My family is suffering the blues. Hockey blues. Almost my entire married life has had a huge element of hockey in it. Not always to my liking. My husband has played. My kids have played, minus Alisha but put a hockey game on for her to watch and her legs begin to kick wildly while she bubbles up with smiles and bursts of laughter. I often wonder what's wrong with them or for a different perspective, what's wrong with me.
A little bit of hockey would have been one thing. I have been energized more then once rooting for the Red Wings or Whalers. If it was my kids playing, the intensity escalated and I felt their triumphs and their disappointment because I love them fiercely. Hockey edged it's way into our lives more than a little. From homemade ice rinks in the back yard to hockey tape as the most used adhesive in the house, hockey became our landscape. The chill of rinks, the late night games or early morning practices, the sacrifice of gobs of money, and precious family time have not always led me to a song of rejoicing. I lament that.
Why? Because now it is all gone. There is no more hockey in this family. Yes, we will watch it on t.v. but it is not the landscape anymore. Caleb chose to not play this year and Hannah had some severe injuries this fall that removed her completely from the game. In the beginning I rejoiced that our family would have more time together, be able to do other things.
It has not quite worked out like I thought it would. The empty place where hockey was has not been filled for them. They are sad. At first, honestly, I wanted to fill the empty space so we could close this chapter of our lives. I tried.
It may seem, as did to me at first, that in the economy of loss, this is minor. It's not for them. When I've been the recipient of forced healing, it hasn't worked. I needed to process my loss. Someone else can not do this vital work for another.
As I sat with my sobbing daughter one night, I said, "If I could make this outcome different I would. If it were up to me you would be back on that ice doing what you love." I meant it because I love her and I miss watching her do what she loved. I would have never wanted to say "goodbye" to hockey like this.
It is not in my power though. It is in His. If it were up to me my children would never suffer a day. They would never be sick. They would never be sad or angry for that matter. They would never have to endure the cruel words of another or the disappointment of losing anything. Anything.
This is why it is not up to me, I told Hannah. My love is not perfect. His is. Suffering makes me depend. It molds my thoughts and my heart-strings to long for something more. Without the brokenness I would believe in myself more than I should. No, perfect love allows for brokenness.
It's not just about coming out the other side. It will be better than that. It will be transformative. I know that because the deepest of pains have never been wasted. Only a Perfect Father could take the worst, ache with us, and then work through us. Rejoice.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Mystery
Walking the halls at University of Michigan Hospital yesterday for
Alisha's doctor appointment gave cause for some reflection. It was almost a
year ago we were residence there for almost three weeks, in the
i.c.u.
There is much mystery surrounding the events that took place during those weeks. We never did get resolve as to why Alisha became as sick as she did as fast as she did. Her blood pressure tanked and she went into cardiac arrest. I can still see my husband's tears running down his cheeks as he clearly understood we were loosing our daughter. I did not understand. It all happened so fast.
Being whisked away to a waiting room I did understand. I had done that several times before. We sat in that room in the middle of the night praying, pleading it was not her time. And it wasn't. God is so good.
By the time we received news of her condition it came with little answers and a lot of wait-and-see prognosis. Going back to see her attached to life support confirmed their slicing words of worry. Our daughter looked like she had met the enemy.
As I glided down those halls yesterday, I asked myself what I had processed from now the "balcony" view. I know when I was on the "dance floor" it was hard to see something bigger at work. I wrestled with my lack of trust in God's plans. I sought stability of my spirit in the moments of watching erratic machines and hanging on the oscillating coat tails of doctors' input and theories. There was a lot of wrestling going on.
When Alisha recovered it was about as quick as her descent. Within in a few days of coming home one would have never known the battle she had just won. My battle didn't end as quick. Months to follow I was fatigued both physically as well as emotionally. I spent a lot of time seeking answers to what "that" had been all about. Nothing became clear. I left the answers alone. I surrendered the wrestle.
None of this should surprise me. So much of Alisha's life has involved dangling questions...mystery. My relationship with her revolves around it. She always give me just enough to make me keep wanting more. The "wanting" is more like an irresistible invitation to enter into relationship where I find out more about myself and the desire to be complete to another person. It is this desire... love...that draws me deeper and deeper to seek, to find, to knock.
If there is one word I would use to describe the great journey I have been on with Alisha it would be "mystery". Recieved answers only seem to give way to more questions. The unanswered humble me, spurring me to lean on other...God... more than myself.
God is mystery to me too. I know Him. A little. The longer I know Him I find myself needing, desiring, loving to know more. His ways are not always my ways. Perhaps, not knowing... mystery... is the remarkable blessing I truly seek.
There is much mystery surrounding the events that took place during those weeks. We never did get resolve as to why Alisha became as sick as she did as fast as she did. Her blood pressure tanked and she went into cardiac arrest. I can still see my husband's tears running down his cheeks as he clearly understood we were loosing our daughter. I did not understand. It all happened so fast.
Being whisked away to a waiting room I did understand. I had done that several times before. We sat in that room in the middle of the night praying, pleading it was not her time. And it wasn't. God is so good.
By the time we received news of her condition it came with little answers and a lot of wait-and-see prognosis. Going back to see her attached to life support confirmed their slicing words of worry. Our daughter looked like she had met the enemy.
As I glided down those halls yesterday, I asked myself what I had processed from now the "balcony" view. I know when I was on the "dance floor" it was hard to see something bigger at work. I wrestled with my lack of trust in God's plans. I sought stability of my spirit in the moments of watching erratic machines and hanging on the oscillating coat tails of doctors' input and theories. There was a lot of wrestling going on.
When Alisha recovered it was about as quick as her descent. Within in a few days of coming home one would have never known the battle she had just won. My battle didn't end as quick. Months to follow I was fatigued both physically as well as emotionally. I spent a lot of time seeking answers to what "that" had been all about. Nothing became clear. I left the answers alone. I surrendered the wrestle.
None of this should surprise me. So much of Alisha's life has involved dangling questions...mystery. My relationship with her revolves around it. She always give me just enough to make me keep wanting more. The "wanting" is more like an irresistible invitation to enter into relationship where I find out more about myself and the desire to be complete to another person. It is this desire... love...that draws me deeper and deeper to seek, to find, to knock.
If there is one word I would use to describe the great journey I have been on with Alisha it would be "mystery". Recieved answers only seem to give way to more questions. The unanswered humble me, spurring me to lean on other...God... more than myself.
God is mystery to me too. I know Him. A little. The longer I know Him I find myself needing, desiring, loving to know more. His ways are not always my ways. Perhaps, not knowing... mystery... is the remarkable blessing I truly seek.
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