                       8-2-15

Lord,

I can’t seem to find my true God-given purpose in life. What do you want me to do to bring the most glory and honor to You? I know You have planned something great for me, but I have no idea what that is! My life lacks excitement, not knowing what comes next, spontaneity. Show me Your plan Lord, help me to bring glory and honor to You.

Love, Grace

Dangerous Prayers

Renovations

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My best friend and I have often joked about how different our ideas of a clean house are. She is a deep cleaner. She enjoys the floors scrubbed, the sinks spotless and the rugs washed. Often times, a stack of magazines will need to be moved in order to scrub the floors, or a pile of clothes might need to relocate for the rugs to get soaked, but the deep cleaning is important to her. Now in my house, deep cleaning is something that happens only when my sweet sister-in-law comes over to help. But I hate clutter. When I clean, I don’t get the floor wax out (I honestly don’t even know how to use that stuff, sorry mom). I get boxes and garbage bags out, so I can throw stuff away. I don’t like piles of dishes, piles of clothes or piles of anything visible to my eye. I like the kitchen counter cleared off (even if the dirty dishes are in the sink), the living room floor has to be free of stuff, and my room…well even if the clothes are not hung up, they are off the floor and on a chair. She and I have often laughed at how we, combined, would make the perfect housekeeper.

My mind works best with order. Everything has its place. I will survey a room and see what still needs to be kept and what can go to the curb to make my life simpler.

Before the accident, I had most of my life clutter free. I knew where things belonged, everything had its place and if something seemed to be taking too much space, I would remove it. I didn’t take on tasks that I couldn’t complete with excellence, I didn’t say yes to requests, unless I knew I could carry them out. Now, living in a post-accident, state of mind, my answer to most everything is “I don’t know.”

I don’t know what a good day looks like.

I don’t know how I’m living without my Grace.

I don’t know why I’m not angrier.

I don’t know who is to blame.

I just don’t know.

Right now we are in the middle of a minor renovation. A small office area outside of Evie’s room is being transformed into a lounge area. She wanted somewhere to watch movies with her friends, hang out, and she also wanted a bench that could be made into a bed, so that her friends could have a place to sleep.

Because of that renovation, my house is cluttered. There are boxes filled with DVDs in the living room, piles of papers on the desk, and everything that doesn’t have a spot to go, is sitting on Evie’s bedroom floor.

But my house resembles my heart right now. Nothing has a specific place, everything is out of order and I desperately want to declutter, but I can’t. I’m learning, even though it hurts, that there is no order in a house of grief, there is no cleaning up piles of tears, I can’t throw away memory’s, even the tiniest ones, because memory’s are all I have now.

These are the moments that God reminds me that He has a perfect plan. He will clean things up, in His time, and He will teach me lessons in the midst of the clutter, if I will listen. Even though I want to fix this, I can’t, but He can. Daily I hand my clutter back to Him because I just don’t know what else to do with it, but He does.

God is good, in my best friend’s house, where the floors are clean; and God is good, in my messy, cluttered, house. My house is in the middle of a renovation, but so is my heart, and nothing is where it should be, but God is still good.

 

Renovations