Preparing for Easter (Saturday): The Borrowed Tomb

tombNow there was a man named Joseph, from the Jewish town of Arimathea. He was a member of the council, a good and righteous man, who had not consented to their decision and action; and he was looking for the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down and wrapped it in a linen shroud and laid him in a tomb cut in stone, where no one had ever yet been laid. Luke 23:50-52 

And they made his grave with the wicked
and with a rich man in his death,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.
Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him;
he has put him to grief.     Isaiah 53:9-10a ESV 


When He walked the earth and breathed our air, my Lord said He had nowhere to lay His head. And here in death, here He lays in a borrowed tomb. A man of means came forward to preserve my Savior’s dignity and lay Him to rest in the earth He Himself created before the start of time.

The mystery… it’s too much for me to understand, too much for me to reconcile.

The very God who wrote a love story at the beginning of time included His own suffering in the darkest chapter.

The very God who wrote a love story at the beginning of time included His own suffering in the darkest chapter.  

I look around, and I see myself reflected in the eyes of my brothers and sisters in Christ. I see their brokenness, and it mirrors mine.

I see the violence in my heart – an unkind thought, a judgment, an annoyance, a scorn. But my sweet Jesus – there was no violence in His hand, and none was found even in the deepest crevices of His heart where no one sees.

And I find myself deceived over and over again by a culture that clashes with the truth. I cringe as I hear myself speak error not only to others, but to myself, as I whisper doubt and end up believing lies. But my Rescuer, there was no deceit in His mouth. He spoke no wrong. He gave no empty threats, no empty promises.

But here He lay in that borrowed tomb after enduring my cross.

My Jesus, the Author of the greatest love story — He could have defeated and even prevented His own suffering. But He wrote chapter after chapter in which He Himself was misunderstood, and mocked, and tortured, and betrayed. And here He lay abandoned. Here he lay alone, crushed by the very story He wrote to save me.

And dare I ask Him why?! Dare I ask Him to interpret His mystery? His thoughts are not my thoughts, neither are His ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than this earth, higher than this cold, cold tomb, His ways are higher. His thoughts are higher. His story is much, much deeper and intricate than I could ever write.

So do I trust Him? When I am crushed, do I trust the God who wrote suffering into His own plot? When I choke on grief, do I surrender to the One who poured Himself out as an offering to mankind, spilling His grace everywhere?

Sweet Jesus, my Rescuer, my greatest Hope, I lean into the mystery I can’t understand. I collapse into your redemption plan. But I grieve as you lay there bruised and alone.

A Time to Speak

prophet“And now, Lord, take note of their intimidations intended to silence us. Grant us, Your servants, the courageous confidence we need to go ahead and proclaim Your message while you reach out Your hand to heal people…” Acts 4:29,30

I get confused sometimes.

My heart pounds with empathy as suffering weeps in silence. I reach out to touch the wound that’s not mine to touch. And my fingers linger on the scar as I long for healing to flow forth.

The job of Savior is already taken. 

And I get intimidated sometimes.

Responding to hurt and binding up wounds is often easier than opening up my mouth to proclaim abrasive truth.

Do you follow? I want to be the healer instead of the prophet.

“Christan, you need to stop bringing home your clients’ angst,” a friend told me, the social worker hoping to save my corner of the world. Years ago, I had a 14 year-old client whose story came home with me everyday… whose fragments felt like my own brokenness, for I tried to piece them together in my mind all night long. I stayed awake night after night thinking and pondering and carrying a shame that wasn’t mine to hold. I still think of her.


“Is now the time, Lord — the time when You will reestablish Your kingdom in our land?” (Acts 1:6) Fresh from witnessing the resurrection, Christ’s friends were still feeling oppressed… still feeling taken advantage of… still wanting a political hero to rescue them from Rome… still full of fear at what they might find just around the corner.

Have you waited incredibly long to be rescued?
Have you yearned and longed while injustice rips through the flag of freedom over and over, tearing it to shreds?

“Here’s the knowledge you need: you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you. And you will be my witnesses, first here in Jerusalem, then beyond to Judea and Samaria, and finally to the farthest places on earth.” Acts 1:7-9

You will speak and reflect Me among what’s familiar
…and among people and cultures just a tad bit different
…and with those whom you fear and scorn and judge
…and with those you’ve never even thought of before.
That’s what you need to know for now.
You’ll open your mouth.
You’ll speak truth without fearing what others think.
You’ll boldly proclaim My love for those right in front of you,
for those that don’t look like you, for those who make decisions you would never make, and for those you’ve forgotten about. (Acts 1:7-9 paraphrase)

“You will speak, and I will heal,” says the Maker of Heaven and Earth.

Oh. But I want to do the healing. I want to bind up the wounds and see brokenness transform before my eyes. I want to do something meaningful, and healing seems significant.

But the job of Savior is already taken.


Again…
“And now, Lord, take note of their intimidations intended to silence us. Grant us, Your servants, the courageous confidence we need to go ahead and proclaim Your message while you reach out Your hand to heal people…” Acts 4:29,30

I see the accusers pointing at me. I see their hate …and confusion …and fear. Everyone has a story that’s led them to today. But I will proclaim what’s real without intimidation. I will not wait in silence. I will open up my mouth and exchange shame for courage and proclaim a Gospel-driven message of love and wholeness. For now, I will speak.

And I’ll watch my Savior reach out His hand to heal those I love. I’ll see His hand with that deep, deep scar cover the wound. I’ll see Him touch the scars and bring a restoration I never could.

Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:14

 

photo source | john sting, portugal

What I Learned from Our Series on Suffering

fontcandy (1) copy 3Although our Series on Suffering officially concluded last week, I’m compelled to share how I was personally changed over the past few weeks. My hope was to help others — either those in agony or those watching another suffer. By posting updates from four years after the initial story, I hoped to point toward perseverance. There’s something about seeing another’s redemption that helps you reach out your hand when you’re drowning. But once again, I found transformation in the mirror.  I entered the series as the facilitator, but I left the student.

I learned…

… Everyone has a story. Everyone. Why do I forget this? Life would be so much richer and more meaningful if I stopped to listen. If I pursued. If I slowed down enough to be a safe place for others. I must remember the faces in my life have identities. Everyone has so much to say.

… People grieve differently.  There’s no consistent, proper way to get real and deal with pain. Yes, there are common rhythms of grief. But I can’t put people in boxes and expect them to convey their distress a certain way. Some friends are more emotional while others are more rational. There’s beauty in this kind of diversity. Why bring judgment into someone’s healing process?

… It’s cowardly to remain silent amidst another’s pain. The fear of offending someone absolutely can not supersede our practice of living in community. Loving others requires us to feel awkward sometimes. I absolutely must get over myself.

… I whine too much. You see, all those thoughts harbored deep within, whether they pour forth from my lips or not, reflect where I’m at. Proverbs 23:7 makes it clear: For as he thinks in his heart, so is he. (NLV)  I’m too self-centered… period… in my peer relationships, my marriage, my parenting. Especially my parenting. There’s nothing like hearing another’s story to put your own in perspective.

… I must fight to prevent my body image issues from impacting my children. I know the standards of 21st century American beauty —  for women and men. I see it everyday at the check-out lane, in Athleta catalogs that invade my mailbox, on television commercials, in the lies I uncover in my own thoughts. I must commit to not complain about the way God made me in front of my son and daughter. I want my children to grow up knowing they’re beautifully created and knowing their identity is in what Christ did for them on the cross. As our world has become smaller through technology, unfortunately our infatuation with one type of beauty has grown bigger. I must fight our culture no matter how daunting the task seems.

… Redemption often looks different than I would have imagined. I believed this already, but I’m convinced even more after presenting these four stories. We pray and claim and beg — and even tell God what to do — and His answer is often different than our original hopes. But He’s purposeful. And He often uses radical, painful situations to convey His counter-cultural message. Regardless, I’ve seen him bring beauty and life to a dying heart. As Jeremy Bedenbaugh, a local St. Louis pastor, says, “Only where the graves are is there resurrection.”

I know God will continue to uncover more lessons for me. And hopefully for you, too. I don’t know what struggle will stare me in the face tomorrow. But for now, I have much to ponder — suffering, healing, Good Friday, Easter Sunday. Come, Lord Jesus. Come to the darkest parts of our stories.

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.

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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