Hope returns

A new thread has been pulled out of this twisting, turning, tangled ball of yarn that is grief.

The thread of hope has been pulled out again.

Partly, I'm sure, is the fact that the sun is shining and spring is here.

It's also partly, at least, because of my dog and the fact I seem to have become the sun, moon and stars of her life. Who can explain that love but I tend to agree with the man who said something to the effect of wanting to be half the man his dog thinks he is.

In truth, however, it is something given by God in his grace and closing allied to faith and love.

So hope means that I am not hopeless, or lost, because God has me.  And He is in control of my future. Hope is understanding that all things do work together for good for those who love the Lord.

Hope is confidence that seeds of life and joy are growing, even if they are below the surface.

Hope is stubborn faith and the refusal to give up, even when everything within me is screaming for me to just stop caring.

Hope is the energy to get up off the floor and keep acting, and praying and worshipping and expressing gratitude, including gratitude for 24 good years with a good woman.

Hope is firm confidence that my story has been finished. It is also confidence that Faye's story is continuing.

And so I press on.

Why I'm writing this blog

I may have written these things before but I'd like to lay out why I write this blog, trying, very hard, to be consistent in working on it. (In other words, treating it as part of my productive, working day.

1. Honestly I felt divine direction in doing this, so I do it.

2. Laying out my thoughts and emotions regarding the death of my beautiful lady is part of my healing. I firmly believe that.

3. It also allows me to track my grief journey. I know the tenor of my posts has changed over the last 16 months or so.

4. I have no idea how many readers I have but I believe this blog can help others either dealing with grief themselves, or who have friends suffering from the loss of someone they loved.

5. I have a notion of compiling all this raw material into a book at some time

I am deliberately, consciously, as emotionally honest as I can possibly. Again, there is a reason for my honesty.

I believe this would be purposeless, apart from being as raw as I can possibly be.

I actually believe in pressing in, by faith, into God's goodness. And I believe in using the language of grace and appreciation, and faith.

But there is a place for the expression of raw emotion. It needs to be let out. And that attempt at transparency lets friends know precisely where I am at, and maybe,  just maybe, it will help someone else express their pain.

I may even sometimes delve into slight over statement, again deliberately, because looking at the worst actually gives me hope that I can deal with things and move on. I've taken the hardest shot I can take. And I'm still standing here. I still believe God is good.

And I am pressing on.

Confession time

I have to confess that I didn't go to church yesterday. I didn't go anywhere or do anything, other than hang out with my dog.

Truth be told I was hiding from Mother's Day. Cowardly I suppose, although I've already dismissed that worry.

I love the Lord and I love my church. But Mother's Day would only have reminded of the beautiful lady I lost. And I just didn't care to go there.

Yet I press on.

The colour purple

I've been thinking about the colour purple.

The reason I've been thinking about purple is that Faye was beautiful in purple.

And I've been thinking about purple because Faye loved purple--scarves, sweaters, ear rings.

I've been thinking about the colour purple because it's the colour of royalty and Faye was my queen. And she is now heavenly royalty

I remember going Christmas shopping many years ago and seeing a purple something or other. It may have been a sweater, or it could have been a blouse, but I knew she would be beautiful in it. And I loved looking at my beautiful lady in purple.

List this under fond memories.

And I press on.

01 Beth Hart - Might As Well Smile - Better Than Home (2015)

Battered and bruised

If I could be a neutral or objective observer of grief (hint, I'm not neutral or objective and I never can be), I would make the point the journey of grief is long, hard and unpredictable.

A month or so ago I was genuinely happy. The cloud of grief and its side effects had lifted.

Of late, however, I've been feeling like grief has punched me in the face and then proceeded to curb stomp me.

Boxer Mike Tyson once said something to the effect that everyone has a plan until you get punched in the face. That describes the grief journey, at least from my completely subjective point. Just when you think you have a recovery plan in place, grief punches you in the face.

Having said that, however, I will add that I am battered and bruised but I'm not broken. I will get up off the mat and I will recover.

I am determined in that. And I know God is with me. And I know healing and recovering and the embrace of life are in the plans for me.

Pressing on.

A broken and contrite heart

you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
17 My sacrifice, O God, is[b] a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart
    you, God, will not despise. Psalm 51:17

I think I have met the condition of a broken and contrite heart.

And now I wait on the Lord, in trust, and faith and humility.

No I don't believe the Lord took Faye home for the sake of changing my heart. He could do that in any number of ways.

But I have changed. I certainly have had my heart broken and I am in a place, right now, where I can only depend on the Lord and know He is good, He is sovereign and He is at work in my life.

Pressing on.