One Year

"I have felt its approach in the back of my mind, O Lord, like a burden tilting toward me across the calendar. I have felt its long approach, and now it has arrived. This is the day that marks the anniversary of my loss, and waking to it, I must drink again from the stream of sorrow that cannot be fully remedied in this life. O Christ, redeem this day." - Every Moment Holy, Volume II: Death, Grief, and Hope

Tuesday, November 29th, marked the one year anniversary of my mom's death. Like the quote above says, I have long felt it's approach. I had actually been dreading it since the leaves began to turn. Each peer out the window to see the brilliant colors of yellow and red and orange took my breath away, and not because it was beautiful (thought it was), but because I knew fall was closing in and so were the painful memories of all the events that occurred before, during, and after my mom's death last year. This date seemed like a looming mountain that I had to climb. And, honestly, all I wanted to do was hide.

But God gives more grace.

It's now December 2nd, and I have made it to the other side. The Lord carried me through largely on the prayers of others. Once I got past my birthday, which was just seven days before the dreaded day, the anxiety almost disappeared. The days seemed to get easier after that for some reason, but my awareness of last year's timetable was still very much on my mind, as revealed by the many dreams I have had of my mom and her house.

I miss my mom tremendously. I think of her all the time. I am so happy for her that she is no longer suffering and that her faith is now sight, but I miss her being a part of our lives. There are so many things I want to ask her and cannot. There are things I wish I could ask her about parenting and her childhood that I didn't think to ask before, but now never can. I miss talking to her about what the boys are doing and sending her pictures of them. I miss how she kept me connected to my extended family. I miss sharing all the little things with her that no one else would really care about, but she did. My mom took a special interest in the lives of others. She seemed to find everything I told her interesting, even if it really wasn't. I missed driving to see her this past Thanksgiving. 

Now that Christmas is around the corner, I miss talking to her about gift ideas for the boys. I used to get so frustrated by how many presents she bought them (too many), but now I wish she could just buy them even one. Gift-giving seemed to be her love language and she really enjoyed buying gifts for others. She actually had me order Christmas gifts for the boys from her while she was on the BiPap machine in the hospital last year, just a week before she died. She loved them so much and getting them something for Christmas was on her mind even in her final days. The gifts actually arrived the day she died and I was able to give them to the boys that day, which was a sweet providence. 

We have made it through a whole year of firsts. Like we do in memory of my dad, we took time on her birthday and Mother's day and this past Tuesday to remember my mom. I made a special photo book about the boys' grandparents, so we looked at that book together and talked about the memories we had of Grandma. I know the memories of my mom and her house will fade in the boys' minds as time passes (which makes me sad), so this is a way I hope to keep her memory before them. 

It's been a year and the pain is still very raw. It all still feels very recent in my mind's eye, as if it happened just weeks ago. But I know from experience that it will not always be this way. The pain will not always be so acute, but it will always mark me in some way. Someone has said that grief is our final act of love and reveals the extent to which we have loved the person who died. The tears will come and go and come again, but there is a day coming when One will finally and fully wipe them all away (Revelation 21:4). Until then, He collects them in His bottle and never lets one tear be wasted (Psalm 56:8). For what I also know is that even though grief is unpredictable and messy and this world is full of many sufferings and trials, there is a God who is ruling over it all and He has good and wise purposes that we could never fathom. And more than that, He is a God who enters into our suffering through the person of Jesus Christ. He walks with us in it and He became one of us so that He might bear our griefs and carry our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4). In fact, He was called the Man of Sorrows (Isaiah 53:3). This is what Christians celebrate around the world at this time of year. Christmas is about the God who came to us to live for us, to die for us, and to save us so that we might be able to live with Him forever. Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil (sin and death), so that death no longer has the final word. Jesus is going to right every wrong and transform every suffering into something glorious. My heartache is not for nothing. This is the hope that carries me through the hardest of days.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:3-4

Thanksgiving 2020

The Empty Chair

Anyone who visited my mom knew the familiar sight of her sitting in her rocker recliner. As her health deteriorated over the last several years, her time in her chair increased. She became almost wheelchair bound and rarely left her recliner. She slept in it. She ate meals in it. She welcomed people into her home from it. She held her grandbabies for the first time in it.

Mom meeting Justus

Mom meeting Levi

Last year, my family and I spent a total of almost two months at my mom's house spread over three trips (only two trips were planned, which would have totaled two weeks). Most of those weeks were without my mom present because she was in the hospital. It was strange to walk into her house without her smiling face beaming at us from that chair. The chair sat empty the entire time we were there. Not one of us sat in it. Not even my boys, who are four and two, ventured into it, and no one told them not to. It was like an unspoken rule. Everyone understood that it was her chair. 

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When my family and I made our biannual trip to visit my mom last June, deep down I thought it might be one of our last visits. The Lord put it in my heart to ask my sister and her husband to join us during that time because my mom loved when both her girls were there at the same time and I sensed an urgency that we all be together. After our week visit, my family and I returned to New Jersey, only to take a next-day flight back to Missouri a week later because my mom was severely ill in the hospital with pancreatitis. 

She was unable to keep down food and medicine for weeks and the doctors saw no hope for recovery, so they sent her home on hospice. She wasn't even home for 24 hours before she was eating and drinking and keeping down meds and in her right mind. The Lord touched her body and, besides being weak, she seemed like herself.

During that time, many of our relatives came in from all over to see her in what we thought were her last days. They came prepared for a funeral, but instead were able to visit with her like old times. Looking back, I can see what a gift this was to my mom. She loved having people in her home. No matter when you came or how long you stayed, you were always welcomed at my mom's house. She would receive you with open arms and a smiling face, and, as much as she was able, she would go out of her way to accommodate you. 

As it became apparent that my mom was on the mend and no longer dying, we took her off hospice and arranged for her to go to a rehab facility to strengthen her very weak body. It felt as if God had given her back to us. Little did we know that it was only temporary. 

June 2021

My mom was well acquainted with suffering and had suffered many health afflictions over the years. Yet, even through all the pain and the loneliness and limitations, my mom did not turn away from God or question the lot He gave her. She did get weary of hospitals and doctor's visits and she did wonder why God kept her around, but her faith in God never wavered. Since 2015, my mom has had at least one health crisis per year that we weren't sure she would pull out of. In 2021, she had two. Her infirmities seemed to increase in intensity and complexity each year.

Now her health battles are over. My mom went to be the Lord on Monday, November 29, 2021. She contracted Covid in the rehab facility where she was staying and never recovered. It's hard to believe this was the health crisis to end them all.

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Now we are all reeling from this sudden loss. For me, the effects seem cumulative. It's not just losing my mom, but losing my dad and the home where I grew up. It's the realization that I no longer have parents or grandparents - people who have gone before me. It's a heavy blow.

In the midst of the grief and pain, however, there is relief and joy. My mom is no longer suffering. She is now free from her crippled body of almost 40 years. She doesn't have to face the reality of no longer being able to live by herself and she doesn't have to live in a long-term facility (something neither she nor we wanted). She doesn't have to endure isolation and loneliness - something I scarcely let myself think about before. She is healed in every way, and I no longer have to worry about her (and, oh, how much of my thoughts and prayers went towards her). 

Honestly, this has been really hard and some days I really struggle with this hard providence. I have to be careful, though, and guard my thoughts. It's easy for me to start questioning God's wisdom and character. But I know whom I have believed and I must trust Him over what I feel or what my circumstances tell me. It's hard to see how God could possibly work good out of my mom's suffering or out of all the hard things my family and I have faced last year. But, as the old hymn says, "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace. Behind a frowning providence, there hides a smiling Face." My vision is limited. I do not see all that the Lord is doing. One day, I will. Maybe not even in this life time, but one day, I will see that God had been up to something good all along, even in all of the pain. That's what I cling to as I grieve with hope (1 Thess. 4:13).

"Be still my soul, thy Jesus can repay from His own fullness all He takes away."

Another Loss

My grandpa's (dad's dad) funeral was today. And I am in New Jersey. My heart aches not to be there and it was so hard to make the decision not to go. I enjoyed him so much and always made a point to see him when I was in town. I am thankful that he was able to meet both of my boys and that they got to meet him (though, sadly, they won't remember it).

The last time I saw him was over Thanksgiving. When we said our goodbyes, he got emotional. I was told that he did that sometimes, but I think we both felt that it was the last time we would see each other (or at least I did). That was a kindness from the Lord.

My grandpa lived a long life. He would have been 98 next month. I knew this time was coming and I, of course, always planned to be at his funeral. But what I didn't plan on was a global pandemic or living in New Jersey or my mom being in the hospital where visitors wouldn't be allowed. And even though this seems like the worst possible timing from my perspective, the Lord is not surprised by any of this and I am trying to rest in His good providence.

My grandpa was my last living grandparent and probably the one that I felt the closest to. He was such a joy. He had a great sense of humor, was almost always jolly, and lived a quiet life. Unlike my grandma (his wife), he never seemed to fret over things. He was a steady presence. He didn't say a lot, but he usually had good things to say. Whenever we would say goodbye, he always said, "Pray for me." I am going to miss him, but I am glad that I can grieve with hope, knowing that he is with our Savior, experiencing true and everlasting Joy.

Lloyd Hovis | 1922-2020

Five Years

I've been thinking about my dad a lot this year. I always think about him, but he's just been on the forefront of my mind more. This September marks the fifth anniversary of his death. Five years is a long time. So much has happened. But, yet, the memory of him seems so much closer.

I have been missing him. Mainly, I've been missing him missing out on our lives. I know he doesn't feel that way. He is in perfect health, free from sin, and in the presence of Jesus (2 Corinthians 5:8). He is at home in every sense of the word. But for us here, we miss his presence, and, from our earthly perspective, he has missed out on so much. Both me and my sister got married the year after he passed away. He wasn't there to walk us down the aisle or dance with us at the reception. I have trouble imagining what that would have been like - what he would have said, if he would have teared up - and it's something my heart will never know. This is something I realized I have never truly grieved over until this year. In the moment of wedding planning and all the changes that go with getting married, the busyness hid the reality. I actually did not even know who was going to walk me down the aisle until the week of my wedding due to things going on amongst my relatives (which was painful for several reasons). As I was looking through our wedding album earlier this year, these things hit me. I wish it could have been different. I wish my dad could have been there. But he wasn't and I have to trust God's Word that He's working in that for my good (Romans 8:28).

And then there's Justus. I think that is what has really been prompting me to think about my dad. I wish he was here to meet him, play with him, know him. My dad loved babies and he would have loved Justus so much - enough to even travel to visit us here in AL (and my dad was not one to travel). Now I can only show Justus pictures and videos of his grandpa and hope that that somehow makes him think fondly of him down the road.

Loss is hard. Its effects are far reaching, rippling into events unforeseen and surprising you with grief when you least expect it. The passage of time helps. It gives perspective and distance, but it doesn't lessen the loss. The grief may not be as raw as it was five years ago, but sometimes the pain can be. But, as a Christian, I can grieve with hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Because Christ died and rose from the dead, I know that the same will be true of my dad. Because Jesus lives, he lives too. And one day we will worship Him together.

Photo Credit: Sarah Mesa Photography

Photo Credit: Sarah Mesa Photography

Lessons in Motherhood and Faith: Brokenness

The past few days have been exhausting. I have been playing single mom while Daniel has been away on a work trip. Justus hasn't been sleeping well, which means I haven't been sleeping well (though I usually don't sleep very well while Daniel is away). And a lot of my plans haven't worked out quite right, which has added to the stress.

But I have enjoyed the quiet evenings to myself, which has allowed me to journal and think through some things. Hence, this post.

Today marks 17 years of walking with the Lord. That means that half of my life now I have been a Christian. (This also marks the 10th year since I first blogged about this.) That's crazy to think about. Seventeen years is a long time. I have changed so much since that time and learned so much more about God and salvation and Jesus Christ as well.

Last year, continuing into this year, was a year of breaking and refining for me. Motherhood has tested my faith and stretched me in ways I could have never imagined. God has used this new role to chip away at my self-sufficiency and independence in new ways. It really is a daily dying to self for the sake of another who is completely helpless. But isn't that the gospel? Jesus died to pay for the sins of those who could not help themselves so that they could be restored to a right relationship with God. I should rejoice that I get to identify with His sufferings in such a small way.

But I don't.

I complain. I baulk. I doubt. I get discouraged.

One of the problems I realized I have - shamefully - is that I don't have a high view of motherhood. I have this underlying feeling that I should be doing more (as in more ministry outside of the home - my view of that is too exalted). I don't think this feeling comes from God. I think it comes from me finding my worth in things I do - especially things that people can see. (It was really hard to write that last sentence).

But what the Lord has been showing me is that I should be content with what He gives me and where He has me. "The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (Psalm 16:6). The influence I have on my son is an awesome privilege and responsibility. He needs the gospel just as much as anyone I might meet in an outside-the-home ministry. Motherhood is a high calling and a gift. And it's hard. It's constant and demanding and there's no manual. But there is God. And He promises to equip us with everything we need to do His will.

I recently read two articles from Desiring God that spoke into my situation and encouraged my faith. You can find them here and here. I was reminded through them that God wants me to be broken and humbly dependent on Him and that knowing Christ (which comes through brokenness) is better than any gains I could perceive (like sleep, ministry, down time - did I mention sleep?). The breaking has a purpose. It's to make me a better disciple and mom and wife and friend, etc. I often think I have a better idea of what would make me "better" and it usually doesn't involve anything uncomfortable. One of the articles stated, "Though it feels like we [mothers] are being killed all the day long, [Jesus] is renewing us inside." She reminded me that "death precedes life," something that I had forgotten. I was so consumed with how much I was dying that I lost sight of the fact that in Christ a resurrection is coming. He brings death out of life, and only in knowing Him in His suffering and death will I be able to know Him in His resurrection. This is hope. This is what I needed.

Because, honestly, the last year or so, I have not been in a good place spiritually. And I've hated it. But the truths from these articles have been like fresh water to a dehydrated soul. Instead of giving into complaining and grumbling because things don't go the way I'd like, I have been fighting to trust that God is working for my good (this has been especially hard the past few days, but the Lord has been helping me). He breaks us to bind us. He humbles us to exalt us. He reveals His strength in our weakness. He refines us so that we may know Him more. Therein is true life and joy.

My faith may not be where I would like it to be, but that's not where my focus should be anyway. It should be on the One in whom my faith rests and He will hold me fast.

Slow to Anger

So much has happened since I last posted. The holidays came and went. Daniel graduated with his PhD. A new year begun. Justus turned one (!). It's been a whirlwind in many ways and between my daily duties and trying to squeeze in a nap, writing has fallen by the wayside.

But there's something deeper than busyness that's kept me at bay. I haven't had motivation to write. I haven't been inspired. Which says more about my heart than anything else. I have been numb spiritually for quite awhile now and when that happens, thoughts and words feel stifled.

I can pinpoint where the apathy began to take root. It was almost a year ago. Justus was in the hospital with an infection, and I was beside him, watching him suffer. I felt abandoned by God. I felt that God didn't hear my prayers, let alone care about me. I felt that things were unnecessarily hard. I felt alone.

I should listen less to my feelings.

The seeds of bitterness took root during those lonely, difficult days in the hospital, and they continued to grow throughout 2017. I began to tally every disappointment, every hardship, and every loss and add them to the pain. It's hard to want to draw near to God when you keep a record against Him.

But God did not leave me in this state. Even now, I can see how He pursued me in different ways during that time. He didn't answer my "why" questions, but He did beckon me to come to Him. He showed me in His Word how He is near to the broken hearted (Psalm 34:18) and walks with us through the Valley of the Shadow of Death (Psalm 23:4). He reminded me over and over not to depend on my own understanding (Proverbs 3:6) and not to look at the seen things (2 Corinthians 4:16-18), but to trust in Him because He is good and does good - always (Psalm 119:68).

Still I wavered.

During the last few weeks, while studying James 1:19-21 and then listening to a sermon on it at Safe Haven Church, I saw a familiar verse in a new light. Verse 19 says, "Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger." I had always thought about this verse in regards to relating to other people. But when I read it this time, I was struck by the fact that this verse is in relating to God. The Apostle James is writing to a group of suffering Christians. He had earlier in his letter told them to count suffering all joy (v. 3), that those who remain steadfast in suffering are blessed (v. 12), that every good gift comes from our Heavenly Father (v. 17) - even the ones that come in difficult packages, -and that God saved us according to His own will (v. 18). Now James tells them to be quick to listen to God's Word in suffering, to be slow to speak (rashly) to and against God in suffering, and to be slow to anger against God in suffering.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

I had been slow to listen to God's Word, even when I knew what I was reading or hearing was addressing my heart attitude towards the Lord. I had been quick to speak against God in my heart, doubting His goodness and promises, as well as His disposition towards me. And I had been quick to be angry and resentful at God for all the hard things He was allowing in my life. I was full of pride, thinking that God was getting it wrong and not trusting that His ways are higher and better than mine because He can see the whole picture and because He has my ultimate good in mind.

James goes on in verse 20 to say that the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. He is not talking about righteousness by justification, as in trying to make oneself right with God. Jesus alone accomplished that. He makes us right with God. He is our righteousness. Rather, James is talking about a righteousness that leads to living according to God's standards. Man's anger doesn't do that. My anger doesn't do that. What does? A life lived by faith in Christ.

After hearing the sermon on this passage, my heart was pricked and exposed. I could see how I had put God on trial, demanding Him to answer my questions and answer to His ordering of my ways. I was foolish and prideful. But God in His mercy was patient to continually speak to me through His Word until, by His Spirit, I had a breakthrough. He opened my eyes to see His truth and my sin.

Verse 21 gives me the way out: "Put away [i.e. repent of] all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive [believe] with meekness [an attitude of humility] the implanted word, which is able to save your souls." "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9). I have repented and, with the help of the Holy Spirit, I am trying to trust God's Word over my feelings and circumstances. I am trying to choose thankfulness. There is still much healing to be done in my heart and much fighting to be done to trust in the One who alone is trustworthy, but He fights for me and with me and He will see me through.

Lessons in Motherhood: Daily Deaths

The Christian life involves a lot of dying to self in order to put the interests of Jesus Christ and of others before our own. This isn't easy or natural for any of us. It's also counter-cultural. We are told over and over to "look out for number one," meaning ourselves. But Jesus gives us a different pattern to follow, one that involves laying aside our own wants, desires, preferences, and even needs for the good of those around us.

Nowhere have I had to face this more than in this new role of being a mama. Motherhood exposes my selfishness in ways that nothing else has. My preferences, desires, and sometimes needs are constantly challenged and the question is asked, "Will I serve my son or myself?"

I am fiercely independent and I am used to doing what I want, when I want, when it comes to most things in life. But when Justus arrived all that changed. My wants, preferences, to-do lists, and practically everything else had to take a backseat to him. He is absolutely helpless and is dependent upon me for his every need. For the most part, if I put myself first, his needs will go unmet. Dying to myself in new ways is perhaps one of the hardest things for me regarding parenting. It has exposed my selfishness and desire for control and structure and a host of other sinful heart attitudes. It's much easier to serve others when it's on our terms, right? But with a new baby, I don't get to define the terms. I can't schedule serving him when it's convenient for me. I don't get a "break."

I am not saying this to complain. I love my son and enjoying taking care of him. But I won't sugarcoat it: it's been a difficult adjustment. For me, ministry and daily activities have been home bound. It's a season, I know, but it's hard to remember that at times, especially since all of my adult life has been ministry mostly outside of the home.

But God is doing a work in my heart through this. As the months wear on, I am finding more joy in caring for this precious boy and I am slowly letting go of the idea that I'm not doing "enough" because most of my "work" is unseen, unmeasurable, and unending. The Lord is giving me a vision and passion for ministry in my home and helping me to understand that motherhood is very important work. God has entrusted me (and my husband) with the responsibility of shaping a human soul. Granted, nothing of eternal value can be accomplished without God's strength, guidance, wisdom, and Spirit (John 15:5). Only He can open the spiritual eyes of Justus to see the glory and beauty of Christ - and we earnestly pray for that to happen. But God has entrusted me and Daniel with teaching Justus His word and ways. This responsibility is one of eternal significance. Making disciples of Christ (Matthew 28:18-20) is the most important things we can do with out lives and that includes making disciples inside our home. We have the privilege of having most influence in Justus's life.

So these daily deaths - trying to get a shower, Bible reading being interrupted, waiting to eat, having to delay going to the bathroom, not being able to write, read, or exercise like before - all these things are not for nothing. They are for the good of the one God has entrusted to my care, and, I trust, that the way Daniel and I sacrifice for our son will be a pointer to the One who sacrificed His Son for us all.