Series on Suffering: Losing A Spouse (Update)

LosingSpouse

We resume Susan’s story of losing her first husband with an update. A lot can happen in four years — especially when you’re adjusting to a new marriage, raising middle schoolers, forging new paths in your career, and getting to know a new community. Read on…


How has your situation changed in the past four years?

Oh, so much change! I’ve now been remarried to Todd for almost six years, and three years ago, God called us to a great adventure, which included moving our family to Kansas City. New city, new church, new jobs, new friends. Now three years out, I can see how God has pushed me to corners of myself that I didn’t even know existed. I’m so grateful for the growth and refinement.

One of the biggest changes for me has been my job. I’m a bit of a nomad when it comes to my occupational pursuits, following my heart and God’s leading, and I’ve never been disappointed as to what I have learned on my journey. After serving as a teacher in independent schools for many years, I’ve landed back in public education as a learning coach in a project-based learning environment designed to empower creativity and equip students to be architects of a better world. For years, I’ve had ideas and desires to transform the learning experience for all kids and, while in St. Louis, I continually encountered roadblocks. It was as though God kept saying, not yet. Now, He has given me the opportunity to pioneer forward and be a part of something transformative.

How have YOU changed in the past four years?

Besides the gray hairs and wrinkles, over the last four years, God has continued to refine and humble me. The older I get, the more I understand my depravity and my need for a Savior. The first year we moved to Kansas City felt much like moving to a desert. Lots of anger, resentment, grief, pride. It was a lonely year for me trying to figure out who I was as a mother, as a wife, but, most importantly, who I was as a child of God. I no longer lived in the comfort of my hometown, my community of friends, nor my job – three things that had shaped so much of my adult life.

It’s been a rather arduous journey, but God has been faithful to continue His work in me to transform my heart. As much as I want to think “I’m all grown up and finally arrived at maturity,” I would be deceiving myself. Every uncomfortable situation I encounter, every painful trial I face, every joyful moment I experience–I’m learning more about the power and work of Christ in my life.

What are you still wrestling with?

Two of my greatest sin patterns are anxiety and fear. At times, I think, “Really, Susan? With everything God has done for you?” But, like faceless thieves, they creep in periodically, stealing my attention away from God. Some of my biggest fears and anxious thoughts are about my children. As my boys have grown, I see God’s hand in their lives, but I also see the effects of trauma and loss at such an early age. I tend to brace myself with the worse possible scenario, seeing the future through my human eyes. I continually redirect my thinking to God’s sovereignty and His abundant love for my children.

How have you seen redemption come from your suffering?

As a teenager, I used to think redemption meant “God sweeps in, God fixes problem, we thank Him, and life continues.” At 16, suffering meant the disappointment of not making the lead in the musical or wishing the boy I liked returned my affections. Thankfully, I’ve grown. One of the greatest takeaways from my suffering has been a deeper understanding of God’s redemptive hand in our lives. Understanding redemption, at least how I make sense of it, is believing and living the gospel. Though I will never feel nails in my hands nor wear a crown of thorns, I have learned that the more I lose and suffer in this world, the more I gain in understanding the redemption story. His sacrifice on the cross, His pursuit of my heart, His faithfulness in all my earthly sufferings—there I have known grace and redemption and love and compassion.

Screen Shot 2016-02-17 at 1.54.35 PM (1)


So there you go — open and raw honesty for the past four weeks. While four stories and updates provide a window into the lives of ordinary men and women, I’m convinced many of you are doing more than peering through the glass. Maybe you have been cut by its jagged edges and could tell similar stories.

It’s never easy to read a story of brokenness and know you could be writing it, too. But recognizing is the first step toward claiming hope, toward believing that redemption really can happen.

A few years ago I sat in a class about doubting God’s goodness due to the rampant brokenness in the world. Oppression. Injustice. Invasions on our mortality. Reminders of our fragility. Fear.

While I can’t say I understand the mind of God with any more clarity, I did walk away speechless.  The very God who wrote a love story at the beginning of time included His own suffering in the darkest chapter. Did you catch that? The very God who wrote a love story at the beginning of time included His own suffering in the darkest chapter.

But unlike human suffering, our Author suffered with power. He could have defeated or even prevented His own suffering. But He wrote scene after scene in which He Himself was abandoned, misunderstood, mocked, tortured, betrayed.

So where do we go from here? What we do with the stories of Matthew, and Jami, and Julie, and Susan?

I dare you to look inward today. By seeing our own pain mirrored in these stories, we walk in realness. And that’s the first step toward healing. How can we ask for redemption when we’re not authentic about how our lives have really turned out? And how our situations – and hearts – are crumbling around us?  And how we’re devastated?

Yes, be real. Be honest… first with yourself, and then with someone else. And then together, walk boldly into the mess and watch redemption take place. Watch God restore and re-create your story into something more beautiful than it ever was. His project may take years, but please check in with me during the restoration process. You’re not alone, and I’d love to hear how you’re doing… even on the hardest of days.

Stop by next week for a reflection on what I personally learned through this Series on Suffering. But for now,  take the ancient words of Isaiah with you: “My thoughts and My ways are above and beyond you, just as heaven is far from your reach here on earth.”

Oh, to know the mind of God! But of this I’m sure — the pain of your heart is no surprise to your Maker. He embraced it Himself.

photo source | jen palmer

Series on Suffering: Losing A Spouse

LosingSpouseFrom the inner tension that comes with an eating disorder, we go to terminal illness.  A life taken from us is deeply painful, and our guest today also watched her husband physically suffer for several months before saying goodbye.  

I’m grateful for Susan’s honesty regarding questioning God, being angry, and finally surrendering. She ends her interview today with advice for those who know someone suffering from cancer. Join us as our Series on Suffering continues…


Christan: Susan, thanks for your willingness to wrap up our series on suffering. Tell us what your first husband was like.

Susan: I met Brian when I was 30 years old when I had just moved here from Los Angeles. We were both teachers, and we connected over writing and education and teaching kids how to write. We became instant best friends and were married eleven months later. From the first time I met him, I felt as though Brian and God had this “secret room” or something where they’d go and talk about life. He was so in tune with what God wanted for him, for us. That wasn’t my relationship with God. I struggled with being sure of what He wanted. Brian also preached grace everywhere. I think my understanding of grace deepened by knowing Brian.

Christan: How soon did you start your family?

Susan: Because we were a bit older when we got married, we wanted to start our family soon. Max was born two-and-a-half years into our marriage, and Briggs followed two years later. Much of our experience looked like the norm — falling in love, getting married, having children. I think, though, we were in a different place emotionally because of our age and life experiences before marriage. We had struggles, but our marriage was truly a partnership.

Christan: How soon did cancer enter your family?

Susan: Between July and December of 2004, Brian lost ten pounds… and this was with him eating a bowl of ice cream most nights. We really couldn’t understand where the ten pounds went. We assumed it was because of stress caused by a new baby and Brian’s new job. In December, he began coughing, and it lasted a couple months. I remember him walking up the stairs in March 2005 — he paused like an old man, out of breath, and said, “There’s really something wrong with me.  I can’t even make it up the stairs without stopping to catch my breath.”

Christan: How old was he?

Susan: He was 34 with no health issues except allergies. It all happened very fast. After going to the doctor, they put him in the hospital and did several tests to rule things out.  They discovered a massive dark spot in Brian’s pulmonary artery. It was right next to his heart, kind of right where everything happens. They didn’t know what the mass was so they immediately put him on blood thinners, thinking it could be a blood clot. Nothing changed. Then they moved him to a larger hospital followed by more blood thinners and more discussions with additional doctors. Some tests showed Brian was living on only ten percent of his lung capacity. Because he was so thin, he hadn’t dropped dead.

When he had surgery on a Monday, I was convinced all would be fine. But when the doctor came out of the surgery, he said, “Yeah, it was malignant.”

Everything stopped.

I didn’t sleep for 24-48 hours after surgery. Because I had babies at home, I couldn’t stay at the hospital all night. I remember picking up a magazine at home, trying to distract myself.  I opened it, shut it, and thought, “This just doesn’t matter.”  It was if the reality of the Gospel and heaven enveloped me. This life was suddenly not as tangible as I wanted to think it was.  It was clear there was something so much deeper than what what staring at me in the magazine pages.

From March to November, we were on the cancer roller coaster. We danced back and forth from hope to reality. I tried my best to navigate the medical world while potty training a three year old and convincing the world we were okay. I remember pleading with God to fix this situation. From debilitating treatments to helping my husband walk around our house — through it all, I just didn’t get it. But soon after he died, I often reflected, “Might it really be a gift to have watched that type of suffering?”

Christan:  How so?

Susan:  For one, I began to understand the mortality of our bodies. When Brian died, he took nothing with him… not his books, his paintings, nor his writings. What he left was his impact on others.

About five days before Brian died, I had finally reached my limit and was mad at God… really, really upset.

“Why won’t you fix this, God?” I dove into Job and came to those verses when God says, “Where were you when I made the world?”

I felt as though He pulled me into that “secret room” He had with Brian and gently said, “That’s enough, Susan. You are not going to get what you want.”  I think I knew at that point that Brian was going to die, but I also knew God was never, ever going to leave me.

After that conversation with God, I decided we were done with chemo, for it was so painful to watch someone go through that. I told Brian we were finished. His eyes got really big and then I noticed great relief. God was pressing on our hearts to prepare for his passing.  I now think of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane asking if there was another way to save the world. God the Father was telling the two of us in that moment, “No, this is the only way.”  We couldn’t see past tomorrow, and it was terrifying. But I believe God wants all of our trust in what He’s designing.  Even Jesus in his humanity struggled with that sort of anticipation, with surrender. Brian died a few days later.

The moment he passed, I remember thinking, “Wow, I just watched him go into Heaven” instead of being overwhelmed by the loss of his mortal body.  I had watched his body die for months, and it was a great gift to understand that none of us are home here on earth.  In the midst of daily life, it’s difficult to remember this world here is not eternal.  I think the suffering taught me the reality of eternity and the reality of Heaven.  If I hadn’t seen or felt death in this life, I’m not sure Heaven would be as real to me now.  I think for us to live boldly, Heaven has to be real to us.

Christan:  During those seven months of suffering, what did your other relationships look like? 

Susan: I’m a doer. And Brian was really ill.  I do have regrets… part of me wishes I had been around more.  But for me to be fully with him, I had to have service elsewhere.  During the last three months of Brian’s life, I was tutoring a student… that really helped me.  It wasn’t a lot, but it did help.

In terms of our marriage, it was hard because he couldn’t give much to it.  I like to think I’m so independent, but you need somebody.  We sought counsel from friends.  There were times that I needed help with daily things, but Brian was fighting for his life.  We needed people who were right there with us, walking alongside us, helping us while we were literally falling apart.

Christan:  Did you feel that cancer and losing Brian was a punishment from God?

Susan: Overall, I knew God was calling us to walk through what we did.  Between surgery and radiation, I remember thinking, “This is what I get for marrying a Maynor.” (Brian had three brothers.) The Maynor boys live their lives so gracefully and faithfully, and Brian was all about making things more beautiful — rehabbing a broken house, serving in community, giving to those in need. He did whatever he could do to help others. I believed God was calling us to navigate cancer. But I also thought Brian would suffer, get healed, and then go help people with his story. I put it in a little box because that felt safe.

But in my darkest moments, at night especially, I remember battling through my thoughts.  I reflected on sin patterns in my life, as well as actions I had done years ago in my youth. I faced irrational fears and choking guilt. I forced myself to disengage from that dark place because I knew that wasn’t how the Gospel works.  But in my brokenness and fear, that’s the place I was in. And it is part of the story.  God reminded me that what He did on the cross was enough.  I had to get to that dark spot of suffering before I could really see.

Christan: Seven years later, do you ever go back to that spot?

Susan: Not really.  I can see growth in my life.  When God puts something in my life that I question, I try and embrace it and know that God is going to teach me something. I understand why He gives us hard things. In those moments, I feel like God breaks idols in my life and replaces them with Him.

Christan: How did you heal?  You seem like you’re whole again.

Susan: Even though there’s healing, there are always scars.  And those scars are good because they’re reminders of how the story is so much bigger than our story alone. They remind me of why the cross had to happen.  If the cross didn’t happen, where would Brian be?  Would I be walking around wondering where my husband is now?  Would he just be dust?  There’s so much of the resurrection story woven through my own story. If the emotional pain flairs, the resurrection is always a reminder of the greatness and redemption. Jesus had his scars.  Scars are a reminder of my growth, my perseverance, my maturity in knowing God deeper because I really think that’s all this life is about… It’s all about getting to know God, walking with Him and giving Him my heart.  It’s really not about whether or not we have a beautiful house or where our kids go to school. Even though that’s directly in front of us, suffering allows us to step back and remember this life is all about knowing Jesus more, about being more Christ-like in all that I do, and being part of His redemption story.

I think brokenness and suffering have to happen because we need to come to grips with our fragility. We have to. It’s too easy in this life — if we never suffer – to miss seeing and knowing God as He truly is.  We see God’s greatest strength and power through when He Himself was the most broken—the cross.

It took a while to heal. It was about three years before I felt as though my feet were firmly on the ground again. When I looked back on my life prior to Brian’s death, I realized I no longer fit where I did before. God had changed me. The reality of knowing my former husband is whole again in Heaven changed the way I think about my life, my world, and the people with whom I engaged. I think there comes a point when there is no more oozing from the wound, but the scar is there.  And it will always be there.  The scar points to God, not Brian.

Christan: What advice would you give to those who know someone suffering from cancer?

Susan: I think the community of believers and the Church struggle with being authentic.  We don’t want to step on toes, we want to be proper, we don’t want to invade privacy, we want to respect boundaries, we follow rules.  But when a person or family is facing extreme crisis, the navigation is overwhelming and almost impossible alone.  Looking back, in the midst of the diagnosis and all that followed, I felt as if I was in a cloud.  When you’re in grief like that — denial, anger, fear – the cloud is present all the time.  Because of that cloud, it’s important to help those suffering navigate through their circumstances.

Try to be intentional. And try to have no expectations.  If God is pushing on your heart, just do it.  Give, show up, serve that family — just do it.  Don’t wait for someone to say it’s okay. We all struggle as humans with needing validation.  Try to have zero expectations and don’t expect the person in crisis to give you anything back — even validating your service to them.  We have to step past your own egos and self-interest and do what God asks us to do for them.

One family gifted our family with money so I didn’t have to go back to work right away.  A group of Brian’s college friends hired a nanny for a year… they didn’t ask permission because the need was so glaring. Another friend came over to just be with me, so I wouldn’t have to be alone. Someone else anonymously mailed me a gift each month after the first anniversary of Brian’s passing.  For twelve months, I received things like a Starbucks gift card, a book, a picture frame —  they were all very intentional items. It blessed me so much, for I felt alone and scared.  To this day, I don’t know who that gift giver was. So, even if it feels a bit scary, just do it. Trust God’s leading.

Christan: And what advice would you give someone who is watching his or her spouse suffer with cancer?

Susan: Every journey is personal. I wish I could tell people how things will unfold. My advice is to accept that you are not in control. You aren’t in control of the healing.  You aren’t in control of anything.  I learned that God is in control as I walked through suffering.  Regardless of how much I yelled and fussed at Him, God was going to unfold His story the way He designed it to be… for Brian, for me, for our kids.

Also, don’t be afraid to ask for help. I didn’t want to be needy, but it became impossible to not ask for help. When things were intense, there were emotional chasms between Brian and I because I simply couldn’t reach Brian. He felt like a million miles away. We went to friends and asked them to pray with us and be with us. We were so scared — but not too scared to ask for help.

When it comes to cancer, always hope, always hope for healing. But in that hope, we must surrender to the truth that God is going to do what He’s going to do. And with surrendering comes the call to persevere, cling to hope, and believe we’re absolutely in the hand of God (even if it doesn’t feel like that).  In retrospect, I know there was not a moment I wasn’t in God’s hand, even in the pain, even in the fear. I remember coming home from the hospital after Brian had passed and sitting on my bed with my door shut. “Now what?” I thought. “I’m alone with two babies. What am I going to do?” But I was never alone. God is always constant, and He’s true to His faithfulness. Seek that. Understand that.

Christan: What advice do you have for widows and widowers who also have children?

Susan: Again, everybody has his or her own journey.  As a parent, I have to honor that with my children. I made an intentional decision to never put my children in a position where they had to be more than my children to me.  Meaning, they aren’t my husband.  They aren’t my mother or my brother.  And they shouldn’t have to relate  like more than my children to me. Their needs came before mine because they were three and one years old. They were so little when Brian passed, so their grief has come a little later in their lives when certain realities hit them. I’ve tried to pay attention. I’ve sought the help of a counselor for my kids. Children are unique individuals, and their walk through grief will look different than your own. I often hear that kids are resilient. That’s true, but they also feel. Communication is huge. When questions are asked, answer your children honestly and promote more dialogue. Children absorb everything, no matter how old they are.

Christan: Finally, how has God redeemed your suffering?

Susan: I believe redemption began right in the middle of it all. God has given me opportunities to directly embrace His work in ways I never imagined—as a mother, as an educator, as a visual storyteller—work that I couldn’t possibly do without the Lord’s strength and help. He’s given me work I may not have entertained if I had been married because of the scope and timing. I’ve been part of things that are so much bigger than me.

God’s also transformed me. I’m willing to be uncomfortable now. I almost pursue uncomfortable situations because I know I’m going to see God in them. Also, God’s given us a family far beyond our dreams. He’s brought someone into my life and given me a second partner in this life. He’s brought an earthly father for my children. Not having expectations has brought me to a point where I surrender to God’s timing. And in God’s timing, He brought the right man to make us a family of four.

Suffering has changed the way I walk through life. When you live without the boxes you used to put in place, when you live without having to control, you experience inexplicable fulfillment and peace and a life far more than we could ever imagine.


Accept we are not in control. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Always hope.

Yes, we gain so much through losing.  We are changed creatures when we finally face and embrace the story God has written for us — the story that is often painfully bitter.  We find freedom when we surrender.  We find healing when we admit our wounds.  We help others when we look back on our own helpless pain.  It’s all so ironic.  

Join me tomorrow as Susan shares an update on where she is in 2016. 

photo source | Jen Palmer

Series on Suffering: Parenting A Disabled Child

Welcome to our Series on Suffering.  Starting out our series is an interview with Matthew* who graciously shared his story with us back in 2012. He approached this task so thoughtfully, and I was moved by his responses to the point of tears.

wheelchairshadow1

I’ve shared before how easy it is to ignore those on the outskirts of our stories. My hope is that through Matthew’s story, we’ll gain tools to help us engage with those we often awkwardly dance around.

*All names have been changed.


Christan: Thank you, Matthew, for agreeing to share your story. Tell us about your family.

Matthew: On a recent road trip, my son, Jonathan, declared, “There is nothing normal about our family.” From afar, maybe we look normal, except for the wheelchair. But the closer you look at what we do each day as a family, the more you’ll see that we don’t operate normally.

My wife and I are 41.  We have two children, an average-sized home, and earn a middle class income.  I am a teacher, and Kelly is a tutor. We don’t stand out in any way. We look and act really normal.

Our daughter, Claire, has severe cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and intellectual disabilities. She can’t do anything for herself, and yet she wants to be actively involved in life. So we take care of all her needs — everything from dressing to walking to eating. Or we find someone who can… which is a tall order. Our lives revolve around trying to make her life as normal as possible.  She wants to read books, but she can’t even hold the book.  She wants to dance, but she can’t sit up on her own. She wants to go shopping, wear jewelry, and tell jokes, but she can’t walk or talk. So we do the best we can to help her live the life she wants to live, and it takes the whole family and a village of volunteers to make that happen.

Christan: Tell us more about Claire.  I believe she was healthy in the womb, right?

Matthew: Claire was healthy in the womb until the 40th week, and then she had a fetal-maternal hemorrhage and was born via emergency c-section without any vital signs… zero Apgar scores. She was resuscitated after 13 minutes, but the damage was done to the brain. So from the very start, we knew that she would have life-long problems and that our lives would never be the same. In some ways it’s been worse than imagined, and in other ways, she’s more of a blessing than we ever imagined.

Christan: When did you begin to grieve?

Matthew: Our grief was steady on from the start and still exists now. We grieve for her and for us often. We wish for a normal life every day.

Christan: Were you hopeful in the beginning that Claire was only mildly affected by her birth trauma? What reality has unfolded?

Matthew: Kelly always wished for four or five healthy, active kids. Instead she got one very healthy active boy and one severely disabled girl. It’s hard to watch so many families who have healthy kids running in and out of their SUV’s with such ease when it takes us so long and with so much equipment just to get dressed and out the door for anything. It’s hard to see normal families move about so easily. They just tell their kids to get dressed, to get in the car, and it happens. For us, it’s a hundred and one steps that we share to make that happen.

Christan:  I know Claire’s had several surgeries.

Matthew: Yeah, those are the worst. She’s had a lot. I can’t even remember all of them, and there will be more ahead. You talk about suffering. Our family suffers when she suffers, and with a surgery it can be months of hard recovery. Cut bones and muscles don’t heal quickly or easily.

Christan: Do you ever blame God?

Matthew: Sure. We know that He is ultimately responsible for our daughter’s disabilities, in the same way that He is responsible for our abilities. We could blame the doctors or Satan, but from the beginning we felt that God was involved in the whole process — from Claire’s near-death in-vitro trauma, to her birth, to her life. He has a plan that is far more difficult than we’d wish on anyone, and we trust there is a greater purpose in it all. But believe me, we’d do anything to heal our daughter and make her fully able. I deeply despise her disabilities, even though I love her to the ends of the earth. Someday, she will be free of all the pain, all the problems, and so will we. I trust that someday, it will make sense and be worth it all.

Christan: Did you ever blame yourselves?

Matthew: Sure. There were a few signs that things were not right, but we went with the protocol, the logic, the medical advice, and waited. Kelly wishes that she’d gone with her gut feeling and went in two days earlier. But hindsight is 20/20. I’m sure the doctor wishes he’s been ultra-conservative and delivered sooner, but again, his logic and protocol said that it wasn’t as big of an emergency as it ended up being. Could it have been avoided? Yes. Was it reasonable to expect the trouble that was brewing? No. Only hindsight is 20/20.

Christan: Has parenting a child with severe disabilities ever threatened your marriage?  Has it helped it thrive?

Matthew: Most marriages in which there is a disabled child end in divorce. The rate is about 85%, I’ve heard. I understand why. The mother will pour her whole life into her one child, and the father will lose his wife and gain a tremendous amount of stress. And it’s over. I get it. On the other hand, the 15% who stay together may have some of the strongest bonds. Our marriage has been tested, and it’s been tough, but we’ve leaned on each other in the deepest ways. I think Kelly and I are a strong team. You have to be “all in”.  There’s no middle ground. That said, it makes a tough thing like marriage a lot tougher.

Christan: How did the Church help you in your grief? Does the Body of Christ still walk with you twelve years later?

Matthew: The Church helped us in our grief to some extent. We probably should have sought out lay counselors that our church provides and probably should have been more proactive about getting counseling from the start. Our church has been supportive, but only a very small handful of people at church even have a clue about what our life is like on a daily basis. Even those with disabled kids don’t get it, since their own kids’ needs are totally different than ours. But we don’t expect much from the Church. We go to worship and be a part of other Believers. We don’t expect the Church to meet our needs.

Christan: How do you keep from being resentful?

Matthew: Prayer. The truth is that we are resentful. We’re jealous of the life others have, the life we want. We’re not thrilled with our lot in life. We hate cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and intellectual disabilities, although we love our daughter.

Christan: What are your long-term goals for Claire?

Matthew: To be happy, healthy, and involved in rich relationships with people who love her. Same as most people.

Christan: What advice can you give on how to treat people who are disabled?

Matthew: Treat them as normally as you can.  Don’t think of them too highly or too lowly. They don’t want pity. They don’t want to be trophies. They just want to be normal. Talk to them. Interact with them in any way that you can. Don’t assume that they are different. Assume that they are the same.

Christan: How has God redeemed some of the pain and heartache?

Matthew: Well, I see the role Claire is playing in others’ lives. She’s 12 and has changed more lives than I have in my 41 years. She has a special ministry to others. She meets others’ special needs by giving them her full attention, hugs, smiles, laughter, and all sort of nonverbal gifts. She makes people feel loved. She inspires people everyday. It’s beautiful. She can’t do much, but she can love.  Hmmmmmm… I Corinthians 13.


In an effort to be polite, we look away from those in wheelchairs and tell our kids not to stare.  But maybe we can start affirming all are made in God’s image by making eye contact.  And then smiling.

In his original dialogue with us, Matthew concludes with a reminder of what’s truly important — loving others. It sounds like such a simple command — Love God. Love others.

However, our abilities, our awareness of the culture around us, and our desire to preserve our self-worth cloud our purpose time and time again. But Claire, inhibited in a severely disabled body, becomes our tutor to love others without boundaries.

Let’s love her back.

Join me again on Wednesday as Matthew gives an update on their family. We’ll hear how his situation has changed in the past four years. We’ll hear how he has changed, too. Matthew will bravely reveal what he’s still wrestling with and what redemption has risen out of his suffering.  

See you tomorrow.

Why I Want A Small Life When the World Keeps Telling Me to Dream Big

 

2014.01.06 blog
“We can’t keep living to impress strangers while the ones we love suffer our indifference. Focused love. Small life. Big rewards.” Don Miller

Focused love.  Small life.  I’m not sure that I want this.

I mean, I do.  But these words are a bit abrasive to the insecure me who keeps searching to find significance.  And um, yes, they’re a bit abrasive to the exhausted me who often feels I have nothing left to give come evening.

Love takes work.

It’s almost easier to reach for the sky than to look into the eyes of those around you. No, really. I think you know what I mean. Try harder and people notice your effort.  Conquer new goals and people admire. Be successful and people see you. People see you.

What is it about the admiration of the masses that feeds our soul only to leave us empty? And what is it about being anonymous that makes us question our worth?  Question in a really scared sort of way?

Laugh at your son’s joke, and you’re still unknown. Play the never-ending board game Life with your daughter instead of Tweeting, and you don’t have a voice in the crowd that day. Engage in conversation with your husband instead of pouring over Pinterest, and no one gets to know your style, your taste for good food, your amazing sense of home decor. Yeah, engage behind closed doors with those you care about the most, and no one will notice you in those moments.

Focused love. Small life. Big rewards.

My son will know I’m crazy about him and will hopefully take that into adolescence. My daughter will cherish the gift of time — translated into security — and might remember it when other girls leave her out. My husband, bless him, who pursues me above all others will know I’d rather talk to him than anyone.

Treasures. Big rewards.

So, today I’m choosing to get to know my family again.

You may need to get to know your friends all over again… or your co-workers who spend their days just an arm-length from you… or your neighbor who waves to you daily… the one whose last name you don’t know.

I’m choosing to look my kids and husband in the eye each time they speak to me this week — even when I’m cooking dinner.

Focused love. Small life. Big rewards.

I’m painting these words on the canvas of our everyday. I’ll need some reminders.

photo source: Steve Shreve on Unsplash