The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said

All good things must come to an end.

I started this blog a long time ago, when I was at a totally different place in my life. I have come a loooong way since than. So since that chapter of my life is closed, I think it's appropriate to end this blog as well.

Endings are hard. We were made for continuity. But I don't find the endings in life to be as wounding anymore. Now, I don't stumble over the sharp edges, instead I reach up to take my loving Father's hand, Who pulls me graciously forward into a new adventure. It's not exactly how He intended life to be, with abrupt endings, but He turns it into something beautiful anyway. The reality of that has touched my heart so deeply. At the "beginning of the end," if you will, of this adventure, God gave me this passage from Isaiah:

17“The poor and needy search for water,

but there is none;

their tongues are parched with thirst.

But I the Lord will answer them;

I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.

18I will make rivers flow on barren heights,

and springs within the valleys.

I will turn the desert into pools of water,

and the parched ground into springs.

19I will put in the desert

the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive.

I will set pines in the wasteland,

the fir and the cypress together,

20so that people may see and know,

may consider and understand,

that the hand of the Lord has done this,

that the Holy One of Israel has created it. 

I remember reading it and thinking, "uh, OK, God, if you say so... but I have no clue how any of this stuff in my life could possibly be fixed." Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure God chuckled lovingly over that and thought, "oh, dear daughter, you will be surprised." Even though I didn't understand, I clung to that passage. And now things are starting to change. Things that I thought were hopeless, like my shyness, my inability to be anything but crushed and immobilized by life's challenges, my non-relationship with my dad (had an hour life talk with him today, something I thought would never, ever happen), my financial situation, and so on. There really, truly IS water in the desert! And now I KNOW God is real because He has touched my life. Not only do I know He is real, I've experienced Him in a personal way. This is amazingly wonderful. :) I don't really regret anything in the past that has happened because it got me to the point I'm at now, this point of restoration.

Sadly, not everyone we meet stays in our lives for various reasons, but I firmly believe that everyone comes into our lives with a purpose. They teach us to better understand humanity and teach us about ourselves. They help propel us forward in life, as we do they same for them. Sometimes, though, once we start going forward, we reach a fork in the road and find our shared journey must end; the only way for each of us to continue is to part. Nevertheless, the people we part ways with were exactly what we need while they were with us, even if they cannot be with us forever; we could never have reached this place had it not been for them.

It makes me think of a John Powell quote (anyone reading my blog really should get their hands onto a copy of his book, Through Seasons of the Heart; daily tidbits of awesome inspirational thoughts): "Day by day God gives me new pieces to fit into this gigantic jigsaw puzzle of my life. Some of these pieces are sharp and painful. Others are drab and colorless. Only God, who has planned and previewed the picture of my life, knows the beauty that is possible when all the pieces have been faithfully put into place. I will know that beauty only after I have put into place the very last piece, the piece of my dying." So in this moment, as I am a little bummed out over the end of an adventure, and a little confused about why it had to be really cool in some ways and totally counterproductive in others, I'm choosing to remember that this is an event in eternity. I can't look at it only in the context of this earthly life. A lot of things will never make sense in the context of this life. We will only understand when we reach eternity why certain less-beautiful pieces were needed to create something eternally beautiful. So we can't look at things that don't work out as something that has been a waste of time or energy. I don't think God ever lets us waste anything (except, perhaps, time itself if we're being purely lazy, but that's a whole 'nother topic, lol). That's part of His blessing of working all things for good. Even if it doesn't work out in this temporal life, it worked out eternally. I think it's ok to be a little sad about it when something ends, because, like I said, we weren't made to have to experience endings. But our sadness is not as those who have no hope or understanding of the significance of the eternal. We are NEVER to despair.

And this has turned into something really long, when all I wanted to do was write a little farewell post. But I'm bad about that, I always drag out goodbyes because, well, I guess I'm keenly aware of my eternal soul being locked in a temporal condition. :) So yeah.... This is it. It's been an amazing, challenging, life-changing, profound, and even, at times, just plain ol' fun adventure. I'm glad I got to live it. And now it's time to go find the next one. Just like in Up. :)

Fini.

What's The Word?

I'm wiped out. The viewing was today.

The hardest moment was when the funeral people (?) took us into the room. And I saw her in there. I broke down then. I couldn't go over to the casket. I was just standing there crying with one of the funeral guys standing in the doorway watching everything and thinking that this was the weirdest most awkward moment of my life. *sigh* Ok well... I can think of one slightly more awkward moment now, but yeah, that was a in a completely different vein of awkward, lol.

The whole evening was weird because it didn't seem real. I kept saying in my head, "Grandma is dead. She's dead. We're at her viewing." But I still couldn't really believe it. And it was so weird how life went on and people would laugh and little kids would run around the room and we'd talk about every day things. Just like it was some sort of regular get-together. But it was not. Oh, it was just so weird. I don't know how to describe it.

I feel like I've crossed some right of passage. I've only been to one viewing that I can remember. I was only two or three when my great-grandpa died. The other one was a cousin I never knew. So yeah. But now, I know. It's not this strange, unknown world anymore. Like, I understand what it means to have people be there with you. My mom's cousin and her brother who never knew my grandma came and that meant a lot to me. And I don't know. I don't know if I can really put it into words right now, my mind is all whatever...

But yeah. I did look at her. I went up with my mom and my other grandma, and then once by myself. It wasn't as bad as I thought. She just looked like she was sleeping, and something else I can't put my finger on. It wasn't whimsical, but it definitely brought to mind the whole Elizabethtown moment. It wasn't weird when I was looking with my mom and grandma, but I felt a little scared when I was looking at her by myself. *shrug*

It was also weird to see little kids' reactions to it. Like, they don't understand, but they'll go up and look, and one of them touched her hand. I always thought kids would be scared, but they don't seem to be. I haven't quite collected my thoughts on this yet though.

It was hard watching my "little" cousin (ok, I think he's 11..? Maybe) go up by himself to the casket and talk to her. I don't know what he said, but yeah...

And it was all just so..... strange. I always knew this day would come but it's still so weird.

Oh. My. Gosh...

I just got a text that Harold, an old, old friend of the family, died. That is the fifth death of my year.... Not kidding.

Back in the winter, two distant cousins died, then my hair dresser's 15 year old daughter hung herself in the summer, then Grandma died, and now Harold.

*sigh*

Viewing Friday, 7 to 9 PM (we have to be there an hour early at 6), funeral Saturday at 11AM.

I still don't feel terribly sad. I've thought about things and all and there are moments (usually right after I wake up when everything comes back to me) where I have a mild panic because of everything that's going on in my life at the moment. But I am ok. I'm not saying that in a fake way, but I really am OK because God's love is meeting me. And the result is a kaleidoscope of emotion in me; all different kinds, all different colors, but pulled together into something beautiful. And I'm peaceful, in spite of everything. Not distracted, but embraced. Not running from my burdens but taking them to Christ. Ok, so I'm still just getting used to being this way. I don't do it perfectly yet. But as I am starting to know a God of LOVE (not just a God to pray to pray to) who cares deeply for me and is orchestrating my whole life with meaning, and out of love, it is changing me from the inside out. It's changing my understanding of life's trials. It's making me less resistant to being stretched and pulled out of my comfort zone. It's grounding me spiritually and even in my physical life.

I used to think that being a Christian was so boring. I resisted God because I thought He would come with a bunch of requirements of boring things that I would have to do in order to be with Him. There are a lot of people who think (and I suppose they have good intentions, I'm not bashing them or anything, I just disagree) that to  become a Christian literally means to give up anything remotely earthly (*ahem* Charles Spurgeon...). I was brought up not exactly being taught that outrightly, but hearing it a lot. So I had a lot of guilt for not being as Christian as I thought I was supposed to be. And I felt REALLY guilty that I didn't even want to be that sort of a practically Amish Christian. But over time, something changed. There were a lot of different things that contributed to my mind and heart being opened; one of them was starting to read books and the Bible for myself.

I read C S Lewis, the Schaeffers, Steve Brown, and John Powell. All are very different in their backgrounds that perspectives. C S Lewis? Former atheis, takes a very phillisohpical approach to Christianity. The Schaeffers? First generation Christians, founded the L'Abri and "hipster" Christianity's roots are with them, supposedly. Steve Brown? A reformed pastor. I fell off my chair (so to speak) when I found out he was reformed because that's the very sort of Christianity I've been frustrated with and have wanted to get away from, but reading his book I wouldn't have guessed that at all because he was so, well, cool. And reasonable. And finally, John Powell. John Powell is Catholic and a psychologist. Not something you would expect ME to read, right? Well, he's brilliant. I don't agree with the intensely Catholic parts, but the rest is good. Amazing even.

All of them have taught me so much. They introduced me to a God of LOVE. Not a God of requirements. I've learned what it means to give up everything to God. It doesn't mean living in a holy vacuume, it means submitting everything as God having authority over it. It doesn't mean that you can't be creative and enjoy the things of earthly life that God GAVE to enjoy. It means you understand where these things came from and why we have the capacity to do and enjoy them in the first place. I've met a God who loves me as I am, and because of Christ's gift I can run into His arms, even if I'm still imperfect and don't have everything figured out. A God who wants me to express my honest thoughts and feelings to Him, even if they are about "bad" things (sin I'm struggling with or whatever). And all of this has been so incredibly freeing. God's yoke truly IS easy and light!

I was thinking today about how at my old church everyone is really hung up on sin and getting forgiveness. Do NOT get me wrong, you can't ignore sin or take it lightly. It is very real and very dangerous and it is super important to be knowledgeable about it and to deal with it. But being forgiven of sin is NOT the be-all-end-all of Christianity. We're not forgiven of sin just so we're forgiven -- the end. We're forgiven so that we can be clean and thus START HAVING THE RIGHT RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD. Forgiveness is not the prize, it's the ticket to the prize. At my old church, one of the first things they would do is have a confession of sin. I think this is sort of backwards. I mean, we're all Christians, we're already ultimately forgiven, first of all. Second of all, when Jesus taught us how to pray, His prayer went: "give us this day our daily bread and forgive us out debts."  He started with the daily, earthly needs, and then went on to the forgiveness of sin. I find from my own experience that that's a really practical way to pray. You come to God, the King of the universe, who you have complete and total access to as an adopted child of the King (something that is permanent; your "pass card" doesn't become void when you sin and have to be reactivated by confession of sin, for pete's sake!), pour out your heart to Him, bask in His presence, and His love and His light will draw out of you anything that needs to be confessed. I think your confession is going to be much more genuine as well when it comes out of that moment, a moment of love and your Father's embrace.

And oh my gosh, this post is so long and so rambling, probably barely coherent, and now completely off topic from where I started, but I have so much stuff in my head that excites me about God and life, etc. So you know.

Official time, 9:10am. Nine-ten on ten-nineteen.

It's so weird. It doesn't seem real. I talked about it with my mom and sister tonight. We cried a little, laughed a little (some of the things my grandma said have been pretty hilarious), looked at pictures I put together, etc. I asked my mom a million questions (of course, it's ME), including, "do I have to look?" She explained that that was up to me how I wanted to say goodbye, but she wasn't sure if Grandma wanted an open casket or not. *sigh* To quote E-town, "I've never seen a dead body before." I'm not sure I want to. But honestly, I feel like I may have to. I don't know if it will be real to me if I don't look.

I was thinking about her earlier today and I had this weird "sense," not of her presence exactly but of her existence. Like, I felt that nothing had essentially changed. She's still alive, she's just not here anymore. I don't know how to explain it.

I'm not sure what I'm feeling. It's sad and all, but I've never been terribly close to this grandma. Not that I don't care or didn't love her or anything, but you know. Maybe it just hasn't hit me yet. Her house is going to be sold. A great deal of my life was spent in that house. I just had a flash of a memory to me and Britt sitting in the den, me in the big recliner and Britt on the blue "velvet" couch, watching TV, while Mom and Grandma were out in the dining room talking. I admit, to think of never having that experience again made me quite sad. *sigh* Today I've been trying to remember her as she was, her old self. The self that loved to be active and independent and "hang out" with her friends and go out on the town. I realized that she's finally able to be that way again without her body to get in the way. I figure she's up in heaven joining clubs and filling up her calender or whatever the heavenly, eternal equivalent to that is. She's living free and that's what matters to me. I always hated that she had to be alone and so held back in these last years. That's not who she is and now she's back to herself. I'm glad about that.

When Dad went out to see her Sunday, he said she talked about her ambulance ride from hospital to hospice. He opened the window curtain and they talked about the leaves changing; autumn is (was?) her favorite season. Then she mentioned something about how the doctors said there was nothing more they could do for her, and she said to Dad, "isn't it the pits?" I laugh and cry at that simultaneously. It's such a Grandma Maxine thing to say, but yeah... She was still pretty alert and clear mentally though her last days, so she knew what was going on, and that sucks.

She's gone. It hits me in waves. And I think of all the things that I could have done but I didn't do. And all the things I'll never be able to do again and I cry. And then it passes and I'm back to just feeling normal and thinking about normal, every day things.

When Dad went out yesterday she was asleep. He leaned down in her ear and called to her and nudged her shoulder but he couldn't get her to wake up. Before he left, he fixed her water glass with her straw towards her on the table next to her, made sure her chapstick was there and that a tissue was loose in the box so she could get it out easily; those are the things she needs right away when she wakes up. This morning she died.

When he went out to the hospice place today after he got the call, he said she was lying there with one hand on her stomach and her head a little to the side, just like how she sleeps.

I don't want to waste any more of my life. As I think about the way my grandma lived and did things, I want to be that way too, no matter how much I have to fight to get to a more stable place emotionally. I don't want my life to consist of all the things I should have done or need to do. I want my life to be full of the things I've DONE. I don't want fear to stop me. Cuz that's how I lived most of my life. I was watching a home movie today of me going to the zoo with Grandma and Mom and Dad when I was 2 or so. I was fearlessly making my way up steep (relatively; I've always been minuscule *grin*) concrete steps with Grandma Maxine's help. I said to Norah, as I watched myself, "that was before I learned how to be afraid." Anything that is learned can be unlearned. I'm determined to do it. I committed myself to life, and never giving up. There have been plenty of days when I've wanted to just throw in the towel and give up on my dreams and desires because it can be freakin hard. But I've made up my mind not to. I've finally started my photography business in spite of the flood of thoughts that I'm not good enough at it, no one would ever want to book me, I'll screw up someone's pictures, etc. And guess what? None of that has ever happened. I've grown tremendously as an artist and as a person because of it, people book me, I haven't messed anything up. And you know what? Being ballsy feels pretty. freakin. awesome. :D This summer has been the start of a whole new, awesome phase in my life, and from here on out, I'm dedicating this determination/striving for fullness and vibrancy to you, Grandma Maxine. You lived without fear, you did the things you wanted to do and you made your life count.

Grandma died last night. I don't understand what that means.

So my grandma is probably going to pass soon. She's in the hospital with pneumonia and they're having problems with her heart and kidneys. The things to help the kidneys would be bad for the heart, the things for the heart would be bad for the kidneys. She's retaining fluid and gained 10lbs over night.

I went out to see her yesterday. Mom wanted us to spend some time with her before things turned, you know. I couldn't walk into the room at first. She was in her bed, eating. And she just seemed so incredibly small and fragile, and the hospital room (which of course, was not big) seemed cavernous around her. It's not the grandma I remember. It hasn't been for years, but now. Yeah. She used to be vibrant and lively and was never one to sit still. Always on the go, always out with friends, always always always doing. She liked to have a full calender, she would say. And seeing her like that, it hit me and I had to take a minute to compose myself while Mom and Britt went in. It was so weird because I could literally feel my heart in my throat pulsing as I stood there, holding my breath in an effort to not completely break down.

After I went in she didn't recognize me at first. She has a hard time keeping up with my changing hair styles. But then she realized it was indeed me. So we all sat there and talking for a while, me on her right, Britt on her left, and Mom at the foot of the bed. I showed her some pictures I've taken and we talked about Britt's baking and how my cousins are having a baby. She spoke of how hard it will be to get back in the swing of therapy once she out of the hospital. *sigh* She had a stroke a few weeks ago and has been in a nursing home to recover from that prior to contracting pneumonia. Everything was all very light and casual. But I could tell she was very reluctant for us to go. Mom stood up while a nurse came in to get her temp and blood pressure and when the nurse was done Grandma said, "sit back down Debby, and that's an order!" Something in the undertone of her voice then... I don't know. She was talking about things in the future, like the baby and therapy and stuff, but something in the way she said that to Mom kind of seemed like she suspected otherwise.

I don't know what else to say. I'm completely clueless of what to expect from myself.