Dearest Mom,

 

Dearest Mom, 

I sure do miss you. Guess where I went Friday...? Back to your favorite island. I didn't want to go without you, but God gave me the strength to push through it. He is such a good and faithful God. The way He changed several aspects of the trip made it less painful. We left from a different dock, arrived at a different spot, and took a totally different route back too. 

I did my best not to dwell on my sadness. Our friends there were sad too. They remember how strong you were. Whenever I see them, they talk about how strong you were to travel all the way here by yourself just to visit me. They were so tender with me. We talked about you fondly and remembered the short time they spent with you. They are going to be looking after me, mom.No one on earth could possibly do that as well as you, but they sure are going to try. The couple I stay with told me that since we have all lost our parents and since I'm older, I can be their mom now. 

You wouldn't believe it. They have a picture of me on their family wall! They greeted me at the ferry dock like my own little cheering squad. 

God is providing support to help hold me up mom. In the moments when I feel like I can't take one more step, the Comforter swoops in and carries me. It's still so, so hard to comprehend that I won't ever get to hold your hand, or hug you, or just look into your sweet face and tell you how much I love you again...

But I know the One who holds you is bringing you more joy and comfort than I ever could. 

He loves you most. 

I love you second most--Always. 

Your loving daughter, Ang

Fallen Countenance...and Calendars

 

 This is my perpetual calendar. My grandpa made it. He was very talented. He made beautiful calligraphy pieces, drafting type pieces, and all sorts of crafty things. 

 An interesting aversion I have developed since my mom died in August is one toward planners and calendars. I feel almost angry when I see them. (We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps!) When I returned to my host country after dealing with mom's affairs in early Sept, my calendars were still sitting on August as if nothing happened. I blacked out Aug 7th (the day she died) on all of them and did not change them over until I made it to October. Yay--I made it to October. 

Perhaps you noticed I used past tense when referring to my grandpa. That's because he died in 1994...on October 25th. That's 29 years ago today. What's interesting about this is that I have been carrying & using this calendar ever since. It's been through a LOT.   

Last night I was emotionally melting down as I have often done recently. I write letters to my mom because she's really the only person I can talk to. Perhaps she hears. Perhaps not. At any rate, I will write to her because it helps me feel....something. Last night in my letter, I mentioned that it was the anniversary of grandpa's death (her dad) and wondered if they were together. Are they in the same place. I was a brand new believer when he died and had not ever really thought about Heaven, Hell, or Paradise....so I didn't ever have the conversation with him. I hate to think of him not being in Paradise, but it's just a big unknown. 

I often ask Jesus to give me a sign that mom's with Him and that she's at peace. I feel deep in my soul that she is, but still it never hurts to ask Jesus for something, right. 

When I woke up this morning, my perpetual calendar was on the floor. It was hanging in a spot where it is virtually untouched except when it's time to switch months. The hanger is old, but is not worn at all. It was perfectly in one piece 3 weeks ago when I changed it to October and hung it back up. If it had been worn, the ware would have been in the top, middle of the hanger piece that rests on the nail it's hung from. As you can see in the photo, that is not the case. That is a clean cut in an awful strange spot. 

I'm not saying this was a sign, but I find it hugely coincidental that this happened on the anniversary of my grandpa's death, 2 1/2 months after my mom's death, in the middle of the night after I was asking if they are in the same place. I don't know what to make of it, but like I said yesterday, I don't believe in "coincidence." 

Learning Lessons (Joseph's Story 1)

I pray that I never reach a time that I think I know enough. That it's time to stop learning. That I'm the smartest one in the room. 

I love to learn. 

Learning requires listening. Hearing what is said and what is not said. Paying attention to the circumstances and taking context into account. Being curious. Realizing we may not understand what we see and having the humility to ask clarifying questions. 

I've always said that I don't believe in coincidence so, for me, part of learning is investigating what the Lord is trying to teach me through them. This week, He has made the story of Joseph (Genesis 37) part of four different devotional studies I'm taking part in. I apparently have lessons to learn from this story! 

I recently mentioned something I have heard before (unfortunately I don't remember where) about the way we tend to identify with the hero of the story. Whether it's a story from the Bible or a secular story, we want to be the hero.  David > Goliath, the son who humbly returned home > the proud brother, Job > his friends, and Joseph > his brothers. 

If we dig into Joseph's story from the beginning, we learn that his family life was definitely not perfect. In fact, they had a lot of issues. Jacob (his dad) has quite a story of his own! Scripture is full of stories about how God works in and through very dysfunctional families. Joseph's is no exception. 

A few things we're told about Joseph in the first 11 verses: 

1) He was Jacob's favorite, as evidenced by the gift Jacob gave him: his famous "coat of many colors." This was a bold statement that Joseph was to receive the birthright--he was the favored one, the one with clout. 

2) His brothers hated him and were mean to him. Joseph ran to tell Jacob when they mistreated him, which certainly would not have changed their minds! They hated him even more. Joseph's favor was a source of constant family conflict. 

3) God spoke to Joseph through dreams. 

Imagine, you already know you're the family favorite & that your brothers are bitter about it. Then you have a dream that will "rub it in" and you can't wait to share it with them. But wait!! You have another dream! As if telling the first one didn't cause enough termoil...you just have to tell them this one too; and this one not only rubs it in with your brothers-but your parents too. Your dad, who already shows favoritism toward you. 

4) To me, this indicates that perhaps Joseph was a little prideful and perhaps boastful about the favor Jacob showed him? 

I'm going to ponder, pray, and sleep on this section of the story...I can relate in some ways to each person in the story, and I am eager to learn the lessons He has for me. I'll be back! 

I am Weak, but I am Willing

 Weak and willing. 

"...clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, for God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. 

Therefore, humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.  Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. But resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by your brethren who are in the world. After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To Him be dominion forever and ever. Amen." 1 Peter 5: 5b-11

Alongside my deep desire to help, uplift, and comfort those around me walks my ugly and constant companion, pride. It doesn't like to turn me loose. My pride says I can manage everything just fine with very little, if any, assistance. That I am perfectly logical and able to separate emotion from day to day decision making. Pride causes me to be confused by other people's emotional reactions; By their anxiety over seemingly "usual" things. It prevents me from being the compassionate, loving person I want to be. 

For years, I have prayed for greater understanding. 

It's well documented that living cross-culturally brings every emotion to the surface, making what would have previously cause mild/moderate distress, move to the moderate/major scale. I definitely noticed that when I moved overseas 15 months ago, but was prepared (as well as could be expected) for it and managed it fairly well.  

However, since mom died, my emotions are like an open wound just waiting for someone else to come along and drop a little salt in. Some days I am able to pull myself together and, perhaps, from the outside I appear to be doing just fine. However, on the inside, I have not been even near "just fine" for more than maybe 30 minutes or so at a time. I feel anxiety for seemingly no reason at all. Sometimes I can analyze long enough to determine what triggered it, but more often I just breath and pray and wait for it to pass. So far it has not been debilitating...but it is frequently very intense. Not quite, but almost to the point of a low-key panic. There is absolutely NO logic in this. None. 

While I still want to understand my anxious friends, I deeply want to STOP understanding to this level! 

I am praising God for answering my prayers. I don't have to enjoy the way He teaches me, to appreciate the lesson. I am weak, but I am willing. Still, I wait...not so patiently...for this season to pass. For the days to seem at least a little brighter. For the social anxiety to leave me. For the words others speak to me to be just that-words-rather than salt in my open wounds. Waiting for the day when I can function as my best, most healthy self, able to encourage, uplift, and help others. 

Waiting to open my eyes one morning and actually be glad that the Lord gave me another day. 

Isn't it Ironic

Oh the irony. 

The last time I posted, I shared a painting I did of my Nanna. A beautiful woman who was taken from us, yet she is still living. Today I return to this blog to browse and decide whether I want to pick up where I left off and continue writing here, or whether I want to just begin again. 

Why? 

My world has been rocked harder than I thought possible. I am struggling deeply. I am alone. I need an outlet and as strange as it feels, I am drawn to share it in a more public manner than just writing in my journals. Maybe it's a cry for help? Every single day I long to have meaningful conversation with people who.....who "get" me. Who understand what I am experiencing emotionally. Who I can be myself with. Who won't judge me. Who I can verbally process with. Who I can sit silently with. 

Who? Who are those people? Do they even exist? Who checks the boxes? Jesus. 

For now, I will ask Him if He would have me write here or begin a fresh, new blog to document the LONG journey ahead. Or should I even write at all? The fog is thick. Every decision I make is tainted by the deepest grief. 

For now, I'll do what I came here for today. To post my most recent painting. A portrait of a beautiful woman. The daughter of the woman in my previous post. A portrait of my sweet, sweet mother. My "go-to" person who checked all the boxes. Who I could talk to about anything, anytime. Who was the first person I wanted to share everything with. Who never judged me. Who never said things to try to hurt me. Who loved me no matter what. Who loved me the most. Jesus took her the day after my birthday. Oh how I miss her. 

My Beautiful Mom

February 13, 1950-August 7, 2023