When a father loses his infant son or daughter

My father and I have something in common, perhaps many things, but one thing in particular.  That is, we’ve both had a stillborn child, and though 41 years divides that time, there is something remarkable about a father’s grief that invites exploration.

One thing that can be said from the outset is, the way my father and I have experienced the loss of our stillborn children couldn’t be more different, and there is always much we can learn from any manifestation of such silent grief (loss that isn’t typically discussed).  Stillbirth is not talked about in general, and if that’s the case for women, think about how much less men discuss it.

Men feel grief too.  They grieve their babies lost.  It may seem pointless or even moot to say that, given that they of course will grieve, but grief for fathers is further confused for several reasons.

Perhaps they may have cause to grieve more so.  Let me endeavour to explain.

First, there’s the confusion, “I didn’t carry him or her, so how could I be justifiably as sad as my partner?”  Not having carried the baby, fathers struggle to identify with their lifeless infant son or daughter.  They have been robbed of that bond that begins in possibly the only moment they had foreseen; when they held their baby in their arms for the first time; that moment a father falls completely head over heels in love with their son or daughter in an instant.  Where there was supposed to be a bond developing, the deafening din of nothingness takes its place.  There is never more pain than in this place of nothingness where that space should have been filled to capacity with love.

Second, fathers of stillborn infants may truly wonder, “How do I support my partner?  I had no idea this was even possible.  How could it have happened?  I’m in shock myself, she’s distraught, what do I do?”  Many men sink into their silence, suppress their feelings, and find other ways to cope, and denial is a compellingly viable option.  

Third, it’s, “How do I deal with (the enormity of) these emotions?”  The first encounter of grief is shocking.  There is no preparation, ever, for the pain that one encounters in loss.  And even if it’s not the first time, good responses to loss are inevitably trained into us.  To respond well in loss, we need to have learned the hard way first — to have endured the breakage that occurs in loss.  The emotions are cataclysmic; little wonder many men find solace in a bottle of something, a substance, an addiction, much as a way of getting relief from the pain.  Men actually need to chat through their emotions as much as women do.

There are fathers, and mothers too, of course, who will not have grieved at all.

Especially those who lost babies when my father lost his daughter (my sister).  Ministers, counsellors, doctors, and all health and healing professionals were of little help in the main for those grieving in the 1970s — their work was much more stoic and utilitarian as was the tradition and culture of the day.  Rare would it have been that any man would have gotten the support he needed then.  I know my father didn’t.  There is little wonder he has floundered with his feelings for those nearly 50 years.  I have nothing but empathy for him.  And yet, there is still so much silence and such a paucity of support for fathers and mothers of lost infants even today!

When we lost Nathanael in 2014, I guess it was one of my prayers that in losing Nathanael there would be some agency for healing for my parents.  The way I responded to my grief was informed by my faith, by others’ prayers (literally thousands of people because of social media), by my professional counselling knowledge about loss, and by my initial experience in grieving the worst loss of losing my first marriage 11 years beforehand — a loss that almost finished me!  So I felt equipped in having my heart ripped apart again.  As it happened, my wife was incredibly inspirational in traversing those 19 weeks from diagnosis to the stillbirth with such remarkable valour.  We were both amazed at my father’s courage, to hold Nathanael, to selflessly avail himself in that time, to be there as he had always been for me.

Fathers perhaps mourn their lost infant sons and daughters more because theirs is a vicarious loss; they’re further removed, they feel compelled to support their wives, yet they’re probably less equipped culturally and perhaps even biologically than their partner to deal with the rawness of their emotions.

This article doesn’t set out to minimise the heartache of mothers, not at all, but it does seek to highlight the tremendous burden a father of a lost son or daughter bears.

The photo depicted here is a case in point.  There are NO photos of my father’s lost daughter.  Doesn’t that send a powerful message.  At least I have photos.  I don’t want any kudos for courage when it was comparatively easy for me to grieve my loss as a father.  I want kudos to go to people like my father and those other men who have suffered anguish for years, because a man’s grief for his lost infant son or daughter is unmentionable for much of life, and for all the other reasons, some of which have been highlighted in this article.

Men, you do well to grieve your loss well, now, when it happens, or as soon as possible.  Give yourself as much time as you need.  Find trusted others to talk at length with.  Talking through the pain might seem too hard, futile or not worth it, but it completely isn’t.  Indeed, it’s the only way to process the pain you’re feeling.

By the way, Dad, Happy Father’s Day for next Sunday!

Brokenness in grief and depression as the doorway to God

God can appear to us as a figment of someone else’s imagination until the moment we’re broken — lifting our voice to God in the silliest risk we ever took — one that incidentally pays off!  It’s all in response to that situation in our lives where everything turns south, winter descends, and an inescapably and cataclysmic ‘new normal’ arrives.  And it just so happens God has our attention, perhaps for the first time in our lives.

At this point in time, God either seems like an uncaring tyrant or worth one last try.  For those who have nothing left, it is one last try that often wins the day.

It seems abhorrent in this day to postulate that God would break us for a purpose.  Could it be that in being broken, and in seeking the Lord, that we, for the first time, may experience God being broken with us, being broken for us through Jesus on the cross, and being broken beside us, even as we are broken beyond any resistance.  In this state, all we have and everything that we are is open to God, and finally God says, “Finally I can say, ‘you are mine, I have redeemed you, I love you’,” and we’re able to hear with ears that accept that this is true.  For the first time we feel the urgency of God’s love.  We feel wanted, desired, craved.  It is a great comfort we subconsciously prayed for all our lives perhaps.

We perhaps have waited all our lifetime to answer the question that lingers on the lips of that moment. “Is God real; is it possible to relate with God?”  Having experienced God in the depths of our core, having been broken with God, knowing beyond knowledge that God is being scourged there with us, feeling God’s pain because God can feel ours, we sense the comfort that we will come to know as God’s Inimitable Presence.  It completely transforms our perception of God.  No longer is God distant and intransigent.  God is intrinsically part of us, even as we feel a comfort that transcends the pain.

Could it be possible that there is a sacred joy to be experienced within glowing hot pain?  Perhaps it is possible that our perception of suffering is being transformed in that moment.  No longer are we fearful of it.  We have experienced heaven’s divine compassion, and we can take that experience with us for the rest of our lives, into every realm, whether in trial or tumult or triumph or triviality.  We have come to accept that our emotions are mentionable and manageable.  We feel as if nothing can conquer us if we can endure pain knowing by experience that God is with us.

Can you imagine the temerity of divine wisdom, that in spite of grief and depression, of mental ills beyond reckoning, that there is a divine compensation extended to us for what we are going through — not to be had only afterwards.  But that we may truly experience the mystical God most of all IN the moment of pain.  All we need to do is know God’s empathy is with us by faith.

Could it be that we’ve waited all our lives to be met by God, and of all methods and modes, God chooses to meet us where we most need divine care.

Photo by Maria Teneva on Unsplash

Being honest about sorrow, anger and fear takes courage

This is a message for anyone, and yet it is certainly a message to men, many of whom seem conditioned NOT to feel, because of the societal pressure we place on men to be ‘men’.  It can be a temptation for a man to feel cowardly if he’s open and vulnerable with his emotions.  But most women know that there’s a special strength in men when they can relate with their emotions.  It’s not wussy to feel.  Nothing could be further from the actual truth.  And let’s not just stereotype the men.  There are a lot of women who have also been conditioned to suppress their real and raw emotions.

We could say that humanity’s suppression of the emotions is a generational tragedy that’s so woven into the fabric of our psychology, no amount of convincing brings today’s man or woman any closer to the truth, because vulnerability involves more risk than simply being vulnerable.  There are so many sociological reasons for this; too many, and too much complexity, than can be considered here.

It seems we would rather project the image that we’re strong by being angry than project the image we’re “weak” by being sad or fearful.  Yet, most anger is simply a veneer for a deeper, underlying sadness or fear.  And anyway, we have made more shame of anger than to be open to the reasons why we’re livid.  If only we shamed ourselves less for our anger there might be a redemptive pathway back to our sorrow and fear so we could heal.

It takes great courage to be honest about what makes us sad and fearful.

In a discussion with young people about addiction and homelessness recently, there was a view that very much felt that loud and angry drunken homeless people only had themselves to blame.

I challenged that thinking.  What’s going on deeper down inside someone who is driven to drink themselves into oblivion?  Isn’t it masking pain?  What trauma do these people bear?  Just how many daily travesties have some people endured?  What have they suffered, and what do they continue to suffer?  What about the anger?  Do you think there is any joy in them when they’re cursing the world? And shouldn’t we pray that those who are at war with themselves would find peace?

When we truly consider what is deep and dark within a person that remains unsearched, we can empathise with the fact that for so many, the pain is so horrendous they simply can’t go there.  What must they be feeling being drunk and angry all the time?  Is it ever a good thing to feel so far out of control?  And yet, the only way out is through an honesty that demands courage.  So many of us have these Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACES), and they make it incredibly hard to go to the honest places.

Adverse negative emotions are worth exploration, given that at their core there is more dread and sorrow lying underneath than embittering anger and resentment.  But because access is blocked to honesty for the pain we must bear, there may be just more anger and resentment, and so the cycle continues.  Somehow we must throw caution to the wind and become so bravely vulnerable we cut through the anger and veer into the primary emotions of sorrow and fear.

We need to become more intuitively connected to the sorrow and dread our hearts feel, or we will quickly convert the shame that results in anger toward others, condemning them into the bargain.

If only we could have the situational awareness that what’s driving our negative behaviours was sorrow or dread or a combination of these.  There’s no shame in being overwhelmed.  But we need to recognise, we hate to be weak, and yet feeling our weakness is essential to recovery.

If only we had the courage to be real about how we feel.  We can, surely.  Peace awaits.

Healing is close when we’re honest enough to feel what is real.

Isn’t it time we challenged the stereotype and became strong and courageous to the degree that we are true about how we feel?

When we’re courageous enough to bear our primary emotions, we stand on the clearer path of healing and recovery.  There is nothing to fear in feeling our dread and sorrow.  In bearing one’s pain, there is hope for healing.

Giving it up to God, but not giving up

The parable of the prodigal son is a polarising tale for the father.  He must watch his son literally risk bankruptcy, embarrassment, ridicule, failure and death, and all the while never loses faith.  It’s a parable of the Father’s unfailing, unconditional, insatiable love for us all (John 17:23) propagated through open arms held wide open throughout our lifespan.  But this parable is one that occasionally springs to relevance in our lifetimes — when we have a son or daughter or other loved one who insists upon continuing along a path of destruction.  Suddenly we find ourselves in the ‘valley of decision’ where no decision seems palatable.  Life can seem so brutally unfair in some of the situations we can find ourselves.

It’s not just in family situations that this happens.  Life is littered with moments where neither of two decisions is appealing.  Perhaps a third decision option, or a fourth or fifth comes into view; can’t go there either!  Whichever way you look there’s no way to a choice you are content with.

There are so many of these moments in life, and the longer we live it seems the more of them that come our way.  These situations are not meant to drive us to despair, but we often go there, realising it never helps and can only harm, before we find a better way.

When love is pushed all the way to giving up, exasperated and perhaps confused, knowing all its efforts are futile, it gives it up to God, and in so doing, love does not give up.

Love holds the tensions of conflict where peace is vanquished, but by faith love keeps sowing right deeds and ultimately reaps a harvest of peace for never giving up.  But for love to be achieved, the issue and the relationship must be given up to God.

Love is wisdom that never gives up, even if it has to give up enough to say, “God, I cannot do this anymore.  Over to you.”  Love never gives up, but wisely recognises when a path of action has become futile.  Love doesn’t continue to knock its head against a brick wall.

This is something that’s applicable for us all.  All of us have situations in our lives where we cannot afford to give up, but we must at the same time.  Love dictates that we give it over to God in faith, and even though for all intents and purposes it might look like ambivalence, love has a long-term view on the most challenging of circumstances.

Love has faith in the long-term plan, which is the wisdom of accepting what it cannot change.

Just like the father who could not give up on his errant son, and the Father who cannot give up on us when we run astray, we also need to let go of all that consumes us, accepting that this is the only way that particular hope returns; if it comes back of its own accord.

Why people with depression often feel misunderstood

This article could potentially dissuade people from reaching out to someone who is depressed, or equally it could encourage people to reach out because they might understand some of the things that need to be overcome in order to actually help.

There are still far too many conversations that occur that are supposed to serve the depressed person, the anxious person, and don’t.  And that’s a real problem, because too many of these experiences lead people with mental illnesses to decide ‘it’s all too hard’, or ‘nobody really cares’, or ‘it’s all my fault’, or ‘nothing will help’, or ‘you’ll just misunderstand me, so let’s both not even bother going there’.

People don’t feel heard when they get advice — when the person who should be listening does most of the talking.  Honestly, this is such a common problem.  Hear the person’s spirit scream this out: “Come on, get over yourself already; you want to help so why don’t you begin by shutting up?”  Probably the most powerful thing anyone can do to help someone who is depressed is simply to BE THERE with them.  No judgement, no expectations, no demands, just being present.

Many people who need help have absolutely no idea what to say.  It’s almost the reverse, in that the person needing help has very little to say, and the person helping just feels awkward; actually, they both do.  But there is a lot to be said for just being present with one another, and not needing to fix the other or be fixed.  There is a lot of therapy for us all in silence — in just being there together.  It isn’t a waste of time!  As believers, God’s Spirit is actively at work in these spaces.

Very often when we are depressed, we feel guilty for feeling lazy and sad, or we feel others perhaps think this — worse if we can’t escape that kind of thinking.  More than ever we need to give ourselves permission to rest on days we need rest, and to move forward gently on those days we have a bit more energy.  Sometimes all we need to hear is, ‘You are doing the best you can’, because you really are.

People can often feel missed in the process of being helped, in that the person helping believes they need more help than the person being helped does, or the person needing help doesn’t feel they’re taken seriously enough.  I’m not sure what’s more disconcerting, being diagnosed or being glossed over.  Both are graphic examples of being misunderstood.  One says, “I know what you need!” when they don’t, and the other says (without saying it in words so much), “Come on, get over it already.”

Very, very often when we are depressed, we are so tired of overthinking things that we barely have the energy to communicate, besides it is so complex and is often so hard to find words for feelings, and even the process of thinking is tiring, discouraging, even painful.  So the issue here is that in being depressed we are not even convinced ourselves of what we need or how we feel, and it could lead others who may try and support us to feel just as confused and frustrated.  It all adds up to just feeling more a burden.  Empathy is the only thing that works in these circumstances.

People experiencing depression typically find their movements and thinking are slowed.  Yet they’re thinking and moving as quickly as they can.  But they often find people are impatient, and having their sentences completed for them, and having things done for them when they don’t want that, reinforces to a person suffering depression how useless they feel.  To help someone who is depressed, we need to remind ourselves to slow down and deal with our own anxiety, which is often the real reason we are impatient.

Depression includes self-judgement hyperactivity, and when we’re depressed, we may feel keenly aware of how threatening people can be without them even being aware of it themselves.  This includes being worried about being rejected, or being told off, or being helped in ways that aren’t helpful.  This includes people taking control in dozens of different ways when taking control only disempowers someone with depression.  Sometimes the best help we can be for the depressed is simply to be safe, to be of no threat at all, and to serve them by not doing anything.

Probably above all the saddest issue when we’re depressed is, we don’t understand ourselves, and therefore we can easily project that onto others — ‘If I can’t understand what I’m feeling, what hope do you have understanding me?’  This can either leave us despairing or frustrated.  An inwardly directed disdain or an outwardly directed anger is often a cover for a visceral sadness.  The best thing we can do is attempt to understand how confounding it is and actively refuse to solve it and just sit with the sorrow and pain.  At least when we just sit in the sorrow and pain we do no more harm, and from such a place God can do glorious healing works; when we’re depressed, we just need a modicum of the right kind of support.

Photo by Michael Shannon on Unsplash

Quotes and prayers for peace for comfort of soul

“It seems to me that I have found my Heaven on earth, since Heaven is God, and God is in my soul.  The day I understood that, everything became clear to me.  I would like to whisper this secret to those I love so they too might always cling to God through everything.”
— Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity

Lord of a heavenly communion, 
who seeks to take us on high and bring heaven to earth, 
to commune with us, to be counted as real, 
thank You that You are there, 
whether we feel You in our soul or not.

Thank You for those times of Presence, 
God of reality and clarity.  
May there be opportunity to know Your peace 
and to extrapolate Your peace upon those we love.

~

“Seek by reading and you will find by meditating; cry in prayer and the door will be opened in contemplation.”
— Saint John of the Cross

God of sorrow who meets us there by our contemplation, 
thank You for Your divine intercession, 
for a holy and heavenly compensation, 
that by suffering we can know You more intimately.

Grace us, Caring Comforter, for the period of our depression,
with a courage for honesty that lets tears flow as they will.
Bring cheer to the soul for the requiem of sobs,
That by faithful surrender You will rebuild the countenance.

~

“I pray you: seek more to embody God than to merely have knowledge of God.  For knowledge can deceive us with pride, but a meek, loving awareness will not deceive.  Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up (1 Corinthians 8:1).  Knowledge leads to travail, whereas awareness leads to rest.”

— The Book of Privy Counselling

Oh sweet and freshening wind of God, 
Spirit of life, come blow in to the rooms of my soul, 
Your love so divine, my ear to recline,
Your heart beating with mine to inspire me.

Relinquish the facts, feel the reaches of Your Presence,
spurn opinion that further hardens the heart and hearts upon hearing,
and give rise to the season of healing for unknowing,
to know beyond knowledge a knowledge beyond knowledge.

~

“Truly, it is in darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us.”
— Meister Eckhart

O Lord, that in sweetly terrible consolations we might truly know You,
that You might finally shine upon our hearts as a real Person,
so that we might know a knowing beyond all knowing,
and that for darkness the light in all resplendence has shone in.

God of comfort, Who comforts us 
with a comfort we can comfort others with,
we thank You for the reality of such comfort,
that in being our possession is soon to be 
others’ possession by the ministry of Your Word.

AMEN.

Photo by Ingmar on Unsplash

A biblical principle that helps us overcome when we’re tempted to give up

We all battle against forces that disempower us.  Some of these forces are set directly against us.  Others come from within and assail our minds and emotions.  Many of those that are directly set against us also undermine our confidence, just as much as our minds might portray a doable situation as harder than it is.

Life is so complicated.  It is meant to overwhelm us because it commonly overwhelms everyone — at least from time to time — if they’re vulnerable enough to be honest.  But one of the biggest problems of life is that we commonly imagine we are the only ones who have these struggles, and that breeds shame in us.  “I’m the only one who loses it in this situation.”  “I’m just too sensitive.”  “I can’t control my anger.”  “I’m the only one that panics in this situation/like this.”  “I hate being so depressed and useless.”  “Why am I no good at anything [like other people]?”  “At times I feel ashamed to be alive and when I feel this way, I feel worthless.”

You are not the only one.
Issues like these beleaguer every daughter and son.

In the Bible there’s a thing called the replacement principle (Philippians 4:8-9).  Popular psychologists have latched onto this principle, knowing that it is the power to overcome.  You see them telling you to ADD something into your life if you give up smoking or attempt to lose weight.  The wisdom is we cannot simply take something away and expect not to feel the sting of loss.  It’s the same when we feel like giving up; when our energy is low, when we’re tormented mentally, when we can’t regulate our emotions.

The biblical replacement principle works on the fact that as humans we operate so much better when we accentuate the positive — when we’re insistently hopeful.

The key thing about the replacement principle is it’s a THINKING construct.  All the power in our lives comes first from the mind that is harnessed and directed toward the things of life.  But we have a big problem; we all do.  This is because the things of death dominate our world — there’s so much negativity, and it’s not only in the media and the world around us.

Negativity reigns in the home as well.  This is nothing to be ashamed about.  Let’s be honest.  If there’s darkness anywhere, if there’s a place most safe to be in the darkness, or to let darkness rule, or a place where we most feel trapped in the darkness, it’s in our homes where we and others are away from prying eyes.

We are not alone in our negativity.  We do not need to be ashamed.  It’s normal.  It’s so normal that it’s basically common from home to home to home down every street in every city in every country. Dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed about.  It thrives only when we cannot bear to face it.  Instead, we can turn toward it, and with a heart of acceptance, let’s embrace our dysfunctions and convert them to something useful.  Shame can bunker down and make no home where we refuse it a place, preferring instead to harbour thoughts of acceptance and hope.

Here are some simple examples of thinking conversions using the replacement principle:

First, there’s the lived situation. 
         Then, there’s the response we replace it with.

Life is unfair. 
         So be as fair as you can today.

There is often so much despair.
         So be somebody’s hope today.

You may feel taken for granted.
         So appreciate others today.

There are many reasons to complain.
         So be grateful for what you have.

Do these things and feel the exhilaration of hope empower and encourage you with confidence.  We can overcome when we think on what is true, and honourable, and noble, and just, and pure, and pleasing, and commendable.  THINK ON THESE THINGS and we quickly find God gives us overcoming power for the instant.  It’s all we need; power for the moment.  God is with us.

Now, if you made it this far, and I hope you did, I want you to know that there are days in all our lives, including my own, when we’re tempted to give up.  If life is tough for you right now, please take heart, and take some love from me to you!

Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash

You don’t need to be depressed or anxious to not be doing okay

I must say that I often feel a little guilty for polarising suffering as a rock bottom experience.  The truth is most of the time we all suffer quite legitimately without ever going to the depths of brokenness — of being there all the time I mean.  We don’t need to be in the grips of despair to not be doing okay.  If a person were to ask you, “Are you okay?” it would be perfectly reasonable to say, “No, no I’m not okay,” and yet also not be in crisis mode.

Life is a little like that.  It’s not unusual for people to have one or two horrendous days per month, for instance.  From a mental health viewpoint, keeping things in perspective is important.  The last thing we need to do is to get panicky about a season of life that has its normal peaks and troughs amid the normal/blah days we all have.

But these not-okay-days can still be woefully fatiguing, full of grief and anguish, triggering, overwhelming, and even despairing to the point of us questioning our existence.

For starters, there is the aberrant busyness of life to contend with, there are the problematic relationships, there are the shockwaves that sweep through all our lives, and then there are the issues of others, particularly those who are dependent on us.  On any not-okay-day we may have several of these swarming like sharks at our emotional ankles.  Then there are things like COVID, the general state of uncertainty, not to mention a range of geopolitical issues among other things that might stir us up, including a range of injustices that make our blood boil.  The less media reports the better sometimes.  Yet the fear of missing out (FOMO) prevents us from unplugging for extended periods.

I think we’ve heard it enough for it to roll off the tongue nicely: it’s okay to not be okay.

It really is.  It’s okay to not be okay, and indeed it’s only when we can admit it, and we can share that load that we are able to offload the burden.

It’s okay if you struggle.

It’s okay if you don’t know up from down.

It’s okay if you don’t feel connected.

It’s okay if you feel like giving up.

But don’t.  Share your burden if you can.

Find a way to keep going in spite of how you feel.

Be distracted if it’ll get you through.

Know that you are loved.

You can be not okay at any given point in time and still be okay overall.  It isn’t even unusual to find that we just cannot cope one day, yet another day life’s a breeze.

Isn’t it better to know that not being okay doesn’t consign you to that state always?  Wouldn’t it make it easier to declare that we weren’t okay if we all realised we are all in this position from time to time?

There is no shame in reaching out.  Indeed, when we reach out when we need to, we privilege another person to the extent that they can care for us.  There are so many people who love being needed for a moment like this; especially those who have been very well cared for in such moments themselves.  To be called to care for someone is an honour.  And all it takes is enough humility to be honest about our needs to reach out.

It’s okay to not be okay.

And having said all this, it’s okay to be clinically depressed, and suffer depressive disorders and anxiety disorders, too.  It’s okay to be tired.  It’s okay to be ‘done’.  It’s okay to be over it all.  It’s okay.

Photo by _Mxsh_ on Unsplash

beauty that can only be found in brokenness

From a friend of a friend I came across this very treasured quote once more: 

“Just as there is more air in a jar of marbles than there is glass, 
or more space in a handful of sand than there is silicon, 
so there is more silence in a cacophony than there is noise.  
Listen for it, look for it, let it become the language of your heart.” 
— Keren Dibbens-Wyatt, Recital of Love (2020)

Within the Henri Nouwen quote, which is one that complements the Dibbens-Wyatt quote magnificently, is really the secret to life.  Because ministry has its goal in helping people accept reality, the acceptance of reality has its goal in living a deeper truth, one that is actually freeing.  Both quotes reveal this — the truer, freer, bolder life comes only through an acceptance, and a celebration, of brokenness.

It’s not until we enter a period of pain — or shudder the thought, a construct of being that has us living in an unrecoverable state — that we realise or recognise that within that which we wouldn’t have ever chosen is a kernel of life that previously stood inaccessible.  We actually can’t see the freedom that beckons on the other side of loss until we’re forlorn in the loss itself.  Until we have been catapulted into grief, we do not realise or recognise the life beyond death; the truer recognition of the resurrection power and life manifest of Jesus, and that the truer life remains ever dormant until something has died.

We cannot have this life until we have tasted his death.  There is no reward without taking the risk to lose all to gain all.  As martyr Jim Eliot (1927–1956) said, “A person is no fool to give up what they cannot keep to gain what they cannot lose.”  This is the redemption of a compensation that only God can give having suffered well for a divine purpose.

Could it be that we have been spending all our time and money on things we haven’t needed, that we haven’t had time to use, that had delivered to us and to others literally no value, that have left us feeling lonelier than ever?  It’s not until we have to face the concept of losing everything that God re-orders our priorities.

Suddenly in that time, we are able to begin a search for ‘the something better’ within that which has broken us; the silence within the cacophony that appears on the surface only as noise.  It’s not until we are destitute and desperate that we begin searches that we have forever put off.  We didn’t need to go there, until now.  And now we cannot put it off any longer.

Imagine what God has prepared for each of us beyond the realm of this life that can be full of pain, and yet God has sequestered a portion of it for our lived experience, now.  There is no greater miracle then feeling whole within brokenness; being content, as the apostle Paul would say, in either plenty or in lack (Philippians 4:12).

This maturity in brokenness is the essence of what God is calling us to.  So let us not be afraid of the pain that has come our way, and let us instead resolve to see it as God’s invitation to the deeper life that is available this side of heaven.  Believe this and God will certainly give it to you by faith.

Nevermore will we see God living and active in our mortal lives than through our brokenness.

 

A letter to a friend about a few home truths

Dearest friend,

I hope you are doing well.  Let me get down to it.

None of this will be a surprise to you, but you may not have thought about these matters in this way for a while.  So many times I catch glimpses of this, but I hardly ever stay there, and I constantly wonder if I’m missing something important.  Let us ponder about life for a few minutes, as we step back from the flurry of action and the incessant nature of decision-making.

These are some of my thoughts.

Life is not in balance, because life is not meant to be in balance, even as we seek to attain and maintain balance.  It is good to accept this.  Yet it’s only once we have accepted that balance will ever elude us that we’re able to strive for the balance we could attain.  Life is in accepting it’s unbalanced at the same time as it’s striving to attain balance.  I am learning to accept what I can’t change to change what I can.

Life is overwhelming.  It stretches us beyond our capacity, and we may be tempted to curse life for it, but actually we are being reminded that we have limited resources.  God is being kind to remind us of this.  Life also stretches us beyond our capability in order to grow us, and of course this makes sense as we look back at the younger versions of ourselves.  We always feel we have outgrown or superseded those versions.  But life is overwhelming, make no mistake.

Life is full of loss, because things are constantly changing, and there is always a News story or an interaction with someone that will upset our equilibrium.  Then there’s the full-blown loss that sends us poleaxed into grief.  We hardly rationalise that life, as difficult as it was, was a breeze compared to what it has become.  Grief certainly puts the rest of life into context.  It makes life feel like a holiday — a sweet, cruisy staycation.  We hear people complain about their ordinary lives and we scratch our heads, because we would have ordinary life back in an instant.  But such is life, we all get a turn at grief.  It never looks that bad from the outside looking in, but from the inside looking out it is hell on earth.

Do you think this letter is overly negative?  I really want it to be an encouragement.   Truth ought to be encouraging.

Another thing in life that bears consideration is the idea that what cannot be changed ought to be accepted and what can be changed ought to be challenged.  There is a thing called ‘The Serenity Prayer’, and we must imagine if we get this wisdom right, we will experience profound peace.

All this thinking has made me tired, and that is another thing about life.  Life is tiring.  But when we are dead there is no more tiredness, so we might as well not be fearful of becoming tired.  We can have faith that we will recover.  It makes little sense to drive tiredness into the oblivion of burnout that fails to listen to what our bodies are telling us, and yet still so many do this very thing.  It is wise to find rest for our souls.

So in being tired, I’m taking my own advice and signing off.

Yours truly,

A friend.

Photo by J. Kelly Brito on Unsplash

Prayer for the anxious in the dreaded minute

O God of our Creation — most interested and loving Lord,

I bring before You this moment the frightened, the weary, the despairing, the hurting, the one who is hemmed in and about.  You know, Lord.  You know and You cry out Your love for this one, for the many.  Encourage this one who is constrained by the dreaded minute, where panic intervenes and overwhelms, where it interferes and interrupts, where it dashes hopes and dreams at least for the moment; give a supernatural and inspired hope that cannot be felt but can be believed.  Loan them Your faith, Lord.  Give to them what they cannot and will not feel.  Give to them recognition of this as they look back — “I did receive!”  Even as they don’t feel it now.

For the dreaded minute that rolls on into the minutes, into an hour, a day, and longer, give this precious one Your covenant pride, Lord, that You could not be more pleased that they continue stepping out their journey despite what they feel and what they face.  As You cannot help turning Your face toward this one, Good Good Father, create an avenue of sweet relief — some sweet seconds, a holy minute.

Relief is the word, loving and caring Lord.  Give Your precious intercession through Your Holy Spirit, to this one who desperately seeks You, who follows You despite what and how they feel.  Be with this one.  Protect them and hide them in the cover of Your wings, in Christ.

AMEN.

Photo by Chris-Håvard Berge on Unsplash

The insatiable ferocity of anxiety in a panic attack

There are realities in life, that no matter how much we never quite contemplated that we would experience them, there comes a time that we do, and those experiences absolutely overwhelm our sensitivities.  They floor us.

It’s like we go from 0 to 100 in two seconds, when we always expected that we would be able to control the pace of the ride.  Panic attacks are just like that.  You’re overwhelmed even as the seconds pass like calamitous super-slow-motion minutes, and where others might say, “Just control what you’re thinking or feeling — it can’t be that bad or hard!”, it’s not until you’re in the midst of one yourself that you actually realise how little control anyone has.  The first panic attack completely reshapes your ideas of agency and self-control.  The first experience tips you into a place where all presumption of safety falls away to nothing.  It is frightening.

One of the great benefits having experienced panic attacks, afterwards, is the compassion of empathy that comes from knowing there’s certain uncontrollable events that do overtake the human experience.  Suddenly we’re not so brash in our thinking to think that as human beings we can control everything, for we can’t, and this is probably the best handbrake God can give us, in having experienced something that overwhelms our ability to control life.

Yes, this is a benefit, even if it costs us all our self-confidence, for we must now construct a confidence in God.  From trusting our own pathetic resources, having come to a place where they failed, we begin to trust the eternal resources of God’s faithfulness.  And it was the calamity of the insatiable ferocity of anxiety in a panic attack that took us to the precipice of this spiritual insight.  But, of course, this is a process, and it takes some time to master, to let go and let God.

What this does is makes the sheer dread worthwhile as far as a future hope is concerned.  But in the meantime, it’s sheer hell.  It does not matter whether you have faith in God or not.  Let me say that again.  It does not matter whether you have faith in God or not.  Indeed, when God shows us the presence of fear for loss or lack of control, suddenly the Lord has piqued our attention — it isn’t always about the attack of the enemy.  Sometimes it’s simply about the invitation to know ourselves more.

Panic attacks are not so much to be mastered as they are to be instructive, in and of themselves, for how to manage them.  We endure them, and the truth is we do.  We can learn about what triggered them, as we investigate the causes after they’ve subsided, and we’ve recovered.  We can also allow ourselves the freedom of a refuge of safety when we’re caught in the rip of one.  Just get to safety, I say.  Don’t be tipped over the edge into freefall.  Get away from the social setting or the pressure that sets it off and don’t be pressured otherwise.  Take whatever little control you have.

Photo by Zoe Deal on Unsplash