Healing My Heart this Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is almost here. Instead of sharing cute ideas for how to celebrate with your husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, children or friends, I want to talk about healing. Valentine's Day is often hard for people with broken hearts. 

On October 14, 2014, my Daddy, the first man I ever loved, committed suicide in a car, in the driveway of my parent's property, in Northern Virginia. This Valentine's Day will mark precisely one year and four months since this horrific event.

I have both grieved this event AND moved on with my life simultaneously since the moment I received this mind bending, heart stopping news. Numbness and frozen shock, along with tears and heartfelt emotion were all present within the first 24 hours. Thus began a partial grief/healing process that would gently carry me through a pregnancy and the first months after her birth. On the surface, the symptoms of my grief were mild compared to the grief symptoms of other family members. I didn't have enough emotional or physical energy for an intense, emotional surgery of the heart. I was scheduled for physical surgery on October 15th, (the next day) to prepare my body for pregnancy. I didn't postpone the surgery, determined the circle of life was not going to be paused because of my father's death.

In reality, my grief experience did not begin on October 14, 2014. This day was simply the biggest element in a larger story of suffering which began roughly 27 years ago, when I was about 10 years old, as I watched my Daddy's life deteriorate before my eyes; bit, by bit, by bit. I was already accustomed to ignoring this pain to focus on the happy things of life.  It was not hard to continue on a larger scale.

Regardless of when my grief began, it is not yet complete. December 14th, 2015, two months ago, marked a new chapter in my evolution of grief. My body and mind decided it was finally time to give closer attention to this broken portion of my heart. A heart partially numb, partially paralyzed, partially dead. 

My heart is, and was, full of the joy of my husband and children. But I cannot counsel my children during their future griefs if I continue to ignore my own pain. I cannot speak truthfully with friends and family when they seek my perspective on grief if I have not walked my road with honesty.

My heart is healing and slowly beating again. Will there ever come a time when I can say I am fully healed? Maybe. Maybe not. There are many opinions. For now, I can say I am in love with my Creator.  

This year I've seen more symbols of the heart all around me in nature, more than I ever noticed before. I try to capture it with my camera when I see it...

The Prince of Peace has loved me unlike anyone could ever love me. He drew heart shapes in creation for me to discover. He GAVE me the breath of life when I stopped breathing and brushed death, mere moments after birth in 1978. He GAVE me the Daddy who rocked me in the hospital intensive care unit, singing the first songs I ever heard. He GAVE me a love for this Dad, later in life when he became harder to love.   

He, the Almighty God, GAVE me an incredible husband and two miracle baby girls. 

He GAVE me a Mom and sisters who have already dug deep into their own grief education for over a year. These women patiently waited for me to be ready and now have wisdom to offer, gathering around me as I join them on this journey.  

The following song and accompanying story, at the end of this post, is fanning the flame of my ever strengthening heartbeat.

If you have a grief in your life so big that words fail to express your depth of emotion, click the you tube link below and maybe this song will meet you the way it met me. If you do not have grief in your life, certainly you know friends or family who do. Celebrate this Valentine's Day with me in a non traditional way. Let's turn our gaze to the Great Physician, who heals broken hearts, enabling us to love others more deeply, fully, completely.

Engaging with our grief, in order to heal it, involves both surrender and participation.

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again - Danny Gokey

https://youtu.be/eUHRDCYnFfg

Infertility, Motherhood, Humility, Suffering, Joy

I lay outside in the grass today, during my baby's nap time, reading another chapter in a book about motherhood and as I read, I had a light bulb moment and I want to share it with you.

It is the following words from Sarah Mae in her book Desperate that grabbed my attention...

"I have no foundation in homemaking or baby-raising.  I only babysat maybe three or four times..... I never wanted to babysit because I didn't like it; I found it boring.  Entertaining other people's children was not my idea of a good time."

As I read those words, I found myself realizing there was a time in my life when I would have read those words and felt smug because I LOVED entertaining other people's children.  I was blessed with a foundation in homemaking and baby-raising because of a mother and grandmother who made it look like a joy.  My heart should have been humble, knowing my love of children was a gift given to me, not something that came from being a naturally wonderful person.  But did I fully understand that at 22 years old?  No.  I would have read the words of that author and secretly congratulated myself because I thought I was better than her.  I wouldn't have voiced this, but I would have thought it.  Don't we all have secret smug thoughts we would never voice?

Now, at 35, I can relate to her.  Why?  Because ten years of infertility gave me plenty of time away from children and I learned to love all the time I had for myself.  There was a season of about 5 years when I no longer wanted to babysit.  During that season, entertaining other people's children was no longer my idea of a good time either.

I do love entertaining my 10 month old baby now, and her little friends, most of the time.  The love of children has returned to me.  It came rushing back with overwhelming love for my new baby.  But because of that other season of life, I can relate to the author.  And that's when it hit me; this is yet another reason God allowed those years of infertility.  If I had not gone through that season, I would never have seen that side of my heart;  my ability to be so selfish, that it was no longer fun to play with the most adorable creatures on earth!

It's always a great relief to see myself more clearly, to see how imperfect I am and to be able to relate to other imperfect people when they admit their weakness and failures.  I'm a much happier person now, at 35, than I was at 22.  It's not fun to be proud.  It's not fun to think I'm better than others.  That is a burden of loneliness I don't need.  The more time goes by, the more I realize I can relate to every person on this planet.  Given the right set of circumstances, there is no amount of evil too great that I could not be tempted.  The more I embrace this truth, the freer I am.  Free to love others on their worst days.  Free to enjoy the fact that God loves ME, on my worst days.

I know God had many reasons for allowing infertility to be part of my story, but if the above lesson was the only reason, it would have been worth it.

I hate the reality of suffering.  I don't have an answer for every perversion and every awful thing that exists.  I watched a deer die today.  Another car hit it and I drove up seconds later.  The deer lay in the road, heaving, wide eyed, trying to breathe.  We all stood around, wondering what to do.  Eventually the deer stopped moving.  She was gone.  I don't have an answer for why stuff like that happens.  But I've seen enough good come from pain to continue to trust God in those moments when I don't know the reason or purpose for the awful.

I know I would never see myself clearly if I didn't go through trials.  Every trial has revealed more of myself and stripped away burdens I didn't need to be carrying.  Every trial has left me happier than I was before.