Part One: When you least expect it… A relative quiet had settled over Saint Elizabeth hospital on that Autumn evening. The occasional sound of approaching, then fading footsteps on the tile floor outside the waiting room were all that broke the silence. Most of the staff had gone home, those remaining were going about the myriad tasks associated with caring for the sick and infirmed, readying each for the night ahead. I was feeling strangely peaceful, and, mildly fidgety as I awaited news. Although it is an obvious illusion, time seems to perceptibly slow through periods when one is required to wait. Having done ‘Hospital’ innumerable times with my daughter, though not what I would characterize as welcomed, this was a familiar sensation and routine. After what was in reality several hours – and seemed much longer – approaching footsteps could be heard which did not recede.
Entering the room, thrusting his right hand forward, “Are you Mr. Terry?”, the doctor introduced himself and his colleague. “You need to know that she is a very, very sick girl. She is quite fortunate to have gotten here when she did – parts of her body were shutting down and her internal problems were far more extensive than we initially thought. While she is stable and should be coming down from the recovery room to the ICU sometime in the next hour or so, she is by no means out of the woods – yet.” Still in scrubs, having come directly from the surgical suite to where I sat in the otherwise empty waiting room, the younger of the two surgeons was somber, almost conciliatory. I listened as the two took turns detailing the events of the past four and a half hours. The older a surgeon specializing in Gynecology, the younger a general surgeon who had been summoned after the first had initiated emergency surgery – only to realize the extent of her internal problems had been substantially beyond the scope of his capabilities. I listened intently, recording the conversations on my smart-phone as the two laid out a guarded prognosis for the days and months ahead. “Let me put it to you this way; her body has suffered a number of major physical setbacks, she is not going to be jumping out of bed tomorrow”, the older surgeon spoke animatedly, pressing open hands to his abdomen as he explained her condition. I was simply glad that Stacey was alive, and that both her rapidly declining condition as well as the prolific amounts of mounting pain over the past several days had finally been checked.
We had met some months before through circumstances which seem, in retrospect, rather ethereal. Sitting at home early one Saturday afternoon – single, bored, and lonesome, I had logged onto my computer. Remembering a Christian singles website which a friend had mentioned to me in passing months before, I’d thought it might be fun to read the personality profiles of potentially like-minded women. My intention had been to pass some time – I was not in a mindset to seriously look for someone, nor was I wanting to put myself on the market. I’d had lunch with my pastor the week before and during our conversation had shared that my recent history with women had been quite painful, “I give up! God is going to have to hit me over the head with a woman, I’ve not done well in that department.” It was true. I had made mistakes in years past and had done a fair amount of reaping what I had sown. Yet in the months following my daughter Jessica’s passing, I had come to a place of true surrender. In what would later be identified as one of my life’s defining moments, I’ll not forget sitting there in the quietness of my little apartment in the bay area, heartbroken, my life stalled, my future uncertain, making a heartfelt plea to God. “Lord, there is not much left. Yet what there is, you can have. All of it. No games. No compromise.” Now many months along with many trying circumstances later, there I sat, looking at the home page of that website.
I clicked on a link that suggested I would be granted access, only to find a profile page which required writing, as my memory serves, about nine separate paragraphs – synopses regarding my life, spirituality, likes, character, etc. I remember thinking, “This is nuts – and will take the rest of the afternoon!” But, I decided to go for it – my social calendar was anything but filled – the only thing looming was dinner with some friends later that evening. “Okay, I guess I’ll get started”, I thought to myself, and I began to write. Wanting to have the ability to see more than to be seen, and not wanting to attract a number of responses which would amount to a waste of time, I decided to write those synopses candidly, quite hard-hitting, with as much frankness as possible – using terms such as “I will not settle!” and “please do not respond if…” As one who enjoys writing, and who on this day had an abundance of time on his hands, writing that profile was a useful distraction and took nearly the rest of the afternoon to complete.
I was totally unprepared for the events which would shortly begin to unfold. I could not have known in that moment that I would be permanently deleting the profile I’d worked so hard on by day’s end – and for good reason. Within moments of completing the task at hand, everything was about to change. ◊ Part Two: Promises… kept.
Part Two: Promises… kept. Continued from Part One: When you least expect it… Bittersweet tears stained my cheeks as my car wheeled down the interstate. It had been an intense few days, culminating with the familiar voice of one of my favorite bible teachers on the CD that I’d made before starting home. Living in the Los Angeles area at that time, I’d traveled to Northern California the week before to attend my belated daughter’s birthday remembrance dinner. It had been good to see friends and family on the patio of the barbecue restaurant where we’d met last year, just weeks after Jessie had passed. Now, my heart was reflective as I made the trip back to L.A.. Though I’d listened to many of his teachings over the years – both recorded and live – this one was different, and intimately personal. As he spoke, I was beyond being captivated. He had outlined how God had carried him through times of hardship in his own life – through the losses of his daughter Jessica and earlier, his wife Terry. It had only been a year since my own daughter Jessica had gone to heaven. He had shared of how, in an auto accident, two of his children had been thrown through the windshield opening of their car and had been miraculously spared. Yes, I knew this too – for when she was eight years old, my Jessica had been thrown from our car through the windshield opening at fifty miles per hour and had been, as were his children, divinely spared any harm. He had shared of the difficulties – and of God’s sustaining hand – through what would otherwise be crippling loss. And, he had shared of God’s promise to him, initially given supernaturally while lying in an ambulance just minutes after his wife had departed this world for the next. Those words from Jeremiah had been confirmed to him many times through the years – including hearing his own Jessica recite them in a prayer the last time he saw her – just moments before hitting a patch of ice with her car and succumbing to the same injury that had claimed her Mother’s earthly life years before. As I listened, I understood his heartbreak. I also understood God’s promise – and providence. That same promise was being driven deeply into my heart, and became… mine. The words of the twenty-ninth chapter of Jeremiah, verse eleven, were being indelibly etched into my soul as I drove, and would play a key role in a future yet to be revealed.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
After taking nearly the whole afternoon to fill out a profile in order to gain access to the Christian singles website that my friend had shared with me months earlier, I had finally finished writing their required, detailed lifestyle and personality synopses, and clicked ‘Submit’. Then I logged on to the site. As I began to familiarize myself with the home-page layout, I noticed a bold field, ‘Online Now’. Clicking it, a new page loaded with a column of photos and their accompanying tag-lines. Next to the photos was a brief description including biographical information. As I scanned, my eyes stopped. “She’s pretty“, I thought. I clicked the photo of an attractive woman with the caption underneath, ‘A Fresh Start’. Reading her pointed yet thoughtful profile, I liked what she had to say. She appeared to be serious, sober-minded, and deeply committed to Christ. She was also by her own description quirky, clever, and goofy. I decided to write an encouraging note with words something like, “I enjoyed reading your profile very much. May God bless you as you search for the one…”, and clicked ‘Send’. “Hmmm… a fresh start. Wouldn’t that be lovely.”
Seeing the clock, I realized the afternoon was waning – and that I’d need to begin to get ready for dinner before long. Spending any more time on this website would have to wait. I busily straightened my cluttered table, washed up a couple of glasses and went to shut down my computer. As I grabbed the mouse and began to maneuver to the shutdown sequence, I noticed a small, flashing rectangle on the monitor. On closer inspection, I realized my computer’s browser was still open, and the Christian singles site was still up. The words inside the flashing rectangle read, “New Mail”. “It’s probably a ‘Welcome’ letter from the site’s admin.”, I thought as I opened the link. No, it was an e-mail from… her. My pulse quickened a bit as I sat back down to read and respond. “I very much enjoyed your profile. Would you like to chat?”, she’d written. I clicked the link and opened a dialog box on my monitor. Introducing ourselves, Stacey and I spent the next forty-five minutes or so exchanging some pleasant written dialog, each sharing thoughts and details and facts from one’s life, family, and faith. I checked my watch – and was out of time, on the verge of being late. “Hey I’m meeting friends for a bite to eat and need to shower. I’d enjoy talking by phone later though – typing is just not my thing. I’ll give you my number if you’d like, just dial star sixty-seven to hide your phone number when you call.” Computer chat is an interesting phenomenon. There was a caption at the bottom of the window that told me whenever she was typing. Having just initiated ratcheting our dialog up a couple of notches, I could see that she was writing a response, but had no idea what that response would be. Seconds ticked by. My inner voice kicked into gear. “This is probably the part where she tells me thanks, it’s been nice chatting, but no thanks”, I prepped myself. More seconds passed. I waited. More seconds. Then her words blinked onto the screen, “What time will you be home?”
My phone rang five minutes earlier than anticipated. “A good sign!”, I thought, answering. We talked for hours. As we did, I mentioned to her that I had been bored, lonely, not seriously looking to connect with anyone. I shared the conversation I’d had with my pastor the week before. It was then that she told me she’d been at a church worship service the night before, and had been literally on her knees before God, broken. She told me of her prayer, “I am tired of trying to find a suitable man. I give up. I give this area of my life to you, Lord.” She went on to say that while she’d been on the website for months, today she’d been online solely for the purpose of deleting her membership and had done just that, receiving a message afterwards that her profile would be removed by the following day. Then, moments before shutting down her computer – with no intention to ever be on that website again – she’d seen the same flashing rectangle as I had, proclaiming, “New Mail”. I was completely stunned. “What are the odds?”, I reasoned in my mind. “Are you there?”, she asked. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here.”, my voice trailed off. I was totally lost in thought, “There is an unseen component to this that’s beginning to get my attention.”
As we conversed, we transparently shared one another’s heartbreaks and triumphs, sorrows and joys. I told Stacey of the depression and profound sadness that I’d experienced after my daughter had gone to heaven. I shared how my heart had been refreshed and revived in Christ. Then I shared God’s promise – given to me from Jeremiah 29:11 as I had driven to Los Angeles that day. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.” “Now I have goose-bumps”, she replied. There was a serious tone to her voice. “A few years ago, after twenty-five years of being a homemaker, mother and wife, I found myself alone. It was during this time that I was forming and pouring a concrete slab in the yard to place an outdoor table on. Many talks with God and a lot of tears went into that project. While I was working on it, God made me a promise. I scratched that promise into the corner of the concrete before it set.” ◊
To those who’ve written both publicly and privately to express their sentiments regarding Jessica, a heartfelt thank you. To each with whom Jess holds a special place in your life, may your memories of her continue to bring a smile, a warmth – even laughter – to your soul.
Providence, not Coincidence As a Christian, I do not believe in coincidence, but providence. And, providence is an amazing thing. Yesterday, the second anniversary of Jessica’s departure from this world for the next, is a good example. Nobody had planned a remembrance, or any sort of get-together. Yet in keeping a doctor’s appointment I’d had to reschedule along with tending to a handful of other tasks, I had made the 3-1/2 hour trek from home to Colusa, the small town in the Sacramento Valley where Jess grew up. As it turned out, Jessica’s mother Lisa, brother Justin and his family, grandmother Pam, uncle Jim and I all ended up sharing a short yet pleasant time together over lunch. It seemed to me that everyone was doing well overall. Here is a brief assessment from my own life – perhaps a shared assessment to one degree or another with others close to Jess as well;
The Storm Has Passed Or at least the storm is in the process of passing. There was an ease to the dialog we shared at lunch which had been largely absent since Jessica went to heaven. Using the weather as a metaphor seems fitting, too. There are still cloudy days – those times when it would be over-the-top wonderful to simply hear her voice, to see that smart-alecky smirk, to hear her laughter. There are, and probably will always be – days which contain an occasional rain shower. Those are the times – albeit much further in between – when grief strikes and the inevitable tears flow. I guess the facet of the grieving process I’m referring to is that God, in His mercy, allows the heartbreak and pain to steadily dim with time – while our memories of Jessica continue to brighten. For me, the forecast these days is mostly sunny. Yet, we’re all different and grief is definitely not a one-size-fits-all experience; your mileage may vary.
A Radical Shift Probably the event that cinched it for me was the realization that I now find myself longing far more often for the time that I am with her – there… rather than longing that she were with me, with us… here. There is a deep, encompassing comfort in this. Though it may appear to be a slight adjustment to one’s thinking at the outset, the truth of it is that this realization is the product of a radically different mindset than the one I possessed when Jess died. The result for me has been, in turn, a radical shift in the process of grief itself. After all, why would I want her back here – where pain, ill health and suffering were a part of Jessie’s daily existence – when she has been, as her sister in law Kristen eloquently shared recently, “Forever healed”?
Laughter! I was talking with Matt, Jessica’s husband the other night. As usual, we had a great conversation. As we visited, he mentioned that he’d gone with his brother and sister in law to a movie at the same theater where he, Jessica and I had gone the last night of my visit to Arizona a couple of months before Jessica died. Unknown to me at the time, it would be the last few hours I’d spend with my daughter on this side of eternity. We had gone to dinner, then to see a particularly intense drama. We sat a few rows back from the front of the theater, to the left of center. Close to the end of the film, as the plot unfolded, the intensity of the storyline was palpable. At about that time Jess, soda in one hand and popcorn in the other, whispered to me, saying that her sweatshirt had become tangled in her chair, and she needed assistance. As she leaned forward I immediately reached behind her to try and free it. Suddenly and without warning she burst out laughing, half choking and literally spewing popcorn as she did. “WHAT?!”, I said in a loud whisper. She went on, gasping for air between outbursts, to inform me that in trying to free her stuck shirt, I had inadvertently grabbed – and yanked – the wrong piece of clothing and had given her the biggest *wedgie* of her life. I began in turn to laugh hysterically. Evidently each of us sort of fed on the other’s laughter because we soon were both trying to breathe as we tried really hard to be quiet – to no avail. At the same time we were being *shushed!* by people behind us as some had begun to tear up out of sadness over what continued to unfold on the screen. She and I simply could not get ahold of ourselves – and ended up leaving the theater through the front exit to the left of the screen in order to avoid those who were not terribly pleased by our movie-going-manners. That’s just sort of how things went with Jessica. What a goofball.
My Point is this; Yes, I miss her, terribly at times. Yes, I long for my daughter. It has been the most painful event in my life to date, and has pained me deeply – not just to wade through my own grief, but to see those in Jess’ circle, both her family and her friends – in so much pain over the past couple of years. It does this man’s heart good to read things like Jess’ brother wrote yesterday as he responded to a thread with comments and sentiments about her, “If Jess were here looking at our mopey faces she’d laugh, smack us around, and tell us to get over it.” He knows his sister well!
Finally, something that Matt shared with me the other night has added yet another significant piece to my own healing (I share with his permission). At one point in our conversation he said, “You know John, I look at it like this. I guess I’ve never asked God why He took her away when He did. I’ve never been angry, questioning God at His timing in taking her home so young. My faith is real. I thank Him that He gave me seven and a half years with someone who had been perfectly – yep, perfectly – matched… to me.” The force of his words penetrated with the weight of conviction. What could I possibly say, or add… except… amen. ◊
Yes, the little things – all of which added up to the wonderful woman you became. There is so much more… no words now, only tears. I’m trusting the contents of my heart are somehow known to you. Oh honey to say that I miss you is like saying I miss light, or oxygen, or water. Yet, I gain comfort from knowing you’re whole, and have a new body, and see Him face-to-face.
Of all the people in our family, you always seemed to go through things first, usually painful things, scary things, at times life-threatening things. Though I miss you every single day, how fitting it is for you to get to the good stuff – the very fulfillment of our hopes – first. Good for you, Jess!
I love you Jessie. For now, I am only able to imagine – hearing your voice echo through my mind in response, “I love you too Papa, more than the whole wide world and all the trees.” ◊
Since this week marks the first anniversary of my daughter Jessica’s passage from this world to the next, I have been wondering how to best honor her memory, and have come up with what seems to me to be a good idea. Normally I use this space as an online journal of sorts, a place wherein I have chronicled thoughts related to my own life, especially as relates to my emotional and spiritual journeys through grief, depression, despair, and healing during the past year in the wake of Jess’ death. I am taking a break for this post, and want to open it up to you. Here’s the deal…
Less than 3 months before she died, Jessica posted one of those surveys that regularly circulate the web via both email and social networking websites. I came across Jess’ ’25 Random Facts About Me’ survey while looking for biographical information that I was scheduled to present to a bereavement support group I’d joined about three weeks after she passed. Some of her comments are, hands down, hilarious. Parts are very touching. Still other comments have brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion and though the temptation to delete them from this writing is present, to do so would not present Jess’ thoughts the way she wrote them because overall, I realized the composite created by these ‘Random Facts’ paints a fairly accurate picture of Jessica – woman, wife, daughter, sister, friend – the list goes on. Many of those who read this will no doubt realize they’ve seen it before. However, before clicking off the page, I invite you to read it either for the first time, or to read it again. As you do, I want to invite you to comment – so others have a ‘window’ to remembering Jessica through your thoughts and/or eyes. Perhaps something will trigger a memory. Perhaps, though you did not know Jessica very well – or at all, you relate in some way to a specific comment – or many comments – of hers. Perhaps you simply have something in general you’d like to say. If you’re referring to a specific line, don’t forget to write the line’s number in your comment. All I ask is that posts reflect your perspective of something about Jessica’s life, or her ‘Random Facts’ below. Obviously if you choose not to comment, that’s totally fine. It is my hope that you thoroughly enjoy Jessie’s reflections just the same.
If you knew Jessica, you may disregard the below paragraph and go directly to ’25 Random Facts’ below. With the understanding that this blog has a reach beyond my immediate family and friends, I’ll briefly restate the events of that fateful day. In the middle of the night of last April 11th, 2009, I received a phone call from my son telling me that Jessica was in trouble. He didn’t know much, only that she’d collapsed at home in her husband Matt’s arms, had been in the emergency room of a local Mesa, Arizona hospital for most of the evening, and now had been taken to the intensive care unit. Jessica passed – went *home* – the following morning, shortly before her mother, brother, and myself, having flown to Phoenix from three different airports, could get to the hospital.
That said, Here goes…
1. I LOVE chap stick. I’m obsessed with it. I put it on all day long and every time, I put on *exactly* 8 coats on each lip.
2. I’m horribly insecure. I like to say that I don’t care what others think about me but in reality, I care TOO much.
3. If I could pick a perfect temperature, it would be 72 degrees all year long. Why am I living in Arizona then?
4. I can’t get enough time with my dog Meeko. He’s been my companion during the days these last couple years. He’s a midget with no legs and thinks he’s a cat most of the time. He’s severely confused and it makes me laugh all the time. He’s the perfect pet!
5. I carry 2 chap sticks in my pocket all the time… Mine in my right pocket, Meeko’s in my left pocket. Okay so this is mostly a weird fact about him, but I crack up and giggle every time he licks his chap stick. He looks like a baby sucking on a bottle when he does it. He LOVES it!
6. I’m a sucker for Mexican food. Namely, enchiladas. I could eat them every day for the rest of my life and be happy.
7. Even though I have a *ton* of medical issues since, I am still glad I had the gastric bypass. I can’t imagine being that overweight again.
8. I don’t have many close friends anymore. My close girlfriends now consist of Vanessa, (who will always be my bestest girlfriend) Jen, Kristen and my cousin Christine. I don’t see them enough and it hurts.
9. I love to laugh but don’t get the chance as much these days. My husband Matt can always make me laugh though. I don’t think he realizes how well… But sometimes it is just the look on his face when he’s doing something cute or some side-comment he makes. That man *always* knows how to make me laugh, whether he realizes it or not.
10. I am still heart broken over my parent’s divorce. I put on a strong face for them, to be supportive of them and not let them see my pain… But it still breaks my heart. What in the heck happened to my family?
11. I’m scared for my/our future. I don’t know how it could get better, considering the circumstances, but I have faith that God can do anything.
12. A couple of my absolute favorite foods: Got Sushi! chimi rolls, (the BOMB!). Filly’s medium wings with lots of ranch. Macayo’s baja chicken enchiladas. If I ever did move away from here, I’d lose a lot of weight!
13. I have no idea what to do with my life. Broken and disabled… I know what I want but have no clue how to get there. Nor do I know which foot to put forth first.
14. I have an irrational fear of failure. So much so that it handicaps me every day.
15. I’m absolutely obsessed with pens. I *rarely* write anything anymore, (besides the occasional shopping list) but I still insist on having 138 pens at all times. No wonder my purse is so heavy!
16. I used to be the girl who liked the “pretty boys”. You know, the ones with great hair. I married a man with none. (giggling) I think he still wishes for a full head of hair but I would never have it. Not even if he was given a free ticket to the hair club for men or something. I like his bald head. And there is something strangely soothing about running my hands over the peach fuzz on the back of his head.
17. I am completely obsessed with my niece Sarah. My brother finally has a kid and I cannot get enough. I live for new photos and videos of her as well as times to web-cam with her. I *love* the way she says my name.
18. I love Mountain Dew Code Red. It tastes like carbonated fruit punch and has the amount of caffeine I need to get through the day. And in a large cup with LOTS of ice.
19. I don’t like any other type of soda. Too thick! If I have my druthers, its either Code Red or sweetened ice tea.
20. Some of the cutest things my husband does, (that reaffirm that I’m in love with him, every day) the look on his face when he wakes up and sees me there… The little “mmMmmm” sound he makes in my ear when he’s completely asleep and cuddles up behind me… And of course, the cute little, mangled face he makes when he’s playing the drums. That last one makes me giggle uncontrollably, every time!
21. I love movies. I can watch them all day long. And I usually go to sleep every night while watching one, too.
22. I have to sleep with earplugs… Every night! It gets old, but at least that’s the way I can sleep next to my bear-snoring of a hubby.
23. I have a fascination with bugs and creepy-crawlies. They really give me the heebies but I can’t help it. I can’t seem to stop myself from watching them and looking for them.
24. I love the smell of office supplies. The more the better!
25. The only dream I have left for my life is to be a mother. I want to experience pregnancy, delivery, nursing. All of it! It’s the only dream I haven’t already experienced, the #1 dream I’ve had all my life… And it may very well be the one I don’t ever experience.
As my van crested the Grapevine, a long, steep grade on Interstate 5 over the Tehachapi mountains connecting the San Joaquin Valley to the Los Angeles Basin, points of light from homes, cars, businesses and streetlamps flickered in the darkness, together creating a bright, grid-like pattern stretching to the southern California horizon. I’d originally planned to make the 360 mile trip the following day, then fly back the same evening. But, I had finished loading my van earlier than anticipated, and had no plans for the rest of the day. So, I left Alameda at about two o’clock on Sunday afternoon. The trip was uneventful as I drove past farms and fields on the desolate stretch of I-5 between Tracy and Gorman. At one point, I saw lush yellow wildflowers which appeared to carpet acres of ground amid olive-green shrubs in huge unplanted fields. It was a beautiful sight.
At sunset I was driving just south of a little berg called Wheeler Ridge when the reflected glow of orange-to-red rays of sunlight lit the bottoms of dark gray clouds scattered across the valley sky. This, combined with vivid purple wildflowers which covered the ground – literally in the millions – created an ethereal scene that fooled my senses. The purple ground cover, illuminated by the reflected dusk, had the appearance of actually glowing from within. It was such a striking effect that a number of motorists had pulled off the shoulder of the freeway to take photographs. Not in the frame of mind to haul my camera out and do the same, I’d simply taken it all in as I continued my journey south.
Now descending the southern portion of the Grapevine after having stopped for gas as well as to stretch in the town of Lebec, I was road-weary. As I drove through the Castaic Valley, I listened to a compact disk I’d made the day before. The volume on the van’s CD player was far louder than I’d have had it if someone else were in the car with me. Thoughts of the past decade had been drifting through my mind all day. Hopes for that which lies ahead were, too. This is a bittersweet move in ways. As I’d mentioned in a previous writing, I’m consciously bringing this chapter of my life to a close. It’s sort of like having surgery. In operating on someone’s body, the intent is to restore, to make it well, to fix that which has been broken or is not working properly. The thing is, the surgeon must inflict intentional wounds in order to make things right. Yet healing from surgery is far better than going on – without being whole. I think of the Apostle Paul in Phillipians, chapter 3; I press on – I do not want to finish this life without laying hold of that for which Christ Jesus laid hold of me for. I guess you could say that I’m going through a sort of surgery for the soul. I’m chuckling to myself as I write – thinking, “It’s sort of like ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’, but a lot more severe.” Yep, I like that, I’ll not edit that line out – it is fitting.
Reaching La Crescenta, a smallish, unincorporated community in Los Angeles County about sixteen miles north-northwest of downtown L.A., I pulled my van into my friend Terry’s driveway. After gathering my things, I stepped out of the van – and into a warm, welcoming hug. I was tired. It had been decided that dinner would be barbecued steaks, it was too late to go out. That sounded lots better to me than getting back into a car and traveling – even if it would be just across town. Terry’s son grilled Rib Eye’s for all of us, they were fabulous. These are familiar surroundings – Terry and her father Lloyd have been close friends for many years. After dinner I hung around and visited for a short while, then said goodnight and headed out. Food in my stomach had sealed my intentions – I needed to get some sleep.
My night was restless. Changes – a lot of them at one time – can cause one to tilt off-balance for a time. I’m doing what I need to do in taking care of myself – mostly through reframing my thoughts when there is more than one perspective to be seen. It is infinitely more difficult to reframe while asleep – I don’t believe it’s actually possible – the mind will go where it needs to go and mine was buzzing with activity as I tried to sleep. Physically, an old billboard climbing injury to my left knee has flared with all of the activity connected to my move. There are few things I like less than being awakened by pain, and my knee bothered me, aching intermittently throughout the night. I finally drifted off around first light, and slept soundly for a couple of hours.
Today I unloaded my van, tended to some details related to my relocation, and rested. After an early dinner, my friend dropped me at Bob Hope International, aka Hollywood-Burbank Airport. As I finish this entry, I’m at 37,000 feet, on my way back to the Bay Area. When I leave Alameda in a week or so, I’ll be leaving what I’ve known as home for most of the past four plus years. At one time I’d believed I would spend the rest of my life there, rediscovering God’s path and purpose for my life, finding enduring love, and settling in. Yet these core components to my moving forward have not come about. Instead, in a few days I will be headed over the Grapevine and through the Tehachapi Mountains once more. This time, I’ll be traveling directly into the next chapter of my life. I’ll be returning to the home of my youth, to a place where my first intent is to wait upon God and His strengthening, and to dreams as yet unfulfilled. I go with the knowledge that my ideas for the future hardly ever fit the reality of it. I’m reminded of Proverbs 16:9; “A man’s heart plans his way, but the LORD directs his steps.” Yes, there are many unanswered questions to what’s ahead – nevertheless this should indeed be an interesting journey. ◊
I guess I’m hooked. Here I am in the middle of packing and moving what seems at times like endless stuff, the day is drawing closer – and I just had to sit and take a few moments of my day to reflect. It was something of a first for me in my last post to realize that I’d not mentioned Jessica. Yes, a milestone of sorts. Today would have been my Mother’s eighty-third birthday and I’m missing them both terribly this afternoon. I am consoled by musings of mischievous, feisty women in heaven – as both could very well be. If that’s the case, I’m really happy they have one another. Mom always referred to Jess as “my vivacious one” among the many grandchildren she adored. She had the ability to sum up the ones she loved in a few short words. Perhaps that’s where I get my own tendency to label things. I looked up ‘vivacious‘ for fun awhile ago, it means, “Full of animation and spirit”. Yep, good word for her, Mom.
My move is going along well, I’m getting down there. I had to stop yesterday and today in order to sift through a mountain of paperwork for taxes, etc. Having nearly completed the task, it’s time to get back to boxing my remaining stuff. I’ve had a couple of kind offers for help, yet the stuff I have left to pack are largely things which require my personal attention.
Though I believe I’m doing the right thing on a number of levels, I’m doing my best to shake off lingering doubts which annoyingly lurk in the periphery of my mind, my heart. Doubts such as unanswered questions about my future, the fact that I am putting a greater distance between myself and many whom I care deeply for, etc. A habit I’ve been reengaging in with the intent of being single-minded is in the ability to ‘reframe’ my thoughts, to get underneath and to peel back the layers of a thing. It really helps in my coming to a place of peacefully trusting God. I certainly don’t usually start there. The scripture in 2 Corinthians 10:5 comes to mind, “…casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” A good example is when, a number of months ago while in the throes of grief and despair, a woman commented, “I’ve never lost a child, but I had this dog…” I think I may have written about it in a previous post here. Anyway, I was initially shocked. I began to angrily ask myself why she would make such a clueless comment. “Reframe, John, reframe, take these thoughts captive.” I soon realized that her intention was to comfort me, she was trying her best to relate, not to offend. Although she was reaching, she (thankfully) had no real point of reference. I asked God to forgive my assuming the worst – and was able to let it go quickly, before getting too worked up over it.
I’m re-framing a lot today, and doing my best to remember the things presently weighing me down are earthly cares.
I’m also realizing as I write that I have had a couple of *blocks* in returning to my packing. There sits on one of my couches a couple of small bags. They have been in the same spot for more than a month, because they are a precious few of Jessica’s personal belongings. Inside the bags are an old personalized “CHEEZY” license plate, a number of photos, some of her most prized pieces of jewelry, and a couple of gifts I’d bought for her – all of which I value – I just had no idea I’d be inheriting them. Now I’m beginning to cry – no need to reframe when it comes to remembering my girl. I also have a beautiful forest green cloth satchel in my bedroom, a gift from a friend, which contains the urn that held Jess’ remains. It is the same one I carried from Arizona in September, then Matt took to Gualala when he cast them into the sea. I’ve opened it once since our family made the trip in November – only to see the dust covered, copper-colored urn inside, still in the burgundy satin cloth I’d reverently, lovingly wrapped around it. The satchel has remained unopened since.
Okay, a short break and the tears have stopped, I actually feel better. Catharsis, related to just letting the tears fall, is my guess. I find a cathartic release through both music and writing as well. In adjusting my focus, I believe it’s time to pack these things. I’ll not store them – they shall go where I go. Part of closing this chapter of my life is in closing the figurative door, as much as I am able, to the intense sadness and heartache which has accompanied Jessica’s death. In less than a month, it will be a year since she passed. I will remember her on that day in my new digs. That’s one of the reasons I decided to move on sooner than later. I’ve known from the beginning that I could not, would not, stay in the emotionally spent, depressed and just plain downtrodden mindset I’ve been in. Yet the balance for me is, it’s my opinion that each grieves in a distinct manner – and I have been careful to not pin myself down with laying expectations upon myself that I have not had the emotional reserve to fulfill. I find the pain is and will be there, yet my memories are changing from replaying that horrible day over and over a million times in graphic detail, as well as replaying thoughts of the night before as described to me, when she collapsed in Matt’s arms – to remembering Jessica in life.
To sum up, I’ve been nearly completely useless for the past year. The truth of it is, the unthinkable happened, it is an indelible part of my life, my history now. Jess’ going ‘home’ will shape and affect me to one degree or another for the balance of my days. Yet as I mentioned in my last post, it is time I begin to live once more, to reengage in discovering my life’s purpose, to walk in the light, to continue to seek, then do God’s will. Yes, as I reframe and ponder what lies behind, and contrast that to this minute – as well as what lies immediately ahead, I am able to clearly see that it’s time for me to get back to packing my things. ◊
A Modern Parable For the record, I know how to move a household. Growing up, my Mother and Stepfather moved nineteen times during my K-12 years. As to my own family, we were accused more than once of somehow having a subversive agenda insofar as many friends and relatives complained that we’d maxed out the ‘T’ section in their personal address books – and they’d had to buy a new one. Being a seasoned mover, when I began to pack up my belongings with the intent of putting them into storage, I remembered that I had a number of old Home Depot boxes from previous moves that I’d broken down and stashed. They have seen some action too. I think the Ebay classification for them would be ‘vintage’ or ‘gently used’ (yeah, right) moving boxes, although I doubt I’d get much for them. I digress.
Anyway, figuring that I’d originally paid three or four bucks apiece for them and did not want to waste money, I nabbed the old boxes from my closet. Then I folded, taped and assembled each one, proceeding afterward to load ‘em up with my earthly treasures. The first problem which arose was figuring out a safe way to stack the danged things. With dented corners, torn tops, and rounded sides, this was no easy task. But, with the help of more heavy duty packaging tape than I thought I’d need, I managed, sort of. The next steps in the process proved to be a bit more of a challenge. I live in a huge old Victorian house which has been converted to eight small apartments. Fortunately my apartment is on the ground floor, close to the main entry door. Unfortunately, outside the main entry door there remains a small flight of concrete stairs which one must traverse in order to get to street level. I’m a big fan of full disclosure – those who know me well would tell you that I’m not the most coordinated guy in town, which I’ve found both amusing and perplexing because of the unforgiving nature of the work I did for nearly twenty-five years in climbing and painting large – often very high – billboards. My klutziness is mainly due to my being ‘in my head’ a lot, and not paying close enough attention to what’s going on around me. Such was not the case when I was a teenager – back then I was just plain clumsy. My siblings will readily tell you of how everyone would grab breakable drinking glasses, dishware, etc. whenever I was about to get up from the dinner table.
So, the next step was to get the boxed goods from my apartment to my truck. Easy, right? One would think so. The first thing I noticed about the now full, roundish boxes with the afore-mentioned dents, tears, etc. was that it was really difficult to get a solid purchase with my hands on the cardboard when stooping to pick one up. But, I managed. Here’s where the fun started. I needed to get the boxes from my living room, out my front door, through the hallway, out of the main entrance, down the stairs, and to my truck. You’d think I would have had the foresight to open my front door before hefting a box off the floor – but no, I usually think of such things after the critical moment in which it would actually help has passed. So there I was, half bent over, balancing this once rectangular, crumpled box with my left arm and right thigh so I could open the door. Got it, that went fairly smoothly. Once through the doorway, the thought occurred to me that I’d really prefer to not have my neighbors possibly see what a mess my apartment is – and decided I now needed to close the door. So, again – left arm, right thigh. The box felt kind of mushy. As I reached for the doorknob with my free hand, the thing began to slowly slip down my right leg. In an attempt to correct for this unforeseen complication, I lunged forward with my free left leg – and solidly smacked the door jamb with the right side of my head. Hard. I’d bumped the door with the box in my arms and as my head made contact, the door had swung out of reach. Grumbling, I let the box fall to the floor. Was that a muffled, tinkling sound I heard as it touched down? I really don’t remember if I verbalized the contents of my brain out loud in that moment. I hope not.
Retrieving the box from the floor, my trip through the common hallway to the front entry was uneventful. The entry to my building consists of double doors. Facing them from the inside, the one on the left is for daily use, having one of those automatic door-closing thingy’s mounted on the top inside corner, and an automatically locking deadbolt. The door on the right is locked shut. Planning my strategy for getting the entry door open, I thought it best to set the box down this time. Easy. Now to twist the spring-loaded deadbolt, push the door open, grab the box and stick my left foot in the path of the returning door before it shut and automatically locked. I evidently did not move fast enough. The door swung open just fine, but was quicker to begin to swing shut than I’d remembered and pinched my foot between the concrete and the bottom of the door. My eyes narrowed (my children used to get as far from me as possible when this rare phenomenon occurred), my head still hurt from the first phase of this operation. I pulled my stuck foot out from under the door and flawlessly carried out my plan – until I came to the stairs. Still holding the door open with my left elbow, my field of vision was blocked in front of me by the box in my arms. Then I mis-judged the width of the landing. Stepping forward, my right foot found air, not concrete. Abruptly stumbling forward now, I immediately let go of the box and blindly grabbed for the handrail. The box, then airborne, cleared the stairs, hitting the cement walkway beyond, bursting one side completely open. A definite broken-glass ‘tinkling’ sound came from within. Finding the handrail, I grasped it tightly as my body spun left, my legs firmly pressed into the wrought iron railing to the point of bending my waist over the top, nearly doing a face-plant into the tall shrubbery adjacent to the stairs. I have no idea how both of my size thirteen feet landed squarely on the second step, but was eternally grateful they had.
I don’t like old moving boxes. Why?
When Jesus spoke the parable of the New Wine, He was contrasting God’s Old Covenant of law which was given to the Jews, with the New Covenant of love and grace which is offered to any who will come, thereby illustrating the incompatibility between Judaism and Christianity. It’s also worth noting the history of the Christian Church has seen through the ages many outpourings of the Holy Spirit resulting in many new works, pouring new wine into new wineskins. In a literal sense, new wine is fermenting. The strain brought about by gas pressure from new wine poured into old, hardened wineskins is that it would cause the wineskin to rupture. A new wineskin is pliable and will allow for expansion during the fermentation process. As time goes by, man, being predisposed to ‘fixing’ that which already works through a variety of things which can and do supplant the work of the Spirit, causes the wineskin to harden, thereby limiting the effectiveness of that which worked well when it was new and fresh and filled with the life of God. In His infinite wisdom, God then raises up a new work, or wineskin – and pours out new wine – people led by His Spirit – to fill it as He accomplishes His purposes through the agency of the Holy Spirit both in and through the church in a general sense – and specifically in the hearts and minds of His people. He removes both His blessing and His Spirit from the old, hardened wineskin – it has become too inflexible, too rigid, filled with what at that point amounts to empty religiosity.
So what’s the bottom line for me? I had wandered, trying many things in an attempt to fill the void inside of me throughout a period of *drifting* – without the life of the Spirit of God indwelling and empowering me. One simply cannot out-maneuver God. I am thankful that He has been patient and not withdrawn His presence from my life. He will go to great lengths to draw one, by faith in the finished work of the cross of Christ, into to the wondrous – not necessarily easy – life He freely promises to all who will come – or any who will return. It truly is as a friend said many years ago, “No matter how many steps away from God you take, it is always only one step back.” You see, it’s not about going backwards to where I was. It’s about leaving the past where it is – and moving forward from here, from now, setting my heart and my mind upon the things above. Summed up, new wine equals newness of life. And, new boxes equals less broken stuff. ◊ P.S. – My living room is now stacked with tidy rows of new, strong Home Depot moving boxes, each at the cost of a whopping ninety-seven cents. By the way, if you’re in the market for a bunch of vintage boxes, have I got a deal for you……
