A Year Like That (2000-2001)

At the age of 18, I thought surviving boot camp as a member of the U.S. Navy would be the most difficult challenge I could endure. I mused, “If I can survive this, I can survive anything!” My baseline assumption of, “How hard could life be?” was naïve to put it mildly.

I recently found notes from events of November 2000- October 2001. I documented a rather trying journey of sustained, multi-faceted griefs. I actually laughed a bit when I reread that writing because it was years before the divorce, the death of my daughter, crisis pregnancy, scaling a mountain of debt etc…. I pondered, If I was a baseball player 2000-2001 would have been my minor league year prepping me for the majors. Boot Camp, in retrospect, had just been light stretching.

On November 25, 2000 my strong, powerful, salt-of-earth Father died of bone cancer. Living less than two miles from my parents, I was fortunate to have been at his home six days a week with one of his favorite people in tow my two-year-old, curly headed, fire-ball, Kathryn. I’m sure he spied his reflection in her movements, attitudes and spirit. Looking straight into her eyes he reflected, “Oh, I’m going to miss you!” With the help of hospice he passed away at home. I was in the room gripping his hand, crying, blessing him in the otherworldly time frame of transitioning into heaven as his physical heart stopped beating.

Imagine my elation several months later to find out I was pregnant! Being with Child seemed all the fashion in our extended family. My sister, sister-in-law, and cousin all were expecting babies. I was ecstatic to join their ranks. My joy, regrettably, turned to heart break when I miscarried that baby. I felt very lost and empty. Six months after losing my father, whom I had known my entire life. I then lost a little soul with whom I was woefully unacquainted.

September 11, 2001 is etched in infamy as the entire country collectively entered into shock as the unspeakable tragedies unfolded across the nation that day. The Twin Towers fell. The Pentagon were badly damaged. Anguish was feeling vaguely like a path from which I could never exit.

On October 17, 2001 a very precious six-year-old, Joe-Joe died. I was Joe-Joe’s babysitter for almost two years. I cared for him in my home with nieces, nephews, and Kathryn. Because he was a liver transplant recipient when he was a baby, he was often sick. He endured numerous hospital stays. He never once complained. He was a typical boy in every way climbing trees, rough housing, and preferring Ramen Noodles for lunch.

I could hardly bear Joe-Joe’s death. I was crushed. I was devastated. The whole nation was in a funk and I had lost three very precious people in the space of eleven months.

Weeks after Joe-Joe’s funeral, I was seeking solace  while worshipping among thousands in the
cavernous building of Veteran’s Memorial Arena.  I grasped for the shattered shards of my
bruised and forlorn spirit. I offered them to Father God piece by piece. I wept.
I told Him how difficult all this was, ” God, I’m scared I am going to get
trapped in the grief cycle. How can I break free from all of this
tragedy?” The tears streamed down my face,  a living testament of my deep
love for those I had lost. He spoke so gently to my heart, “Deborah, they
are all with Me. You can go on with your life.” Those words of  healing and hope penetrated.  I accepted this comfort.  My spirit lifted. Grief did diminish in time.

 

Have you had a year like that? Are you in the middle of a year like that? Every time you turn around are you facing a new challenge? Are you just making headway with trial A and trial B and trial C are both on your stoop ringing your doorbell in tandem? Discouraging isn’t it? Don’t give up. Don’t stop fighting. I survived that year. I have joy. I have peace. Life is good. Pour out your catastrophes to God. Give Him everything: your hurt, your anger, your fears, your grief, your debt, your indiscretions, your failures, and confusion, even your successes. There is nothing you can tell Him that He doesn’t already know, but there is immeasurable value in presenting your honest, raw emotions for His consideration. From His perspective you are giving Him an extravagant gift, a very delicate, intimate substance. These moments are as unique as fingerprints. I once heard that the reason God collects our tears is because they are such unique indicators of who we are. Know this, when you release to Him what you possess in your hands, you will receive what He possesses in His. Things like hope, healing, endurance, and grace will be shared.

Lift up your heads, O you gates;                                                                                                                       lift them up you ancient doors,                                                                                                                            that the king of glory may come in.                                                                                                              Who is the King of glory?                                                                                                                                  The Lord Almighty- He is the King of Glory                                                                                            Psalm 24:7-8