There is a Wound

Seven.
Time heals all wounds?
I am still very aware of my wound.  Seven years.  Lots of therapy.  Lots of Jesus.  There is still a wound.  I have learned how to care for it.  It is smaller than it once was.  It is not a scar.  It is a wound- it oozes. 
I miss Anna.  I ache for Anna.  Her sweet face burns my heart and mind and I ache for her.  I know where she is- there is hope!  I know who she is with- there is joy!  I am enraptured by the truths of her vitality, her completeness, her value and purpose.  There is joy.  There is hope.  There is a wound.
What do I say about grief after seven years?  What do I feel this February 2012 as I approach Anna’s seventh BIRTHday?  What title do I give these many feelings and thoughts bound together in a post?  Today the words that rise with the steam on this boiling pot of grief are, There is a Wound.
I chase my three tow-headed boys around the house who have just told me that the only Kelty family rule is to “Be Ticklish.” There is laughter.  There is fullness. There is a wound.
I watch my husband speak with gender gentleness to my sweet baby niece…pushing through pain for more healing.  There is new life.  There is new ground.  There is a wound.
Friends give the joyous news that a baby girl is growing within.  I rejoice.  I remember.  I surrender my longing for a daughter yet once again.  There is comfort.  There is hope.  There is a wound.
I beg the God of all comfort to hold Raegan as she rocks in the misery of 4 week old grief, wondering how she will survive the agony of intolerable ache.  I rock. I am impaled with empathy. I love.  There is a wound.
I am enveloped in the tender presence of God in the sorrow that remains.  He speaks into the pain. Words give birth to peace…to strength.  He wipes up the ooze.  There is a wound.
Is the goal to heal from the wound or is the goal to be ever aware of the wound- to come to the wounded healer- to minister from fresh doses of holy salve to the wound?  Will it ever be just a scar?  Do I want it, need it, to be a story of I once…or do I want it to be a story of… I am?  I love Jesus in the I am.  There is a Savior for the I am.   
Grace is absolutely sufficient.
There is a wound.
Seven.  
       

There is a Wound

Seven.
Time heals all wounds?
I am still very aware of my wound.  Seven years.  Lots of therapy.  Lots of Jesus.  There is still a wound.  I have learned how to care for it.  It is smaller than it once was.  It is not a scar.  It is a wound- it oozes.
I miss Anna.  I ache for Anna.  Her sweet face burns my heart and mind and I ache for her.  I know where she is- there is hope!  I know who she is with- there is joy!  I am enraptured by the truths of her vitality, her completeness, her value and purpose.  There is joy.  There is hope.  There is a wound. [Read more...]

All in a name

“Mama, I just know I’m gonna get what I really want for Christmas,” said John, smile to match his hope and longing.  I stared into the rear view mirror at him as he now turned to face the window using the blank canvas of the sky to imagine the secret scene, his smile growing.  “Please tell me” I said.  “Nope- I can’t.  Besides you can’t give it to me.” was his reply.   I was starting to feel nervous.   What was this mystery gift John longed for that I couldn’t provide?  “Oh,” I said.  “Is Santa going to bring it to you?”  “Nope- not Santa, not you, not daddy!”  Now we were parked in the driveway and I turned around in my seat to face him- John was making his way up to me.  “Well John, what in the world is it and who is going to give it to you?”  I was enthralled by his smile.  There was something about his delight that I couldn’t quite place- something unique that I’m not sure I had ever seen dazzle his face before.   “I can’t tell you what it is, but God is going to give it to me!”  At that, my heart swelled!  My sweet boy longed for a gift from God.  In a world saturated with plastic and shimmer and gadgets, a world drenched with enticement and dripping with price tags, my five-year-old wanted something not even target or amazon.com could provide.  In an instant I was overcome with a matched longing for my son to have whatever it was that he wanted.  I was determined to make it happen.  So I pleaded, “please tell mommy what you want Johnny.”  Looking into my eyes, the eyes we share, he stared at me with contemplation, like- should I spoil the surprise?  And then realizing that telling me would give me the same gift of anticipation, he said with a rare mix of certainty and tenderness, “Mama, God is going to give us Anna back- just for the day!”  At that, a sharp breath pierced my lungs, the impossible sentence finding its way in as well- stabbing my heart- stealing my next breath.  Ben bounded forward excitedly declaring- “Oh mommy, now we can hug her, I never got to hug her.”
There was nothing I could do to stop the wave that was coming, the one that was cascading upon me and would wash over my children as well.  I didn’t even try to reach for the fake smile I carry in my back pocket for moments such as these.   I watched helplessly as four little ocean blue eyes drained of their light, their joy, filling instead with the darkness of confusion and guilt.  I knew John feared he had done something terribly wrong.  I just grabbed them both, pulled them onto my lap and hoped that the tightness of my clutch temporarily spoke the tenacity of my love for them.
I was speechless- one sentence robbing me and yet giving me so much all at once.  It was as if John had traveled down to the deepest part of my heart scooping up the remains of my pain- packaging my longing for Anna in child like faith. Now it was time to break the silence with the bad news- Merry Christmas John, let me burst your bubble of hope, of pure golden faith with the permanent needle of death.  We walked inside and the first words I could muster as I pierced his inquisitive and fearful eyes with my own were “Johnny you know that this cannot happen, right?”  I wonder now if this was the worst thing I could have said and yet I didn’t feel I could allow one more second for a wish that would not be fulfilled.  He just looked at me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I know mama” patting me with his tiny hand.   He stared deeper at me than he ever had before, somehow cutting to the source of my pain, smoothing a fresh layer of tenderness on my gaping Anna wound.  How did this little boy have such a grown up soul, I wondered? Faith, tenderness, compassion- he possessed it all.
I sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, holding onto John, staring, waiting for something godly to emerge.   I felt sorry for myself and sorry for my children.   I begged God to give me holy words for them. I was feeling unimpressed by all the truths I usually rehearse in moments such as these- numb to well worn treasures.  I managed to muster “We do not grieve as those who have no hope” and explained that one day they will in fact get to be with their sister.  That answer seemed to satisfy.  But for this, tired of grieving mama, the whole conversation felt like a cold bucket of water on my warm Christmassy heart. I began to feel sad, deeply sad- or maybe worse than sad…deprived. 

The next day my mom urged me to get over to see my sweet 96 year old Pop, bedridden- his body slowly submerging under the rising flood of cancer. At the end of singing Amazing Grace to my dear sweet granddaddy, I held his face, professed my love and pressed three lingering kisses to his cheek.  My ears then took in his sputtering words “I love you dd…dear” and we both knew we had potentially just said good-bye.
That night, as the kids were occupied by Charlie Brown Christmas, I slipped away into my living room admiring the steely grey blue walls, fire place adorned with four stockings, Anna’s name embroidered on the first.  I then flipped off the light so as to physically embark into the dark room which my spirit had already entered in my soul.  It was time to grieve.  The heaving began, the doom rising, the memories coming back at a frightening speed.  The need to feel her, touch her, hold her and kiss her was, in a word, furious.  Chris, sensing me, came and sat in our darkness.  I know it was a choice for him- love me or resist the flood himself.  I am so grateful he always chooses me.  “I should have held her just one more hour” I lamented, collapsing into his arms. I expressed the agony of lost time as if speaking it out loud might somehow lead to problem solving…might lead to an answer.   Instead I opened a floodgate to more helpless grief and the torture of regret.  After a brief contemplative silence, Chris issued a one liner (as he always does) that spoke paragraphs more of love and wisdom.  “It wouldn’t have mattered sweets.”   He was right, it wouldn’t have mattered if eleven hours became twelve- because every hour after would have been the same.  
Chris left the room, left me to myself and I knew what was to happen next.   It is the calling on Jesus moment- the one where you can choose to continue spiraling down the never ending pit of grief and regret or, call on the rescuer.  I’m not sure why, but there is always a temptation to stay in the misery.  In a strange way, the pain belongs to me and being separate from it feels wrong too.  But I know this is not a way I can live.  Time as well as the alternate route has proven that to me.   And so in a moment of grievous vulnerability I muster the courage and simply say, “Jesus, Jesus, bear my burden.”  The low hum begins, its vibration somehow entering my dark place- peace infiltrating.  The hum grows to a song and that song to a symphony and I am awakened once again- awakened to the Everything and the Only that is Jesus.  He brings the light and all at once my dark room is infiltrated by His good presence.
 
Now in the light I can see, it really is Christmas.  The tree is here in my room that just moments before was black with pain.  Yes the tree is here- looking very much like a cross and the gift giver did in fact come.  And in one glorious moment it all becomes clear to me- John’s precious declaration that Anna would be coming which led me into the dark room, was really God’s way of inviting me to Christmas morning.   The gifts I was receiving from Him were in fact gifts that cannot be opened anywhere but in the grief room.  “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.”  I felt suddenly grateful that John had asked me the question that led me to this room.  For in life and in death there is no greater experience than to behold the tenderness of God- the comfort of the one who loves deeper, higher, stronger and wider, than my worst and most painful hour.  And so it is true- to be comforted is to be blessed.  That awful and woeful sense that I was deprived, was supernaturally replaced but an overwhelming realization that I was in fact, abundantly provided for.    
Last night, Christmas Eve, I watched as John traced his finger into the frosted glass of the storm door.  As he stepped back to look at his masterpiece, one word lassoed my heart- Anna.  Under it he etched John, Ben and Elijah Kelty and stepped back with a delighted and satisfied smile.  It gave me an idea-  
This morning our children were given their sister for Christmas. It was only her name, written on a piece of paper- a voucher if you will.  What followed was an explanation that in missing Anna the best thing we can do is to get to know her home and the One she spends her life with.  I explained that her name on this paper, much like a gift card, holds a great deal of value, even though the gift is not yet revealed- that just like we take our gift card to the store to get what we really want, one day we will enter heaven and cash in her name for the real thing!
    
Anna has generated within the spirits of our boys a longing for which I can honestly say (on my enlightened days) makes me grateful.  They find themselves aching for more and I know that that more also has a name…
Jesus
wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, Jesus. 
Emmanuel, God with us- in the dark, dark rooms of life that leave us begging, panting and pleading for rest, for help, for hope.  He is the Savior of our sorrow and the One who will one day wipe away each tear and take us to the land of no more death, dying, mourning, grieving or pain.
Oh come let us adore Him!  

All in a name

“Mama, I just know I’m gonna get what I really want for Christmas,” said John, smile to match his hope and longing.  I stared into the rear view mirror at him as he now turned to face the window using the blank canvas of the sky to imagine the secret scene, his smile growing.  “Please tell me” I said.  “Nope- I can’t.  Besides you can’t give it to me.” was his reply.   I was starting to feel nervous.   What was this mystery gift John longed for that I couldn’t provide?  “Oh,” I said.  “Is Santa going to bring it to you?”  “Nope- not Santa, not you, not daddy!”  Now we were parked in the driveway and I turned around in my seat to face him- John was making his way up to me.  “Well John, what in the world is it and who is going to give it to you?” [Read more...]

Beautiful

This post has been brewing for a while.  So much has happened in the life of our family over the past few months.   But where to begin…how to explain…how about a story:
Eight months pregnant with Elijah and grieving the sudden death of my 23-year-old brother in law last March, desperation ushered this prayer from my lips, “Lord where are we?”  The question was more of a lost puppy request than a geographical inquiry.  I wanted to know where we were in this suddenly dark space that felt so scary and consuming.  “Where are we Lord?”  Weary in grief and fear, I prayed, hoping His light may shine into the night illuminating something for which to hope.   
I sat in silence, comfortably aware of His gentle presence, knowing my question would prompt a tender reply.  And then, as often happens to this visual learner, the eyes of my heart were opened:
I found myself sitting on a rustic wooden bench on the side of a mountain.  I appeared to be in one of those outdoor chapels tucked away at church camps and retreats.  I sat alone on the earthen pew hugging my big, pregnant belly, staring at a frozen scene of wintery wilderness.  I looked around wondering how I got here and what the significance of this space was, when Jesus appeared before me.  Grateful for His companionship and eager for His guidance, I heard myself ask again, “Where are we Jesus?”
He smiled, that warm, kind smile that always seems to shock and melt me.   He came and stood beside me.  He bent down and placed one arm around my shoulders and pointed into the distance with the other. I followed His direction, peeking through a line of naked, grey trees to behold a scene that took my breath away.  It was a summer landscape, complete with mountain, valley, farmland, a couple country houses and a few silos.  I stared at the lush scene, as if studying a painting on a gallery wall, wishing I could somehow escape into its warmth.  Answering my silent longing, Jesus whispered to me, “Everything is made beautiful in its time.”  And just as abruptly as the image appeared, it left.  My mind was once again dark, but hope was burning like a candle, giving me just enough visibility and courage to endure the days and months ahead.  I knew that even though we once again found ourselves sitting in the darkness of sudden death…God would make everything beautiful in its time.
Fast forward 6 months…
We bought a house in August motivated by the need for space.  We found a 4 bedroom, neglected foreclosure in need of some TLC. The space and cul-de-sac location nestled out in mennonite country felt like the perfect spot for three little boys to roam and grow.  Transitioning one child into kindergarten, one into preschool and the youngest into a good sleep pattern was exhausting.  I was trying my hardest to be a good and present mother and wife, an efficient and effective project manager, a faithful and compassionate friend, all while tending to a demanding house project.  I was overwhelmed.  I began to feel paralyzed by the weight of responsibility, empathy and helplessness.  I knew I could either begin crying or walk out the front door and start running…so run I did.
As I made it to the end of our street, I looked to my right at the gravel road which cut straight through the corn fields that back up to our tiny, 18 home neighborhood.  My curiosity overcame me and I headed for the corn.  Down the path, around the bend, past two old farmhouses and all of a sudden, I turned to my right to discover a pasture filled with horses.   Countless white blossoms were gently gliding through the air adding to the white blanket already on the ground.  It looked like a magical rain shower.  Was this really happening?  Was I dreaming?  I had never seen anything so ethereal…and all this at the end of my street? I was walking now, slowly, taking in my surroundings with wonder and awe.  The path continued and I realized I was climbing a mountain.  Suddenly I felt cozy, nature wrapping me up on all sides- even the sky was a green canopy.  My stress was far gone by now. I noticed ahead a break in the trees and I determined to stop for a contemplative breather.  I knew that this was one of those moments that was going to change me.  No hour long conversation with my sister or a pep talk was needed this time.  This silent encounter with the world was somehow transforming me and the way I thought about my life.  As I turned to look out over the mountain, I gasped.  I found myself staring once again, into the summer landscape which had revived us so many times over the past 6 months- the very same scene I had seen in my vision from Jesus months before.  The landscapes were exactly the same. Tears filled my eyes, I slumped to the ground and began crying and laughing all at the same time.  I fully absorbed the moment and then I uttered aloud, “Everything is made beautiful in its time.”
God knew what He planned for me, for us.  God knew that a new season would follow the dark winter that made us feel like we could not, would not, make it.  He knew every single way He planned on providing for us and blessing us.  He gave me a glimpse and now that glimpse is a reality.  
This scripture nestled in the book of Ecclesiastes is my new answer for everything.  God makes everything beautiful in its time.  The seasons always change.  The leaves always blossom again.  That said, there will always be winters for which I cannot control.  I can either fear its coming, or hope in the One who promises to be with me in the cold, leading me always to new places of warmth and beauty.
Six months ago my college best friend learned that her sweet baby Theo has leukemia.  She has been living on the side of the mountain, in the cold, dark forest of cancer ever since.  I can see Jesus with His arm wrapped around her shoulder pointing out into the distance, and He says, “Raegan, everything is made beautiful in its time.”  I see my mother and father-in-law still grieving, deeply, for their youngest son.  They too are on the side of the cold, dark, mountain.  And I can see Jesus clutching them both as He reaches out His nail scarred hands and whispers, “Everything is made beautiful in its time.”  I can see my dear friend who has just lived through the 4th anniversary of the loss of her twin baby boys, while on bed-rest with her fourth child.  He softly, gently, speaks to her, “Everything is made beautiful in its time.”  I can see my friend who has endured the pain of divorce and a marriage that was never the way God intended marriage to be for His daughters, and I can hear Him say to her, “Everything is made beautiful in its time.”
Last week, I decided to take John on a date to my mountain spot.  I told Him that when we got to the top of the mountain that mommy wanted to share a story with him.  We sat down in the small break of trees and looked out over the valley before us.  We saw our house down below and I proceeded to tell John the story of how God had shown me this very spot while praying one day, months before I ever climbed the mountain.  We talked about the hard things he has already dealt with in his little life and we talked about how God is never without a plan to restore us- that even when life feels hard, we can always count on summer to come again.  We then “marked the moment”- a trick my sister and I always used to make sure we would never forget our sacred moments together- and we headed back down the mountain. 
As I watched John walking down in front of me, his blond hair aglow in the autumn sun, I cautioned, “careful Johnny, I don’t want you to fall.”  Suddenly, my worry of him tripping on a rock and skinning a knee, was replaced by much greater fears.  I was instantly weak at thought, what pain is before him?  I was overcome with panic until I envisioned a blond haired man sitting on the side of a cold, dark mountain with Jesus by his side, pointing into the distance, whispering into his ear.
    
John Kelty will undoubtedly see hard days in is lifetime.  At some point he will find himself, just as his mama has, asking God in desperation, “Where am I?”  And there is no doubt in my mind that the same God who has held my hand and walked me from season to season, will do the same for John.
As my granddaddy Sloop neared his final moments on earth, he lay with with my mother’s parents on either side of him.  He hadn’t spoken or eaten in days.  Suddenly, he sat up in his bed and with eyes wide open and a face full of wonder, he declared loudly, “Beautiful!” Then he lay back down, and breathed his last.
 
“There is a time and a season for every activity under the heavens: A time to be born and a time to die. A time to weep and a time to laugh.  A time to mourn and a time to dance…God has made everything beautiful in its time and God has set eternity in the hearts of men.”  Ecclesiastes 3: 1,2,4,7
Ultimately this passage teaches us that spring will always come after winter- that in God’s timing, He makes everything beautiful again and that sometimes that beautiful is the fulfillment of the eternity that is embedded in our hearts.
My life has seen many seasons.  I have shivered in the cold of winter and danced in the breeze of spring.  I know from experience that each dark season will always be followed by new life, new joys and new experiences of God’s love.  However, there is a room in my heart which always feels like winter.  I don’t know that living without my Anna will ever feel okay.  And for this frozen place, I proclaim Granddaddy’s prophecy…Beautiful!   Just like Jesus pointed out the landscape where I now live, I know that the snapshot of eternity dwelling within me is a foreshadowing of what is to come.
As we navigate through the good and the bad of life, the light and dark, the dreary and the beautiful…ultimately we know that in Christ, beauty unlike anything we have ever laid eyes on before is waiting for us.  It is effortless for me to imagine Anna running toward me in a summer landscape for which I have been invited to enter…one day!
The list of those I presently agonize for is a long one.  Cancer, grief, pregnancy after loss, divorce, oppression- for each of these loved ones, I find myself crawling to the foot of the cross, beseeching God for for His powerful and perfect presence to swallow up the darkness by His Light.  And that this Light would make room for the hope and courage to face another day, knowing that everything is made beautiful in its time.

Beautiful

This post has been brewing for a while.  So much has happened in the life of our family over the past few months.   But where to begin…how to explain…how about a story:
Eight months pregnant with Elijah and grieving the sudden death of my 23-year-old brother in law last March, desperation ushered this prayer from my lips, “Lord where are we?”  The question was more of a lost puppy request than a geographical inquiry.  I wanted to know where we were in this suddenly dark space that felt so scary and consuming.  “Where are we Lord?”  Weary in grief and fear, I prayed, hoping His light may shine into the night illuminating something for which to hope. [Read more...]

February 27, 2011

Finding Shelter in the Words of Jesus
“Jesus Wept…
Then He shouted in a loud voice ‘Lazarus, come out!’”
 John 11:35, 43
And finally…the tent of compassion and power!
On February 22, 2005 my daughter died within me and I died as well.  That evening the doctor arrived to the hospital and timidly placed the ultrasound probe on my bulging stomach which boasted of life.  I looked up at the monitor which pierced my eyes with the sight of four resting chambers of a once rapidly beating baby girl heart.  As the doctors “I’m sorry” sank into my heart and mind I began screaming as only a grieving mother can.  When the words “Jesus” escaped my desperate and pleading lips, the doctor who was also a believer said with a rush of desperation and faith, “Let me check again.”  Once more the monitor revealed death.  No miracle would be happening today.  I grabbed onto Chris searching his eyes for a solution.
I was famished for the comfort and compassion of God.  I was literally starving for His tender affection and His godly condolence.  Though these needs were buried under the rubble of death’s quake in my life, I was starving for the human heart beat of Jesus to reassure me that He was in fact aching too.  I wanted to believe that my pain brought Him to His knees in empathetic agony.  I had read about this Jesus in the story of the death and resurrection of Lazarus and I wanted to believe that He was weeping with me too- just as He had wept bitterly with Mary.  But I couldn’t believe it.  His plan for Lazarus was victory, life and a miracle.  Where was my miracle?  Where was my powerful God?  We had even made space for such a miraculous occurrence, and yet…nothing.  His comfort and compassion must have been packed up in the same box with His power, removed very far from my life.
We are all crying out for the compassion of God in every circumstance of our life which requires that sort of tenderness.  We were made to be consoled by a God of infinite empathy, tenderness and ultimately a force of love so great action is invoked.  I remember receiving cards in the mail filled with scriptures about this God of compassion and yet, I struggled to believe a God who would allow a death so wrong and so sad would then present Himself as comforter?  Can it, does it work like that?
And so I buried my head deep into Chris’s chest each evening weeping as we held onto each other.  His compassion was a relentless force that fed me in nurture and comfort in every moment I needed it, and yet still, I ached for something more…
“I am so sorry.” 
These were the words I heard Jesus speak to me just a few months after Anna died that changed the course of my grief and beckoned my wandering heart to His.  I had been crying in Anna’s nursery, rocking in the chair that had given us nine months of sheer glory together, when my moment was interrupted by this image:
I saw myself weeping in the rocking chair and Jesus was sitting at my feet crying as well.  He kept looking at me saying something, but it was as if an invisible wall was between us and I couldn’t hear Him.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that my anger toward Him was the sound barrier.  After a while though, my curiosity got the better of me and I simply said out loud, “What are you saying?” Humbly kneeling at my feet, Jesus looked up into my swollen eyes and in nearly a whisper yet with immeasurable conviction he said,
“I am so sorry.” And then He bowed His head and continued crying.
It was in this moment that I realized how parched my soul was for the compassion of God.  He was in agony for me.  I was His baby girl and He was bent over in grief for my pain.   
If we imagine God on the throne and forget for even a second on the days when our sorrow is the greatest that He is weeping with us, then we miss the heartbeat of the gospel.  It was compassion that motivated Jesus Christ up the hill to Calvary to endure horrific pain, to endure hell and the hatred of the people He came to save.  Compassion motivated and preceded every beautiful story told in the gospels of God’s power.  I have since learned that the Jewish people understood and equated the word “compassion” with the physical description of “gut or bowels bursting forth.”  Compassion wasn’t just a feeling.  It was an emotion so strong and severe that it ached and tormented the body…and for Jesus this always led to action.  
So I sat in the nursery literally drinking in the compassion that was being offered and after a while, my thirst was quenched.  I felt (for at least that moment of grief) satisfied.  Probably like a tiny baby taking in the nourishment from his mama; in that sacred moment I was being nourished by the sweet compassion of God.   
Now there was no denying it, just like Mary, Jesus wept for me.
I emerged from the nursery later that evening, my grief and faith altered and yet still I ached over the absence of God’s power.  He had raised Lazarus back to life after He had wept and comforted Mary.  He walked to the tomb and shouted in a loud voice, “Lazarus come out!”  At this, Lazarus who had been dead for four days emerged from the tomb still wrapped in his burial cloths.  Jesus then spoke, “Free this man!”  I had now experienced God’s tender and holy compassion, but how could I reconcile the absence of His power?
For six years I have walked in grief.  Three of those years were spent in complete and total agony with the addition of spiritual turmoil and a lack of peace with God.  The past three years, I have continued to grieve but with the presence of peace and friendship with God.  It is from this place of spiritual reconciliation and renewal that I can say, I HAVE EXPERIENCED THE POWER OF GOD!!!  The POWER that erupted from His COMPASSION for me in death, the power that did in fact raise someone back to life…and that someone is me. 
It wasn’t too long ago in reading this beautiful story again that I realized His power had been there all along.  “Kate, Come out!” was the voice that shouted to me in my own tomb of misery and near spiritual, emotional death.  And I have walked out into the glorious sunlight of God’s love.  “Free her” He spoke again, and the garments of death fell off.  I then realized that though His power had not maintained Anna’s heartbeat that He had raised her to life in eternity where she waits for me.  It was the power of the cross that made that transaction possible.  And the cross would never have happened had it not been for the compassion of God…gut wrenching love and tenderness for His lost children destined for hell if He didn’t take action.
So as it turns out, the day “God did nothing for me,” was in fact a day when His power was surging in the heavenlies, triumphing death and delivering my Anna into the embraces of angels, saints and her heavenly father.  It was power that made that happen.  And it is His power filled compassion that has served me and slowly revived me each day since leading to this day where I stand on the outside of the tomb with my burial cloths around my ankles.  I am free and all because of the compassion and power of Jesus!  
The past week has made me limp from sorrow.  As I sit here and type, my eyes burn from crying, my body feels like I have run a marathon.  I have ached for that baby girl and yet simultaneously have soared to new heights in joy embracing her existence as NOW, as ALIVE and as WAITING for me!  This week the tent has been a haven of necessity.  And in here there has been a lot of weeping, but I am not the only one.  The Savior is here too, crying for the pain He knows I will tote with me for the remainder of my earthly days.  But His power is here too- a power ignited by the recognition of truth; the power of resurrection that has lifted a baby to eternity and her mama from the tomb of despair.
This month I have shared with you about the Jesus I have met in my grief, the one who is present and current and longs to build a tent for you too.  A place you can crawl into under the harsh elements and dark nature of the wilderness.  A place that will (if you allow it) be the most nurturing and fulfilling home you have ever come to know.    
I’ll close with this…
February has once again come to an end, but grief remains and Jesus will be greater still!  I cannot wait to know you Lord and to continue experiencing you as we journey through life together.  I imagine as spring approaches that I will find my way out these woods.  The tent will be rolled up and placed again in the back-pack and I will move into another season of life.  And yet as I go, I realize I am not alone.  The Savior walks with me into each new frame of my life.  And oh for the day my feet take their first steps into the land of redemption.  My imagination and my longing heart allow me to nearly hear her laughter and her little feet running to get to me.  And on that day Jesus will be not beside me, but before me, running with Anna, wearing a smile of indescribable JOY!  For this is the moment he has held in mind during all the moments when He wept with me.  And He will wipe every tear as promised and I will spend an eternity touching, kissing, hugging, knowing and beholding Anna Rose Katherine Kelty!!!
But until that day…I have a very good tent!
Happy birthday to you baby girl…I am overwhelmed with delight for who you are and the reality of where you are and who you are with….We love you!!!
   

February 27, 2011

Finding Shelter in the Words of Jesus
“Jesus Wept…
Then He shouted in a loud voice ‘Lazarus, come out!’”
 John 11:35, 43
And finally…the tent of compassion and power!
On February 22, 2005 my daughter died within me and I died as well.  That evening the doctor arrived to the hospital and timidly placed the ultrasound probe on my bulging stomach which boasted of life.  I looked up at the monitor which pierced my eyes with the sight of four resting chambers of a once rapidly beating baby girl heart.  As the doctors “I’m sorry” sank into my heart and mind I began screaming as only a grieving mother can.  When the words “Jesus” escaped my desperate and pleading lips, the doctor who was also a believer said with a rush of desperation and faith, “Let me check again.”  Once more the monitor revealed death.  No miracle would be happening today.  I grabbed onto Chris searching his eyes for a solution.
I was famished for the comfort and compassion of God.  I was literally starving for His tender affection and His godly condolence.  Though these needs were buried under the rubble of death’s quake in my life, I was starving for the human heart beat of Jesus to reassure me that He was in fact aching too.  I wanted to believe that my pain brought Him to His knees in empathetic agony.  I had read about this Jesus in the story of the death and resurrection of Lazarus and I wanted to believe that He was weeping with me too- just as He had wept bitterly with Mary.  But I couldn’t believe it.  His plan for Lazarus was victory, life and a miracle.  Where was my miracle?  Where was my powerful God?  We had even made space for such a miraculous occurrence, and yet…nothing.  His comfort and compassion must have been packed up in the same box with His power, removed very far from my life.
We are all crying out for the compassion of God in every circumstance of our life which requires that sort of tenderness.  We were made to be consoled by a God of infinite empathy, tenderness and ultimately a force of love so great action is invoked.  I remember receiving cards in the mail filled with scriptures about this God of compassion and yet, I struggled to believe a God who would allow a death so wrong and so sad would then present Himself as comforter?  Can it, does it work like that?
And so I buried my head deep into Chris’s chest each evening weeping as we held onto each other.  His compassion was a relentless force that fed me in nurture and comfort in every moment I needed it, and yet still, I ached for something more…
“I am so sorry.”
These were the words I heard Jesus speak to me just a few months after Anna died that changed the course of my grief and beckoned my wandering heart to His.  I had been crying in Anna’s nursery, rocking in the chair that had given us nine months of sheer glory together, when my moment was interrupted by this image:
I saw myself weeping in the rocking chair and Jesus was sitting at my feet crying as well.  He kept looking at me saying something, but it was as if an invisible wall was between us and I couldn’t hear Him.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that my anger toward Him was the sound barrier.  After a while though, my curiosity got the better of me and I simply said out loud, “What are you saying?” Humbly kneeling at my feet, Jesus looked up into my swollen eyes and in nearly a whisper yet with immeasurable conviction he said,
“I am so sorry.” And then He bowed His head and continued crying.
It was in this moment that I realized how parched my soul was for the compassion of God.  He was in agony for me.  I was His baby girl and He was bent over in grief for my pain.
If we imagine God on the throne and forget for even a second on the days when our sorrow is the greatest that He is weeping with us, then we miss the heartbeat of the gospel.  It was compassion that motivated Jesus Christ up the hill to Calvary to endure horrific pain, to endure hell and the hatred of the people He came to save.  Compassion motivated and preceded every beautiful story told in the gospels of God’s power.  I have since learned that the Jewish people understood and equated the word “compassion” with the physical description of “gut or bowels bursting forth.”  Compassion wasn’t just a feeling.  It was an emotion so strong and severe that it ached and tormented the body…and for Jesus this always led to action.
So I sat in the nursery literally drinking in the compassion that was being offered and after a while, my thirst was quenched.  I felt (for at least that moment of grief) satisfied.  Probably like a tiny baby taking in the nourishment from his mama; in that sacred moment I was being nourished by the sweet compassion of God.
Now there was no denying it, just like Mary, Jesus wept for me.
I emerged from the nursery later that evening, my grief and faith altered and yet still I ached over the absence of God’s power.  He had raised Lazarus back to life after He had wept and comforted Mary.  He walked to the tomb and shouted in a loud voice, “Lazarus come out!”  At this, Lazarus who had been dead for four days emerged from the tomb still wrapped in his burial cloths.  Jesus then spoke, “Free this man!”  I had now experienced God’s tender and holy compassion, but how could I reconcile the absence of His power?
For six years I have walked in grief.  Three of those years were spent in complete and total agony with the addition of spiritual turmoil and a lack of peace with God.  The past three years, I have continued to grieve but with the presence of peace and friendship with God.  It is from this place of spiritual reconciliation and renewal that I can say, I HAVE EXPERIENCED THE POWER OF GOD!!!  The POWER that erupted from His COMPASSION for me in death, the power that did in fact raise someone back to life…and that someone is me.
It wasn’t too long ago in reading this beautiful story again that I realized His power had been there all along.  “Kate, Come out!” was the voice that shouted to me in my own tomb of misery and near spiritual, emotional death.  And I have walked out into the glorious sunlight of God’s love.  “Free her” He spoke again, and the garments of death fell off.  I then realized that though His power had not maintained Anna’s heartbeat that He had raised her to life in eternity where she waits for me.  It was the power of the cross that made that transaction possible.  And the cross would never have happened had it not been for the compassion of God…gut wrenching love and tenderness for His lost children destined for hell if He didn’t take action.
So as it turns out, the day “God did nothing for me,” was in fact a day when His power was surging in the heavenlies, triumphing death and delivering my Anna into the embraces of angels, saints and her heavenly father.  It was power that made that happen.  And it is His power filled compassion that has served me and slowly revived me each day since leading to this day where I stand on the outside of the tomb with my burial cloths around my ankles.  I am free and all because of the compassion and power of Jesus!
The past week has made me limp from sorrow.  As I sit here and type, my eyes burn from crying, my body feels like I have run a marathon.  I have ached for that baby girl and yet simultaneously have soared to new heights in joy embracing her existence as NOW, as ALIVE and as WAITING for me!  This week the tent has been a haven of necessity.  And in here there has been a lot of weeping, but I am not the only one.  The Savior is here too, crying for the pain He knows I will tote with me for the remainder of my earthly days.  But His power is here too- a power ignited by the recognition of truth; the power of resurrection that has lifted a baby to eternity and her mama from the tomb of despair.
This month I have shared with you about the Jesus I have met in my grief, the one who is present and current and longs to build a tent for you too.  A place you can crawl into under the harsh elements and dark nature of the wilderness.  A place that will (if you allow it) be the most nurturing and fulfilling home you have ever come to know.
I’ll close with this…
February has once again come to an end, but grief remains and Jesus will be greater still!  I cannot wait to know you Lord and to continue experiencing you as we journey through life together.  I imagine as spring approaches that I will find my way out these woods.  The tent will be rolled up and placed again in the back-pack and I will move into another season of life.  And yet as I go, I realize I am not alone.  The Savior walks with me into each new frame of my life.  And oh for the day my feet take their first steps into the land of redemption.  My imagination and my longing heart allow me to nearly hear her laughter and her little feet running to get to me.  And on that day Jesus will be not beside me, but before me, running with Anna, wearing a smile of indescribable JOY!  For this is the moment he has held in mind during all the moments when He wept with me.  And He will wipe every tear as promised and I will spend an eternity touching, kissing, hugging, knowing and beholding Anna Rose Katherine Kelty!!!
But until that day…I have a very good tent!
Happy birthday to you baby girl…I am overwhelmed with delight for who you are and the reality of where you are and who you are with….We love you!!!

February 19, 2011

Finding Shelter in the Words of Jesus
“Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”  John 8:32
Tap, tap, tap go the wind spurred branches on the side of the tent.  My tranquil moment is suddenly hijacked by a simple sound.  There seems to be a voice that whispers to me that it’s not really a tree branch at all.  Suddenly the shadows on the tapestry of the tent morph into all sorts of terrifying creatures advancing upon my safe haven.  Grief is not the only unwelcomed presence here in the woods… 
I remember reading in a Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis that he “never imagined that grief would feel so like fear.”  When the unthinkable happens to you, then everything you imagine becomes a possibility. Tonight I walked out to my car in the pitch black 8:00 p.m. night and suddenly I found myself in an uncontrolled state of panic.  An unexpected sound dove into my ears gripping my heart and before I even had time to construct a rational thought, an entire scene of abduction ensued. When I turned to discover a sweet, smiling couple getting into the parked car next to mine my rational thought came out of hiding.   I was stunned to find myself (as if I’d had an amnesic episode) clutching my steering wheel having just locked the doors, my heart pounding out of my chest.  Again, tap, tap, tap, go the branches on the side of my tent. 
What happened?  All was well.  I’d had a fabulous day absorbing the unexpected February sunshine.  I’d just enjoyed a wonderful dinner out with my family.  I ran an errand and stopped by Cold Stone for a generous helping of mocha oreo creamy goodness and then BAM!  I’d been ransacked by fear.  Last night we turned the lights off to go to sleep and a few minutes later I heard Chris ask, “Kate are you crying?”  I was crying.  I am a 31 year old woman but in that moment I was reduced to a little girl and suddenly I wanted very badly to clutch my childhood teddy bear.  As I started talking I realized I had been pushing down lots of fear and anxiety in an effort of avoiding this very moment….and yet here I was.  
If you read my last post then you will remember that I wrote about the “Burden Bearer,” the Jesus who literally lifts the yoke of our pain and grief.  We are freed by His rescue mission defined in the proclamation:  “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28-29).  Today I’d like to share with you about the “Bearer of Truth,” The Jesus who literally freed me with the rescue mission defined in the proclamation, “Then you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). 
The reason that fear has an unruly ability to grip me, twist me and reduce me in February is because the wilderness invites the tempter into my life.  Remember Jesus’ wilderness experience?  It wasn’t until He was weak from hunger that Satan came to temp Him.  And how did he tempt Him?  With lies…big fat, ugly, stinking, lies!   I will never forget my therapist’s explanation that the cavernous void death vacates in our hearts is a playground for the deceptions of the enemy.  Anyone else feel like screaming UNFAIR!  First we suffer the pain of death and then our minds are tortured by the dirty mouth of Satan.  
“There is no truth in him.  When he lies, he speaks his native language for he is a liar and the father of lies” (2 Cor 10:5).  His very definition is deceiver and he is on a mission to rob us of the freedom God promises to those who KNOW the truth.   
Our earthly battles are not simply “against flesh and blood, but against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spirit forces of wickedness in the heavenly sphere” (Ephesians 6:12-13).  An unbelievable shift took place not only in my grief, but in my life when I began to realize that our earthly lives are being played out in an invisible battle field.  The enemy’s weapons are his lies.  And as children of God, we have “the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God” (Ephesians 6:17).  Jesus gave us the victory recipe in His own wilderness experience.  He fought the enemy’s deceptive efforts with scripture.  And what happened?  After three attempts to deceive Jesus, the devil left because he cannot and will not ever win a battle where there is truth.
The lie I currently find myself battling is that I am not safe, that I should stand in fear of not only this day, but every unknown day before me.  The deception is that February pushes the off switch on some invisible force field leaving me vulnerable to any and every possible attack.  As I approach the 22nd the day my life was forever changed by unexpected tragedy, there is a sense that doom will come for me once again.  And I am not alone.  My sweet husband dreamed on the evening of February first, that he was trying to take care of our kids and he kept breaking down, crying.  Then he realized that I had died.  February invites us into the wilderness and the wilderness invites the enemy to prey on our fragile hearts and minds.  And so I know without a shadow of a doubt that I need my tent, the one that shelters me in TRUTH and delivers me into the freedom that is absolutely MINE in Christ Jesus! 
I feel like a soul sister to Eve who was also tempted by the enemy.  He lied to her in the garden in the form of a serpent and caused her to believe that God was withholding from her, that He wasn’t good and that she should take life into her own hands.  Deception led to her disbelief in God and therefore dependence upon Him was removed…you know the rest of the story. 
The day Anna died was the day the serpent slithered upon my path and began hissing a multitude of lies about God’s ability to take care of me.  I was so weak and tired I couldn’t even as much as lift my head to notice that a snake was the one bellowing in my ear.  And so I bought the lies, I took the bait and I have spent the past six years climbing out from under the web of deception that entangled, no, practically strangled me.   But here is the beautiful pattern I have come to rely upon:  for every single lie I believe there is a matched truth to set me free.  This picture comes to mind: 
The lie is a pit.  When we believe it, we fall in and our ability to see and to move is suddenly removed.  The truth comes spiraling down like a rescue rope.  We have the choice to grab it and be lifted to freedom or stay in the pit.  The hard part is that the power of the lie becomes greater once we are in the pit.  The hissing continues, “That rope can’t hold you…don’t you know the second you grab it the rescuer will let go.  You’ll fall.  You are destined for a life of disappointment and tragedy.  Didn’t the death of your child teach you that?  You are safe down here, protected from a life and a God that will hurt you.”  That’s how it happened for me.  Many times I realized the rope was there and went to grab it, but the power of the lie, the enemy’s voice, was so great, that I turned from the rope and sank back down to the floor of the ditch.  The lies were many and great.  Some resulted in anger, some in guilt and some just left me stuck to even want to let go and move on.
I suppose I should mention that one of the reasons I was reluctant to trust Jesus, was that I wanted the TRUTH to be a promise statement that I would never be hurt or blindsided by such an awful loss again.  I had a very definite idea about what the rope should look like.  It wasn’t until I finally tried the rope that Jesus was offering me that I realized the truth was enough!  The truth came in many different ways but really it all boiled down to this: Jesus and whatever He had to offer, whether peace, strength, joy, companionship or endurance was ENOUGH for me.  His grace was in fact sufficient.  I initially thought I could only be at peace and free from my fear if I knew the future.  But instead, coming to know Jesus was supernaturally, exactly what I needed!
I have been in the hospital twice this week with what we assumed was pre-term labor.  The second trip turned into a Valentine’s date where two shots of “brethane” were still unable completely stop the contractions.  A fabulous test revealed that I was not in labor and so I was sent home…with contractions.  A week of drama in an already dramatic month, but I have been at peace.  I know the only reason is because I am aware that the enemy would love to use this as an opportunity to whisper all sorts of nasty lies about my life, the fate of my baby and the rest of this pregnancy into my ear.  I am on guard.  My sword is drawn and I am claiming a collection of truths that are winning my fragile heart into freedom moment by moment and day after day.  I think the reason I was plagued by panic the other night in the parking lot, was because my sword was down.  I am not on guard against those kinds of fears.  The enemy came through the back door.  Now, I’m ready!  And if and when he comes at me again, I am literally smiling just thinking about the blow I have for him.
How does this work?  How is it that TRUTH can actually set us free?  For me, I have a “weapon bag.” Every day, sometimes several times, I open it, pull them out and hold them, sharpen them and admire them.
Here are a few of my favorites:
“My peace I leave with you.  My peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).
“You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You” (Isaiah 26:3).
“Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way” (Thes 3:16).
“I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength!”  (Phil 4:13).
“My grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness.  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Cor 12:9).
“For we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 5:8).
The messages here are all the same; Jesus offers peace and strength, joy and purpose, all the time.  Circumstances can’t change what He has, can and will do for me.
I will close with these cherished words:
“But then I will win her back once again.  I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her there!” (Hosea 2:14). 
There is a cruel voice that whispers to me in the woods.  But there is also a tender voice.  And He has won me back.  We sit together in the tent.  As the tap, tap, tap, begins to infiltrate my ears, reaching for my heart, the voice of Jesus begins to recite age old words that lead to freedom.  It is a windy month, the noises and shadows are undeniable…but so is the presence of the “Bearer of Truth” and I am Free!