Meet "Jeppy"

I thought today would be a nice day to introduce Jeppy. I blogged a couple weeks back about a friend sending us a gift card to Build-A-Bear. For those of you who have never heard of this place, it is a store where you build a stuffed animal. When you walk in there are bins along the right wall with empty animal fur (like a stuffed animal without the stuffing- not like trapped fox furs or something). Above each bin is a prototype so you can see what your animal would look like should you choose to “build” it.

We walked along the examples and felt each one deciding if that would be a good bear to remember Jonan. In less than a minute I realized this was more sacred of an event that I had anticipated. We were not just going to choose any bear, we both had to agree on it and it had to be perfect.  Did we want stitched eyes or the plastic eyes? A white bear, tan bear, brown bear, or black bear? Fur…long or short? So many decisions. The easiest one was not to choose the Cubs bear J As in Chicago Cubs…Jeff and I never may never agree on that one. (Go Cardinals!)

We chose a soft, cuddly, tan bear with plastic eyes and a sweet smile. The sweetest part was that this bear had paw prints stitched into the bottom of his feet. It reminded us of our tender picture of Jonan that we share is of his precious feet. This was our bear to remember Jonan. 

 After choosing our bear shell we waited in line where an employee sits ready to stuff your bear as cuddly as you would like.  We wanted him firm but still soft. Before filling him up we gave her the little device with Jonan’s heartbeat recorded in it. She put it down in his foot so anytime we squeeze it we will hear his heartbeat.  Most kids love watching their bear be stuffed; they hand the bear over and trust the process. I, however, wanted to take this bear out of her hands and do it myself. I felt like an overbearing mama bear ready to rip the stuffing out of someone who messed with my baby bear. Strange, I know.

At this point in the process I was already so attached to this bear that when I walked away to put something back, I made sure Jeff would stay there with it until he was done being stuffed. We couldn’t leave him alone. It was SO much more emotional that I had anticipated! Sacrosanct. There were not tears, but there was intensity. The bear-stuffing employee handed us back our full bear already sewn up, and he was warm from the stuffing. Very cuddly.

 

The next step for this overbearing mama bear was to choose him clothes. This part flirted with the line of just too much for me. As you may envision, stuffed animal clothes are about the size of newborn clothes. They are all over the store on those little plastic hangars and so are the shoes. I am living the feeling I had then as I type.  Kimberly, this is a kids’ store with stuffed animals. You are fine. I forced some deep breaths and continued the fun search.  We kept circling back to this outfit that looked like something Jeff would wear. It was a cool button-up shirt with dark jeans. There was also a scarf that matches a fedora hat I gave Jeff for Christmas. This bear would look like he was Jeff’s boy for sure. Continuing on we found black chuck taylors, a guitar, and aviator glasses (exactly like some Jeff has). No kidding, I was buzzing that we found all this.

We sat down at the computer to register him so we could get a “birth certificate”. All the kids do this I guess. So we thought our bear should have the same. It was Valentine’s Day, so that was his birthday. In the "this bear belongs to" section we put our son's. And we named him Jeppy after his remembrance: Jonan Eilam Pelletier (JEP).  We stepped up to the counter where our certificate had printed. We paid the cashier and were about to leave the store when we stopped. We just needed to dress him right then.

We found at an empty register and carefully pulled everything out of our box. The store which had seemed noisy with kids and a giant stuffing-machine just minutes earlier seemed to still and quiet around us.  Jeff and I dressed Jeppy.  This may sound odd, but it was a very tender moment for us. We carefully put in one leg, then the other, pulling his little nubby tail through the hole in the butt of his jeans (so cute). We placed his arms through his shirt one by one, and each put on a shoe. I put the scarf around his neck. Then the guitar and sunglasses. Jeppy is not Jonan, but somehow it felt like we were supposed to be dressing someone this size right now. Jonan, I miss you sweetheart.

I was in awe of his hip resemblance to his “daddy” and Jeff seemed to just enjoy knowing he, himself, was just that hip.  We smiled, gave him a little kiss, and walked out the door.

This time we carried something home with us when we left.  I have wondered until this very moment why that walk to the car was so difficult. Why was creating this bear with Jeff and taking him home creating in me the same feeling I have so many other times when I miss Jonan? Why that feeling of my heart falling out of my chest? Without realizing it, I think my first sentence in this paragraph may have answered this question: This time we carried something home with us when we left.

And once again I am thankful to the Lord for caring for my heart in this small way. Jeff has also said that it would be great to purchase the highland outfit for this bear (the Scottish kilt – they sell it online for these bears) so that our children in the future can dress Jeppy in it at Christmas time. It would be a fun way to remember Jonan, and an easy way for our children to connect with him.

There is nothing magical or mystical about Jeppy and he obviously does not fill the emptiness we feel. But the truth is that matter matters and affects our lives. This time, it was nice to carry something home when we left.

A lifetime and the blink of an eye

Today is Jonan’s one month “birthday”. How can it feel like both a lifetime ago and yet a blink of an eye?  I looked over his pictures today. I zoomed in on him, wishing I had taken so many more. Wishing I had thought to see where they cut his cord.  Wishing I had inspected more of my sweet little Jonan. I just don’t want to forget. When I  think about him for any length of time I still can’t believe this is our life. That we lost our son. Still, I think things like this happen to other people. I find myself hanging onto every cold day, thankful that winter 2011 has not moved on yet. I am still not quite ready.

So, happy one-month birthday my sweet baby. I miss you so much. It still seems strange that you are not here with us. Daddy and I spend time crying over you, and yet we also think already about your brothers and sisters. It’s strange. I want so much to know that you know that Mommy loves you. I will think about you until I see you again. It’s hard to believe we only said goodbye one month ago. I read today that the youngest baby to ever be born and live was a week and a half younger than you! It just got me missing you; but I was really happy for that momma who has her baby with her.

I continue to place my heart and hopes on the One who holds you now. I am sure you are not as disappointed as I am at your new Home. I feel like the Scriptures are different to me because we had you for a short time with us. Like Father Kevin said at your funeral service “Jeff and Kimberly, your wedding day made you a couple, but Jonan made you a marriage.” That may be difficult to explain, but your gift to our marriage is just being explored. You may never know the trying road your daddy and I have walked in these last few years, though as you became a man we may have shared them with you, but I want to say that Father Kevin’s words were true and yet also prophetic. The gift of your life continues to work in us in ways unseen.

 You have lived into your name already more than most do in their lifetime. You may know this, I don’t know how all the heaven stuff works, but your name means “God is a gracious giver”. We really felt we should give you this name. I never, ever dreamed I would be the one on the other end of giver…to be the receiver because of your life…and death. I am almost certain I will have no other experience as humbling. And, Jonan, I am not the only one. So many have been blessed by your life. I wish deeply you could be in my arms now, I want to kiss your face and hear you cry. But I am not the One in charge, so I trust you to Him. 

All my love,

Mommy

[Exhort]- an example

I want to tell you all what happened to me today. 

I got home from work around 1:30 and eagerly picked up the mail first thing, as usual. I love opening the mail. There were 3 envelopes. I opened up the first envelope...a library fine…a big library fine. I accidentally left a book on a plane ride over Christmas and now have to pay up. Ah, well.  Then another envelope. It was from the Wheaton Cemetery...it was a Cemetery Deed for Jonan's burial plot.  I have never had a deed to a burial plot before. I read the deed; I ran my fingers over the "official seal". It was as if the finality of Jonan's death was sealed within that envelope.

I began to weep.  

After a few moments later I opened the third and last envelope. It was a card from the Residence Life staff I worked with last year, all the RAs who are about to graduate from college. It had a card with kind words and a generous cash offering, particularly for college students. We received many cards for weeks, but it has been a while since we have received another. I could not believe the timing of this gift of thought and resources. The reminder of loss, then the reminder of love and support. The Lord has not let me go "unheld" by His arms moment by moment. This experience today reminded me so much of what I just wrote last night. About exhorting one another daily that we are not hardened in our hearts. I was so encouraged today by this act of love and sacrifice.

[Exhort]

Jeff and I sat down last night to read this devotional book we were sent by a mentor while losing Jonan, it is called Hope. It is a one year devotional about finding hope during painful times. The woman who wrote it has 2 babies in the grave (both about 6 months old at the time of death, due to a rare syndrome); she had the first baby and a year and half later, the second. She is not writing all about losing children. She is writing to those who have pain. Most of us. She says it is useless to compare pain, “It all just hurts” she says. Very true, and well said.

Our particular reading last night was about guarding our hearts. When hearts are broken, they are vulnerable. In that place we can easily be tempted toward hardening these broken hearts so they don’t break again. Harding something is one way to strengthen it, but when it comes to our hearts…that will never lead to healing or hope. We read a lot of Scripture and from her book, then we each shared which parts were striking us. For me it was the Scripture from Hebrews 3:13

“Exhort [or encourage] one another every day, as long as it is called ‘today’,

that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness.”

I have heard and read this many times before. But last night it caught my heart different. Often time before I have considered this to be about keeping someone out of a willful sin. For example, let me encourage my friend who wants to talk about his coworker behind her back. Let me exhort him to talk to her directly and not tell others about his issue and cause strife and discord in their workspace, and potentially hurt his coworker. Now, I do think that this verse can be read like this. It makes perfect sense and seems straightforward enough. It is easy for us to deceive ourselves that our motives are pure, when they are not; that our actions are just fine when really are hurtful to someone; that one more drink won’t make any difference. And in these cases we do need someone to encourage us because we can easily deceive ourselves.

The longer I live the more I realize how vulnerable we are to deceit. How easily sin can creep into our lives and fester. And how important it is to have people who love us enough to speak this to us when they see it. But what about when pain just smashes your world, or maybe slowly sets up camp one tent stake at a time? What happens to us when we go through pain and we are all alone? When the world has just given us one too many bad days. When we resign to a dark way of seeing life.

We all know those people, whether personally or just in passing at the grocery store. Those people who just as soon spit on you than smile at you. A week ago just such a man rang our doorbell. He was delivering a package to our neighbor and couldn’t find her apartment door. To be kind, we will say he was persnickety. The present challenge he was facing was about a 2 and he was giving it the energy of a 9. Tone it down a bit fella, it’s gonna be alright. Jeff and I talked about this man later as we encountered another such person on the roadways. Jeff noting again this earlier gentleman’s annoying and unkind tone. And something came out of my mouth that actually surprised me. I was feeling tender at the moment and I said “You know, Jeff, maybe he has been through just one too many times…. like we are walking through now… but didn’t have the people around him to love him like we do around us. I just can’t imagine.”

As we were reading the Scripture verse from Hebrews last night I realized that we have been recipient of such “exhortation”, of such great “encouragement”. I can honestly say it has been the love of so many in this time and many of those who have pointed my eyes again and again toward Christ that have kept me from hardening. Yes, I am still struggling with anger…but like I posted the other day it doesn’t mean we have a small God, just a broken world.  And I am not hardening my heart, I am simply grieving. These are different. How important it is to encourage one another daily, so that we are not hardened. How many of us has have desired this encouragement at times…for someone to have a word that would be a balm to our hearts? Maybe not a perfect word, but a word that points us toward Hope, that keeps us from hardening inside.  How many times has it not been there?

Jeff and I have been exhorted through meals, cards, emails, prayers, flowers, money, tears, and other ways of serving us that has all said to us “You are not alone, do not harden your hearts, there is yet Hope.” I am so thankful to be part of the Body of Christ who are holding out Hope for us. Who are obeying words of Scripture like this to encourage those who are weak. Who are reminding us through kindness and words that we do not grieve as those without hope.  Tonight I am praying I can will become such a person. One who will not just pain or measure it against mine, but simply exhort another, holding out truth and hope. What a difference it makes. 

Not Efficient

I love efficiency. I am the person who will drive a new way to find out shorter routes to get to a familiar destination; and the one who actually gets physically uncomfortable when I am with someone I don’t know well enough to tell them to go my shortest route…and they take the long way (adding that extra 90 seconds). I am the person who will see how many people are at a stoplight in each lane, then strategically put myself in the lane with fewest vehicles.  If there are an equal number of vehicles, I will size up each vehicle, sometimes the driver, and be sure to get behind the one I bet will move fastest when that light turns green.  I plan my errands according to which side of the road my stops are on, stopping only on the right side of the street as to avoid crossing over traffic back and forth, which is clearly a waste of time and energy.

And this desire for efficiency does not stop at my travel habits. I have, embarrassingly, purchased many different exercise gadgets that promise quick results.  In the 80’s I owned “Get In Shape, Girl” complete with dancing ribbon, leg warmers, and leotard. In the 90’s it was the Thighmaster and then the Healthrider.  Turn of the millennium brought me Pilates and yoga DVDs.  And, yes, for all the public to see, now I have an Ab Circle Pro.  

Truth be told, all of them work.  For those of you who know me well, it has never been hard work I have been afraid of…it is wasting my time that I truly despise.   Efficiency can make my days feel productive and well-lived. And it is not all bad. To have higher efficiency homes saves us money and pollution; to have efficient postal service moves our communication along; and efficient companies provide us with products for our everyday life. Not all areas of life, however, are efficient. The most poignant to me right now?

Grief.

Grief is not efficient. There are no shortcuts through it. No ways around it. And worst of all, no way of knowing what is coming next. Ugh. Even the stages of grief, which have been well-documented and studied, are still not linear.  The denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, acceptance. They come and go at different times and can appear out of nowhere. That is SO not efficient.

Efficiency: the ability to accomplish a job with the minimum expenditure of time and effort.

Grief is not efficient.

I have been struggling this week. I had a lot of joy and peace for weeks, and woke up one day to anger and sadness. I think each part of it has been real. But truthfully, it is easier for others if I have the joy and peace part. People know how to talk to me then. They can ask questions and have the occasional laugh with me. And I think the joy and peace part was easier for me as well. It made me feel like I really trusted God in all this. It helped me feel the prayers of others. It helped me see God.  The anger and sadness part…not so much. 

The anger and sadness are not as easy for others. I don’t feel like laughing. I cry when I see children in general, and pregnant women. I cry through every song at church. I close my eyes and envision myself breaking windows to help with my anger (it works, actually).  It has also been difficult on me, this anger and sadness part. It makes me wonder where my faith has gone to. It makes me feel like I was lying to myself before. I question myself maybe more than I question God. I know in my head this is all supposed to be “normal”, but living it out makes me feel anything but.

I just finished another book (reading has been a balm for me).  It is called “I Will Carry You” by Angie Smith. It is a beautiful book about her own infant loss. A very sad story, but wrought with faith and grief and the dance therein. She laid her baby girl in the ground 4 years ago this spring.  It has given me words of comfort today.

Something so important she goes into writing is something I have thought about recently.  How difficult it is as time passes for the grief to not be acknowledged. To see people that do not know what to say, so they say nothing. I have had women say they know how difficult it is to lose a “pregnancy”.  And, please know, I understand their desire to comfort me; and I am truly sorry for their loss. This unfortunately just doesn’t work. Yes, I do miss the daily miracle of being pregnant. It is near alien-like for another being to be growing inside your own body. I loved it immensely. There were pains and pukings, but I loved it. But Jonan Eilam was not just a “pregnancy”. He was my son. I literally held him in my arms. I kissed him. I talked to him. I felt him move. He was real.  I do miss being pregnant, but more, I miss Jonan.  I am grieving the loss of his life, and the life he could have had. I am grieving the loss of a one-year old, a seven year-old, a college kid.  Every age I see children I realize I will not see Jonan at any of those stages in life…and I miss him. For any of you who know a mother or father who have lost a baby and you know the gender, say it. Say you are sorry for the loss of their daughter or their son. It means so much. Say their name if you know it. It gives weight to the life and to the loss.

And another thing I have realized is that I want to talk about him. I know I can initiate these conversations, and I do at times. But I also like to be asked about him. We had friends over just last weekend and they asked us about him. About holding him. About what he looked like and how the labor and delivery was. Yep, we all cried at one point or another during our conversation. But that was okay. After all, it is sad.  But we all know that, and to acknowledge that he lived and he has a story is so healing.  I have read in a few books how infant deaths and stillbirths were dealt with, as recently as 30 years ago, in our medical system. I have read stories of mothers’ who never saw their baby because the doctor said it would be better if they just didn’t hold a dead baby. Just go home and “forget about it”…”move on.”  These stories make me hurt deeply for these women. And I am not just reading a historical account, but accounts from the mothers who were never able to grieve or discuss it because it was taboo in our culture at the time. Our society still does not do a good job with grieving and loss overall, but I am so glad for where we have come, and that I am going through this now and not then.

What a gift those friends gave us last weekend. (Thank you, I know you read this.)

I do not know how long this journey will take, or which road of least efficiency I will have to walk down. But I rest assured, it will be very inefficient. I will admit, I think sometimes about others judging my grief process, how long it will or will not take me to get through this. Psychologists observe it generally takes a year. I am beginning to understand.   And I am gaining strength from those who have lost and grieved before. 

Like in the C.S. Lewis play I saw just last night “Shadowlands” recounting the loss of his wife “The pain now is part of the happiness then. That’s the deal.” I wish we had more time with Jonan, but even a short time of happiness has left us with pain now. But this pain only reminds me of how real he is, and how much I love him.

“To hurt so deeply is a sign we live in a fallen world. Not that we serve a small God” (from I Will Carry You). Wow, profound and strengthening words. Perhaps this has been the most comforting thing I have read. My anger reminds me that things are just not the way they are supposed to be here on earth. It keeps me from pursuing earthly happiness as if it is all I’ve got. God has made me for something more. My anger is a sign I live in a fallen world where things are not as they should be. But my anger is not a sign that I serve a small God. 

Home sick

Being home sick today has helped my soul stop and feel all that my active body hasn’t allowed as of late:

·        I am still sorrowful

·        I still miss Jonan

·        I still wish things were different

·        I want my baby boy back

I have never been good with the unknown. With places of tension. They generally mean I have less control than I would like. And in this place of finding more sadness, there I also feel confused…my life is going on, and I do have hopeful thoughts toward the future, yet I am sorrowful over my Jonan. I am sad I could not look into his eyes and see his tiny soul gazing back at his momma. I am sad, and I have no hope of this tension leaving me: of feeling new life arise and yet missing life that would’ve been.

Most people who have lost someone dear to them say “you will always miss him.” Oh, my soul. What does this mean? How can I live with that answer? At worst this feels tortuous, at best I feel sane. But what I want to hear is that all things will return to normal. But they won’t. It will be the “new” normal, I am told. Yet this is not what I want. Yes, life will go on, and yes, new life will come. But Jonan is gone.

Buried.

Every new week reminds me of how much further I would be carrying him. Or, if he had been born alive, how old he would be.

With other griefs I have experienced it has been different than this grief, this loss. The pain I have faced in my life, and some very deep, has been because of the sin others have chosen against me, or the wayward sin of my own soul. And though these have been difficult places to tread, I always came around to the promises of God in Scripture. Truths about God’s faithfulness, forgiveness, restoration, hope, redemption. Many of these places in my heart have been healed, though some still await deeper redemption. These truths have offered me promises of new life and certain hope.

But grief over loss is different.

No matter how many verses I read, or how much I pray, or how much I worship God for who He is, or how hard I try to follow God’s ways…Jonan is still gone and he is not coming back to me.  I never did these things in order to heal Jonan or bring him back. I really didn’t. I have walked this road as best I could out of obedience to God and love for Him. But I am feeling something in my continued sorrow, perhaps how loss has a way of purifying us.

I am a big fan of 2+2=4 theology. It is not correct theology, but it sure would make things easier to understand on earth. This equation would be that when I serve God (2) and hold onto His promises (+2), that I will have the life I am thinking He wants for me (=4).  Easy, right?  Now, I already said this is incorrect theology, and I have way oversimplified it, plus it sounds like nothing more than Christian Karma (karma is a graceless system of getting only what one deserves). But are remnants of these black and white ideas, after all the adversity of life I have faced, still lurking in me? Or better yet…”God, haven’t I grasped enough that this isn’t the way You work that now you can bless me because I know it is better to know You than to have all my plan work out as I want them to?”  Ha! I deceive even myself with such thoughts. These are the subtle ways it creeps in for me…how about you? 

Really, how does it creep into our minds? How do we keep loving God as the center of our life and keep Him from being, even if only a little bit, the great Mathematician in the sky? How do we hold the tension that He is good and wants to give good gifts to His children and yet will allow His very own son to die a brutal death? That He is good and yet will allow us to bury our own children, lose our jobs, homes, marriages, friends? Some of these tragedies are brought on by our sin, or the sin of others (and therefore a bit more explainable to our frail minds), and yet some are just plain tragedies. But how do we hold these in tension?  Lord, teach us how to walk with you.

I know the theological and eschatological realities that we are in the “already but not yet”. Redemption has come through Christ and is set in motion by God already. We see this in glimpses through the church serving the underprivileged, through the drunk made sober, through restored relationships, through new trees planted as we take care of God’s earth. We can see glimpses of redemption. But we also feel the “not yet”. We feel the brokenness of our world in the devastation of cancer, adultery, hate crimes, poverty and hunger, pollution, and the unkind things that come out of our own mouths. We know the sin. We feel the tension.

What I am struggling with today is how to live with it.  How to feel the loss of Jonan’s presence yet hope for all that life has to offer, because I do both. How to know God is good and will give me good things, but to know I live in broken world and have no certainties of my plans working out as I see fit (a job for my husband, future pregnancies, a growing family, healed relationships).  How do we continue to do all we need to do as good stewards yet put our trust fully in the Lord? How do we be full of hope and not fatalistic in light of such brokenness all around? Yet how could we be only fatalistic and not full of hope in light of God who is actively redeeming life all around us, and within us?

Tension.

Likely I am sick today because I have been around a lot of sick people and the weather is all crazy here in Chicago which tends to mess with my sinuses. But my effort to create my 2+2 life in the last weeks has also helped speed the process. Stress runs amok on the immune system, we are told. I have gone from weeping over our loss, to feeling like I should be only hopeful…and it is not working. I am not living with the tension that is so real in my soul. The tension I wrote of just days ago when I said I wore a black dress yet a lively scarf to Jonan’s funeral…to match the both/and experience in my soul…the sorrow/joy.  How quickly I forget.

Loss has a way of purifying us.  It strips us down to a place that, hopefully, reveals what is really left.   And apparently this process is not a one-time thing…I think I am in it for a while. I am here tonight seeing that God is still God, but the world is still broken. I will hope for a future family, I will pray for a job for Jeff…yet “In repentance and rest is [my] salvation, in quietness and trust is [my] strength” Isaiah 30:15.

Mysteries of life and faith.

2+2≠4

God was there

(What a journey this has been. Today I find myself tired. I am back to working my regular hours now, back to all the household responsibilities. Paying the bills, doing the laundry, the dishes, etc. You all know this routine.  Just back to life. All the while, God stirs inside me so deeply, and I can truly say doing something new and tender. But tonight I still find myself tired. I have been humbled by the numbers of you reading this blog and following this with me. I am considering where this blog goes from here. This writing, though so vulnerable, has been life-giving to me. Thank you for helping me create this space. I am going to spend the next days deciding how often I will write publicly. In the last month alone I have written over 23,000 words on this blog. I am really enjoying this writing and have had tremendous encouragement in it. Please stay tuned if you would like. It is a great honor.  

What follows is an emotional outpouring as I considered God’s love while listening to some worship music by Gungor, the group who sung “Jonan’s” songs, as I call them.  Feel free to listen to this beautiful song about God’s love and pursuit of us before or after reading the rest of this post. I pray it blesses you deeply. With love, Kimberly)

So I guess the purpose of life isn’t that we slide last minute into Christ’s arm as we pray a prayer of faith on our deathbed. Though He would certainly accept us even then. Nor is it to come to Him early so we can avoid all suffering. Though many seem to think their prayers will gain this for them. But, rather, maybe it is to walk with Him closely, all the days we can. Learning the bits we can gain from what He has chosen to reveal to us through the natural world and through Scripture.  Allowing Him to bring us plentiful redemption in our suffering.  To turn to Him… as He has pursued us first. To see that no matter when we turn to Him and finally offer our hearts in surrender to follow Him for our lives, it is always with the reality that late have we come to love Him. For He has pursued us through torrents of pain, he was there when we cried alone, when we were avoiding Him with great resolve.  He has chased us down streets of pride and deceit. Through alleyways of arrogance, and through that awful valley of death. He has whispered to us through the lies that confuse our thoughts;  he has sat in stillness with us even when we have ignored Him. 

He was there when I crumbled on the floor in tears. He was there when it was snowing. He was there when I found out. He was there as Jonan Eilam was born on earth. He was the One who welcomed him into heaven. He was in that ultrasound room. He gave me my Jonan pin. He has sent me myriads of cards. He has been the generosity of the church. He has been in Kevin and Karen Miller. He has been in my doctor who has been so kind. He was in nurse Nikki at my beside. He worked through Beverly’s servant hands. He was with us when we threw the dirt.  He prompted every prayer. He caused worship to well up in my heart.  

My greatest prayer is that the depth of Christ’s love be felt in everyone who has journeyed this with me. Why you have loved me and Jonan I just don’t comprehend. But I, too, know now what it is to love deeply and not fully understand why.  May you know Christ. Jesus the Christ. Not some idea of a god who exists somewhere out there. But the God who came to live and die as one of us, so He could bring redemption to all the reasons that made you cry as you read these blog posts… for my pain, but also for your own in the tender areas of your own heart. May you know His crazy pursuit of your heart in all the times you have wondered: “What is that stirring in me?” It is God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. 

May all the preconceptions of God we have be broken and may the One who created reality itself form in us a picture of a Himself that is beyond our wildest imagination, but not formed by our imagination.  May this God fill us with all we need to know His love, one day at a time…in our daily routines, the stillness we seek and stillness we run from, in our struggles in marriage, parenting, singleness, careers, finances, homes…in our struggles of intellect, physicality, and soul.  When we do great things for others, and when we need to be saved from ourselves.

May you find Him there, loving you.

After all this, it is His breath I breathe, His life that carries me. Because He died, I can live. And, oh, how difficult to give up a son for a greater purpose.  “Yet not my will, Father, but Yours be done.” 

On grief and celebration

In a post entitle “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver Life” I wrote about waking this morning of the funeral service and having a sense of the Lord speaking to my heart…it was time “begin letting go”. This word to my soul was the fuel I needed to get out of bed and move forward into another strange day in our life.  We got out of bed and put on our clothes we had chosen the night before. I wore a black dress, for the mourning I felt; I also wore a bright teal scarf to represent the celebration of all God was doing. I flipped back and forth about this clothing choice the previous days. “Should I even wear black?  Is that too morbid…I am supposed to be comforted by the fact he is in heaven, right?” And as usual I also had the warring other half of my brain questioning “Should I even wear a bright color? This is horrible, our son is dead. We have to put him in the ground. Will people think I am nuts wearing celebratory colors?”  What I came to was that: no one will probably think about my clothes as much as I do; the world doesn’t revolve around me; I want to wear a black dress with a lively scarf to match my soul. Get on with it, Kimberly. (Sometimes I just get too caught up J).

One weird thing from the sleepless night behind was our new humidifier. It was making these sporadic clinking noises; sometimes it sounded like tapping or the wind blowing a branch up against the window. I was not quite used to it yet. As my mind and body attempted rest I would get into those zoned-type states, where you are not quite sleeping and not quite awake and where your mind creates wild associations between dreams and reality.  During one of these zoned times, which was essentially all night long, the humidifier started its tapping noise. I was startled by it and was certain Jonan was tapping at the window to let him in. I was fearing he would die in the cold outside if I didn’t let him in.  I don’t know what to make of these moments. When morning light comes I generally gain my clear thinking and am set straight from whatever oddities danced around my brain waves the night before.

As was becoming the custom, Kevin and Karen Miller came to pick us up. We carried our bag of all the great things we had put together for the service and got into their car. My mind was reeling.  We pulled up to the church and saw the hearse (again…breathe).  We walked in and there was my dad waiting with a big hug. People were already in full motion practicing the music and setting things up. The programs looked beautiful.  At another location there were also people (I don’t even know who) setting up for the luncheon, people who had coordinated food, and just generally doing all sorts of really amazing things for us. Once again, God was answering prayers I hadn’t yet prayed and taking care of our needs.

The funeral director met us and showed us Jonan’s casket…this time he was in there.  The hospital had given us a hand-knitted small blanket for such tragic occasions, made by a local church. We had Jonan wrapped in this blanket for his burial. We also had a wooden cross necklace from the church placed in his casket as well. It was the same type we received when we became members. He was, after all, part of the Body of Christ. And upon further reflection, I realized Jonan had partaken of the Eucharist every week with me since his conception.  That was a really beautiful thought for me. 

Jeff and I sat hidden in a side room as the church filled with people here to grieve and celebrate with us.  I peeked out the small window into the foyer…”there are so many people…Oh, Lord…you are amazing.” To be very transparent, there were times when I wondered if we were crazy to have a service for someone most people had never met, for someone who had never taken a breath of air…why are we doing this? Throughout these thoughts I came to think that maybe my questioning showed the product of my culture that I really am.  That life really isn’t that important until you have things to show for it, like accomplishments and enough time alive to show your importance. Yet over and over again the fact that Jonan was a real person with his own calling to fulfill on this earth solidified in my soul.  The fact that others were grieving his loss as well has continually struck me. There was something so precious about honoring the fact that his life mattered.  He counted. We did not have a funeral service in order to make a statement by any means, it was simply for us to grieve and honor his life.  But I will say the entire process marked me significantly and made a statement to me. Terms like “the sanctity of life” and the “power of the powerless” came alive through Jonan’s death. Such an odd paradox.  What a true and privileged honor it was to be there with so many that morning to honor the life of a small boy who changed ours. It all mattered.

The clergy that would lead the service came into our side room to pray with us.  We all needed this strength. Jeff was to be the pall-bearer for Jonan. It was daddy’s turn to carry him, and what lonely steps I know those were for him.  To carry his son’s body into and out of the church, and to his grave site to place him in the ground. He certainly needed our prayers. My dear friend Beth had made a small quilt and embroidered on it Jonan’s initials. We used it as the pall. I placed the pall over the casket before Jeff walked it down the isle of the church.

The service was p.o.w.e.r.f.u.l.  We had special scriptures chosen and Kevin Miller preached the homily.  He spoke about the Power of the Powerless.  A tender message wrought with so much truth. God was in our midst. Before our final songs Jeff and I stepped up to the microphone so I could introduce them.  I shared about mine and Jonan’s worship every morning and the two songs “Beautiful Things” and “The Earth is Yours” that I have blogged about previously. I shared that the day of our final ultrasound I had such joy and a sense of worship singing that last song that I had shut the blinds so I didn’t feel so self-conscious dancing around in my living room. Maybe this was the same moment Jonan was entering heaven…we will never know on this side of things. Then, I shared how we would sing the first song with a twist.  The lyrics:

“You make me new, you are making me new”

We changed to sing them present tense with Jonan:

“You’ve made me new, you have made me new”

It was a wonderful moment for me (and hopefully others) to be able to sing and think of the truth of Jonan’s life that moment. He had been made new by God, he was now whole. And even as we sang the second song, which is full of worship, we could be confident it was also present tense as we were worshipping God with Jonan and the rest of the company of Heaven. A beautiful ending to the celebration of a tragedy.

We recessed down the aisle and out to the foyer where people lined up to hug and love us.  The hugs were all so sincere and good, big hugs. It felt like I was being held up by everyone’s arms as I had been held up by their prayers for weeks. One friend gave me a “J” necklace in the line, a way to remember Jonan. We also received cards, flowers, and most of all the genuine love and grief in the eyes of so many.  All the eyes struck me.  These eyes of so many had a gentility, a deep sorrow, and sincere love to them. I once went through an exercise on a retreat where I had to give and receive a message from others only using their eyes, no words, no gestures. Only eyes.  By the end of that experience I was in tears. It was awkward and beautiful. That exercise prepared me for this receiving line. I felt I was able to see so much in everyone’s eyes.

We followed the hearse to the cemetery. It was a cold day, but thankfully not one of those negative wind-chill days Chicago can easily have in January.  As we all approached Jonan’s burial site a piper played a dirge. To use the overused word yet again…it was quite powerful. 

  

We gathered around Jonan’s vault (which the casket gets placed into for burial).  Words were spoken by Father Kevin, holy water sprinkled by Deacon Stephen, and Amazing Grace was sung to the sound of the piper. Emotional.  

We had decided, the day before at the funeral home, that we wanted the vault lowered into the ground and that we wanted to place dirt on it.  We wanted to lay him to rest, and anyone could join us if they desired. The funeral director suggested we tell everyone the point which we would be lowering him so they had the chance to leave. He let us know many people are uncomfortable with that in our culture and have been trained to not expect that at gravesites. Though, he mentioned, if it’s a younger crowd, they may not have been “trained” like this just yet. Hmm. 

We agreed for sure to allow everyone to make their own decision about their participation in this portion; I appreciated his sensitivity in reminding us of this. It did, however, interest me as I have often pondered our culture and its relation to death and grieving. Often times people will say “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Why is that (in our culture) instinctually a bad thing? If they hurt them intentionally, yeah, that was a poor choice…but I am referring here to when someone is grieving or sad. Crying is as natural as laughing.  Our body needs this and is wired for it. Why can we watch so many movies with brutality and death, yet not lower a casket into the ground because it is just too real for people. (I am not intending to be insensitive here, but I am questioning some obvious inconsistencies). I think we need to know how to grieve. I think we need permission. I think that sad music is good for the soul when there is loss and sadness. I often say, it is important to massage the soul so it can cry. Not to manipulate it, that is a different category. But to give it space and permission. Otherwise our world moves so quickly by us and our souls get lost in the confusion.  All of us a sudden we are moving again at our warp speed life, yet our souls are not with us. They are tired within us, or maybe we are just not aware that we have left them behind somewhere at all. How important it is to grieve.

I remember being in Romania over 10 years ago for about 3 months. I spend time there working with street kids and orphans and such. One day I heard a loud noise outside of the house where I was living.  There was a crowd of people walking behind a coffin. The coffin was in a vehicle opened in the back moving slow enough for people to walk behind it. Many were dressed in black and they were wailing. Weeping as they followed this car.   I stood there and watch until it was out of sight. I thought, I would never see this at home. I have never seen anything like this ever! Why so public? Why aren’t they crying behind closed doors? Just…why? I wish I could say I have done more study on the history of grief in different cultures, because I am quite interested in it…but I haven’t yet.  What I can say is that I think there is something healthy about having permission and even a roadmap of sorts as to how to mourn.  A place for tears, anger, questions, and wailing and tangible way to do each. For when we are fully present to our grief we can then, at some point, be fully present to our joy.

 I was glad I wore black that day.

Watching everyone place their hands in the dirt where Jonan’s body was laid and seeing them throw it in the hole was a healing process for me. It took a while to get through everyone, and I savored each dirty palm. All these loving hands the dirt. “From dust we came, and to dust we shall return.” It is a reality we all face.  Pretending it will never come gains me nothing, nor does dwelling on it. But I am finding that being present to my soul and the reality of all of life (and death) only allows me to live more fully, not less.

They said they had never seen so many people stay to throw dirt.

From there we went on to the luncheon. So much wonderful homemade food. We gathered around friends and family. The stories of God’s faithfulness were strung up around the room. Many shared about how Jonan had touch their life. We felt embedded in our community...we felt the church being the church. It was a time of celebration and remembering.

Jeff and I came home that day with gift, cards, flowers, plants, and a fridge of leftovers. The day was so much more healing than scary. I didn’t know how much I needed to go through this process of laying Jonan down. It was the beginning of healing.