Tag: loss

Choosing to Rest

Ever feel overwhelemed by the busyness of life… especially around Christmas?

December 14, 2019

Choosing to Rest

The busyness of life can overwhelm us if we allow it.

Especially when your heart is troubled.

Anybody relate? 

This is the first Christmas season where all the kids have been shopping and I haven’t gone with any of them.  My Daddy passed away one year ago the tenth.  My little tradition of carefully penning the newest addition’s name in glitter glue on a silly felt stocking and adding it to our collection to hang was done by one the of girls this year.  I almost found myself feeling unimportant and stressing out because I wanted to be there…

I’m standing on the floor beam and use my standard line when my gym girls are racing.  On beam that means they end up wobbling and the exercise doesn’t look pretty when you are bouncing and wobbling. “…don’t race.  If you feel wobbly…” I demonstrate so they will laugh and pay attention, doing one passé step and wobbling as I come down “…pause…” I stop with both feet firmly planted “…take a breath to steady you…” I take a deep breath “…and now go on.” I start doing the steps again without the wobble.

This works great for my excited littles at gym.  Sometimes they race because they want to do more and more and more, but really they just need to focus on the task at hand.  They need to control the landing of their foot on the beam so the direction is perfect and they land with confidence.

—BAM—

Life.

It’s the same as walking the beam. 

Don’t race.  That one hit me; don’t we all race when we feel wobbly (overwhelmed)?

Pause.  REST IN JESUS! 

Both feet firmly planted. In the Word – while I’m pausing, I’m resetting by “planting my feet firmly” in the Word.

Take a deep breath.  Worship and pray.

Then you can go on without the wobble. (Worry, feeling of drowning, feeling of uselessness, etc)

Now we take our life and everything whirling around us one step at a time, focusing on each day as it exists, allowing God to control our steps, and we will walk with confidence!

Oversimplified?  Maybe, but that mental picture that God gave me as I was coaching certainly is helping me rest and enjoy this season instead of feel “wobbly” with worry and feeling useless! 

Thank you, Jesus for planting cool visions in my head from sometimes the simplest of things… God uses the simple to confound the wise!

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Questions:

September 23, 2019

Questions

I love how children ask questions.  Sometimes their questions make you go search something.  Like “what is a rainbow?” or “why are leaves green?”

Sometimes their questions mirror your own; but those you won’t speak.

You know, questions that your doubting mind asks but your thinking heart understands.

“Why are you crying?” I ask.

My little girl is riding with me to go pick up two of her big sisters, “why did Aunt Mary die?  Why is Mandy’s mom gone?  Jay is a baby; he will never remember his mom.”

Her tears fall as she speaks.  I let her finish talking.  My heart aches.  I ask those questions in my head too. 

“I miss my baby sister too.” I start, I want to connect with her heart. “Our world is broken because of sin.”  She nods, she has heard this too. 

“I know,” she is still slowly crying, “but she loved Jesus since she was little like me.”  (Mary had told them once that she was five when she promised Jesus her heart. I was there.  She was telling everyone about Jesus and was just five years old.)  Jaquline didn’t know how complex her aunt’s life had become so fast.  Because of sinful controlling people in her life that kept her bogged down, in fear of her life or her family’s life, and assaulted her mentally as they tried to keep her quiet and separate her from anyone who truly loved her.  As a young teen, some guy misused her, showed her that from a certain spot he could see her father’s bedroom, and told her one shot through the window would kill the man she loved the most.  He was the first to rip her young heart to shreds with his awful controlling self – then he had the gall to continue to threaten her when she moved 300 miles away!  Others treated her like dirt; lying about those she loved and people who cared about her until she actually believed these lies and isolated herself from those who would have helped her.

I could hate these people.  Instead I pray for them. 

But she’s my baby sister.  There was a part of me that wanted to go “Good Citizen” on their carcasses.  But I know Jesus died for them just like He died for me and I am supposed to love my enemies.

Switch back to my car on the interstate with my nine year old sitting shotgun with silent tears crawling down her fair cheeks.  This all flashes really fast so the same song is still playing.

“Do you ever think about where Aunt Mary is now?” Jaquline says. Newsong’s “My Heart is Already There” was playing in the background.

“Yes.” All the time.  That comforts me. “She’s with Jesus.  Can you imagine?  Being in His presence and seeing his face?”

Jaquline giggles. “Maybe all her puppies will be there.”  (Mary loved animals and was always trying to get a dog, but always the guy she lived with didn’t want one.)

“Remember the pictures of her as a baby chasing Boodle?” I ask (cutest little Maltese my family had twenty years ago) Jaquline laughs.  “I bet she’s petting him instead of chasing him now.”

“I ask Jesus why Aunt Mary is gone.” Her voice is distant. “He doesn’t answer.”

I sighed, “do you know why Jesus made us?”

“To be with Him.” Bingo.

“Yes, He wanted a relationship with us.  He loves each of us.  He didn’t want Mary to die, but now she is with Him all the time.  Only God knows when each person’s time comes to die.  We all will die one day.”

“I always hope to die when I’m old like Boompa,” Jaquline said.  “I’m not so sad for Boompa, but I’m so sad for Aunt Mary.  I’m sad for Grandma.” Yes.  Same for me.  I miss my father immensely.  I miss my sister.  I can’t fathom the depth of grief for my mother. 

“Jesus will comfort Grandma.  We have to help love her too.”  I say.

“We can be Jesus’ arms and hug her!” Jaquline’s tears have dried a bit and she’s now thinking about serving others.  She loves helping; it usually brings her happiness.

“Yes.” I smiled at her as we parked.  “And sometimes Jesus uses her arms to hug you, too.”

Big smiles return. 

Yes.  I totally miss my sister.  I grieve for the harshness she ended up living through for the last few years of her life.  23.  Her life’s clock stopped so short, only 23 years.  I always dreamed of her silly dancing at our Christmas parties for ages, smiling her beaming-happy-smile as she watched nieces and her daughter walk shakily down their aisle to their forever-love, dancing with her sons at their weddings, encouraging my teenagers in their Christian walk toward womanhood, and living her new-found free life focused on her three little angels.  Their plans, maybe not together, but at least working together for the best – the children. So, yes, I asked that question.  “Why, God?  Why is my baby sister dead?”  It seemed so surreal for me.  No body.  No last look.  No nothing.  I keep expecting her to drive up, drop the littles off, and enjoy some of whatever food we have just cooked. 

I know this world is broken by sin.  I know it wasn’t ever in God’s plan for us to have death.  I know my grandmothers, father, and baby sister are in heaven in the presence of God.  I have hope I will see them again.  But yes, I did ask those questions.  Yes, my heart aches for my family who must live without her.  I pray for all of us daily.  I find it hardest to pray for those who have hurt her, but that is my challenge.  I must love them as Jesus did.

My mind drifts back:

“…He has called us too! He has called us too! We are all disciples!  Even me and you!” The little voice yells each stanza of the VBS song.  Jumping with excitement, “did I get them all right?” 

I had been singing along and am raking something for a vegetable bed.  “Yes, Mary, don’t bounce on my tilled dirt.” We laugh and she points at her shoeprints.

“Yippeeeeeee!” She hollers and spins.  “Where’s Easter!  I’m gonna sing it to Easter!”  And she runs off in a singing blur, little bright blue eyes sparkling with life, long wispy blonde hair flying about in the Georgia breeze, she’s going to find that silly yellow hen that actually loves to be captured by Mary and sits contentedly tucked in her arms.  I look up to see my vibrant baby sister swinging on the swingset with Easter in her lap, projecting her beautiful voice with some soul-singer power as she practices the song for tomorrow’s VBS service. (You know, where the kids show off to the adults what they’ve learned in the week) Mary would tell the world that she asked Jesus in her heart about two years later.  She had such a love for life and care for others.  No one is perfect.  We aren’t Jesus.  I love her for her heart.  I will always love my baby sister. No, loss never “gets easy” but I do have hope in Jesus that I will see her again.  And that keeps me out of falling into bitterness. I can’t allow my grief to turn into bitterness.  I can’t be Rose from Overcomer; I have to choose joy.

And just like a soundtrack to my life, as I slide back in the car with the two older girls in tow, For King and Country’s “I Choose Joy” is shouting from the speakers.

Thank you, Jesus.  You know my heart.

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Fighting Failure

July 12, 2019

Fighting Failure

It’s when your mind tells you stuff that isn’t what God wants you to hear, but the logical part of you says, “yes, that’s right,” so you agree and allow the spirit of failure to permeate your day.

I know in my heart that anything discouraging that doesn’t come with a motivation for how to fix it isn’t from God.  Yet, my logical brain doesn’t always catch these.

Fighting with the spirit of failure has been tough for me lately, especially the last couple of weeks.  One of the girls says “you are always busy,” and I hear “you are never home” to which my logical brain reminds me that I leave before most  are awake and I come home straight to dinner, cleaning, and bedtime or arrive just as bedtime starts.  My brain reiterates: “you are a failure” (at being a good mom.)

Louis says, “obviously, that’s wrong” when I ask for his help and my brain says, “you can’t even put a couch cushion cover on right!” This makes me irritated so I leave because I am now mad at Louis – to which my brain shouts, “see, you’re a horrible wife,” and I believe that because I couldn’t even get dinner ready within an hour the night before but Louis can throw a gourmet meal together in twenty minutes (why do I even agree with that failure, I know I’m not a fast cook?).  My brain reminds me of strings of “wife fails” in reverse order like comic book pages on fast-forward speed laughing, “you are a failure” (at being a wife.)

I’m working so much and have little time (when they need me) lately to spend helping my family with our recent losses.  One of my friends says “you’ll make time,” and since I haven’t stopped my job or altered my schedule too much, my brain laughs, “you are a failure” (at being a good sister, daughter.)

One of my friends is going through a very trying time and I want to be there for her more, but I’m busy when she’s free or I turn into a pumpkin at nine-thirty (to get to bed by ten & therefore up by five to get ready for work) but she is usually home and free in the evenings.  My brain tells me, “see, you are such a failure” (at being a friend.)

BUT… (positive one!)

I have to remind my mind (remind = renew my mind, if you will) that we are all failures.  All have sinned and come short of perfection.  So, yes, of course I fail over and over!  God gives me peace, hope, and joy.  I do my best with what life has given me and pray for God to give me the joy (translates into strength for me) to handle what I’m lacking.

So even though physically and humanly, I am not matching up to my image of perfection (another trap for us perfectionists, we actually think somehow that we can be perfect on our own), when I remind my mind who I am, I remember this: I am saved by undeserved favor (meaning I did NOTHING to deserve it, rather I deserved to die).  Jesus knew my failures ahead of time yet chose to say, “I want her.”

Now I can fight this feeling of failure by choosing to fix where I can improve and trust God with the rest.  I’m not going to be working from home again anytime soon – I will trust God with that.  I can try to prioritize time spent at home.  (I think I’m doing good until I literally take a step wrong my first day off & bruise my neck & shoulders so I spend almost two whole days recovering and doing nothing… and those were supposed to be quality family days!)  I remind my mind, “in all things, trust God.”

The joy of the Lord is my strength.  My mind plays Rebecca St. James “Be The Voice,” and Mandisa’s “Born For This” as I tell myself to “Lay it All Down” and trust.  “This Song is Alive” and “My Heart’s Already There!” (Point of Grace, NewSong, respectively)

Music is my key to joy!  Music is how I fight failure!  Thank you, Jesus, for music!  Thank you for always helping me to fight the spirit of failure in me.

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Loss and Love

June 23, 2019

Loss and Love

Standing excitedly on the screened porch steps, 6 children stand about squirming, giggling, jumping, and otherwise trying to pitifully contain their excitement.

“What is it, Daddy!” chorus a half-dozen voices.

Daddy pulls out a stork – plain, white, six-foot-tall wooden stork.

“No, Daddy! It is a boy or a girl!” “Is it a Bobby or a Mary?” “Daddy! That doesn’t tell us anything!” “Daddy!”

He’s grinning under that “Indian Jones” hat he always wore. He loves the suspense. The oldest boy sits on the steps; he’s been telling us it’s a girl since he knew Mom was pregnant. He jumps when Daddy finally pulls out a bow – a pretty, humongous PINK bow.

The children scream with joy and start dancing about, following Daddy as he plants the stork in the yard and ties on that giant pink bow – announcing to everyone speeding up and down our county road that God had gifted this family with a new beautiful baby girl.

Our Mary.

Our treasure.

It was 24 days before my thirteenth birthday 23 years ago that I first heard my baby sister’s cry over the phone. (No skype or video phone back then.) Mom would bring our new baby sister home the following day all wrapped up in blankets against the South Carolina January cold. We loved, spoiled, and thanked God for our baby.

Our Mary.

Honestly I was an odd big sister; I read tons of parenting books and practiced techniques on Charley, Dorothy, and Mary, so they felt like my children instead of my siblings.

My Baby Sister.

Two days ago at work, just settling in, going happily about my day, I get a call from my Mom that made a part of my heart die. Mary was gone. She didn’t have details, but just that turned me numb. I went into split mode. Six months and ten days ago it was my Daddy; this was ripping my mother’s heart from her chest. Her baby girl was dead. My baby sister was dead. My niece and nephews would never see Mommy come home from work. My boss helped me gather my things and Thea and I started trying to call my rocks (phones are hands-free now so your voice and your car does everything, Daddy couldn’t call us from the road when she was born). I needed to talk. Louis told me he was with her babies. My Mom had gone to tell Becca in person. I cried, I screamed, mad at the waste – I didn’t even know nor care how she died yet. I was so irritated that God had let this happen to us. Mary was just getting on her feet again. She had found a home to rent, she had enrolled the kids in school, she was starting a real job on Monday… her life was moving in a positive direction.

She was 23.

23.

A baby. Her children needed Mommy. But she was gone. Talked with my baby brother. It was a car accident. An accident, a blink of an eye; everything about two families changes.

“Praise you in the Storm” came on Hope FM. Music is my life. God knows me. The next few songs playing while I made the 35 minute ride home seemed like God talking to me through them.

Mary had told me the day before that she kept seeing Daddy with his arms out to her like he was going to hug her. I told her that was God letting Daddy give her a hug while she slept. Now that popped into my head to make another river of tears before I got to the house.

I never understood having to walk into your own house, look your children in the eye, and tell them their Aunt is dead. Two of my daughters were closer to Mary than I was. She had been coming to stay with us for summers when they were young (my Daddy’s idea of “parenting classes”) until she married and divorced… I called her ex.  (They’d been seperated off and on for the last three years but officially divorced on June 11, 2019.)

Death is horrid.

I don’t know how those without God can handle death. My hope is in Jesus and I know I will see those I love again. I know my baby sister is in heaven with my Daddy – her Daddy.

The roller coaster of emotions still races through every vein and artery in my body.

“You have to take care of her,” Daddy is saying – I’m 13 & she’s a bright-eyed 6 months. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”

But I can’t always be there! I can’t always stop bad things! I am so powerless a protector!

I walk in to Mom’s house (Mary was living there until she got her place) and there’s Mandy, Isaac, and JJ looking up at me all excited, “Yea! Aunt Alice!” and they grab sister-cousins and brother-cousin and disappear into the playroom (their bedroom).

Our focus is on these angels now. On helping their guardians (another sister & her husband have custody) as much as we can. On being there to tell them stories about their Mommy. On praying for them. On always being there for them through the life journeys they will take without her.

Oh, God, I know death was never in your plan! It hurts so bad. It rips our soul. I pray constantly that we will know peace. I pray that all those who lose loved ones find peace. I pray for my Mom – God, only you can comfort her. I pray for Mary’s babies.  Wrap your arms around them and whisper to their ears that you are holding them and you will guide them.

Oh God, death is so hard to bear!

Go hug those you love, speak without anger, treasure the time you get with friends and family. Life is a vapor – you never know when it will end.

~Nancy Tart

Watching & Analyzing

Watching & Analyzing

April 27, 2019

I’ve always been a watcher.  I watch the world around me and (most of the time) analyze it.  I look at a beautiful blue sky and my mind says “wow, how pretty,” and quickly follows with “it won’t rain for the next few hours.”  (Yes, hours, we live in Florida – if you walk outside and don’t like the weather, go brush your teeth and check again.)

Honestly, I analyze too much.

I shouldn’t catch a glimpse of something and try to analyze it.

In relationships, that is nosy.  See someone and instantly turn on your inner Sherlock Holmes… (Four different cat hairs on her skirt, four cats – her house must be smelly… unless she uses that whatever-name-it-is-I-saw-on-tv multi-cat litter.  Is her purr-fume laced with tuna?)

That just isn’t nice.

In normal life, it can suck out the joy.

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I catch this glance of my angel sleeping.  Instant thought: “My Mom will love this.” Second thought: “She was two months old on Easter Sunday.”  Third thought as I’m sending my mom the picture: “Daddy never saw her.”  Followed quickly by a flood: Daddy didn’t get to hear about Christina flying, Lucas will not remember his Grandfather, they won’t get to learn how amazing Daddy’s brain was – like talking to an educated encyclopedia with an open mind.  He was always listening, always talking, always making connections where we couldn’t see them; always the analyst.

Within two minutes (from the time I took the picture until Mom texted back), my mind had sent my mood from joyful to sorrowful.  From excited about young life to regretting the passing of my Daddy.  I had just rode an emotional roller coaster at work and nothing had changed on my face.

I forced myself to refocus.

Daddy always expected Christina to achieve her dreams – he once told me to “look out, she has your determination and a friendlier world; just you watch what she does!”

Lucas loves watching family videos and listening to stories of his “Santa Boompa” told by his big sisters.

I inherited Daddy’s knack for soaking up knowledge (probably why I can make myself learn any new job rather quickly) and if you want to start me talking… (yes, the girls call it lecturing) enter at your own risk because I’ll make strange connections, see beyond what is easily seen, and read into situations for what “could be.”

I remind myself that we can always shift our focus to the positive, and that’s what Daddy would have wanted.  He didn’t want anyone sad when he left us.  He always wanted the joy, smiles, and laughter that he tried to cultivate.  So, now I’m back to joyful.

Then music runs through my head: “I Choose Joy!” (For King & Country – I love that song!)

Yes, I choose joy.  Everyday.  I pray you do too.

 

Type at you Later…

~Nancy Tart

Minuit’s Story

This story of Minuit, the Dwarf Holland Lop bunny who became Kimberly’s best gift ever, and how Kimberly fell in love with her “snuggle bunny” gifted by her big sisters!

January 2, 2019

Minuit’s Story

There was a girl, Kimberly, who fell in love in 2013 when she was 6 and a black and white “retired stud rabbit” she called “Mister Walter Rabbit” was left on her family’s back porch.

Mom found out Mr. Walter Rabbit was over 12!  (Rabbits average 10 years.)  That didn’t matter to Kimberly.  She slid down the kiddie slide with him, she put him on his blanket in the baby buggy and dragged it around like a rickshaw, she slept with him, she loved him more than any animal ever before, and with a little help from her oldest sister, took care of him “all by myself!”

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Kimberly and Mr. Walter Rabbit were inseparable for over two years!

Fast forward to 2018 and Kimberly helped build a Guinea Pig cage for the big girls’ three new “girl Guinea Pigs” – but Becky’s angel was actually TobyMac (read more here).  Kimberly’s little Avery love was far older than the lady let us know, and Kimberly only was able to love on Avery for almost a year.

Kimberly’s loss of her “baby” Guinea Pig came only two days after her Grandfather passed away.  Kimberly cried that this would be her saddest Christmas ever.

It wasn’t a great financial year for her parents, so they were very busy with trying to pick up odd jobs and stay working so they could pay bills on time.  Kimberly’s mom listened and tried to console her, but she knew Kimberly would have to heal herself because words don’t fill wounded hearts.  Kimberly’s mom’s Daddy was Kimberly’s Grandfather.

Kimberly’s mom had only been home for a couple hours after a temp job that morning when Becky and Christina, Kimberly’s two older sisters who had been working babysitting and odd jobs too, came excitedly up to Mom.  The younglings were asleep (except the baby brother), and Becky gave Mom $50 and said, “we found this bunny for Kimberly and it’s just perfect and the lady just texted us… they are back from candlelight service and we need you to drive over and pick it up with us.”

Mom was flabbergasted.  The teenagers had researched, found a local bunny breeder with the specific kind of bunnies Kimberly had wanted (Dwarf Holland Lops) and she was holding a black female (the EXACT color and sex Kimberly said she was going to buy “once I save enough”) for them.

IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE!

Christina babysat, Becky kept Mom awake, baby brother fell asleep in the van, and Mom taxied the proud big sister out to pick up “the perfect gift” and ferry it home.

The big sisters had planned ahead with feed, a very nice cage (a pair of Guinea Pigs came in it, but it was not used now as they had the big run), the bedding, and even a waterer and feeder.   They prepped the bunny cage, set it under the Christmas tree (it was nearly 11pm now!), and tossed a thin sheet over it.  Both were so giddy they could barely sleep!  Because of her black fur, black eyes, and sweetness, this perfect bunny was called “Minuit,” which is French for “Midnight.”

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On Christmas morning, the kids gathered around to open presents and the suspense was just too much for Dad, because Kimberly hadn’t even seemed to notice the animal cage covered in sheet!  Dad said, “Kimberly, that sheet is in the way, please fold it up.”

Kimberly grabbed the sheet and almost screamed!  (Poor Minuit!)  Kimberly was so happy she was in tears!  As Christina and Becky reassured her the 9 week old bunny was hers, she scooped her out of the cage and snuggled her on the couch.  Nothing else mattered at that moment.  Kimberly cried and after everyone had finished adoring the new bunny, she gasped, “Mom, I thought this would be the saddest Christmas, but this is my best Christmas gift ever!”

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Leave it to amazing, thoughtful, caring big sisters to research something you really desire, manage a way to get it for you, and give you the best Christmas surprise you’ve ever had!

I hope you enjoyed this story of Minuit, the Dwarf Holland Lop bunny who became Kimberly’s best gift ever, and how Kimberly fell in love with her “snuggle bunny!”

Thanks for reading!

Type at you later…

~Nancy Tart

 

The Fallen

May 27, 2018

“The Fallen”

Sometimes art inspires me.  Sometimes it’s hard to visualize large numbers.  These memorials do an excellent job.

I’ve heard of the origin of Decoration Day (Memorial Day) and often thought about the hearts of the women decorating the graves of fallen soldiers during the War Between the States.

Today, I learned of a beautiful memorial done on the Normandy beach on September 21, 2013 that memorialized the enormous loss of life in the absence of peace.  They called this project “The Fallen.”

Over 9,000 soldiers and civilians died on June 6th, 1944 as part of the liberation of France during World War II.

The artists chose to etch a human-sized body into the sand of the beach for each soldier and civilian who was reported to have lost their lives during the invasion.

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Hundreds of volunteers came and 9,000 sand etchings were created to show the huge loss of people.  (above picture from Sand In Your Eye)

This picture from the cliff speaks volumes.  (picture below from Sand In Your Eye)

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This memorial lasted a few hours until the tide slowly washed it away.  The image of this memorial reminds us of the human costs of war; as was quoted from Sand in Your Eye, the artists responsible, “[each figure was] a representation of a person that once lived, they had parents, family, friends… those people that lost their lives are no longer with us but on [this day] they spoke.” (quote from Sand In Your Eye)

Studying history, I understand the necessity of war to rescue people from hopeless situations of oppression, but that doesn’t lessen the sadness of loss.  I thank those who serve to protect us, the families of those who perished, and those who were not trained soldiers yet fought when they were needed.

As Memorial Day approaches, I remember those who sacrificed their lives for others.  If you can ever visit the memorials in Washington DC, do it; and remember that each name on a memorial is all we see of an entire life – family, friends, and dreams.  It hits home when your teary-eyed ten-year-old holds her hand an inch from the reflective black marble wall and says “that could have been granddaddy’s name and then we would be missing all his children and grandchildren.”

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Whether we agree with the war or not, we honor and remember each of the fallen.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you next time…

~Nancy Tart

 

 

Understanding and Choosing Forgiveness

April 23, 2018

Understanding and Choosing Forgiveness

Sometimes things make us irritated.  Loss, waste, and destruction of life are hot spots for me.

We have livestock.

Honestly, I can shrug off an owl or hawk picking off a young chicken.  I can understand the predators are getting food and my unguarded (or less than perfectly guarded) animals become easy prey.  We learn how to build a better pen or protect our animals better for the environment we have.  But I hate waste.

I had never faced a human killing animals indiscriminately.   Until yesterday, neither had the girls.  They love to show off their animals and share their experiences: from soft, fluffy biddies to newly laying vibrantly colored pullets to nuzzling Guinea Pigs.  The girls love animals and wouldn’t think of hurting them just because.  Even the “mean” cockerels (young chickens we will eat or sell, sometimes a rooster just has a mean disposition and they stay locked in the pen for protection!) are treated with respect.  They will be grilled chicken dinner or traded for feed money, anyway, so they serve a purpose.

Once, we had a child swipe a biddie because it was  “so cute  and I wanted  it,”  but her brother returned it the next day because it “looked sick.” (Unfeathered baby chicks have to stay under a heat lamp at about 100o and yes, without that heat, they get sick.)  We could understand that but the girls kept explaining to this little child that if she wanted to hold them and play with them, she could come to our yard and ask, but the biddie needed to stay with her “sisters.” (The other chicks.)

Recently, a child came to the house, systematically killed several hens, stole most of the young chickens to bait a dog, and took eggs.  We didn’t want to believe it was true.  His family returned the two live ones that managed to make it and graciously paid money to replace the lost animals.   One of the accomplices was one of the girls’ friends.  The girls went through many emotions: devastation, betrayal, anger, sadness, joy (when discovering the one rescued young chicken was the last female Buff!), compassion (when they decided they needed to pray for him), and forgiveness.

It took a while to process.  We discussed trust, honesty, betrayal, sin in the world, fallen man, how we shouldn’t be bitter, how Jesus calls us to love regardless of how people hurt us, and eventually the anger and sadness turned to compassion and forgiveness.

For me, I went through the same emotions.  It was hard to swallow and move on because of how hurt the girls were.  I wanted to protect my children from these emotions.  I didn’t want them to feel betrayal – they had allowed “friends” over and shared their animals with them and at least one of these children were part of the attack and theft.

Instead, I chose to help coach them through the emotions.  It was right to feel betrayal, anger, and sadness.  Those emotions are normal.  They had to understand how sometimes good people choose to follow evil and are sad about what they did.  (Case with their friends.)  The girls had to forgive.

And by the end of the next day, they were laughing and playing in the yard with their reconciled friends.  True forgiveness means forgetting and moving on.  That, despite the loss and hurt of the morning, made my heart happy.  Of course, I hope they never feel betrayal, but – reality check! – in this fallen world, it is likely that someone else later in life will hurt their hearts – and they will have to forgive to keep their heart from bitterness.

Yes, I found that if I allow God to move on my children’s hearts, He can turn their hurts into joy.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you later…

~Nancy Tart

 

What to Say?

October 20, 2017

What to Say?

It doesn’t matter how you get the message.  A man in uniform, a hospital doctor, a call from their job, a letter from a mission council: it doesn’t matter the messenger, when you hear “we regret to inform you…” with the universal calm sadness people use, you don’t hear anything else.  It doesn’t matter if the name they give is your husband, wife, father, mother, brother, sister, or child.  Your world just imploded.

You are devastated; and that word falls flat when trying to convey the emotion coursing through your veins like blood.   You stare blankly, scream, yell, cry, hit, punch, or politely slam the door in their face and curl up into a tiny ball just behind it to bawl the remainder of your heart out.  Every dream you had with them has just died.  The messenger knows this and stays silent even if you lash out at them.  They usually leave you to your grief.  No more words are needed.

Your heart compresses into a lump of coal; furious at the job, war, accident, drunk driver, sickness, or whatever that stole your loved one from you.  Your heart constricts as your emotion rises into a whirling series of blades and swirls from inside your heart to rip apart everything inside you.  Anger is a part of grief.

This just happened to someone you know.  What to say?

There is nothing you can say.  Not even the most eloquent speech from the best orator on the planet will breathe life back into the lost loved one.  No one can say “I’m so sorry for you” with just the right tone to shoot back time and change the events that have happened.

We’ve all been there (most of us have been in this insane horrid sorrow of loss ourselves).  We’ve also been the friend of someone who is still reeling from the shock of extreme loss – and if we are wise, the best we can do is say nothing.  If our eyes meet the survivor we offer a smile of encouragement, a hug, or simply cry with them; just so they know we are here.

We’ve all heard someone at a funeral say what they intend as an encouragement but it actually stabs the survivor in the lungs, sucking out their air and life, tearing into their mind.  Inwardly, the animal of attack is shredding that person – but the survivor usually realizes they meant well, it just didn’t come out that way.  (“It was just her time,” “you could always have another,” “he lived a full life,” “at least she’s not hurting anymore,” or any other cliché soundbite.)

In our current techno world, grief doesn’t have a chance!  Someone loses a precious loved one and instantly society wants heart-stopping news stories, social media posts with pics and vids on all outlets, and 24/7 access into the private life of the grieving family.  Politicians want to be on stage with them.

NO!  Just let them grieve!

Pray for them if you hear of their loss.

Deliver them a meal, send them a card or flowers, or be there at the funeral to show your support and empathy if you know them.

If you are family – protect them from this ruthless media assault.

Why must society know everything about everyone in such a callous way, so distant, so superficial?  If a person really cared, they’d do something meaningful to help the family – and not go on TV to highlight their perfect generosity, excessive understanding, and absolute empathy.  Their grief shouldn’t be our profit.

Please, let them mourn for the loved one they lost and the dreams, hopes, and life they had – and no, it will never “return to normal” (something will always remind us; a uniform, policecar, firetruck, work truck, cane, wheelchair, the ocean, the hospital, the outfit they last bought us, the ring on our finger, our children, our grandchildren – these will flood us with memories and emotion at times) but yes, life does continue.  Hope allows life to continue and restores happiness, but first they must grieve.

 

In memory of all those we’ve lost…

~Nancy Tart

 

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