My Process: Part II

I didn’t realize what happened when Will passed.  I’m not sure if it was because I had been living close to his death for so long or what…

But those times of us fighting for Will’s life were sweet.  Meeting new people, making new friends.  Crying out to God, trusting Him from the depths of my soul.  Cherishing moments, every moment, with Will, with Angie, with family and friends.

When Will passed, some of those moments were still there.  The community was there.  The family was there.  Will’s music and testimony were there.

Will’s legacy and creativity created a longing in me to never lose a moment, to create all that I could.

And the result of all of those feelings has led to…

…just about nothing.

Instead of being inspired, I have in turn, lost all motivation.

I discipline myself to get through life.

When Will passed, I listened to his music everyday, all day.  Now, I can’t listen to his music anymore, it hurts too much.

Even after he passed, I would make sure to read at least a chapter of my Bible daily.  Now, I am lucky to get through a few verses each day.

And it’s not even because I don’t want to.  It’s because I don’t care.

For a moment, I was inspired to dream.  Now, my dreams are waning.

One thing that it has created is that it has given me a greater compassion for others.  Others who are hurting.  Others who have lost.

I don’t help others when they are in pain anymore.

I join them in their pain.

I still go to church but I’m pretty neutral towards it.  Worship is often the hardest.  Recently, I really just didn’t want to be there, so I stepped outside and started walking.  I decided to walk to Target, why not.  I found a homeless lady outside.  “What’s your name?” I said.  I let her know I would be back later that evening and every week after.  “What could you use?”  “I have peanut butter, I could use some jelly… and some dog food for Angel.”

I used to look down on people with nothing who used resources for pets.  But Angel was her best friend.  Angel stands by her, stands with her.  Something I’ve never done.

I was leaving Fred Meyer when a disheveled man came racing to my car.  He rambled a bit and asked for money for a bus ride.  “Do you just want a ride?” I said.  Some people think scary people like that should be avoided – maybe they will shoot you or steal your car but… I don’t really care anymore, I’d rather just have compassion for him.  He did indeed just want money though.  So I gave him all the money I had in my wallet.  “Hold on, I have some change in the car, you can have that too.”  I mean seriously, I don’t care.  He might buy alcohol or something, but at least that may alleviate some pain in his life rather than dollar bills burning a hole in my pocket.

I went back to my car and started to take off when I saw a man going through the garbage looking for bottles.  I turned around and dropped my bottles in his cart.

I’d still say I’m mad at God.  I don’t care to spend much time with Him.  My motivation for life is sincerely lacking.  But, I can definitely join others in their pain now rather than handing out Bible verses.

I see people hurting everywhere now.  Maybe I just couldn’t see before.  Or maybe I actually respond to those I see now.

I’ve lost a lot of hope in this world and what it has to offer.

And that sucks.  I want to have hope in this world.  I want to believe I can accomplish things here.  But everything seems so insignificant.  I want to dream.  To pursue relationships.  A family.  A career…. But I just don’t know anymore…

I’ve certainly lost hope in this world.  But maybe that’s a good thing.


4 thoughts on “My Process: Part II

  1. I know it’s probably impossible to believe, but I actually know how you feel. Your words are my words and thoughts from this last year….pouring out onto a page. Words and thoughts that I didn’t have the courage to speak or write or in any way make public. Thank you for writing them, in some strange way…it helps me.

  2. Once you’ve been there, in the pain, the darkness, the despair, the suffering, the lost hope, and worse, the listlessness and weariness, it totally changes your outlook. Like when you go into a dark place. At first you can’t see. But then your vision changes. Your eyes adjust and you begin to make out the things around you. You see things in different way. I think that’s what Jesus did. He came into our darkness so we would know He could see as we see, experience what we experience. Because if you haven’t been there, you just don’t truly know. He suffered so He could be with us- not in platitudes, in word, in deed, in a “hail the conquering hero/savior” way, but more intimately- in our suffering, in the essence of our being, to “join us in our pain”. As you looked beyond the circumstances of those people and only saw the suffering- because you too have known suffering- perhaps you are seeing as Jesus sees. Perhaps now you are looking through His eyes. And that takes raw courage.

  3. Hey, I don’t know who you are really, and I don’t know what it’s like to lose a spouse (in fact, I’ve been thinking about it), but I do know what it’s like to lose hope; to feel disconnected from everything that seems significant; from all the things that matter to you; that, to you, make life worth living. When life becomes so heavy, it often becomes harder to see why there’s value in moving forward. The very idea of moving forward seems so heavy; such a turnoff. “What? Like this?” We get so *tired*, and sometimes it seems like that’s all there is for us: that endless wall of “not possible to go on.” It’s just too much.

    I know that place if very real. There are times that I slip back into it, but what I’ve found is that as real as that place is – and I don’t want to take away from the reality of that place and reality of all that there is to feel in that place, because that’s real as real can be – that burden is not all there is; the heavy is not all there is in life. You can change. You *can* get better. And I’ve found that you can get out, and you don’t have to end there in that dark and heavy place if you can bring yourself to have this one simple thing that has made all the difference for me: hope. But as someone once said, “If you’re going through Hell, keep going.” There’s a way out and it’s hope.

    Here are some brief practical ways that I have learned to keep hope alive and dream again in my times of heavy feelings of insignificance.

    1) Meditate on one verse of God’s goodness, specifically his grace, a day. A lot of times I just don’t feel it. I’m tired and sometimes I just don’t care anymore, but when I remind myself of grace, it’s like the sun breaks through the winter clouds in me, and I can see again. Here, like this:

    “God works all things together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purposes.” -Romans 8:28.

    I try to take this verse and say it tens times at each meal, even if I don’t feel anything when I say it or nothing “special” happens, I just say it, over and over again. And I take one word per session and emphasize that word. “GOD work all things together….GOD is working for me, not just life, or the way the universe goes. God is WORKING for me. I’ve got help.”

    But you do it however you do it. However it works for you. But that discipline is where I start. Or another:

    “Christ came into the world to save sinners.” 1 Tim 1:15

    “God, i’m screwing up this whole faith and live right thing, but I keep going at it because I know that Christ came into the world to save sinners and that’s me. I’m so messing up, i’m so angry, I don’t want to do this, but I thank God that that is O.K.; it’s okay that I’m a sinner and you came for me. You’re gonna help me through this. You came for sinners.” I just get hope like that, one piece at a time.

    “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses.” eph. 1:7

    I do it like this: “In HIM we have redemption; not in my emotions, how I feel or whether I did it all right; not in my college degree, or how hard I work, or how good my attitude is, or how well I’ve done my path to recovery. My hope is in HIM. I’ve got nothing else to go on. My redemption is in him.”

    2) Meditate on the good things in life, specifically goodness and beauty. I know it’ll feel sad at first because it may make you think of what a wreck your life is or the pointlessness of it all b/c you had something beautiful and now it’s gone, but just thinking about the beauty in flower, the softness of a Spring breeze, the cuteness in a child’s kiss…these things soften the soul.

    I go on national geographic sometimes and just look at the pictures, or I’ll find some really pretty music on places like Pandora or elsewhere.

    3) Use a journal to vent your feelings. (You probably already do this since you have a blog.) But sometimes just getting it off my chest helps me actually feel release; I let go and then can move forward.

    Listen, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of advice and people on the outside of losing a spouse who don’t know what that’s like reach into your situation and tell you what to do. My heart behind writing all this is not to tell you how to go through the loss of loved-one, but to be with you, as someone who’s felt the heaviness, and share the hope I’ve stored up in my bucket. I need hope, too. I’ve felt the emptiness, too.

    Last few things:
    “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation” -Psalm 42:5

    “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” -Andy Dufresne, The Shawkshank Redemption

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