Grief

What I Am Learning About Suffering Well After Twenty-Nine Days Of Bed Rest

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

The first week on bed rest wasn’t too bad.

I was pretty sure my body would figure itself out, my back would crack in the right direction, and I would be up and running in no time.

I opened an office on my bed, barking orders at my homeschooled kid, and attending meetings online.

I forgot to tell one male teacher why I was in bed during the online call which was a bit embarrassing after the fact. But I’ve done more embarrassing things in good health.

My husband brought me coffee each morning. My daughters brought me tea. All in all, it wasn’t the end of the world.

But I’m on day twenty-nine today of near constant bed rest. The allure has lost its charm.

I was struggling to hang onto my mood today, meaning I was trying to kick a foul mood and find some fruits of the spirit somewhere, but I was coming up empty-handed again.

A friend texted me “How are you?”

I shut off the phone and rolled over. Where do I begin? I’m trying to hold onto a positive attitude.

Don’t shut her out, I felt God whisper.

I answered her text.

Be honest, I felt him whisper again.

She phoned later that night. And again, despite my foul mood, I felt God prompting me to pick up the phone, to say something.

I answered the phone and chatted imbecilely about happy things in our life – toilet training our new rabbit, our daughter home from university this week.

And when we got to the subject of my back I tried to keep up a brave front for a while. No one likes a bother. We all have stuff we walk through, after all.

But I was surprised when I felt emotional as I babbled my feelings to her. I’ve seen her tears before so it was safe for her to see mine. So I let them flow a little. And I learned a bit more about myself, about the lessons I’m learning on this journey of suffering. Here are a few:

1. It’s fear again that’s robbing my joy. I couldn’t figure out why the first week of bed rest was not too bad but today with a regression of symptoms was so upsetting. Yes. It’s because fear has shown itself again, reared its ugly head again, gnawing away at the courage in my heart. What if I get worse? Fear. And fear fed by my unfiltered thoughts grew bigger, overpowering my peace.

2. I was also afraid I wasn’t doing enough. Apparently, this is the a very common fear most humans feel, I recently learned*. What if I should be taking one healthcare provider’s advice and not the other’s, or vice versa? What if I try to get up and move around too much or too little? Fear. Fear that I am not walking the tight-rope of expectations for a temperamental back that randomly punishes me no matter what I do.

3. The remedy to fear? Repentance. I actually feel powerful when I repent of fear, ironically. Try saying this: God I’m sorry for being fearful of something way far out in my future when you promised me only enough grace for today. Jesus, I’m sorry for thinking that I’m going to pull myself up by the bootstraps and fix this back problem when I can’t even see my own back, never mind have any idea what knots my back nerves and muscles inside have gotten themselves into. Forgive me for thinking, again, that I will save me. Instead, guide me and whisper to me, and help me to learn from you how much rest and movement my body needs to heal.

And so the phone call ended.

My situation hasn’t changed but my heart of a lion was feeling stronger. I could sense it beating within me again. Whatever I go through You will strengthen me. Whatever difficulty I face You are there with me. When I go through the valley, You comfort me.

As you listen to this song, try repenting of your fear, repenting of your self-sufficiency, and thanking God for the glimmers of hope in your life. Then ask Holy Spirit how to have enough strength to face today. What do you hear Him whisper?

Blogpost Footnotes

* Joyce Meyer – Do It Afraid! Obeying God In The Face Of Fear

Everyone Has Someone To Mourn With!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Last time I talked about mourning together with the group.

I also talked about coyotes, but let’s face it, we all know I just made that stuff up. You should never trust stuff you read on the internet, anyway!

Except this post, of course.

So I spoke to my friend this week about her experiences mourning together in community.

The only problem is that she has read some of this blog once and so if I talked about what she said, I would have to tell the truth.

I’ll stick to my own experience.

So last week I was a blathering mess at church.

This was embarrassing, even for me, but the cool thing is that I didn’t have to purposefully stop the flow.

Imagine you’re in a room and the God of the universe (who exists) commands everyone in that room to love you. And they try their best to obey God (in our pathetic, limited, human way).

That’s what church is supposed to be like actually. We can bring whatever emotion is tagging along behind us and we don’t have to hide it. Sometimes we may need to cry and that’s OK. They have to love you!

Sometimes just sensing the presence of God in communal worship is what starts the tears.

And when we finally open our hearts to God and allow one disappointment to surface, don’t you find that a geyser opens up within us sometimes? There is a lot of other stuff that probably should be released as well.

And just letting some of that stuff emerge is actually healing.

That’s the irony. There is an opportunity for healing to occur if we can just stop holding it together for a few minutes, stop sucking in our guts, and stop pretending our real life matches our online persona (I’m not as neurotic and whiny in person as I seem online of course!).

I accidentally caught his eye -the guy at church I don’t know super well. But his look of empathy towards me, of real empathy, even as he tried to hide his gaze, was enough to open up the cracks on some more layers of disappointment that needed to be released.

Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time. The Message

Sometimes what comes out, weaved into the tapestry of stuff that has wounded our hearts over the years is bitterness and disappointment towards God.

He is standing there, ready with a towel to dry off all the tears that are soaking you. He already knows how you feel. He is so happy that you’re finally bringing who you are, and letting him comfort you.

You can rest in his arms now, like a child sitting on their mother’s lap, clinging to her, and receiving comfort somehow.

It’s going to be OK little one, he whispers to your ear.

I’ve got you now.

As you listen quietly to the song below, may you open up your heart to God, and may you find comfort, dear one.

Mourning Together With Coyotes Is Healthy

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

My dog is smarter than he looks.

I mean, he doesn’t look that smart when the fire engine or the coyotes are howling outside, and our dog howls along with them.

Does he not know he is not a fire truck? Or a coyote?

But he is definitely smarter than he looks.

For example, once on a walk, I suddenly heard coyotes howling very close to us. (There is a real world outside of LA where actual trees and flowers exist!).

I quickly grabbed onto his leash. I was certain my fluffy mini-golden doodle would head for the middle of the pack and howl along with them, making his dog dreams a reality (Being called a “doodle” is never cool in coyote society. Being called “fluffy” doesn’t help either. Or “mini.”)

But instead, tail between his legs, he hunkered down and ran home, me stumbling along behind him.

When we got safely inside, and he was protected by a locked door, he opened his mouth wide, and howled in freedom, just one of the pack.

He somehow knew that the coyotes would eat him if they got a chance. But that didn’t stop him from also knowing that mourning with others is healthy.

I feel the same way actually.

I know I will never be accepted into a pack of coyotes.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to learn to mourn, to lament in my community with the freedom of a coyote.

“. . . weep with those who weep” Ancient Text

You may think you’ve heard coyotes wail because you watched a John Wayne movie once, but the lamenting, prolonged howl of a group of coyotes is really nothing like that.

Coyotes send shivers down your spine when you hear them mournfully wailing.

You kind of think they’ll shut up after a few minutes but they don’t. It can go on for hours, sometimes in the middle of the day.

“What in the world are they crying about?” I finally wondered.

Coyotes mourn in packs in the fall, when a younger coyote sets off on his own. (I read that on the internet*.)

And so this is what we can learn from coyotes:

1. They mourn together as a group and out loud.

2. They mourn about one thing, and then gracefully interweave their sadness to other stuff that is also breaking their little hearts. (Give me a break here – I know we can’t read the minds of coyotes, but this is my interpretation of what they’re saying. Do you have a better idea of what coyotes think about when they mourn in the fall? No, I thought not!)

3. This grieving process helps them. I mean most of the time coyotes are pretty well-adjusted, right? 50% of them are not sucking back Prozac or the equivalent, like us humans. Maybe we can learn from them.

I’ll explain what we can learn next time.

* Scientific Information Source

The Nature Conservancy: “There’s also a lot of contradictory information – and complete nonsense – written about coyotes.”

Blogpost Footnotes

No! I’m not a coyote-ologist or whatever that’s called. No! I’ve never even studied coyotes. Why do you ask?

Oh! I did read a really funny Canadian classic book once called Never Cry Wolf, and wolves are sort of like coyotes, I think. Does that count?

Anyway, I know the next blog post outlining what I’ve learned from coyotes will help you.

You’re welcome!

Good luck!