I hesitate to write this blog post today- let alone publish it.  I have so many intimate emotions still tied to it.  As I’ve pondered the passing of Robin Williams last week, I realize that to not share is to not tell my whole story.  I want to be authentic in my story.  I believe as I share, perhaps someone else will be helped.

This week is the 8th anniversary of our daughter’s death.  Leisha died August 16th, 2006.  I’ve known it was coming.  I’ve shed many tears over the last few weeks feeling different aspects of her absence  and celebrating her life as well.  Each year has been different when her birthday or anniversary rolls around.

But yesterday, for some reason the intensity of that loss squeezed in on me so tightly I thought I couldn’t breathe another breath.  It was so much more intense.  My body ached- but more than ached.  It was fatigued – but more than fatigue.  It was almost a panic that rose up within me. As I continued to speak God’s word into my heart,  I heard the words.  I knew they were true.  My emotions could do nothing but weep.  My heart felt as if it was being crushed- squeezed so tightly.  My stomach was nauseous.  My head throbbed.

While I knew that it was quite possible that something really was wrong with me, I also knew that it was more likely a physical manifestation of the grief I was experiencing. The intensity of grief was greater than I have felt since the first 3 or 4 years after she died.  And then it was so constant with me that I didn’t feel the intensity so greatly as I did today.   It was my norm!

As I lay on my sofa, I was undone by the awareness that there are times when other people are grieving so deeply.  It’s longer than just a day.  Even though they try to do the right stuff, their mind cannot grapple with it, their heart cannot absorb it,  their body cannot embrace it.

As I have thought of Robin William’s death- I realized that often people who give hope to others have emotional times when they don’t feel hope themselves.  That is actually why they work so hard to speak into other people’s lives.  Because they know what it is like to not have hope.   They work hard to keep others from feeling that way too.

Often, those of us who go to church every Sunday,  have these Sunday masks we put on.   It’s not necessarily intentional.  We don’t mean to put on a mask.  But we go to church, and someone says, “How are you?”  We want to scream with everything in us, “I’m not good.  I’m dying inside.  Help me. ”  Instead we smile and say, “I’m fine!”  and move on.

Is it because we are afraid to be real and to be judged.   As I  speak to one client after another I hear them say, “I can’t be honest about that to people in my group.  I can’t tell them how I’m really feeling.  They will think I’m a basket case. They will think I don’t honor the Lord enough, I’m not reading enough scripture, I’m not spiritual. ”

I get it!  I’ve been afraid too!  I’ve hidden lots of emotions so I wouldn’t  ‘look bad’.  But I’m embarrassed to say I have also been on the side that judges someone for not being able to ‘get it together.’  Oh Lord!  Forgive me!

So I share carefully here.  I ask you to take what I share today and hold it carefully.  It’s an excruciating part of my story.  I’m sharing it not just with a trusted friend, but with you the reader- who I may not know.

My pain yesterday lasted a full 24 hours.  It wasn’t until later in the day, about 6:30pm  that I dawned on me that  it wasn’t Leisha’s anniversary yet-but it was Wednesday.  Leisha died on a Wednesday.  My life was changed forever on a Wednesday.

I know I will continue to grieve for the rest of my life in some way.  I’m a mother.  I can’t NOT do that.  But I also know that one day of that intense grieving was nothing compared to the intense days and weeks of grieving that went on shortly after she died.   Days when I wondered if there was hope.  Over and over again, I sometimes had to just close my eyes.  In that tunnel of grief where the darkness, the mud and the mire (and other words for it that I won’t write here) was up over the top of my head. I couldn’t breathe let alone move.   It’s the awfulness of life.  The toxic places that nearly destroy us.  It’s in those moments that we can forget that there is hope.

What I found I had to do- even again yesterday-  I had to STOP and I had to listen.  All I could do was close my eyes and look with my heart to see the hope.  The hope that God planted there.  Little slivers of green hope- life giving hope.

But it gets really hard.  It’s a choice!!

It’s a choice to remember to look for hope.

It’s a choice to remember to be grateful for one small thing-
one ray of sunlight,

one breath of fresh air,

one  small white butterfly fluttering around in the grass,

one shimmer of leaves on the trees showing the many colors of green,

one hug from a friend,

one note posted on Facebook to encourage, genuinely encourage, not just add noise to my world.

It doesn’t have to be someone you know even. Often it’s the least expected.  If we don’t pay attention we miss it.  We don’t notice the “Lovely Traces of Hope”  that flit through our day.  Glimpses of it.  Small chards of green glass that appear broken, but when you come to the other side of your grief you begin to see that they were just small pieces of your life that God was picking up and putting together into an incredibly beautiful mosaic- a tapestry of your life.   Not just telling your story- but telling the story of how He showed up in it- over and over again.

Those are the moments that will change us.

Those are the moments that cause us to choose life- or not.  Sometimes in the midst of it, it seems a little too much too long.  It can take us down a road that can ultimately lead to death.  I’ve seen it happen.  More than once I’ve seen a woman who comes to me- arms flailing, mind reeling, heart wrenching.  I’ve seen women who heed my words and stop- and begin to notice.  They find life.  Not easy.  Not free of pain.  But they find hope and it leads them to find hope in the next season of life- and then the next. Just as I am finding today!

But I’ve also see those who can’t stop.  Those who can’t close their eyes to see.  I’ve seen it lead to death- of a dream, of a marriage, of a life.  We grieve for them and wonder what happened.  We know there are so many reasons why  our body, mind and heart scream for help.  Why we can’t stop.  Sometimes we can’t allow ourselves to go there.  The alternative seems too hard and death seems easier.

Yesterday, I was reminded again how easy it is to get to those places.

So here is my challenge to you.
Be honest with yourself.  Where are you?
Take a look around.  Who are the people in your world who are hurting, who are flailing;  Who come to church looking beautiful, but on the inside they live with the torment, and ache so deep.

We’re not there to be the savior for each other.  But sometimes we are there to hold a hand.  Sometimes we are there to say “slow down!  Stop!”  Sometimes we just need to hold up a mirror for a friend.

God does the rest!

There is hope!  There is a GOD of hope!  Not just any god!  Not this perspective that we have of God in our mind that is broken, limited, lacking.

But God…of green hope… (Romans 15:13 Msg)
life giving,
life sustaining,
peace giving,
joy filling…
THAT GOD  is with you right now.  Through it all.

All we have to do is stop …and notice!

Are you willing to do that today?
Are you willing to help a friend do that today?

Don’t let another day go by.

It might be a matter of life– or death!