One-Year Anniversary

When I hear of the word "anniversary" I imagine parties, balloons, presents, surprises, Facebook posts, memories, laughter, and food. I think of confetti, champagne, everyone smiling, and hugs.

This Saturday, I am throwing an anniversary party - to remember my husband. A year after he passed away, we will gather at my house to celebrate his life, tell stories, take pictures, play games, and remember his ways, his words, his idiosyncrasies, his habits, and his relationships. We will write words to remember him, eat Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's, drink plenty of beer and red wine, sip Maker's Mark, and enjoy our home and the myriad pictures we have of him, as friends and Journey co-workers reflect on their time with him, and talk about what it has been like WITHOUT HIM.

For the past year, I have been trying to live day to day without John, striving as best I can to keep our house running, take care of the kids and myself, stay in touch with God, family, and friends, and keep busy and distracted. I have been forcing myself to understand and follow through on what I think it means to live without him. But I think that's where I'm getting it wrong. Maybe I don't go on living "without" him because John will always be a part of me. I know how he would react to the things that come my way. I reflect on what John would do when I have to make decisions. Although he is not present with me, he has not "left". So, I am not going to wake up each day anymore and think "how do I live without him?" He's not here, but much of him still lives on. In some ways, he hasn't left. His pictures remain, his stories are still alive, and his wisdom and way of doing things affects my everyday life (except when I am hell-bent on doing things my way...duh.) I am grateful to have spent 24 years with him. I will always have that.

Truthfully, I have been very angry with God. I have called Him "mean" and, for the record, I still think He blew it. But something happened recently that is making me push against my anger and start to trust Him.

For the past few months, I have heard or read the words "God will never leave you or forsake you" a billion times. Each time I would roll my eyes because I didn't believe it. It has FELT like God has left us - after all, He did not do what I wanted Him to do. My sadness is real, my kids have no father, I am a widow, and life is hard without him. I have felt abandoned because I believe God could have done something, yet did not. People kept telling me that He had "forsaken us or left us". Still not believing any of this, I told my friend (and prayed to God) that if I heard the words "forsake" or "left" during church the next day, that I would believe it. That was on Saturday.

Well, during the prayer time the next day, Sunday, they prayed specifically for my family, by name, asking God to give us peace this anniversary week, granting us the assurance that "God has not forsaken or left" us. And get this....I had to hear it TWICE because I was playing the piano at both services. God wanted me to hear it loud and clear. Plus He was calling me out on my end of the deal. I said if I heard it then I needed to believe it. Basically, I had asked God to prove His promise to me -  and He did. Twice.

So God has not left. And because of our strong story together, John hasn't either. Neither John nor God have forsaken me or left me. Let me say that I don't think that John guides me from above. His ways of doing things guide me - how he taught me (or any of us) how to do things and how to communicate (or NOT do things or how NOT to communicate, depending). His memory lives on. In a very real and audible way, God is teaching me that His Word is true and believable even when it doesn't FEEL like its believable. I asked for proof and He gave it to me. God wants me to believe it, but He knows I am slow and very resistant to the hard work of casting aside disbelief. I still have a LOT to grow in when it comes to believing. Thing is, I just want things to go my way. But it doesn't always work out that way, right?

So this next year, I'm gonna lay down my anger and set aside my fears and doubts so that God can speak to the part of me that knows I am something deep down inside....whole. The truest thing about me is NOT that I am a widow. I am my own person, capable of many things, growing and learning, loving and changing. I'm gonna let Him speak to my pain and confusion and be awakened to the story ahead which won't let me wallow in self-pity and helplessness. I am coming to a place of healing....my part is to let go of the anger and place less emphasis on my FEELING and more on God's promise for my future - however sad I may be today or in the future. I believe bright days are ahead. I need to look for them, reflect on my past, glean from my experiences and my relationships, and lean toward the One who knows my future.

The future looks bright...so I gotta wear shades. Take a close look - you can see the Eiffel Tower (where John took us on his sabbatical the summer before he was diagnosed), both kids, and John taking the picture.

Still Pretty Mad

I received a message from a high school friend this morning through Facebook, telling me that she has been thinking about me and thought I should know. Oh, how I love that. She wanted to remind me that God will never leave me, and that He brings comfort, He is love, and He gives peace. She reminded me that there is nothing that I think or feel that He doesn't know about already. And I believe her in my head. And I trust her because she has walked down this road of grief when her sister took her own life.

But then there is the seeming reality that God did indeed forsake me in that He did not do what I begged Him. I woke up every morning for months and said. "Don't do it ". And yet He let my husband die. Why would I want to hang out with someone like that? God could have done something and He didn't. I trust her words to me that God's promise to never leave us is true. It just feels like that sentence is meant for heaven and eternity, and that we are left to mostly wander down here on earth with brief moments of a "sense" of His presence. It is certainly not all the time. I am mostly mad at God, yet I continue to pray and study and attend church and do all the things I am supposed to do....just in case someday I start to believe it all. Maybe someday all of this will sink in. Maybe I will understand better. Maybe I won't be mad at Him soon. I have explained to people that I feel I have been wronged by God. It totally feels that way. I don't like this feeling but what else can I do? He could have done something miraculous and chose not to. Maddening.

Yet day after day, I wake up, I work, I play, I move forward. So I guess He hasn't left me. I enjoy many, many parts of life. That's gotta be something, right? Maybe my moving forward is the proof of God's presence in my life. Maybe that is God not forsaking me or leaving me to wallow in self pity. Maybe the enjoyment that I get from directing another show, attending another wedding, going out to lunch with friends, and celebrating birthdays at beautiful vineyards is all part of God being with me.

Well, I am not going to end on a positive note. It would not be a pure reflection of my heart. Hear me say that I know God is with me right now. (Read the paragraph above this one. I just proved it.) But I have to say one more time that it certainly felt like God was forsaking me and leaving me a year ago when John was fading and dying and leaving us. It will always feel wrong. I disagree with the way God "allowed" John to die (the Christian word for "God DID this" - sounds nicer and softer and less mean and calculatedly awful). It will always feel wrong - I already said that.

I need to steep in these thoughts for a while as God burns away the parts that are unclean. Because after a while, I will come out as pure gold.

Try to Remember

Last week, a friend and I played flute and piano for a dinner party - sappy melodies like “Chances Are”, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, “When You Wish Upon a Star”, and “Try to Remember”. The lyrics…

Try to remember when life was so tender

That no one wept except the willow

Try to remember when life was so tender

That dreams were kept beside your pillow

Try to remember when life was so tender

That love was an ember about to billow

Try to remember, and if you remember

Then follow

I want to try to remember what happened a year ago….

October 22, 2012 was the day we traveled to Duke Hospital, placing all our hope in a radical surgery that would RID my husband of his cancer. Our prayers were that this would be his cure, that most of the cancer would be taken out during the 12-18 hour surgery, and that the heated chemo solution circulating in his abdomen would zap it all. My heart races trying to remember this.

Five of my friends were there too. I think they knew more than I did about the reality and gravity of John’s condition. They knew I would need “help”. So, we sat, we prayed, we nervously tried to make each other laugh - and then the surgery beeper went off. We knew if the surgeon wanted to talk to us too soon, it was bad news. Remembering this makes me feel sick.

The doctor described to us that when he inserted the small camera to look into John’s abdomen, the room deflated. He said “deflated”. Everyone helping with the surgery was hoping for the best for this young man, 45 years old. Yet when they saw his insides taken over by cancer, they all uttered “oh no.” I remember their compassion.

Worse than that meeting was telling John. When he woke up, he looked at the clock and touched his abdomen. It wasn’t even noon. It should have been the next day. He felt only a small incision. It should have been hundreds of staples and stitches. Calmly, he listened to the doctor. Supportively, I told him I loved him. Then it was silence. Stillness. Drained faces. Tearless eyes. I remember knowing that this was our reality – losing John.

How would we tell our kids who were texting me, asking “how’s it going, Mom?” I can’t remember what I said. The only thing I knew to tell them was that they couldn’t do the surgery because the cancer was everywhere. Rachel mentioned gap year, Jake asked what I was going to do with my life, and we all just cried. Maybe its better that I don’t remember exactly what I said.

There was talk of doing more chemo but mostly John wrapped things up at work, wrote the 3 of us love letters, taught me how to pay bills, and visited with close friends. Those days were long and sad, quiet and painful. I remember that my heart hurt all day long. People would want to visit, but couldn’t stay long. I asked our hospice nurse what I was looking for, how long, and whether he would make it to Christmas. I remember that she said “young men don’t last long in hospice.”

God numbers our days. I wish in John’s case it would have been longer. I will never get it or agree with it. I will remember those very hard days. I will remember the support of family and friends. I will remember every single meal you made. I will remember the cards, the cash, the checks, the gift cards, the emails, the texts, the calls, and the hugs. Perhaps I was not welcoming of them last year. I would guess that sometimes I had a blank look on my face or that my hug was not very tight. But I remember a lot of it. And I am thankful for you.

When people ask me now, a year later, how I am doing, I really don’t know what to say. I am trying to “try” to do this thing. I get up in the morning. I run, I bike, I eat well, I work, and I get out. We are visiting colleges with Jake, Rachel is doing well, we have a wonderful church intern living with us, and we welcome friends into our home all the time. Staying busy is what is getting us through - I guess. Retail therapy too. I would like to NOT remember my credit card bill a year from now.

My friends, I try to remember last year, to remember John, to be thankful we made it through, and to be honest about how hard, yet how doable it all is (and was) today. Remember John. Remember how full of life he was. Remember how he got sick, but how he NEVER lost hope. Remember how he cried on our couch the night the elders asked him how they could pray – and John said “I just worry for Kristin and the kids.”

I know you are praying for us and thinking of us and remember this time of year with us. Thank you. It is difficult. But it is doable – and that is called grace. It is because of grace that I write. And run. And perform. And teach. It is because of grace that Rachel is in college and thriving. It is because of grace that Jake has the desire to think to the future about college and beyond. I remember grace.

We are coming up on ONE YEAR WITHOUT JOHN. What? Maddening. Staggering. But we are doing it and we are taking time to remember what God did, what He is doing, and what He will do. Try to remember with me all of these good things, even though there are bad things too. Let’s just remember. Maybe it is what gets us through. And maybe then others will follow……follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow.

(Cheesy ending….sorry.)

Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

This is a big week. A big month actually. My daughter turns 18 on Saturday. She and I are doing this amazingly, hilarious show “Legally Blonde, the Musical” together and have met some incredible people. These people make us laugh, create beauty with us, and take us to another place – a place where we can get away from our reality. It sends us forward.

But John is not here to watch her turn 18. Backwards. He is not here to watch her “Bend and Snap” in this amazing show. On her birthday week, they will be finally installing my husband’s gravestone with his name, the words “Soli Deo Gloria” and his birth and death dates. Rachel is moving forward, turning 18, going off to college, and John gets a headstone. Forward and Backward. I have no idea how to put those ideas into life.

Yet everyday, I seem to be doing it. We shop for Rachel's dorm room. I accept another job description at the school where I teach, I plan a cast party at my house, I hang pictures, I redecorate Jake's room with him, and I change my cover photo on facebook. I have such happiness for the pride I feel for my daughter on stage, for the joy I have that Jake gets to travel to California, Boston, North Carolina beaches, and Switzerland this summer. That is forward.

But I keep thinking about the gravestone. Couldn’t BE more backward and wrong. I love to think that he knows about this show,

knows about Jake’s travels, and watches us from above. (I’m not sure if this is theologically correct, but there is a cardinal in our backyard and I say “Hi John” to him everyday.)

I cannot stand doing these things without him, but then again, he wouldn’t want me to NOT do them. 

SO….we keep going. We keep planning. We paint rooms, we plan vacations, we host parties, and we blog about how it all seems messed up, yet healthy; very sad, but also exciting and fun; very maddening at the loss of him, but very hopeful that he sees us and that we will see him again. Somehow I have to navigate the forward and the backward everyday. And I am thankful that I have friends who listen, a God who cares even more than they do, and a love for life that can rise above pain and sadness.

Deep breath.

Who I Want to Meet in Heaven

The other day in church, an oboist played a beautiful Bach partita or sonata or something and I leaned over to whisper in my kids’ ears “Daddy has met J.S. Bach”. He has. He probably has even told him that I am planning on taking violin lessons from him and that I plan on spending at least 3 years straight with him, playing through all of his duets, sonatas, trios, minuets, etc. Just me and Bach.

Then I started thinking about how many people I am looking forward to meeting, in addition to my favorite, Bach...

Paul

Mary

Noah’s wife

Eve

Job

Abraham Lincoln

C.S. Lewis

The woman at the well (I wanna know what she did after she told the town about Jesus? I bet she opened up an orphanage or something really brave. Also the woman from John 8….after Jesus told her to go. What did she go do with her dignity intact? What was her name? How did she live the rest of her life?)

Anyone who went to school with Jesus – maybe one of the girls who had a crush on Him

George Washington

Please understand that the number one person I am anxious to meet is Jesus Himself. To have Him look at me and say “Welcome home” will be the sweetest, most generous, and totally awesome thing that can and will EVER happen to me. And it will happen someday. But I want to get back to my point.

There is someone I really want to meet. I don’t even know her name. Or his name. Neither do you. Do you remember the verse in the Bible that says “whoever is the least among you will be the greatest”? The Bible often talks about how the lowly will be lifted up and the exalted will be brought down low….”the least of these”….My thought doesn’t have anything negative do to with these heroes I listed above. I can’t wait to eat dinner with them. They were GREAT down here. What I am so curious about is who are these “least of these” people? I want to go on long walks with them and hear how they managed life on earth. I want to behold their strength and courage and honor and take a tour of their HUGE mansion that God has built just for them. They are not talked about down here on earth. But I bet we will be serving them in heaven.

So I am looking forward to meeting the least of these.

And I’m pretty much looking forward to seeing John again. Right after Jesus.

Does John Know That?

It’s January. 10 weeks after John has died. Wait, is that right? I was definitely keeping an exact count and maybe I am off by a week now. Not sure. I still count. I still REALLY know that he is gone. Very much so.

Top Chef Season 10 started. He doesn’t even know their names. He doesn’t know that my favorite is Brooke. His would be the guy with the funky moustache. And Downton Abbey. He has no idea what is happening (um, neither do I except for all the spoiler alerts on Facebook!) Mad Men will start in April and he won’t see it. Ridiculous. Stupid. I wish he would be here to watch them with me.

John also doesn’t know and cannot see that I ripped up the carpet going up the stairs. You know, the one that I wanted to change for the last 9 years? Yeah, that one. Gone. Redoing the stairs with chalkboard paint on the rise and these cool stick on carpet treads. New artwork, new lamps, new front door mat. AND…..my newly decorated bedroom. White bedding, fun colors of pillows, that “Soli Deo Gloria” painting that Kelly painted during his memorial service, a picture of a bird, and teal lampshades. Its pretty girly. I really like it.

Not sure the theology about whether John SEES and KNOWS these things. But I see and know them. I miss him. I hate watching these shows without him. But I don’t mind the decorating thing without him. I can do what I want now. Choose a color without asking. I will not go overboard, I promise. I am just finding a new color. A new crispness to my air. In the moments of heaviness when I, by myself, watch these TV shows that John and I watched together, I will then go up to my cool new bedroom, grab my ipad, and say goodnight to the wallpaper photo of John, just like I do every night. But this time under a new white duvet.

Words Have Meaning

I have a tattoo. John had one too.

There. I said it. Some people know, some don’t. Some people like it, others don’t. Honestly, I don’t care. I love it and I would even encourage my kids to get one that has meaning to them (both are interested) in a place where employers and grandparents won’t see.

My tattoo has tremendous meaning to me now…more than ever. And John’s was the theme of his funeral – Soli Deo Gloria, which roughly means “God alone gets the glory”. His friend designed his and my friend drew out mine. And these words are forever (?) printed on our bodies.

I wanted to remember the words that were on John’s body and place them in our house somehow, so I had my friend Kelly paint them. It now hangs over my bed – a daily reminder of John and how God should receive the glory for anything and everything.

I bet we all would agree that words can tear down or build up. We use words everyday - some more than others. We’ve all said things we shouldn’t have and we've all regretted things left unsaid. But that is not exactly what I am talking about here.

My one-word tattoo is a way of life. A daily, showertime, reminder that there is something worth living for. It is an idea, a belief, an encouragement. I had no idea 3 years ago that it would be something that means this much to me. Dare I say that God brought this word to me and led me to have it forever inked on my skin? Whatever. I did it and I am glad. It has such deep and profound meaning to me. Every day.

My word?

Hope.