Episode 21: Walking through Sorrow 4

From the very first day our adventure with James began, and every single day since, God's Word has been my faithful, life-giving companion. I am fully convinced that apart from hanging on to the truths of the Word, I would not have survived this traumatic journey. I am not exaggerating. I know it may sound corny to some, trite and over-simplified to others, but the Bible has hedged me in, sustained me, strengthened me, anchored me, and been my place of refuge a hundred times over. For the 13 years of James' life and especially throughout this tumultuous year of mourning, God used His Word to save me from despair and bitterness, depression and anger. The One who calls himself Life and Light actually poured his life into my death experience. In today's pod cast listen for the Scriptures most of all. Let them breathe life into you as well.

Episode 20: Walking through Sorrow 3

The single greatest gift you can bestow on grieving friends is to make a steadfast commitment to pray for them. There is truly absolutely nothing you can humanly do to fix their pain. Their entire world is shattered and only Almighty God is capable of pouring out grace, mercy and peace on their wounded souls. Do all you can to bear the burden with them, look for creative ways to express your love and concern, but above all else, pray for them:-
• For God to make them keenly aware of His Presence.
• For God’s Word to minister to their precise need.
• For strength to endure.
• For extra restful sleep.
• For the ability to surrender their will and accept God’s will.
• For joy to slip through the fog.
• For the time and the desire to hide inside God’s Word.
• For many people to surround them with love.
• For clear direction as decisions are being made.
• For peace to permeate every area of their lives.
• For His grace to overwhelm them.
• For them to keep their eyes fixed on what is unseen and eternal.

Episode 19: Walking through Sorrow 2

Often a sense of helplessness engulfs you as you are forced to watch someone you love endure a season of mourning. You want to help bear their burden but feel awkward and uncertain as to what exactly is an appropriate response. Here are some helpful suggestions to get you started after you say, "I'm sorry.”
• Visit but sit quietly and listen. Your gentle presence speaks loudest. Let your words be few and Scripture quotes fewer still.
• Don’t say, “Call me if you need anything.” Grieving parents won’t. Just show up and be useful:
Put on a load of laundry. Fold another.
Stack the dishwasher.
Answer the phone. Write down the message with a return number
Clean the bathrooms
Throw out old newspapers
Water the plants
Go to the store. Pick up what’s missing from the refrigerator.
• Send cards weeks and months after the funeral. Most people move on but grieving parents don’t. Pray for them and then write to tell them that you did.
• Call on the anniversary of the death. Remind them you haven’t forgotten.
• Mail a package with small treats for the other siblings. A gift in the mail always brings a smile.
• Send an e-mail now and then. Keep it short. Let it be a gentle reminder of your love and genuine concern.
• Stop by unexpectedly and leave an arrangement of fresh flowers with a card at the door.
• Invite the family for dinner at your home. Keep the meal simple and the conversation kind.
• Ask the question, “Tell me all about your daughter. What was she like?” You could not give grieving parents a greater gift.
. Make a quick phone call just to let them know you are thinking about them.
. Bring by a gift of a meaningful book or CD to encourage them weeks afterward.

The smallest act of kindness becomes an enormous gift of encouragement to those walking through sorrow. Ask God to show you specifically how to minister to their grieving souls and then follow through when he prompts you. Above all else, pray diligently for God to minister and bring healing to their wounded hearts.

Episode 18: Walking through Sorrow

At first, mourning demands total preoccupation like a grueling twenty-four hour shift. A hard task-master, it begs total allegiance, binding me to its strict commands. Grieving allows no breaks, no mini-vacations, no time-off. Its consuming appetite devours all other thoughts and sucks life from any other endeavor.
But as the calendar changes pages, mourning loosens its grip in meager allotments. First, minutes slide without consuming thoughts of James and then hours slip without the burden of excruciating pain. Days drift by with no deluge of tears, and when the weeping starts again the torrential downpour lifts suddenly and blows the black clouds away.
The rawness heals, but the constant missing remains, bringing an awareness that I am functioning but not fully whole, an amputee with absent limbs forced to manage with less than what was once the norm. The heart broken into a thousand jagged forms knows repair, but where the sacred tailor stitches he leaves a permanent record of the needle’s mark.
We journey now through sorrow’s fields and catch glimpses of the sunrise on a distant shore. We long to hurry through, but find the pathway dense, requiring tedious, ordinary steps. This acute sojourn requires time. The Guide who went ahead and knows this path perfectly, each twist and turn and varied scene, each pitfall and each rugged cliff, walks beside us even now. He promises to torch the darkened way. He catches me even as I stumble. He is incapable of anything less.

Episode 17: You Do the Next Thing

After the funeral, after the people leave, after the cards stop coming and the plants no longer show up at your door, when people start forgetting what you never can and the tears don''t stop flowing and you think it inconceivable that any more could come, they come nonetheless.
But into the piercing pain, He comes, fully sufficient. Now, when the journey is most difficult, He choses to linger, holding us, holding me. The way He has taken us was never just about James' heart. Perhaps the journey was always more about what we as a family would learn, how our own hearts would be formed, changed, bruised. The lessons come at quite a high price. But the master does not give His instructions from afar. He is all about binding up the wounds, tending to the weary, carrying the weak, holding the broken, up close.
And He gives perspective with the passing of time. At first I scream, "I am robbed of our precious son." Then He brings me to the place, gently, lovingly, where I can whisper, "How gracious is my Father who would in kindness share James with our family for 13 incredible, amazing, wonderful years."
"As for God His Way is perfect" (Psalm 18:30).