The Grief Onion: Getting real

I hugged him tight in a mummy-hold, speaking the words over and over: "It's okay. It's okay. All done! No more hurts." Who knows if any of my meant-to-be-reassuring words actually made it into his head and heart, between my {very} broken Spanish and his incredibly limited English. I do know that he looked up into my eyes with crocodile tears running down his cheeks. As my school clinical day came to an end, I could almost read his thoughts. It's okay? It's NOT okay! It's all done? How do I KNOW it's all done, when you just scooped me up in your lap like we were gonna be the best of friends, then stabbed my finger with a needle? THAT'S not okay!

***What I'm about to share is not meant to elicit pity or even words of advice. I share it to be transparent in a grief journey that is long, rocky, and layered. I share it to encourage and walk alongside those also experiencing grief over the loss of a loved one, whether that loss is recent or years ago.***

I feel like that little guy I wrapped tightly in my arms. I hear Jesus whispering into my broken and battered heart, "Trust me, child...I've got you. It's okay." Meanwhile, my heart screams back, "It's okay?!? It's NOT okay! You've got me?! Well, where were you THEN?" I realized recently that I have never fully allowed myself to be real with God about the pain and hurt I have experienced over losing my dad...Feelings I may even describe as anger and a corroding mistrust in Him. I know it's not healthy to stay in that place. I also know it is not healthy to bury those feelings without ever carrying them to the cross. I have to admit, both to myself AND to God, that I am ANGRY.

It's not FAIR that my little brother doesn't have his dad in the stands at his soccer games, cheering for him and yelling at the refs like all the other dads. It's not FAIR that all my friends will have their dads walk them down the aisle at their weddings, while my sisters and I will walk alone. It's not FAIR that my mom, by no choice of her own, has become a single parent. It's not FAIR that I rarely get through a day without thinking about death or cancer. It's not FAIR that I have forever imprinted memories of my daddy, my knight-in-shining-armor, gasping for breath and slowly losing control over all bodily functions in the last days of his life. It's not fair that my dreams were shattered in one day, with one phone call. It's not FAIR that I am doubly broken and hurt with every new relationship loss and change, simply because I am reminded, once again, that everything on this earth is temporary...especially relationships with the people I have allowed myself to love. It's not FAIR, and there is a part of me, deep inside, that wants to know how God could have thought this was a good plan.

In my opinion, grief is like an onion--layer upon layer must be peeled back and revealed. I'm on the "get-real-with-God" layer. {It's only taken me 2+ years to get there.} Just as I had to hold and rock and whisper comfort into that little boy's heart in order to earn back his trust, I am praying that, as I deal with this layer of the "grief onion," God simply holds me in His arms and reminds me of His forever and unconditional faithfulness. I'm ready to find a new level of wholeness in my relationship with Him as I learn to trust, once again, in His perfect sovereignty.

And for the person reading this who is feeling the same way--Wherever you may be, I am praying the same thing for you. Find healing at the foot of the cross...where Jesus invites us to dump ALL our baggage.

My Dad's Legacy, part 3

Dear Dad,
I used to think that missing you would get easier as more time passed. I am learning that in some ways it only gets harder as the weeks and months and years roll by. As life moves on without you, I often find myself wishing that I could call you on the phone, share stories with you, gain perspective from your wisdom. I wish that I could introduce you to all the new people I have met that never got the chance to know you. I wish I could run into your embrace when the days get long and responsibilities get harder. Most of the time I just wish you were here.

Two years ago today I was longing for the end to come, only because I could see the pain that overwhelmed your body and I wanted you to be free. I wish I could have taken that pain away from you, made your birth into heaven easier. And I wish the haunting memories of those last days did not sometimes push through the thousands of wonderful memories God gave me with you. So today, as I struggle to overcome the terrible memories of two years ago, I wonder what you are doing. I wonder what kind of marvelous work God has given for you to do. I wonder what you would tell us about heaven.


If God allowed me to sit by your side today, there are so many things I would want to thank you for, so many stories I would want to tell you. One of the things I loved and appreciated most about you was your unending zest for life. Everything a normal person would do, you did with a joy multiplied by 100. While you worked, you whistled. When you sang, you sang louder than anyone else...which used to annoy and embarrass me, but really, you were just offering the fullness of your heart to your Savior. Whenever you talked to anyone, you did it with a big smile on your face and an unmistakable interest in your voice. You had a way of making people feel valued and cared for. When you sat down to a good meal, you always clicked your tongue like you were about to dig into the best thing that ever happened to you. You truly lived more fully than anyone I have ever met.

Daddy, one of the things I loved about you most was how purposefully you led our family. You began each day long before anyone else in the house awoke, sitting in your special chair and spending time with Jesus. You were serious about memorizing Scripture, nearly the entire New Testament by the end of your life, because you knew that the Bible is the best parenting and life guide. You spent hours in prayer for us, pleading with God to tend to our hearts. I will never forget the day, only months before you went to heaven, that you looked at me with tears in your eyes and said, "ASH, make sure you pray for your mom after I'm gone." You loved her so much, and wanted to make sure that someone was covering her in prayer. You treasured and valued time with your family, and made it priority in our home from the very beginning. Dad, you took my hand and guided me gently into the Race, pleading with me to continue on even after you crossed the finish line with flying colors. Many people spend a lifetime with their fathers and never get what I had with you for 19 years. Though I will always wish I had many, many more years by your side, I will never stop praising Jesus for the gift He gave me in you. I love you!

Always your daughter,

My Dad's Legacy, part 2

Today has been hard. For those of you who have watched someone you love slip away before your eyes, perhaps you understand. This time of year, it seems like all the terrible memories come flooding back. I try to overwhelm them with the beautiful, forever-cherished memories, but the bad ones still seep in. To be completely, totally honest...death is the ugliest thing to scar this earth. There is no other way to describe it. I will spare you of the memories that haunt me, but please keep what I have shared with you in mind the next time you meet someone who grieves from the loss of loved ones.

Back to introducing you to my incredible dad...
One of the things I loved the most about my daddy, was that he could be incredibly silly with us, even after a long day. My dad taught middle schoolers...and to this day, I don't know how he even did that! BUT, you would have been shocked to see the things my dad did with us after spending all day putting up with preteens! Spending time with us was SO important to him. One of our favorite things to do was play hide-and-go-seek in a pitch black house. I remember, even as a little girl, pressing up close to him in a closet while we hid from the offensive "IT." We played kickball, catch, board games, went on walks...He was never "too tired" to play with us. Oh, how silly he could be with us!!! I learned from a young age that I could be completely comfortable in my own skin around him...because he was completely comfortable with who he was, flaws and all! He would make fun of himself relentlessly, all to give us a good laugh! My family and I have so many inside jokes about my dad...they are so ridiculous, in fact, that you would probably just roll your eyes if I tried to explain them to you! Parents, never underestimate the power of spending time uninterrupted with your kids. The time my dad spent with us, just getting down and dirty and PLAYING...well, it has forever impacted me.
Here are a couple of pictures of my dad being silly, just for his kids = )


One of the things I loved most about my dad was how dedicated he was to the work God gave him. As I shared with you, my dad was a middle school teacher. He was not a CEO, pastor, doctor, missionary, or lawyer. He was a teacher. But to him, his job was a sacred calling, no doubt a mission field. Every day he went to school with the goal of sharing Christ with those he came into contact with, whether they be teachers, students, or even the janitors that cleaned his classroom. He took an interest in everyone. He wrote a birthday letter to nearly every single teacher he had ever worked with...every year. He called each of his current students on their birthdays. He bought gifts for all of his coworkers every year. And he shared his testimony every chance he got...and even sometimes when he wasn't given a chance! Many of his coworkers did not treat him kindly, even sometimes ignored him. It didn't matter. He greeted them by name, with a huge smile, eager to brighten up the day of anyone he brushed shoulders with! His students LOVED HIM, oh did they love him.

This picture was taken after my dad had taken some time off work following his diagnosis. The newspaper ran an article on him and this was the picture that was printed with it. Boy, did the students miss him!!!

It seemed like everywhere we went in town, someone would stop him and say, "Hey, Mr. H! I had you as a teacher X number of years ago!" And my dad always remembered them. If he didn't remember their names, he remembered some little detail about their lives.

My dad's job was not always easy. I know he had hard days. He would say to me, "ASH, sometimes you just have to show up and let God do the rest!" I still live by that principle today.

My Dad's Legacy, Part 1

Two years ago this Sunday, my dad breathed his last breath on this earth. I realize some of you may tire of hearing me talk about my dad. Really, these posts are more for me than anyone. I have found that there is no better way for me to heal than to write about him and reflect over his life and the impact he had on me.

My dad was always quick to praise those he loved. Have you heard the advice, "For every correction you give a child, praise him 10 times"? My daddy lived that out. I hardly remember him ever speaking a harsh word to me. He told me a thousand times that he was proud of me. His last words to me, other than "I love you," were "ASH, you've been a good daughter." I don't know about the truth behind that, but I do know that he was one incredible dad to me! One of the things he always expressed to me was that he loved my writing. Well, in the year of my dad's illness, I learned something new about him...he was a great writer too! Just 11 days before his heaven-going, my dad wrote these words on his Caringbridge site:

"It is hard not to marvel at the Apostle Paul and his response to hardships. His physical afflictions would be enough to make most of us buckle. Add in the desertions from trusted brothers and sisters in Christ and it would appear to be overwhelming. He never appeared to waver. 1 Thessalonians 3:7 sums up this wonderful perspective he operated from. 'Therefore, brothers, in all our distress and persecution we were encouraged about you because of your faith.' Instead of being drug down by his own trials and almost constant opposition of some kind, he was able to focus on the growing faith of others and that not only diminished his setbacks, but created a great amount of rejoicing for him. Lord Jesus, for those of us living 2,000 years after the Apostle Paul, but still subject to no fewer difficulties, would you give us that perspective that brings joy and contentedness in the thick of our own distresses and persecutions, wherever they may be coming from. Thank you!"

It is amazing to me to read those words, knowing that his prayer even days before his death was for perseverance in Christ. My dad loved Jesus, so much so that he died in peace and at rest with his Savior forever.

Over the next few days, I'm going to share with you some of the things I loved the most about my dad:
1. One of the things I loved most about my dad was that he was devoted to me. I was totally a daddy's girl. The year he suffered from cancer, I quit school and moved back home. Some of my favorite memories from that year are of dates with my dad. I'll never forget the very last date we shared. He was in so much pain, but he did his best to hide it. He wanted so much to be strong for me. We went to an old cemetery and parked there in the parking lot, waiting probably half an hour for him to gain his strength so that we could go for a long bike ride. While we sat there, I just talked...and he listened. As he always did. I talked about my future...knowing it would be without him, and wanting so desperately to get his perspective on it. To this day, I'll never forget some of the wise words he shared with me. He was in pain, but he listened.

My dad used to tell me that, when I was little and would get hurt, he would scoop me up over his shoulder. I would be so upset that I would start pounding on his back, just trying to physically express my pain in some way. He would just let me pound on him. He may have been in pain, but he loved me so well.

Two weeks before my dad died, he put on a suit coat that hung on his frail frame and took my younger sister and I to our church, where he walked us down the aisle so we could have pictures with him to display on our future wedding days. He was hurting, he was dying, but he was still more concerned about my welfare and future than he was about himself.





My daddy was so incredibly devoted to my family and I.

Today, I miss him. I've learned since he went to be with Jesus that I will always miss him...and that's okay. The missing and hurting will only make the Heavenly reunion sweeter.

Guatemala: my dad's legacy

We were rumbling down a mountain, heading toward our last night in Guatemala. The bus held many tired but content people, and I couldn't miss the Holy Spirit's quiet voice ministering to my heart as the song "Great is Thy Faithfulness" played from the speaker. As the song faded into another, I was slightly jolted from my meditation of thanksgiving. These words poured over every part of me, coupled with tingles and goose bumps:

"In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus..."

My mind raced back nearly two years, to a time when I stood next to my brother in a church, singing those very words. The refrain of my dad's life and legacy:

"Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus..."

That day in Guatemala, on the bus, I was overwhelmed by God's presence as I remembered.
Two years ago next Sunday, my daddy went to be with Jesus. As I watched the hills roll on by the window, big tears began to pour down my face because I realized something again: In all the pain I experienced throughout my dad's illness and death, in all the pain of missing him and longing to be with him again, GOD has been and IS faithful.

"When I am alone
When I am alone
When I am alone, give me Jesus"

There have been many moments since my dad left this earth that I have felt alone. I have felt the acute ache where he once resided. As I looked out that bus window, though, God gave me a glimpse of how far He has taken me since that awful day two summers ago. I realized that I never would have been sitting on that bus seat, had my daddy lived. Perhaps even more jarring a thought, I may have never known Jesus, had my daddy not made the life choices and taken the journey he did.

"Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus"

My daddy lived to know Jesus, but he died to see Jesus face to face. He was the closest glimpse I have ever had to knowing the Father. He instilled in me a love for people, a love for the lost...a love that took me to Guatemala. I wept on the bus, wishing that I could go home and sit in his lap, tell him all of my stories. It was all worth it, though. The pain of losing him, the pain of missing him, it led me to a beautiful country full of broken people. And I couldn't help but see him in my mind's eye, smiling because I was doing what he would have loved me to do, what he, on his death bed, pleaded me to do...I was loving Jesus.

My dad taught me that God can bring beauty out of pain. I think about the girl in the wheelchair, the pain she suffers every day. If I could tell her and her mama one thing, it would be that God redeems pain. He has redeemed my pain...and made beautiful things out of the dust that was once there. And He will redeem her pain too.

"When I come to die
When I come to die
When I come to die, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus."***

Those words sum up my dad's life-and-death wish. He may not have lived an extravagant life, but when he came to die, he most certainly received the ultimate fulfillment of his deepest longing. As the music on the bus came to an end, the music in my heart only began. "You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust..."


***lyrics to the song "Give Me Jesus"***

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today would have been the 62nd birthday of one of the greatest men I have ever known.

About 2 weeks before he went to be with Jesus

Today, I am thinking of how he would have loved to celebrate the day.
*He would have taken the day off.

*He would have started the morning out with a lengthy time of prayer and studying God's Word...and mostly praying, for my brothers and sisters and I, and especially for my mom.

*He would have gone on a nice long morning run...on a golf course. Bare foot. = )

*He would have taken a long nap.

*In response to questions like, "Dad, what do you want for your birthday?" He would have said, "All I want is a nice big hug from YOU!"

*He would have wanted some nice big treat to celebrate...Maybe a DQ ice cream cake, or a nice big milkshake in a mostly empty peanut butter jar.

*He would have spent the day with those he loved most.

*He would have started and ended the day with one of the gentlest, most captivating smiles you have ever seen.

Today would have been my Dad's 62nd birthday. I am missing him today, and hoping that God gives him an extra scoop of ice cream and most of the things from the list above.

I love you, Dad! Happy almost 2-year Heaven birthday!

Love,

The Day the World Stopped

My Daddy and I two weeks before He saw Jesus

To be honest, I don't really remember the day I found out my beloved grandmother was dying. Brutal honesty? I had wondered when it would happen for quite some time. Gruesome, I know, but she was pushing 97...and she was oh-so-ready to leave this earth. July 2009. Pancreatic cancer, the devil of all cancers, claimed her earthly body less than a week after she was diagnosed.

Two months later, my dad was diagnosed with the same devil. I do remember that day; I remember like it was yesterday. I remember the terrifying anticipation, knowing that tests were being performed and suspicions had been raised. I remember the tears I wept, against my stubborn will to maintain all composure, as I sat in class waiting for my mom to call with the results. I remember the annoying sympathy, the he'll-be-okay looks and the i-have-no-idea-what-to-do-with-you hugs. All the while, I just wanted to scream, "You have no stinkin' idea the kind of abyss my world is slipping into!"

Then the call came. It was weird. As the words, words I already knew and had rehearsed in my head, came out of my Mom's mouth, an eerie peace sank over me. Resolution gained control over out-of-control emotions. I had to go home, to face the beast head-on. I had to save my Dad, because I knew he was dying.

Ten incredibly short--and yet, brutally long--months later, my Daddy went to be with Jesus. My world stopped. I didn't know how to live, how to have passion and dreams again. I just got out of bed and did meaningless things, watched meaningless movies, said meaningless words. All the while, I wondered why the rest of the world kept going. Didn't everyone else see what had just happened?!? The greatest man I ever knew had left the world, and people were still laughing, still going to the grocery, still saying and doing the wrong things while neglecting the right things.

Sometimes I forget that feeling. Sometimes I forget what it is like to have your world crash while everyone else seems to be living on a bed of roses {even if they are fake}. Today I remembered. Today I remembered, because today I read THIS. A sweet little girl, living on the other side of the country, found out that her respite from a silent evil that had taken root in her head was over. The devil has returned, and although she must cling to hope because sometimes hope is all one has, the odds are not in her favor. Today I remember that feeling...while she and her family are FEELING that feeling. I am sad for them.

While I am sad, I also can't help but wonder if we have it all wrong. You know, we dread death, avoid it like the plague...sometimes avoiding the plague itself with research and drugs and body-disfiguring surgeries. I just wonder, if we saw eternity through God's eyes, would we be working so hard? Probably not, but right now we don't have God's eyes. So tonight I am pleading for God to give this little girl His eyes, or to heal her physical body so that her Mommy and Daddy can blossom under her love a little bit longer...or to do both. All the while, I long to remember that there is always someone around me whose heart has been smashed...could I be the one to take him or her to the Comforter, the Heart-Healer?

The Mingling of Life and Death: The Day My Daddy Went to Heaven

My dad and I shortly before His Heaven birthday

I rarely write or talk about the day my dad died. I try not to even think about it very much. There is a song, though, that plays on the radio every once in a while...and reminds me of that day.


I have not yet had the experience of birthing a child. I can only imagine that it is an incredibly spiritual experience...to take part in bringing life into the world, what a privilege! Even so, the pain cannot be bypassed.

The day my Daddy died, I thought of the painful process of childbirth. Just as a baby slowly lets go of his home in the womb, my Dad was slowly letting go of his home on earth. It was painful. It was heartbreaking. But the presence of God in that room was almost tangible. My Dad spent a lifetime walking with Jesus and praying, "Be still, my soul...He is." For the first time, as he was painfully birthed into the realm of Heaven, he was face to face with the One who was, is, and is to come. His soul was quiet.

As I sat by his side that day, reading aloud scriptures from Revelation describing the new creation, tears trickled down his cheeks. He had been unconscious for many hours by that time, unresponsive to our voices whispering "I love yous" in his ear. I don't know if those tears were merely another sign of failed control over bodily functions, or were truly in response to what I was reading. Either way, we sat and cried together for the last time. My Daddy was literally hours away from experiencing the glory of the new creation. I could almost HEAR the world fading away and the soft whisper of Heaven calling as my Dad was ushered into the presence of Jesus, leaving only the shell of his body for those of us who loved him so much.

Thinking about that day hurts. I don't like to dwell on it, mostly because, at the end of the day, I sat on that bed without a dad. But the experience of watching life mingle with death, of FEELING the world fade away as the presence of God consumes a place and takes one of His own HOME...there really is no way to explain or describe it. At the beginning of that week, LH was a husband, a father, a friend, a brother. As his physical body faded, and as he painfully breathed his last breath in the womb of this earth, he was birthed into Heaven...where he was simply HIS.

Life out of death...Be still, my soul...be still. He is.

Ladies and Gents...

We have snow = )

Every time it snows, I think of my dad. A couple of years ago, we had a massive snowstorm in my hometown...the largest in probably a couple of decades. The schools ended up being closed for a week as they tried to clear the roads enough for us country bumpkins to make our way to school.

Well, if you knew my dad, the story I am about to tell you would not surprise you at all...

As the snow "flood" began, my daddy eagerly asked me if I would go on a walk--no, a 4 mile trek--in the elements with him. I was either crazy or overly gullible to the boyish grin on his face. We bundled up and set out, hoisting our legs through the deep mounds of snow. We went in a square, or four "country blocks" as my dad called the longer-than-normal miles we traversed. The third mile was on a usually busy highway, now completely dead due to the road closures. The snow blanket produced a quiet I had never before and have never since experienced, interrupted only by our heavy breathing. As we finally trudged our way back down the driveway, some hour later, our cheeks and noses were pink and our mouths were stretched across our faces in the goofiest of smiles. Hiking in snow when the streets are dead (driving was forbidden by emergency crews) and all human life is securely locked and cozy in dry homes has that kind of effect on you = ) We may have been crazy, but that snowy trek is one of my most treasured memories of that man.

Oh, how he loved snow.