Glorious Unfolding

As promised in my last blog entry (Lightening My Load), here is the blog that I almost didn't post. Praying it provides continued encouragement to others struggling to continue walking through grief.

I sit here tonight doing what I’ve done often since Kraig died. I’m listening to songs that remind me of truths I know at the core of my very being. Tonight it’s Nicole Nordeman’s version of Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus and Steven Curtis Chapman with Glorious Unfolding. Since the day after Kraig died I’ve turned to music when I’m struggling. When I’m feeling lost I’m careful to choose ones with words solid in their declarations of God’s promises and beautiful in their poetry. I rock out to other stuff on the good days.

Tonight the thread of hope seems thinner somehow. My friend, Chelsea, today reminded me it’s OK that grief seemed to grip my heart for no reason. It snuck up on me this weekend mowing the lawn as I was hit by the vast number of dandelions populating my yard. Realization that Kraig took care of them each year dawned on me. As I started to wonder how I’d figure out what he used the sob rose in my chest as my heart protested, “But I don’t want to have to take care of this…this one more thing I must figure out.” I was glad the mower was loud and the kids couldn’t hear me sobbing as I hurried to finish the yard ahead of a storm.

Both Saturday and Sunday had some hard moments in the midst of really good stuff. I think that might be why I feel lost—nothing other than dandelions seemed to cause this. Maybe stress of trying to prepare to move played in there as well. That’s stressful under the best of circumstances. And the best of circumstances these are not.

Tonight as I struggled to make it to bedtime, I had to deal with not one but three kids coming up between 9:30 and 10. One sobbing as the reality that Dad would not be here to share in the fun we have planned this summer. One looking for the bathroom and not knowing why she was crying—probably because her brother was. One asking for prayer because scary thoughts were plaguing him as he tried to fall asleep.

“Oh weary mind, Oh troubled soul, all the broken pieces that you hold, turn them over, give them up, and then watch what Jesus does. Oh heavy heart, Oh heavy load, lay it down and let it go, leave your broken yesterday in the open arms of grace….” Nicole sings these words and I reach for them like a salve for a wound. Not once has my faith wavered but this journey is long and exhausting and just when I think I’m emerging from it, another wave crashes on my shore.

“You will walk on waves again, when you have set your gaze on him.” Promise, Nicole? Walking on the waves seems so beyond the possible right at this very moment. “So look up, look up, this is a song about the morning after a long night. So look up, look up, this is a song about believing it’s gonna be alright, when you turn your eyes upon Jesus….” I long for the morning after this long night. I’m tired, so very tired.

As my exhausted body begs for sleep I turn to another song, a newer song. I hope to be able to meet Mr. Chapman at this summer’s Hills Alive music festival when I work it. As a DJ sometimes I get to do that. I want to thank him for the first verse of his newest song, Glorious Unfolding.

Lay your head down tonight
Take a rest from the fight
Don’t try to figure it out
Just listen to what I’m whispering to your heart
‘Cause I know this is not
Anything like you thought
The story of your life was gonna be
And it feels like the end has started closing in on you
But it’s just not true
There’s so much of the story that’s still yet to unfold
And this is going to be a glorious unfolding
Just you wait and see and you will be amazed
You’ve just got to believe the story is so far from over
So hold on to every promise God has made to us
And watch this glorious unfolding

Those words speak to my heart with clarity. I need to lay my head down tonight trusting that God is unfolding something beyond what I could ask or even imagine. How do people without Jesus cope with loss? I cannot fathom the despair that must be magnified without an anchor in the promises that I am not alone and I am not directionless. “Let us remember, this life we’re living is just the beginning of the beginning…” The eternal perspective Steven sings about is truth, is life, is hope.

So tonight I will finish writing and head to bed, trusting once more that tomorrow God will help me care for my kids and direct my paths because I trust Him. He has never failed me and He won’t start now. He will bring the joy and help these wounds continue to heal. He will continue to send me friends and family to offer support and help. He will continue to direct my path because I have asked Him to. Where He leads, I will follow no matter where that path leads.

One day I will look back and see the gloriously unfolding story He walked me through because I kept my eyes on Jesus. For tonight all I need to do is trust Him and get some sleep.

Now what?

That’s the thought that crept into my head today--now what? It’s been 13 weeks since Kraig died. Life has, as I knew it would, gone on. We’re having bad days and good days. Dishes are getting washed. Laundry is being done. Food is being prepared—something I’m particularly mad at him for leaving me to care for. My kids are getting hugs and love and support. School work is getting done and groceries are getting purchased. My radio shows are getting done and Jarod has a part in a play. We’ve even got the Christmas tree up, though this year’s decorations are scaled back considerably.

On this cold Tuesday, I’m wondering, “now what?” If life is indeed going on, what does it hold for me? I would love to become a professional writer and speaker. I know that would take the Hand of God to open doors and figure out how to make that work as a widowed mom of four. I trust Him to direct my paths.

But in the day-to-day, here at home with children at school, I tend to hesitate, falter, second-guess. There have been days when this down time has been my time to heal, to rest, to not have to care for them while someone else does. I praise God that He’s provided financially so I can do this. I am still here if they are sick or have a day off school. I'm still able to volunteer with my MOPS group. That is a miracle I give thanks for often.

I’m someone who feels guilty if I’m not productive. On those days when there was no motivation to do anything more than toss in a few loads of laundry, the guilt has crept onto my shoulder. You should be doing something. What makes you think you can just sit here? Look at this mess. Lazy. These are the taunts I shrink from. They do not come from friends or family. They are supportive of me taking time to just, well, be. These taunts come from the father of lies.

Maybe I’m living out a verse I’ve long loved. Psalms 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.” The stillness can be time to heal. We understand that when a bone is broken or sickness assaults us. But when it’s your heart, your soul, somehow we don’t appreciate the stillness. At least I don’t. Maybe that’s my “what next.” Until God opens a door or shines a lamp onto my path for a new direction, maybe being still as I take care of the necessary is what’s next.

So today I’ll be thankful that I got groceries and ran two errands. Dinner is in the crockpot and I’m getting writing done. And this afternoon will again be a crazy Tuesday with school pick-ups and radio station and bath times and homework and so on. Maybe the stillness in a house that’s not perfect, but isn’t ready to be condemned either, is a gift. Maybe I will listen to the words of a song from Sidewalk Prophets, “If there’s a road I should walk, help me find it. If I need to be still, give me peace for the moment. Whatever Your will, help me find it.”

Today I’ll pray for God’s peace as I wait for my “what next” to arrive. And I’ll toss a load of dishes in the dishwasher, for good measure.