I saw this photo and found it fitting.
It resonates with me on so many levels. So often I answer, “I’m okay” when someone asks me how I’m doing. Most of the time I mean it. I am okay. But faintly written on the outskirts of my response is my heart’s inner truth. I’m broken.
Some days the further I find myself away from May 24th the fuzzier my brokenness becomes. Some days, it’s just as prevalent as the night we said goodbye. But it’s never gone. Sam will never disappear from my life story.
A few weeks ago I received an incredible gift from my cousin Nicholas. He sent me the serenity prayer framed and gifted to him by my dad David who originally received it from my grandmother, Betty. Enclosed in the package was a letter from my Dad, written to Nick.
In the letter he says, “But what I do know might help you get through these tough times. You’re going to be getting a lot of advice from a lot of people. Nick, take what you need to get through a day and piss on the rest.”
The body of the letter encouraged Nicholas (and me) to deal with our emotions. To talk to someone; anyone. I might venture to say that he’d like my blog. A place to share what I’m still experiencing without having to see the sadness my truth might bring someone else.
He ended his letter by saying, “PS. Maybe some day you will have a friend who will need this prayer more than you. Give it to them. Tell them where it comes from. (Your heart).”
It was as though my dad were telling me that he sees my heart. That he’s holding Sam now and our hearts are connected. Reading his words to my cousin was like reading a letter written for me.
Last night I stayed awake late reading I Will Carry You by Angie Smith. She writes, “I often wonder if I would have truly believed He was who He said He was. Martha and her sister Mary did believe in Him, and we know from scripture that Jesus had a fondness for their family, including their brother Lazarus. In the book of John we read that Lazarus had become ill, and in their desperation Mary and Martha sent word to Jesus that he was sick. The letter they sent contained only a few telling words, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” (John 11:3) …What Mary and Martha say in their message to Jesus is not as interesting to me as what they don’t say. ..As I read their words it occurred to me that this is not the way I approach the Lord with a crisis. I run to Him with a laundry list of suitable responses and beg Him to accommodate me. ..While I know there isn’t anything wrong with asking God to intervene, there is a gentle surrender that I was drawn to in this story. Recognize who He is and tell him the problem. Leave the rest to Him.”
Reading her words made me realize I don’t do much of talking to God anymore. Even something as simple as sharing with him that I’m broken. Angie reminded me last night that I don’t have to come to God with how he should fix me; because most days I’m certain I’m unfixable.
All I have to do is show up. Leave the rest to him as she suggests.
It’s possible I’m afraid because I already felt as though my life were in his hands and my baby died. Even still, it’s possible he’ll continue to allow me to live in a state of grace. A place where it’s okay to ‘piss on the rest’.