Grieving and Caring Part 1

This blog is going to be a part 1 or 2...or more if I feel God lead me to. I want to dedicate this one to the grieving. Whether you've lost someone recently, or decades ago, I hope you will be able to relate to this in someway or another.
When you lose someone you love, something happens in your heart. When they leave, it's like a chunk of you heart is ripped out with their passing. And you're left with a gaping wound. At first it bleeds a lot, it hurts, it's so fresh. When Dad went home, I woke up the next morning and felt like I was walking through a fog. What do I do next? How do I keep living? How can I find a new normal? So I got outside and ran. As I ran throughout my hometown, it felt like a ghost town. I wondered, was it always like this in the morning? Or was this the first time I'd noticed? It was so quiet and strange. I looked up at the perfect blue sky and it seemed almost cruel. The only man in my life was gone, yet the world just kept turning like nothing happened. One minute I wanted to laugh because I knew God would provide. The next moment I would burst into tears, because how could I keep living?
So I tried to pretend nothing had happened. I wanted everything to go back to normal. I wanted to go to Wednesday night church with friends, babysit all week long, and go to Sunday morning worship and sing in the choir. If I kept living life like I had before, maybe nothing would seem different. Maybe I wouldn't hurt so much.
But that's not how it works.
So instead, I chose the other extreme. I fought the normal flow of things. Summer was easy because I felt free and flexible and able to cope with the pain. But then school started. A new routine. Without my daddy. Without his white car squeaking into the driveway or his keys jingling when he opened the door or his elephant footsteps pounding through the house. NO! This isn't what I had in mind, God! The first month, I dragged through every school day. I all but counted down the days until summer 2014. I was in zombie mode. Life pushed me through but I refused to live.
Some people told me to let go of the past so I could move forward. No. I couldn't let go of the past. But I had to stop living in it. I had to stop wishing with every breath I took for things to go back to how they used to be.
So instead, I used the past to guide me to my future. Through my dad's death, I learned more about him. More that I want to be. He was a man of deep integrity, loyalty, and he always strived to be the best he could in Christ. I couldn't let go of the past, but I could use it to mold my future. I could be more like my dad.
Everything that has happened is helping, even now, to make me who God wants me to be. Every tear I shed, every painstaking step I've taken, is drawing me closer to the cross. It's making me who I am. I am learning that I am a writer- I love what I do. I am a protecter- I look out for those I love. I am weak- I have a God who is oh so strong. And I don't have to drag through everyday because sometimes I just need to lay my head on my Father's shoulder and let Him carry me.
So for the grieving, your roller coater of emotions is normal. It's ok to laugh one minute and bawl your eyes out the other. It's ok to feel empty and weary, let God strengthen you. Whether it's the perfect day or the hardest day, dwell in Him.

Grateful for the Little Things

They say you're never really grateful for something until it's gone, but I was always grateful for Dad in general. I told him I loved him often and what he meant to me. I just never realized that I should grateful for all the little things. Because that's what I miss the most.
I miss the way his keys jingled when he walked in for lunch. I miss the high pitched way he would call "Sissy" with loud feet coming toward my room on budget day...time to pay for cell phone bills. I miss the way he would be hunched in prayer as the choir sang. I didn't know that I should be grateful for those things. But now I am. Now I'm trying to be grateful for the little things in every person.
When I find myself thinking "If only Dad were here..." He'd know what to do, what to say, how to help. And at that point, I sink into a state of depression. I go into "my life as fallen apart and everyone should pity me" mode. But then, I realize something. My life is still good. More than that, it's amazing! I am blessed with a mom who sings to wake me up in the morning, with siblings who make me laugh like no one else, with families in my church who have gone above and beyond the call do dusty to bless me and my family.  Even as I type, there's a godly man outside teaching my brother to shoot a gun. I am blessed!
There can be so much good in the midst of tragedy. Not only have a learned to be more grateful in my dad's death, I've learned more about myself. If he hadn't died, I never would've realized how much I loved to write, and never ever would've started this blog. I never would've grown so close to people in my church or repaired a broken friendship. I probably wouldn't have shared Christ with Mr. Dorico in Washington DC. If I could have my dad back, I would do so in a heartbeat, but I can't. So instead, I want to focus on the good that comes out of heartache. What satan intended for evil, God has used for good.