Surprised by grief

I knew it would hurt longer than one day but I keep getting surprised by grief. 

 I came home monday night, 3/11/13, and walked in the door and my dog wasn't there to greet me. Then I slept in my bed for the first time without my dog. I woke up the next morning and she wasn't jumping on and off my bed urging me to get up and let her out. I haven't opened the door from my bedroom to the backyard since she was here. I was expecting to feel sad at those predictable times but there have been so many more moments in the last two weeks when I've been surprised by grief.

As I made final preparations to leave for work on 3/12/13, my head automatically turned towards her bowls. (I always checked to see if she needed food and water right before I left for work.) But her bowls weren't there and I was surprised by grief.

Lunch time on 3/12/13 came and I couldn't go home. I didn't want to face the silence. or that ticking clock. So I ate out and went straight back to work. Then 5:30pm came and I couldn't go home. I was surprised by my compulsion to avoid the place I used to love to be the most. But that was before she died. So I went to a friend's house and hid for the evening. I thought I'd avoided feeling sad because I changed my routine. But when I got in the car at 10pm, I was again surprised by grief, and cried most of that 20 minute drive home.

Wednesday morning, two days after she died, I got through my morning routine and made it to work on time. But by 9am I was overcome. Sobbing in my cubicle, I knew I was getting no work done and needed to get out of there. So I got in my car and drove to my grandma's. I was not only completely surprised by grief, I felt suffocated and paralyzed by it. I didn't start breathing evenly until I was half way to Reedley. 

My grandma gives me hope. No matter what is going on in my life, she always gives me hope. I know that is why my instinct was to flee to her that morning. I had lost it. I was in a hole and couldn't find a way out. So she jumped in the hole with me and was my guide because she's been in that same hole before and knows the way out. 

You see, my grandpa died in 1994 and she has been without him for over 19 years. She still misses him everyday.  Her advice to me was that it is okay to feel sad, it is good to grieve, but it is important to keep from feeling sorry for myself. In other words, sit in the middle of your pain but then get up and walk through it. She said that with time my routines would change and everyday life would get easier to bear. Wisdom that soothed my suffocated soul and allowed my heartbeat to regulate.

I told her some of the things I am thinking about doing now that I won't need to be home to take care of her. I can volunteer, go back to school, join a gym (yes, i was feeling that desperate), get more involved in church, etc. My grandma totally validated all of those options and was even excited for me at the new possibliities in front of me.  That's when I felt the hope return and that's how she guided me out of the hole.

With every first that has happened without my dog, (my first lunch at home, first cheezits, first pizza, first Friday morning off, and today, my first Saturday at home), I am still surprised by grief as the waves keep on coming. I mowed my back lawn today and half way through I started crying because it was the first time I'd mowed the lawn or even walked around in the backyard since she died. She wasn't anxiously waiting at the door to be let out to see and sniff out how I'd changed her territory. She won't be patrolling the yard or barking at the neighbor dogs through the fence. 

I have to constantly remind myself that she wasn't just a dog and that 10 1/2 years together is a long time. It's okay to be feel the loss and it's okay to be surprised by grief.

Worst countdown ever

As I type the clock is counting down. 3 hours 10 minutes until I have to say goodbye to her. It is a uniquely painful feeling to know the day and hour of my dog’s death. She has been my constant companion for 10 1/2 years, for all of my adult life. all.of.it. 

Sure, she’s tried (and succeed) to escape now and then but she always comes back. always. When she follows me around, sits at my feet, and curls up next to me at night, I am no longer alone. I feel her presence and it calms me. She studies me, even now, seems to wonder what I’m doing and then sits down next to me, content because she knows where I am. I fill her bowl with food every morning just in case she gets hungry while I’m at work but she never eats until I’m home. 

It’s difficult to fathom how I will be motivated to get out of bed without her wet nose in my face to convey that urgency. I’m not even sure how I will get through this day. 

But because HE lives, I can face tomorrow and the next 2 hours and 54 minutes...

When 'cute' becomes a Four letter word

Cute: defined as possessing physical features, behaviors, personality traits or other properties that are mainly attributed to infants and small or cuddly animals.

If you ever want to get a reaction out of me, just refer to an adult with a developmental disability as 'cute'. Call them scary, weird, or even annoying because those, while being harsh (not to mention politically incorrect), are sometimes true. But they are NoT CuTe! Adults are not infants or small cuddly animals, they are grown people with years of life experience. Calling them cute is one of the most demeaning and insulting descriptors you can use because it effectively strips them of dignity and respect, making them less than and never equal.

Treating adults like children is not loving.

Neither is allowing children to do whatever they want because they have Down syndrome.

All small children are cute, okay most small children are cute. But most parents agree that cuteness is not a free ticket to do whatever you want to whomever you want whenever you want. Boundaries are a essential in communicating love and respect. The same is true for adults, able and disabled alike.

Bottom line: The problem is not really the word cute. The problem is the tendency for people to stop at that word and not work to see past that label to the person. When you look past the label you are daring to be equals with that person with a disability. Suddenly they aren't cute anymore. They are stubborn, messy, loving, aggravating, wonderful people just like you.

My testimony

My story begins when I was 4 years old. My oldest brother Edward and I had spent the night at our grandparents house. We both woke up early the next morning and didn't think we should get up yet so we stayed in bed and starting talking. My brother has never really liked small talk so he jumped right to the deepest subject, Jesus and the salvation He offers. I don't remember everything he said but I do remember him asking me if I wanted to pray to ask Jesus into my heart. I said yes and we prayed. As I prayed I physically felt a void being filled inside of me. Jesus really came to live in me! And there was great rejoicing! Right? Well no, at least not inside of me.  

I thought it was too soon, even at 4 years old, but I knew my decision was my own and that I wanted Jesus in my heart. I felt sealed and preserved. I would never know life without Him. But part of me was sad. I desperately wanted a before and after story. An I once was lost and now I'm found shout-it-from-the-rooftops-and-everyone-in-your-household-gets-saved story. Instead, I got a once was lost and then I turned 4 years old story. I complained to Him about it because I felt like I had no testimony. I questioned His wisdom and His plans for my life. And from the very first day that I was saved, I doubted God's love for me. 

So began 13 years of questioning and doubting God. 

I grew up in the Dinuba Mennonite Brethren Church and had this reputation for being obedient, nice, and a good sister to my brother Nathan, who has a developmental disability. You can ask me more about that later. But this goody two shoes reputation felt like a huge lie. I was obedient because it was easier and I was too lazy to be disobedient. I was nice to people because I was allergic to conflict so I'd rather be nice than risk having to run away from you when conflict arose. And I was a good sister because I was the youngest and figured, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! Right?

In questioning and doubting God's love for me I had this was my (faulty) logic: God knows me better than I know myself so that means He sees my ugly, sinful heart and therefore He couldn't possibly love me. I was unworthy and there was no chance that I'd ever become worthy because I was committing the worst sin of all, trying to overrule God as though I had it right and He had it wrong. Such stubborn arrogance mixed with a very low self-esteem made for a depressing inner dialogue.

I thought I was being gracious in saying to God that I didn't want to be a burden. I didn't want to bother God with my problems. He, like my parents, was busy taking care of other people. I had the Lord but I didn't want to need Him. My mindset was "God, you've got me. You've had me since age 4. You don't have to worry about me anymore. Feel free to focus on all the other people who don't know You yet. The key difference between God and my parents is that God doesn't need anything taken off His plate. He doesn't need a break or for me to be on His team to give Him support. God doesn't need me. 

In August of 1998, I went to camp and He met me there. It was Wednesday night and I was sitting in the amphitheater at Hartland Christian Camp listening to a speaker talk about God's love. At the end as about 80% of my peers left their seats to go make new commitments to the Lord, I was still sitting in mine. I didn’t think anything would penetrate the thick concrete wall I’d built around my heart. 

But then came a life changing moment:

My head was bowed and my eyes closed when I heard God say “I love you.” 

I said, “No.” (but the wall cracked)

He said again, “I love you.” 

I said, “Maybe.” (a chunk falls off the wall) 

For a third time He said, “I love you.” 

And I said, “I finally believe You.” 

I WEPT as my wall crumbled and God’s love flooded my heart. I accepted salvation at age 4 and accepted God's choice to love me at age 17.

When I was 24 I wrote my own version of what Paul wrote in Galatians 1:13-16:

‘For you have heard of my previous days at DMBC, my family heritage, how I worshiped, served God, and tried to be a good Christian. I was advanced in my knowledge of the Bible and was involved in ministry with the youth group, choir, worship team, etc. I was zealous but at the same time conflicted about Your love. But then God, You chose to reveal Your grace to me and were pleased to give Your Son’s life for mine so that I might know what it is to be truly loved, valued, and cared for. Thank You.’

Now at age 36 God is helping me appreciate my heritage and my 32 years with Him. Last year I was doing a bible study with a friend and was referencing different stories in the Bible to explain something and my friend turned to me and said, "How do you know all of this stuff?!?" It caught me off guard because I really couldn't pinpoint when or where I'd learned it because I didn't remember not knowing it. "I guess I learned it at church or from my parents at some point",  I said. Then she said something that changed my perspective on growing up as a follower of Jesus and on growing up in the church. She said, "Well, I think you should go home and thank your parents for teaching you all of this because I've never heard it before! You're so blessed to have a Christian family!" And I think, for the first time in a long time, I agreed with her.

Calling It Like I See It

I raised my flag straight up in the air signaling the ball as 'out'. Then I looked up at my dad and watched him mouth the words "bad call" as he signals the ball as 'in'. It was my first call of my first game. I was a line judge for a division 2 college volleyball game and my dad was the R1 or up referee. 

He overruled me. Great. Just great.

I tried to replay the ball's landing in my head but I saw nothing. Only blackness. That's when I realized I had blinked at precisely the wrong time. My job was to see the ball land but all I had seen were the back of my eyelids. not good. Can I leave now? Nope! There's a lot of volleyball left to be played and it's my job to stay. To persevere through the nervousness, fear, and embarrassment.  To stay and keep my eyes open. I learned the art of timely blinking that night. Blink when the ball is in the air. Not, I repeat, not when the ball is landing! That first game was in the Fall of 2007. 

Over the past 5 years I've learned much more than a perfectly timed blink. I've learned the art of acting like I not only know what I'm doing, but I;m right about my calls. A flag raised too slowly, or worse not at all, is a disheartening act that drains all your credibility right out of you. In the eyes of everyone in the gym, you may as well not even be standing there. You're either right or completely incompetent. There is no middle ground.

Portray some empathy but do not show weakness. They can smell it like a dirty diaper. Even if you change they never look at you the same. They just make faces and shutter at the memory of the smell.

The most important lesson I've learned while calling lines is not the art of blinking or the portrayal of confidence but the importance of remaining humble. Make an amazing call, keep my eyes open, wave my flag, see what everyone else missed, do a near perfect job and then...the ball is served again. You can't sit down or graciously leave the court on a high note. "Thank you! You've been a beautiful audience!" You can't leave them wanting more. No, you must stay to the very end and be ready for the next ball to land or hit the antenna or the blockers hand or me or...you get the idea. There's so much to keep your eyes open for.

A thank you note to my grandma

Dear Grandma,

 I'm celebrating my birthday by writing thank you notes to people who I appreciate in my life. You went to heaven on Oct. 14 at 5:15 am. In earthly time it's been 2 weeks. You talked about heaven on a daily basis and have longed to be there for so many years. When Grandpa died your longing only deepened and grew stronger. You experienced pain in your life on a level I never fully understood but you always knew that true healing would come in heaven. How does it feel? You are whole for the first time and you are walking and talking with Jesus. It's more than I can fathom.

I am so grateful for the support you've always given me. When I was growing up you and Grandpa came to almost all of my volleyball games, choir concerts, church programs, and performances of any kind. I didn't think my games could officially start without you and grandpa in the sitting up in the stands. You were unpredictable in many ways but I knew I could always depend on you showing up in my life.

Thank you most of all for my dad. He is the best kind of man. He makes my world make sense.

I love you Grandma.

love, beth

A month of gratitude...31 days, that's it ;)

On my 25th birthday I went on a cruise with three of my closest friends. When I turned 30 I went on a hot air balloon ride with 4 of my closest friends. I went crazy for my 31st by inviting 10 friends to ride go carts and play arcade games with me at Boomer's Family Entertainment Center. When I figure out how to put pictures on here, I'm totally gonna do it. :)

Last year I celebrated by getting a tattoo. It was the words from Proverbs "His love endures forever". I wanted the words to be in the shape of an infinity sign. Having no idea how to make that happen, I enlisted the help of my friend Brian Foster. He used his artist talent and fancy graphic design program to create a piece of art that is now imprinted on my left foot. Sitting in a chair in the tattoo parlor sitting amongst posters of mostly naked women while getting a verse with deep spiritual and personal significance tattooed on me made for a very memorable 32nd birthday.

As I said in my last post, I will be 33 soon. And it hit me a couple of months ago that Jesus was 33 when He died and rose again. I think about all the experiences He had on earth leading up to those moments that changed eternity. And then I think about my life and all of the people God has used to bring me closer to Him and to this point in life. I think of myself partly because His life is more than I can fathom and partly because I'm selfish. None the less these musings have given me my adventure for this birthday.

I'm going to write and send thank you notes to as many people as I possibly can. Some notes will be hand written and mailed and others will be emailed. They will all be from me in celebration of how grateful I am for my life and yours.

So, just in case my hand cramps up or I run out of ink, paper, stamps, or time, thank you all for loving me, inspiring me, and empowering me to live the life God has given me. And thanks for encouraging me to do crazy things like go on cruises and hot air balloon rides and get tattoos. :)