Tag: Grief

Faithfulness

As unlikely as I find it, this marks the completion of four years of weekly posts. Some of you have been reading along with me the entire time and I cannot thank you enough. Most of you are newer readers and your presence is a remarkable surprise and blessing.

I started this practice to improve my writing skills and discipline myself to write regularly. I had wanted to write a Bible study on gardening. Biblical writers, the prophets, and Jesus use the garden often as a metaphor for the kingdom of heaven, Israel, and our belief. From Genesis through Revelation, the garden is used to illustrate our relationship with God. We are either a beautiful garden or a wasteland; we bear fruit or we bear thorns and thistles.

But what writing this blog has taught me, much like what the garden itself has taught me, is faithfulness and self-discipline. Even when I don’t feel like it, I need to write a weekly post. Even when I don’t feel like it, I need to water and tend the garden. Even when it is difficult, I need to prepare the garden, and I need to prepare my heart.

Not because it’s critical to life that I write or plant, but because God has led me to pursue these things. He has given me the space and the time, the desire and the ability, and He has given me joy in pursuing them.

There was a time after Nick died that I thought I would never find joy again. How could I be happy when the man who made me laugh was gone?

Last month, I finally scattered the last of Nick’s ashes into the Gulf he loved so much. It was bittersweet and perhaps overdue. My children and their spouses gathered around me as we took turns saying goodbye once again. The grandchildren Nick would never know played in the sand nearby and came to join in the hugs we shared.

I packed up my beach gear and headed home to the aftermath of an epic ice storm. Life goes on. It always does. Until the day God calls us home, we are asked to persevere, to pursue the interests God has given us, to use the gifts and resources He has provided. Even when we don’t feel like it. Even when It’s difficult.

May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy. Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves. Psalm 126:5-6.

There have been weeks when the only thing making me press on is the conviction that someone out there would notice my absence and miss me. Your presence has helped me maintain my faithfulness. Thank you!

I look forward to my fifth year writing this blog. I look forward to what God will teach me and the words He will give me. I look forward to planting sugar snaps and, when it is warmer, tomatoes. I look forward to the joyful times God is preparing for me.

He is preparing them for you as well. Hang in there. Your faithfulness will be rewarded.

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow. So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith. Ephesians 6:7, 9-10.

Love in Christ, Betsy

Six Years

The garden is thriving, green tomatoes grow on the branches, but I can barely see them through the cloudy mist in my eyes.

Six years. It’s been six years since cancer sent my husband to the Lord. You would think I would have “moved on.” Maybe I have. I don’t cry for him every day. I have found joy in writing, a purpose in learning. I have found ways to garden and lake and travel without him. But there are moments like today when the loss feels overwhelming.

We had so much fun together. Even when the cancer was eating away at his body, we would take long vacations at the beach and spend weekends on the lake. It’s harder to do those things alone; not the same when I do them with someone else. Nick had endless energy, and an intensity about living life, that I miss. Too often I am inclined to binge-watch some murder/detective/spy series and lose hours that could have been spent in better ways.

I wonder what he would think about my writing. It all came after his death. It would probably be as foreign to him as the hours I spent reading, a difficult task for his dyslexic mind. He was more interested in active pursuits, and he kept me busy.

But life, like my garden, is always changing. It does me no good to pine for what can never be again, at least not on this earth.

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14.

Someday, we will be together again on a new earth where Christ rules.

I will let myself grieve the temporary loss of the man I love, but I will continue to embrace the life that God sends me every morning. These days, like all days, are a gift. I am sure God would like us to use this day loving each other, helping each other, serving each other as Jesus served those around him.

Perhaps God wants me to spend this day thanking him for sending me Nick and the years we had together. So, thank you, Lord, that Nick kept this garden going over the years. Thank you that he erected poles and fencing and buried a hose line. Thank you for being able to go to the beach and the lake and store up treasured memories.

I walk along the garden and let the humidity of the morning bead my arms with water. I marvel at the red raspberries and miniature peppers. I thank Nick for keeping the garden going over the years. I thank God for the rain and the sunshine, the soil, the seed, and the fruit.

Life goes on. The sun rises and sets and days, then months, then years pass. Six years since those days when the earth seemed not to move. Can I take an hour today to re-live them? The day the doctor told me Nick might not live for two hours. (He lived four more weeks.) The day Nick shut his laptop for the last time. The day he agreed to Hospice. The day he took his final breath. The friends and family who gathered around, who held me up, fed me, and sent me flowers.

How can I forget any of that?

What a gift love is. That I loved someone; that someone loved me. That God placed us in community so that we can share our struggles, our grief, our memories. That we can share our growth, our joys, and our hopes as well.

Thank you for being part of my community. Thank you for reading along. Thank you for your understanding as I take a break to grieve.

If you have a moment, check out my author website and information about my novel-in-the-works at Betsy Davies | Author. A lot can happen in six years.

Love in Christ, Betsy

The Seed and the Psalm

The little sweet pea seeds are in the ground. I must let them sit in the dirt; I must wait on the weather and God to transform them. There is little I can do to speed up the process or even check on it. This transformation from seed to sprout is something that must go on inside the seed as it sits alone in the dark soil.

I have felt like that little seed before. Covered with dirt; alone in the dark.

Even when there are those who care for me and make sure I have sunlight and water, I was not sure that I would ever become more than the lifeless shell I was at that moment.

I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with weeping. Psalm 6:6

In grief counseling, my pastor had me write a psalm. I found it the other day, folded and hidden away in my Bible. The paper was still crisp and clean, untouched and avoided. Perhaps the pain expressed in it needed time, just as my sweet pea seeds do.

Even as I read the words now, the back of my throat constricts and the tears form. How can this still hurt so much?

There is hope hidden in the pain; a willingness to let God lead me out of the darkness. There is faith that a plant will grow, but that space is dark and lonely.

I thought I would share it with you, maybe expose this dark space to a little light.

Betsy’s Psalm of Lament (1/25/20)

You are with me, Lord, but this is hard.

It hurts my heart, my soul, my body.

               It challenges who I am.

You must have some plan, some good in mind,

               but how will you bring Joy out of this?!

How long will this hurt? How long before I feel joy? Or Love?

               How long before “normal” returns to me?

               It all feels so wrong without him.

It is tempting to just give up, give in;

               to shut the door, lock myself in and die.

But I will trust in You, Lord.

               I will turn my face to You

               and see Your presence all around me.

I will open the door and go outside this painful space.

You have surrounded me with friends.

               I will let them hold me, and I will sing Your praise.

We are so uncomfortable around grief, around pain. If expressed too openly, we doubt its authenticity. We fear doing or saying the wrong thing, adding insult to injury. We don’t have the words to express grief or comfort the grieving. Odd, really, since we have all experienced loss since childhood. How has the loss of a toy, a pet, a grandparent, not trained us for losing a dream, a parent or a spouse? Why do I find my own pain so difficult to expose? Is not grief as common as seeds in the ground?

I will admit fear in even sharing this with you. This is my space; I am not sure I want you in it. I fear you may take this a cry for help, but it is not. This is simply an admission that I do cry, as do most of you.

Very slowly, God has lifted me from that dark space. God has surrounded me with the warmth of friends, the light of His Word, and the life giving water of prayer. The seed of grief did crack open, allowing a tender sprout to reach for the sun, reach for the Son.

Amazing, really.

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

I go out to the garden every day in anticipation of sweet pea sprouts pushing through the ground. I start every morning in prayer with God, in anticipation of what He is growing in me. And I will sing God’s praise.

Betsy