Journey for the Heart Discussion

Journey 36 - Inconceivable, Awana 2009 Fall Conference

2009-10-05T17:06:00.003-04:00

Each time I am asked to stand before a microphone and share our story I am distinctly aware that God's grace is enormous. Only our loving and gentle Savior could take our loss and redeem it in such a way that He is given glory and we are allowed a measure of joy. Precisely where I believed I would never know joy again, He is lavishing a peace that comes from retelling where we have been and what God is doing with it. To realize that somehow on his divine scale, what is still unimaginable and inexplicable, what still aches and is relentlessly painful, he takes and uses as a balm of healing in the lives of others. Our little boy's courageous, passionate life is simply an example of God's goodness. As he opens doors, I will walk through with that message: There is no pit so deep, God is not deeper still.

Journey 35 - August Cry

2009-08-16T16:35:00.002-04:00

“Of one thing I am perfectly sure. God’s story never ends with ‘ashes.’”
Elizabeth Elliot

The hardest month to bear since James died three years ago begins.
August 17 approaches and I am fearful that its ravenous appetite can swallow me whole. I hear the smacking lips chomping behind me as I scramble and cower. Sorrow is an overweight giant, insatiable mouth wide-open for the kill; I am easy prey.
Undone, I cry for help to my Father who dwells on high, who understands my aching heart, who has already walked me through three years of grief. Escort me on through this dark forest, Lord. Let me not trip on root or tangled vine. Keep me from thorny bush and dim lit caves with their menacing form. You who are Light and Life, who speaks stillness to storms, speak that calm to me. You, who touched the leper’s sores, soothe sorrow’s wounds. You fed five thousand with a small boy’s lunch and shook blindness off an old man’s eyes; distill your miracle in me. Heal me as I brush against the hem of your garment with my battered heart. Refresh me with your Presence so I am overcome with your gentleness and not the sad remembrances of loss.
Remind me again that you do all things well, that you have a purpose beyond my feeble understanding. Sow within my broken chest once more the truth that you are fully capable of using all the splintered pieces for some grand eternal harvest. Right where I am, cognizant of my frailty, you are. Into my weepy thoughts, you come, not to remove the pain, for his death cannot be reversed. But you pour your wondrous self precisely where I am the emptiest. Grief carves crater-sized chasms in my soul. But you are my grief-bearer, sorrow-sharer, soul-binder, heart-healer. Come. Be with me even now.
Limping and spent I wait; He is present. Always has been. Always will.
Then like comforting news from a distant land, an old, familiar friend I have not recalled in months steps over the threshold of my mind. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11) The hope settles inside like a soothing balm. The phrase lingers, seeps into the deepest corners, curls around and makes itself at home. For this moment I rest, releasing sweaty fears into the palm that will not let go.
On August 2nd, I glance above my desk and see the periwinkle hydrangea plate inscribed with the words, “My grace is sufficient for you.” I have overlooked that Philippians stronghold recently. It is His grace, not my strength, not my self-discipline, fortitude, perky thoughts, or conscious determination that will carry me through this period. His indescribable, unending grace is my first line of defense. All the grace I will ever need for every day of difficult remembering is available.
But each August day marches fiercely toward me, to capture me with melancholy thoughts and emotional weaponry, to bear down its menacing hold. I pray relentlessly. Father, remember I am weak. You know my frame. The memories are too strong for me, too vivid still, too painful. Keep me from being overcome. I do not need people’s kindnesses or tokens to get me through. Human words or touch are not enough for this skirmish. I need you, Lord. I ask for you.
And still, I quiver like a rain-soaked traveler afloat on a raging torrent. The canoe will surely capsize shortly. Ahead, I see the impending waterfall and I am incapable of anchoring in less dangerous water to scramble to safety on shore. The boat is tipping, the current swirling, swishing, roaring, foaming, mouth open wide to immerse me in murky depths.
Through the rushing water the Lord of fair weather and foul throws me his lifeline: worship. Worship soaking wet, adrift, afraid. Yes. I remember learning this lesson before. He handed me this defensive tool when last I passed through this weepy place. Somehow, panic erased what I knew to be true. And I begin again to turn my face toward the Son, to lift my voice in whispered worship, to bring adoration to the One who makes all things new.
The aching remains; the overwhelming despair departs.
August will attempt to pin me in its grasp; The Lord of time and seasons is not threatened by her grip.

Journey 34 - Tea Talk

2009-06-03T09:22:00.003-04:00

God promises to make all things new, to bring beauty from ashes, to create good from what is evil. But this time I thought His claim improbable. I knew the verses by heart, had listened to dynamic pastors exegete Romans 8:28 in brilliant fashion with dramatic flair to illustrate God’s sovereign rule over the affairs of man. But when James died suddenly, when God allowed our thirteen-year-old son to enter heaven’s doorway, I seriously doubted that He could distill one drop of good out of our tragedy.
Death is crippling. Suddenly, your heart constricts within your ribcage as if a giant hand squeezes out all doable function. Your lung capacity shrinks, your tear ducts overflow. Every nerve, cell, and microscopic platelet grieves, weighed down by sorrow’s all-consuming weight. Darkness brings no sleep; daylight delivers no strength. You stagger through expectations, and aggravations mount. The most inconsequential remembrance forces gigantic walls to crash in thunderous waves across your heart. Sometimes you long to disappear, evaporate into thin air, escape to some dimension that sorrow cannot cross. Yet, you linger in this land, separated from an exquisite love, sweeter than life itself. All the while the gnawing hole lingers; you trip and fall into its gruesome space, again, and again.
And you think it always will be so, relentless, unnerving, desperate. But the Author of life and death says, “No, this far may sorrow’s billows roll, but no further.” It cannot win because He will not allow grief to cast us where He has not already traveled. If sorrow’s volcanic eruption carved a crater in your soul, His presence is deeper than that horrendous cavern. Precisely where He allows the wound, He binds with His own hand.
In my own needy soul He has perhaps done the greatest work, carving out, cleaning up, creating newness of life, newness of purpose from the pain. I am quicker now to listen, slower to have a ready response. My answers are trimmed by the realization that He alone can mend, in His time, not mine. He has left deep imprints from sorrow’s branding iron, marking me distinctly now as one who physically feels another’s pain. The force drives me to intercessory prayer as if the need were mine. Fully aware of the futility of man’s remedies, I turn instinctively, imploringly toward Him.
And in some miraculous way, like a bulb beneath the soil coming to life after an extended winter’s reign, He is restoring joy to me, an abundant crop in the very field where I thought it could never bloom again. Our daughter calls from college and grants me a bucket full of contentment at her bright discoveries and fulfilled aspirations. Our third-grader catapults through the house, mesmerizing us with song, dance, and stories and I sense the very walls expand with her jubilant expressions. When our married son and wife share their wise choices and demonstrate their deep commitment to each other, I am engulfed with happiness. And when our second-born goes off to seek his fortune, I hear reports that, much like the “third little pig,” he is building with bricks and I smile; the wolf cannot blow his house down. Because the Lord redeems and restores, my mother-heart overflows.
I cannot help it – sorrow has changed me dramatically: eternity is closer and more relevant, everyday struggles pale in intensity, time with my husband is richer. How odd that our measureless loss would be used as a vessel to comfort and strengthen another, that our deep darkness could illuminate someone’s path, and that God could use this devastating separation from our son to forge us closer to Himself.

Journey 33 - Milestones

2009-03-24T22:56:00.002-04:00

The anticipation always looms more dreadful than the actual event. Well, usually.
Maybe not for delivering babies or enduring root canals, but perhaps for painful anniversaries that sneak up with a container load of memories and unfulfilled longings in its berth. March 23 approached and I buckled beneath the birthday expectations of what should be but can never occur. I desperately wanted to flee this day with its absence of candles, presents, and son to embrace and celebrate. Calendars can be cruel too.
His birth is vivid still, the first one without Lamaze breathing techniques to propel me through the trauma. An epidural offer and I was a happy woman. Oh, is that really a contraction just now? Well if you say so. My, isn’t modern medicine a marvel.
But the contractions in my stomach would come later, when his color was bluish gray, his temperature low, and the incubator had no room for a cute rattle amidst the wires and the tubes. The grim diagnosis propelled the medical team to whisk him away and place him on a plane; our final destination unknown. Congenital heart disease was no longer someone else’s concern. Now his walnut-sized heart would need paramount attention, would be frozen, sliced into and rearranged to ensure all the mismatched pieces were placed in working order.
James Cameron Mitchell would be 16 today. Tell me again, Creator, why you allowed us to experience such immense quantities of joy with him? Let me in on the secret, you who were his Father from the first, how you could ever have granted us such a child? Why such privilege to parent this precious boy for all those days you shared him with us? As he lay within my womb, you saw the imperfections, held your hand from correcting the flaws, knowing the world would be a far more blessed place if you delivered him this way. Your spectacular plans for his life trumped our feeble thoughts and you carved into his soul an indomitable spirit to overcome the myriad hurdles that lay ahead.
He scaled them, every one, just like you planned. He should never made it off the starting block, never heard the pistol ring in his ears as he flew down that Olympic track. But he came to soar, to race unencumbered by self-pity or fear, to sprint through the tight curves, to speed around the course, both lungs bursting, head held high, eyes focused on the prize down the stretch, with the yellow ribbon always in view.
Then, with the crowds cheering wildly on all sides, with great lengths of track still left to cover, you moved the ending closer. “Cross now, run through, the race is over and you have proved yourself a champion, a relentless participant in life’s tumultuous pageantry. Well done my boy,” you whispered from on high. “Just run further in and further up to pick up your well deserved prize.”
And the maker and sustainer of life and breath held us, and asked us to watch our son’s final lap.
Two and a half years have passed, and still He imputes breath into our battered lungs. No matter what the birth certificate read, James was never truly ours. Just on loan, for just a while, till we learned worthy lessons He could impart no other way.
We are learning further truths on days like this when the calendar and the Kleenex box are intertwined. When the anticipation is washed in the spring of grace, when others remember and embrace our pain, when He gives peace right where we should feel bitter anguish. Even here He is reminding us that His plans are perfectly laid out, and though they cannot be interpreted into our earthly tongue, they are nevertheless the way He has designed them to run.
Birthdays are always milestones on the way.

Journey 32 - A Conversation

2009-01-20T09:05:00.006-05:00

Eleven years ago today, precisely on a Tuesday, James received a new heart. I still visualize all the incredible details of that extraordinary event as a shipwrecked sailor remembers forever the remarkable sight of that vessel coming to his rescue. For James this day was the culmination of almost five years of plodding along with a damaged heart, making do, and soaring in spite of the deformities that accompany congenital heart disease. The new heart brought James life, brought him back from the dead actually. His old worn-out pump had heroically maintained a semblance of function. But when the new heart was surgically positioned in his chest, when the old heart no longer had to struggle to give James breath, his body radiated vigor as every cell, fiber and nerve ending celebrated the wondrous victory of renewal. The transplanted heart was a gift from God that came through the courageous act of one woman, Donna, who was willing to set aside her painful loss for just long enough to ensure that her daughter's organs would benefit the lives of many awaiting organ transplantation.
Now it is our task to see our family's painful loss of James as an extraordinary opportunity to transplant hope into the lives of those struggling with despair in their own troubled hearts. James' days on earth ended but his life continues whenever we share his story of how he bravely overcame horrendous odds because the "good hands" of God rested on him. James lived passionately and understood far beyond his years that circumstances never have to dictate who we are or what we accomplish. His enthusiastic response to ordinary events, contagious smile, grateful spirit and unconditional love for others marked him as a boy who fully grasped the joy and wonder of life lived well. He got it. Then he gave it back out. From where we stand it is our turn to pass along the lessons he left behind.

Journey 31 - Moody Radio Mornings with Audrey

2008-10-12T14:15:00.003-04:00

Every single opportunity we are given to share James' story, we know we speak of a sacred and holy time when God showed up in brilliant color in the midst of dingy greys. Into our dismal picture He stepped, bringing with Him a pallet of dramatic hues, energizing sprays, sustaining shades that transformed our trembling family portrait into a visual of grace, mercy and hope. Each occasion to recall what He allowed and where He took us and what lessons He taught us along the way is a reminder of His infinite ability to transform pain and use disappointments and measure grief so it cannot destroy. At the book signings where I read a portion of the story, at Bible studies where I share an application from a portion of the journey, at children's events where I highlight James' journal entries, and in radio interviews like the one Moody radio presented in September, each one becomes a bitter sweet moment, where time stops, where I am suspended between what has been and what God is making of it.
The journey continues, it did not cease when we lowered that precious body into the earth. My God, who stills storms and lights darkness and fills voids, He is the ultimate story-teller. He is writing James' adventure still. Death was not the ending; it cannot win. It must bow before the God of the universe who does all things well. He is the artist and the author. I wait to see what is yet ahead.

Journey 30: Interview on Moody - Chris Fabry Live

2008-08-21T06:49:00.008-04:00

She walked away from me after one last hug, curly hair bouncing merrily, face confidant, dark eyes twinkling with excited anticipation. Our 18 year-old daughter Jacqui was ready to soar, and I almost sensed wings fluttering as she sauntered towards her new college dorm. I dried my tears as my heart filled with joy at the sight of our perfectly happy girl. How could I weep over my loss when she was fulfilling her dream and embarking on this new adventure?
Should I react differently for James?
Two years ago I gave him one last hug before he soared to heaven, squeezed him tightly, kissed his delicious face, and let him go. It was not my choice. God called him and we were forced to relinquish our treasure. But he lives now perfectly happy, filled to overflowing with endless joy. He is not homesick for earth as he relishes the majesty and brilliance of eternity. I must wipe my tears away and focus on him, intensely preoccupied with his Father's business, soaring free, angel wings fluttering in accompaniment.
So now I get to tell his story. Yesterday I sat with microphone before me, headphones pressed against my ears, radio waves transporting the message I always imagined he would one day relate. But those were my plans. I serve a Master who does all things well, who is faithful and true, who never makes a mistake. As He supplies the grace, I will share James' story with any willing to be reminded of the hope Christ provides, regardless of the good-byes he calls us to endure.

Copyright 2008 Moody Radio
From the program: Chris Fabry Live

Journey 29: It's Arrived

2008-08-12T16:14:00.004-04:00

As I crafted James' story, as I attempted to put words to all we had endured, as I relived and recalled the agony and the joys of living with James through all he had to go through, what God had called him to do, I desired above all else that the book would minister to hurting hearts, would remind others that God is sufficient, regardless. As I edited, proofread, re-wrote and remembered, I longed for people to know James, to understand his story, to be inspired by his triumphant life. I desired that the Lord, who Himself had carried us in His arms through every moment, would take this little book about this little boy and do big things, God-breathed things.
Now, the book is available and I finally have the privilege to share it with others. And I have been absolutely surprised. The early comments tell me that God is already using James' story to tenderly touch and powerfully impact the lives of readers everywhere. I am amazed. I keep bringing the book and placing it in the Lord's hands just like the little boy once did with his meager lunch. I know He will bless it and I pray He would use it continually to feed the hurting hearts of many.

Journey 28: A Resemblance of Sorts

2008-04-20T16:14:00.002-04:00

Far too often I resemble the disciples on the road to Emmaus.
Downcast and in despair I trudge along, walking away from my own confusing Jerusalem, where things have not gone quite as I expected. I too misunderstand exactly what God is allowing in the fog that surrounds my circumstances. Like those two favored ones who walked with the Lord but knew not who he was, though his breath warmed their faces as he strolled by their side, I too fail to grasp that he journeys beside me, waiting to reveal himself in his perfect time.
Why he chose to travel with those two who did not identify Him comforts me when I too cannot sense His presence. Into the muddle he steps, to clear away the chaos, to disclose truth, if I would just let him break bread and feed me where I am.
What is it that keeps me from recognizing him now? My face is downcast like theirs, and I stand still in my tracks like that pair of ancient followers and ask my Lord incredulously, “Do you not know the things that have happened in these days?” (Luke 24:18). Lord, have you been absent from your post that you would allow this dreadful situation to overcome me? Master, do you not know precisely what has happened to me in these days, in my Jerusalem?”
I am quick to reprimand him, swift to try and fill him in on my woes, just like them. As if he did not fully comprehend exactly what had just taken place on the cross and in the tomb. They were informing him of his own experience, instructing him in what he knew by heart. Ignorantly, they believed him to be uninformed and out of touch. Do I not treat him with the same disdain when I attempt to inform him of my complex scenario, believing foolishly that he does not already know every precise detail that has enfolded me?
He rebuked them, and rightfully rebukes me too. “How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe…”(Luke 24:25). How foolish I am to think for a moment that the Creator of the Universe is powerless to work in the middle of my void. How slow I am to believe all those promises he has made, all those reminders of his unconditional love that are written in black and white on sacred pages no king or tyrannical ruler has ever been able to wipe out.
“Did not the Christ have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” He reprimands and reminds those two who are struggling towards Emmaus. Do I not have to suffer these things that he has allowed as well? Is my suffering not also for his glory? Can I not trust the one who knows exactly what suffering is all about, who refers to himself as “a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering”. Can I call myself a follower of Christ if I am unwilling to bear some sorrow as well?
Like those disciples on that dusty road I would say now, “Stay with me.” Do not leave me just yet. Reveal more of yourself while I listen for your voice. Open the Scriptures to me and let my heart burn like those two comrades of old. Break open the Bread of Life and feed me so my eyes will be opened to recognize that you are in my midst, on the dusty road, in the middle of the journey, on my way home.

Journey 27: Come Again

2008-03-12T15:41:00.002-04:00

Once I took her companionship for granted. Interspersed throughout my days I drank deeply from her cup as she offered satisfying gulps of life, laughter and love all swirled together in an exuberant mixture of delight. I rarely gave her a nod of approval, always expecting her presence, naïve woman that I was, hardly knowing that joy can be robbed and held for ransom despite all my desperate cries for her return.
She flew through the doorway as death sauntered in and cruelly snatched my darling child away. I knew no more the sweetness of her friendship, for sorrow moved in, unpacked her bags and made comments that she had come to stay and thank you very much but joy could no longer abide under the same roof alongside her. Joy hoisted her skirt and fled, this gentle, exuberant member of my household. She withdrew and left me struggling to breathe in grief’s gigantic embrace; the door banged shut, and I shuddered, numbness like ice freezing over the marrow in my bones took control. Darkness drew the curtains and heavy bolts blocked the entranceway.
On occasion, when I strained against the clamor all around me, when I forced myself to listen for her voice, I could recall distinctly that she had effortlessly blown confusion away, filling every corner with magnificent splendor. Where was she now? Would I never know the soothing comfort of her arms linked through mine again?
Timidly, she knocked once, but bolted away before I could even pry the lock open. Sometimes I caught a brief glimpse of her as she scampered past, but I suppose she hardly recognized me, my face shrouded with sorrow’s blackened veil. Though I strained at the window pane for another glimpse, hungry eyes peering into the places where I had always seen her beauty, she eluded me and time wandered by.
Gradually, when I least expected her return, she quietly tiptoed up the pathway, wearing a simple frock of muslin embroidered with pale, miniature flowers. Fastened to her bosom was a delicate, translucent brooch fashioned from a tear-shaped gem. Sorrow glanced at Joy’s appearance and recognized she must begin to pack up her belongings. The process was slow, hauntingly slow. Joy waited patiently, neither prodding nor pleading for her departure.
When days and weeks slipped past six seasons, I finally begged Joy to reenter and replace sorrow’s worn-out presence. Joy came wrapped in simplicity with a gentle smile on her face, her eyes peeling back the dreary light. Timidly, she unfastened the darkened drapes and with the sunshine creeping in she courageously unlocked the shutters and let the clear air filter through the house again.
I recognized her presence as I gathered with three friends to read stories poured out from our hearts’ pens and laugh at our simple attempts to display what our souls knew so well. I saw her form as I raced about my duties, no longer feeling the cumbersome weight of sorrow’s wretched cloak. I heard her laughter in the voices of my children and saw her passion on the face of my spouse. I felt her presence as I made ready for our son’s wedding, baking and painting and organizing, never once sensing this new load as burdensome. I knew her companionship as I tucked myself on the couch and opened the Scriptures and saw fresh, new pictures of my Father’s grace. I serenaded her as I walked in the early morning light and lifted my voice to praise my Creator who does all things well and everything in his time.
I held out my hand and she returned my grasp as I remembered the days gone by and looked ahead to the brilliant sparkle of light in the distance. Oh Joy, travel with me still. Leave not my side. Though sorrow will yet press her face to mine, let hers be a fleeting touch and yours a permanent stride.

Journey 26: Strange Giver

2008-02-11T21:57:00.000-05:00

What gifts did sorrow bring me, mounted high within her piercing arms? What are the packages I shuddered to accept that now lay heaped beside me while she lingers close, refusing to yield her grip on me? I wanted none of them. I crossed my arms across my chest and denied their welcome, but she would not relent. Savage friend. She drew near to bless dressed in the blackest form and while her lips bore a mournful frown she pressed them to my cheek. I loathed the smell upon her breath and cringed from her yellowed teeth. But she stood resolute, and would not fade away or know retreat until I accepted each gift she bore. The weight within each box brought agony but she forced me to hold it to my breast and cradle what I found, though darkness obscured the contents of each one.
In the dingy grayish hues I strained to recognize each present as grief curled herself around my chest. I waited for light to crack the shadows open wide. With unaccustomed eyes, as time slipped through seasons, days moved and rearranged and fell and drifted by, I slowly realized that she had brought me the ability to see another’s pain. Through the window of my broken heart I now quickly identified the wretched state of others in my path. Indifference could no longer impede my sight for I now sensed distinctly those who drew near me with shattered dreams or splintered lives. I understood their weak defense and grasped their silent ache in the torrent that spilled from their wounded eyes. And with this understanding came the ability to still my lips from pouring out advise on how to fix the loss, and I turned instead to listening and holding out my trembling hand to steady them rather than provide a remedy to soothe temporarily. Many had brought me comfort with their silence and I returned the favor when compassion was asked of me.
As the colors shifted, as dim flickers of light merged and sunlight timidly poked its head inside, I heard an unfamiliar, haunting tune floating out of another bundle pain had brought. The cadence grew, and from within the strains filled the air in volume loud and unrestrained, powerful and strong, magnificent in depth and pitch and frame, and I heard anew the passion sorrow had bestowed on me.
From the very place that made me cringe, from the rawest agony within, came the deepening of love between my husband and me. We, who had been torn asunder by the gravest loss, were bonded in an unbreakable hold as we clung desperately to each other for support. The grief, that if God’s hand had not stayed would have destroyed us with its brutality, he used to cement us tightly together and to forge a love stronger, richer, sweeter than before.
This love spills out upon our children too. Together we value them as one who has traveled through a desert cherishes an ordinary cup of water as an exquisite, refreshing goblet. Sorrow bestows the high treasure of gratitude and appreciation and declares with a resounding voice that nothing, not the smallest act or simplest moment, should be taken for granted. As she squeezed life from us, this unlikely messenger brought life to us in subdued tones that grow more brilliant with each day’s passing.
Sorrow stands before me still. Her intense presence fades with the passing of days, her suffocating embrace loosens and she remains a vague, unsettling reminder that she has clutched me with her hand and will forever reside nearby. She colors every portion of my world and scents the fragrance of each day. I am learning lessons from this most complex companion and perhaps the greatest one lies in the call to worship that she extracts with her presence. I realize I can choose to quiver, whimper and withdraw when I feel her intense pressure in my core, or I can use her cry as a prompt to worship the God who does all things well. She can hold me captive with her dreariness or I can turn from her and turn towards the Master of my soul.
Worship does not require that I feel good. Worship does not need me to understand the place I presently stand. Worship does not declare that I must rejoice in the situation I find myself. I am learning to worship right in the middle of the pain, exactly where I am, regardless of how I feel or what thoughts flood my mind, or what memories quench my spirit. Grief brings me the greatest gift of all if she draws my heart to worship my Creator and he in turn draws me to himself in an intimate embrace. I am learning through worship that God does not have to provide the answer to my dilemma. In grief’s company I learn that he himself is the answer. I need nothing more than him. Can I explain this most precious gift of grief? Are there words to defend grief as a friend? I think not. The One who calls himself “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” has given me himself and walks me through territory he is long familiar with.

Journey 25: The Rain Still Falls

2008-01-23T21:11:00.000-05:00

The rain hangs outside in grayish clouds, drooping and sagging in the sky, threatening to fall at any moment now. The dim colors seep inside and I drag myself through the sallow hues trying to place the odd feeling cloaked around each attempt at productivity. Little gets done.
I sift through my sluggish thoughts and realize today marks the seventeenth month since James left home. Perhaps that is why I meander in slow motion; I am yet handicapped by sorrow’s harness. Silly fool to think some days will not demand I cease routine and allow my mind to simply ponder, relive, remember. He is missed in everything; even the weather joins my grief.
Though I weep far less these days, I recall him still in a hundred different ways. I am surrendering to our new normal, saying aloud that we have four children, pouring my time into the girls, laughing more. I realize how selfish my desires are for him to be here with me. Often I picture James perfectly well and joyful, a sweet companion for my own mom and dad, a peaceful trio, about the Father’s business. And in surprising ways, when I least expect it, I experience true joy again.
I have missed her presence. Joy once was a close companion yet I have heard her footsteps rarely at my path these days. But when she flings the door wide, and saunters in with arms outstretched to mine, I run to her embrace, aware that she brings gifts for all who live with me.

Journey 24: Have a Very Brilliant Christmas

2007-12-14T22:21:00.001-05:00

Christmas is anything but ordinary. If it is anything at all, Christmas is a brilliant, dazzling, glorious reminder that God always keeps His promises, that God pours out blessings for our acts of obedience, and that He calls us to "Not fear" even in the most overwhelming of circumstances. To look carefully at the Christmas story is to see that the Jewish priest Zechariah would prophecy and call him the "rising sun that shines of those living in darkness and in the shadow of death." In this Christmas season allow the one who calls Himself the "Light of the World" to shine his brilliant light into your heart and bring His brilliance to your soul.

Journey 23: Glad I Listened

2007-08-28T08:16:00.001-04:00

On August 27, 2007, I addressed the Boca Raton Home School Association about my decision to home school our children. I encouraged parents to not allow the feelings of inadequacies, the challenges, the difficulties, the unknown risks deter them from the task God has called them to.

A written transcript of the talk is available on the journeyfortheheart.com Resources page.

Episode 22: The Final Chapter

2007-08-17T07:27:00.001-04:00

In the past five months many of you have listened in and become a part of "Journey for the Heart." Working on the pod casts and the blog has given me new opportunities to experience God demonstrating his all sufficient power in my weakness. It has been my prayer for the Lord to use this site as a blessing in your life and I trust that your awareness of the presence of Christ right in the middle of your own particular journey has allowed for radical transformation in you as well.

Today's pod cast is the final installment, a wrap-up of this portion of the journey. This week marks the one year anniversary of James' death. Time has brought healing but time cannot heal. God alone authors true, incomprehensible peace. I am now more fully convinced than ever before that I serve a God completely in control, whose ways defy our finite comprehension. He promises to bring good out of what the world labels as wrong. Since the beginning of time God has kept every one of his promises. He will not fail to do so now.

"Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way. The Lord be with all of you" (II Thes3:16).

Editor's Note: On what would have been James' 14th birthday, journeyfortheheart.com was launched as part of the legacy that God was leaving through the life of James. That evening, Elizabeth and her husband Bill held a backyard dinner to give thanks and to share what God has done through the life of James and those who loved him. Click the Watch Now link below to view a video of the event.

Regular Journey for the Heart Audio Podcast:

Episode 21: Walking through Sorrow 4

2007-07-24T20:04:00.001-04:00

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

2007-07-22T16:34:00.002-04:00

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

2007-07-22T16:32:00.002-04:00

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

2007-07-18T11:28:00.001-04:00

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

2007-07-09T16:42:00.001-04:00

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).

Episode 16: No Time for Farewells

2007-06-26T21:17:00.001-04:00

"All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."
Psalm 139:16

Episode 15: Tie a Yellow Ribbon

2007-06-24T17:53:00.001-04:00

Every soldier should have a welcome home parade to celebrate his return. James did. Yellow ribbons were tied on all the old oak trees and children lined the street with brilliant red balloons. Even the newspaper reporter and photographer showed up to interview the brave warrior as we pulled into the driveway.

Click to view the 2005 television news report

But the reporters missed another really big day - the day the donor mom, Donna, rang our doorbell, sat on our couch and snuggled close with James. We played games, munched cookies, exchanged gifts and swapped stories as if it was perfectly normal that the heart nestled inside of our son once pumped life inside her daughter's chest. Overhead, fireworks should have exploded, a 21-gun salute should have been fired and the blimp should have sailed by with words of celebration blinking brightly for all the world to see. But in the stillness of our kitchen, without paparazzi or fanfare, I watched this mom place her head against James' chest and listen to the beating of his heart. The miraculous framed in the ordinary.

That's a moment worth celebrating still.

Episode 14: Selfless Sacrifice

2007-06-18T18:24:00.001-04:00

I do not remember them as difficult days. I have no vivid recollections of the struggles and the hurdles in those first post-transplant period. As traumatic as they were, it is the spectacular moments that are etched in my memory: the satisfaction of seeing him gobble down his first meal, the beauty of his face without a ventilator attached, the joy of watching them wheel away another artificial contraption, the wonder of his skin glowing with robust health as the new heart pumped successfully.
Years after the transplant, whenever I prompted James to relate to me what he remembered of his time at Shands Hospital he said, "They treated me like a king. They brought me meals on a tray to my bed and gave me a clicker to pick any TV show I wanted." It was as if God in his gracious way erased his horrific pain and left only a trace of the lovely.
From where I stand, in my present painful place, I trust that years from now I will not vividly remember these difficult days either. Perhaps, I will only recall how He was strengthening my heart and how beautiful the Lord's face was as He pressed close to me. Perhaps, I will vividly recall how sweet His Word was when nothing else could satisfy and how life-sustaining was the grace He poured out into my emptiness. Hopefully, I will forever remember the promise He gave to me in 2 Corinthians 4:16-18: "Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary but what is unseen is eternal."

Episode 13: Waiting Room Drama

2007-06-11T16:52:00.001-04:00

At the very moment when I was signing the paperwork to receive James' new heart, while I shuddered under the load of all the horrifying medical reports of what might go wrong during the surgery, as I held James on my lap and scratched my signature across dozens of release forms, at that moment another mother was bearing a load far heavier than mine. While I waited for James' surgery to begin, another mom at another hospital was also signing forms - but these were permission forms for her daughter's organs to be harvested for transplantation. I would later discover, she was enduring the far more difficult day. She was losing her precious child. My child was gaining life.
Perspective is everything sometimes.

Episode 12: We Have a Heart for James

2007-06-07T11:15:00.001-04:00

"We have a heart for James. It has his name written all over it!"
The pediatric cardiologist announced the incredible, long-awaited news because some brave mother had made an incredible choice. When we were desperate, without any ability of our own to make James well, a mom who lived only 30 minutes from our doorstep, a perfect stranger to us, chose to relinquish her daughter's organs after a tragic accident. At a time in her life when she could have been consumed with her own pain and suffering, this courageous mom thought of others who might be helped by her decision, and acted accordingly. She sacrificed. She was selfless. Our whole family would be forever grateful for her choice.
I get to make choices every day that to a lesser degree impact the lives of others. I can be grumpy and discouraged because of my own difficulties and allow others to suffer along with me or I can find joy exactly where I am and gift those near me with peacefulness, gentleness, hope. I can languish in a pool of self-pity and bathe myself in tears for the trial I am enduring or I can decide to have the Lord control my emotions and radiate His presence from the very uncomfortable place I am in.
I get to choose. Every day. May God, who chose to give us everlasting life through the death of His dear Son, enable us to make the choices that bring Him pleasure. May we live distinctly different lives because Christ decided to give us His own heart.