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Why Couldn’t I Save My Child?

Written by Alicia White

January 29, 2020, was the scariest, most traumatic, life altering, and darkest day of my life and my family’s life, as we lost our seventeen-year-old daughter, Hope, by suicide. Not expecting or ever imagining our sweet, beautiful, Jesus-loving girl to ever take her life, finding her was an immediate out of body experience that left me with the darkest of dark images that are engraved into the depths of my mind and soul.

The torment of the guilt, shame, failure, and “should of’s” and “would of’s” robbed me of peace, and for moments, still does. Along with questioning my self-worth as a mom and family minister who had given her whole married life to raising our four kids in the ways of the Lord and teaching them how to have an intimate relationship with the Father, I questioned my very foundation of belief in Jesus. What I thought I knew about Jesus was abruptly and painfully ripped out from underneath my feet. What remained were questions of the Father’s protection, His word, His sovereignty, and His love.

As the wrestling intensified and I tried to find my footing again, I began to hear the Father speak to me: “Alicia, I am inviting you into a new place of trust. The trust I am inviting you to will shift your entire perspective of My truth and My kingdom. This higher place of trust will demand everything to be consumed at the altar. There will be nothing left in your hands. Are you willing? It’s the road to your healing that I am offering you.”

Abraham and Isaac

This place would be known as abandonment as I began my journey of the road less traveled. In today’s Christian culture, abandonment is not a term we hear much. It seems to carry with it negative inferences and images that we become uncomfortable with very quickly. Surrender is the term preferred, written about, sung about, taught on. At first glance they sound synonymous with each other. Although they do have similarities, they are also much different from each other.

Those tender first steps we walk with the Father as He beckons us to the cross come from a place of surrender. Here we find an exchange of the heaviness of life to the light yoke of Jesus. We find the love of the Father stretched out on a cross meant for us, but Jesus took our place.

As parents, the image of surrender fits inside the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham, in an authentic desire to obey and please the Father, takes his child by the hand and goes up to the mountain of sacrifice. Did he do it with a knowing in his spirit that the Father really would not take his son? We do not know. But we do know that he went through the motions of being a good father and parent and surrendered his son into God’s hands. For Abraham, surrender and obedience came with a ram in the thicket. God had provided a “way out” of the imminent death of his child. Abraham’s reward was to hold his promise (his son) in his arms for the rest of his days on earth.

As children of God, we shout out with sounds of joy as we pat ourselves on the back and say, “I surrender all,” as if we have made our walk up to the mountain of sacrifice as well. But what happens when that ram never reveals itself; when the cross is made for you and not Jesus?

What happens when you take your child by the hand and lead them to the foot of the cross and find out you do not get to hold your promise for the rest of your days? What happens when you look in horror at an altar that is marked with your child’s death and the reality that there is no ram to sacrifice instead as a way out?

The More Difficult Way of Abandonment

Abandonment. This is the longer and deeper walk on the road less traveled. Abandonment is to relinquish the right and ownership to what I hold most dear to my heart. Abandonment is to hold no desire or feeling of ownership of a thing or person, willingly giving up all rights and responsibility to another.  One who is fully abandoned to the Father has no desire for ownership of their life or the things they even love. Abandoned children of God do not have a desire to take back what was never theirs to begin with. There is no power struggle between deity and man in this place of holy abandonment.

Abandonment requires the release of all BUTS. We all have BUTS that are some of our best kept secrets of unrelinquished control over our life. They hide in the depths of our soul keeping our flesh in a place of comfort and security. If we dare to unmask them in a place of honesty and vulnerability, they sound a bit like this:

“Take my life, Jesus, BUT not my job. Do what you want, Jesus, BUT do not make me do that. I give you my marriage, Jesus, BUT I am not the one that needs to change. I give you all of me, BUT don’t let me get sick and die.”  And let us be , honest moms and dads, the biggest BUT in the room for us is, “Jesus, I give you my children, BUT keep them safe and from harm’s way.” BUT when the Father takes away your BUT and what you believe contradicts truth, what foundation will you stand on?

In one moment, what I thought I knew about Jesus and the Father was pulled out from underneath me and the mask suddenly came off my BUT that had been there all along. After all the years we spent declaring the word over our children, pleading the blood, interceding, teaching them the Word and taking them places to encounter His presence, the worst of all darkness had just happened? How could He allow this to happen? I trusted Him. Or did I?

Are We Being Honest With Ourselves?

The harsh truth is that I trusted Him on my own terms; the BUTS stood between us. I had to ask myself that if the perfect will of the Father meant that Hope was safer received in heaven than  saved for earth, was I going to be ok with that? Could I trust the Father when no BUTS stood between us? I felt uncomfortable, I felt insecure, I felt no place to stand my footing, until I realigned my perspective with His and came to this resolve:

  • I abandon my right to Hope. She was never mine and I have no rights to her.
  • I abandon my responsibility to save her into the hands of the only One who can.
  • I abandon my rights to receive the answers to all my questions.

God’s ways and thoughts are not mine. I finally released my control to the Father and removed the BUTS. This is the journey of abandonment.

Surrender is to reluctantly give up what you take ownership in; what you feel is yours with a list of terms and conditions to go along with it. When an army surrenders to another, they do it by force or a feeling of “having to.” There is no real trust to the one they surrendered to. Surrender is not necessarily giving up your rights to the person you surrendered to. Just because a nation must surrender land to another nation does not mean they do not feel that land is still theirs.

A feeling of rights, or ownership, often creates a battle of trying to take back what you think is yours. We often do the same thing with our surrender to the Lord. We lay something down, and with a lack of trust and full abandonment in the Lord, the next day we are trying to pick it back up.

For months, I was in a battle with the Father, trying to put a demand on my daughter. I wanted her here with me. I was determined that God was going to answer the questions I had because she was mine and it was not fair. I had surrendered her to Jesus at the mountain of sacrifice and deserved her in my arms all the days of my life.

Giving Up Our Rights Brings Healing

True healing started to come when I decided to abandon to the Father and give up my rights to have her with me, along with not getting the answers I so wanted. The battle between heaven and earth stopped when I began to say out loud, “Father, I give up my rights to Hope, she is yours and I trust you with her.”

The strings attached to the walk of my surrender gave way to the freedom, healing and peace that I found in abandonment.

Although the pain and grief remain, the higher perspective is my gain that earth cannot satisfy. “Take up your cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24-26) was now not just a Christian cliché or my duty of obedience expecting the ram in the thicket, but a call to lay my life and the life of my family on the altar of abandonment, that we may lose our life to gain it.

I have begun the walk of abandoning my rights to have it my way, with my terms and conditions; to truly believe that the goodness of God will prevail (Exodus 34:6), and that all things work for the good of all who are called by His name (Romans 8:28).

I believe this higher walk of abandonment, this road less traveled, will become the walk to resurrection power for all of us who have partaken of His cup of suffering in such a deep sacrificial way. Vulnerability that leaves you before the cross naked, having given the unthinkable ALL, places a demand on a cloak from heaven threaded with scarlet and draped in resurrection power.

When “worthy of it all” becomes your highest worship and there is nothing left in your hands, the Father’s love and goodness will remain. Yes, the road the Father has allowed those of us who have lost a child to walk on, is a road full of pain and suffering. But I also believe it is a road of great honor and privilege that allows us to encounter and experience the Father in way that few get to. There is an intimate communion with the Father and His son, Jesus, who knows what it is like to truly give ALL. He has entrusted us to walk the road less traveled so that we may encounter His resurrection and true life that is found in full abandonment.

This is the hope of His glory; that His children would live a holy abandoned life and that their eyes would be fixed on eternity.

“So no wonder we don’t give up. For even though our outer person gradually wears out, our inner being is renewed every single day. We view our slight, short-lived troubles in the light of eternity. We see our difficulties as the substance that produces for us an eternal, weighty glory far beyond all comparison, because we do not focus our attention on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but the unseen realm is eternal,” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (TPT).

I pray you put on the lenses of eternity and learn to live from heaven’s perspective. The suffering of this world becomes so much dimmer with each step you take, and total abandonment becomes much easier. We will also realize that what we could not “save” our child from, is entering into their eternal home of glory ahead of us.

Some of this was shared in Laura’s recent interview with Alicia on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast. To hear that conversation, and to have Alicia pray over you, click here.

Do you struggle with guilt, blaming yourself for not being able to save your child? This is not from God, and He wants to release you. If you would like help, let us send you Ten Tips to Help Overcome Grief. (This will also put you on our list to receive a Weekly Word of Hope that you can unsubscribe from at any time.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Why We Will Never Get Over It

A point of frustration for many bereaved parents after child loss is feeling like we are being judged for still missing our children.

There are some people around us who think we should be “moving on” or be “over it” by now, as if the death of our child is like a bad cold. Yes, the death of our child was an event, a moment in time. But that moment has disfigured us for the rest of our lives.

Having one’s child die is more than something bad that happened a few weeks ago, or months ago, or even years ago. The death of our child is a continual occurrence. Every morning when we wake up, at some point the realization hits us that our child is no longer here and will not be part of our day. It can feel like they died all over again.

Every event can feel like another death of our child.

  • Getting rid of a car that our child rode in can be agonizing because we will no longer have that car which attaches us to those memories.
  • There are meals we can no longer make (or eat) because it is too painful to be reminded that our child is not there to share their favorite food with us.
  • Seeing a pair of shoes displayed in a store can send us bolting to the car in tears, realizing that we will never again buy our child another pair for a sport they were in or for special occasions.
  • Hearing a certain song come on the radio can force us to the side of the road, unable to drive because we can’t see through our tears, even after we quickly turned it off.
  • Any and every event we attend (or are even invited to) is a reminder of who is missing. It can feel brutal seeing others who are our child’s age hitting life’s milestones that we will never get to experience with our child.

The death of one’s child is considered by most professionals to be one of the most (if not the most) traumatic event a person can deal with in life. Many parents also deal with PTSD, based on the circumstances of their child’s death.

I don’t think anyone can deny that it is a traumatic experience to walk behind your child’s casket and bury them, or to bring your child home as ashes in an urn. And for those parents who found their child’s body, or many other possible scenarios, they can also have PTSD.

Most of us are not stuck in our grief because we refuse to move on with our lives without our child. We are “stuck” because of being surrounded by constant reminders of our child who should be here as part of our everyday lives, but instead there is silence and a constant emptiness.

We do eventually learn to cope, but we don’t “get over it.”

If someone has an amputation, first they must heal, both physically and emotionally, from having that body part cut off; and the emotional healing takes much longer than the physical.

Then they must learn how to function and do everything differently with that part of them missing. Even when that happens, they are reminded multiple times a day that a body part has been cut off, because of how they are forced to live differently, in a way that helps them adapt to the loss.

Some days it is easy, some days it is a struggle to stay positive, and other days it hits them full force (almost like it just took place), no matter how long ago the amputation happened.

How do I know this? Our daughter, Becca, had her left leg amputated at only three years old because of cancer, so we had a front row seat to an amputee living day-to-day life.

As a bereaved parent, we have had our child amputated from us, and everything that an amputee must go through, we do as well. However, the emotional pain is multiplied and much more intense losing an entire person who is part of you, than losing something that is physically part of you, like a leg or an arm.

Several years ago, when I was working on one of my books, I was accused by someone that I was writing it as a way to continue dragging up the past instead of going forward. Wow!  First, I was writing the book to give hope to others who found themselves in the same suffocating pit that I had been thrown into, letting them know we can find our way out. Secondly, it was not dragging up the past; it was helping me learn how to cope with living in the present and in the future without my daughter.

Studies have shown that for those who have lost a child, anything under five years is considered fresh grief. So, I am not surprised when a bereaved parent does not believe they will ever have a life worth living again. I know I didn’t believe it.

However, we do eventually get stronger as we learn how to carry the grief in a way that does not feel like a heavy darkness every minute of the day. We will never get over our loss as if it never happened. That is impossible. But we can and will get over to the other side of the darkness, able to live a life of meaning and purpose again. This is not in spite of our child’s death, but because of his or her life.

 

This blog was taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 194, which has more shared on this topic. You can listen here on YouTube. To listen directly on the GPS Hope website click here or find the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

NOTE: Some of this was taken from Laura’s book Come Grieve Through Our Eyes: How to Give Comfort and Support to Bereaved Parents. To find out more about this book, along with Laura’s other books click here.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Our Grief is Like…

 

There are many ways to illustrate what our grief is like after the death of our child. Here are the four that I seem to relate to the most.

  1. The loss of our child is like having an amputation. Part of our very being has been cut off from us, and we have to figure out how to live with that piece of us missing.

I had a front row seat to this, since our daughter, Becca, had her little left leg amputated when she was only 3 years old, due to cancer in her bone (osteogenic sarcoma). Read her story here. She “recovered,” but her life was never the same.

There was obviously a major scar because she only had a stump instead of her leg. She didn’t look like the other kids. She couldn’t run and keep up with them. She had limitations. Every day she woke up with the reminder that her leg was missing, and every day, sometimes multiple times a day, she had to be determined not to let it stop her from still having a fulfilling life.

With Becca gone now, there are constant painful reminders of that fact. I don’t look like other parents. I have a hard time keeping up with life sometimes because of my limitations.  Every day I have to be determined to not let her death keep me from having a fulfilling life with those who are still here.

If my three-year-old daughter could figure out how to live with a piece of her cut off, then so can I! She was the greatest example of anyone I know, who persevered and didn’t let something like an amputated leg keep her from still having a wonderful life for the twenty-nine years she had here on this earth.

  1. Grief is like carrying a large sharp rock in your pants pocket. At first you are very aware of it, as it bangs against your leg with every movement. It might even cut and bruise your leg, making it more painful.

After a while, you are aware it is there, but it doesn’t bother you as much. Then you move on to times where you consciously forget the rock is there as you go throughout your day. But whenever you reach into your pocket to grab something else, as your hand feels the rock, you remember…

Sometimes you bump up hard against something, and that rock cuts or bruises you again, and you are back to walking tenderly, waiting for it to heal.

There are times you will put your hand in your pocket because you want (or need) to feel the rock. Some of those times you will even pull the rock out to hold it and look at it, but it eventually goes back into your pocket.

Even if we change pants, the rock will always go with us, into the new pocket.

  1. Grief is like the ocean waves. You feel like you have been shipwrecked and there are huge waves crashing over you with no mercy. Every time you try to come up for air, all you can do is get a quick gasp, only to be tumbled around by another wave crashing over you. When you think you can’t take any more (multiple times), the waves start coming further apart. At least now you can catch your breath.

Eventually the waves aren’t as big, making it easier to get back to the top when you get thrown under them.

Calm waters eventually come, but there will still be waves and storms that send you swirling, being thrown underneath the water again, leaving you gasping for air. But each time, you get better at maneuvering through them. You also know they will stop at some point and the calm waters will come once again.

  1. Grief is like carrying a backpack of rocks up a mountain. At first you can’t move under the weight, as you look up to where you need to go, believing it is impossible. With much effort and struggle, you begin to slowly inch your way forward.

After a while, you are able to stand up and take some steps, even though you often stumble backward and fall down under the weight of the backpack. As you continue to struggle, eventually, you discover to your shock, that you are walking up the mountain. It’s hard, but you’re doing it.

The backpack of rocks becomes easier to carry as your strength builds. However, there are times you need to take a rest. Some rests are relatively short. Others take longer because you are once again feeling the full weight of what you are carrying.

The longer you climb, the easier it gets, and the fewer rests you seem to need. But you will always continue to have the backpack of rocks to carry and have the effects of it.

I have also learned that there are no “stages of grief” after a deep loss, like the death of one’s child. As an FYI, the five stages of grief were presented by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross for those who are terminally ill. They are the stages a person works through upon receiving the news that they are going to die. It was not for those who are still here after a loss.

So, with that, I have one more analogy.

Our grief is like a very tangled up ball of yarn and each of us has our own individual mess of yarn to untangle. I have knit since junior high, learning through 4-H, and have dealt with more tangled balls and skeins of yarn than I could ever count! There have been times the tangle was so frustrating that I quit trying and just put it away for another time. There have also been times I literally cut the yarn into pieces, trying to get it untangled (which made for a lot of ends to have to knit together)!

But eventually, whatever I was working on was finished and it brought joy to whomever it was intended for, including myself. One thing I have noticed, is that over the years I have gotten better at untangling the messes, and don’t have to cut it into pieces anymore.

Grief is hard work. Fortunately, it does get easier, even though we will deal with the pain of our loss for the rest of our time here on earth.

If you feel like you haven’t gotten very far and that you should be further along than you are, don’t allow yourself to get discouraged. You will get there, as you continue this unwanted journey, one step (or one tangle) at a time.

Whatever you do, don’t compare where you are to anyone else, especially those who have never experienced the death of their child! You are untangling your own messy ball of grief, and it is unlike anyone else’s. There is no right or wrong way and there are NO time limits!

Do any of these illustrations resonate with you? Let me know in the comments below. Also, maybe you can find a tangible item (or a picture) and put it somewhere you can see, to remind yourself that even though it might be really hard right now, as you keep going, eventually it will get better.

One final thought: You might want to share this, so that others around you can get a better understanding that our grief is like…

 

 

 

Do you struggle with guilt from your child’s death? We would like to send you the eBook, Ten Tips to Overcome Guilt. Just submit your name and email address below. You will also begin to receive a Weekly Word of Hope for bereaved parents (which you can easily unsubscribe from at any time).

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Under His Wings

By Bev Leckie

When my Mom passed away, she was finally honored for her love, for her faith, and for her persistence. We grew up with nothing, but we grew up with a mom who held on to her faith in the darkness of life.

She sang in the choir, but mostly she sang to her eight children in a Brooklyn “railroad flat”, two bedrooms with four beds, bedrooms fully open one to the other, with all eight of us sleeping 2 to a bed, heads at different ends. Mom sat on one of the beds and began to sing the old hymns I still love, until we all fell asleep. She sang the songs of faith that tell me much more about my Mom and my God today than they did decades ago. And one of those hymns was almost always, Under His Wings, which was one of my mom’s most favorite songs.

As much as Mom knew and persisted through a deep depth of darkness as she fought to bring her children to adulthood, she clung desperately to her faith. She begged God for the reality of the words that she sang. She yearned for her God, and she knew the refuge He could give in sorrow. And, yes, she hid beneath His wings of love, shelter, and protection until Jesus called her home to Heaven.

When my own daughter died, my Mom would have done anything she could to protect me from the ravages of pain and emptiness, questions, guilt, shame, and the isolating loneliness that the death of a child can bring.

My Mom could do none of that, but her words of truth, in time, penetrated my grief and sent me to the God who wanted to draw me close, cover me with His presence, and in a profuse outpouring, immerse me in the faithfulness of His promises.

Roy Lessin says, “Being under His wings means being close to His heart – you are not only sheltered, you are loved; you are not only secure, you are cared for; you are not only covered, you are reassured.”

I have said many times that what I most wanted in my grief was to know with absolute certainty, that my God is right here – to know that I am not alone, and to know that my emptiness and my tears are softened and quieted by a presence that can come no closer.

God’s faithfulness, though, embraces both me and my child. It is a forever faithfulness, a faithfulness of redemption, and a faithfulness that transcends from temporal to eternal. It is a faithfulness consistent with His heart of love for both me and my child; a faithful love that longs to embrace both me and my child in the eternal perfections of Heaven; a place where my child can not only dance with Jesus, but some day, I too, can dance with my child.

And while I wait in the temporal, God’s redemptive faithfulness brings beauty from the ashes of tragedy. As I rest beneath the sheltering protection of His wings, I will also find that my child is not forgotten, and the light of my child’s short life can still shine.

 

Under His wings, under His wings, who from His love can sever? Under His wings, my soul shall abide, safely abide forever. 

 Thank You, thank You, precious Father, for the faithful warmth of Your embrace.

(Related Bible reading: Psalm 91:4)

 

Bev Leckie’s life has been a miracle of grace as she has watched God transform a childhood and youth of dysfunction, abuse, and wrong choices, and then the death of her daughter after a full term pregnancy, into outreaches of compassion and understanding.

She has served alongside her pastor husband for almost 50 years in both South Carolina and California.  Having a heart for women, she has mentored those with abusive histories, and then found Umbrella Ministries, giving her both comfort and a connection through which she could share the comfort God has given her with other grieving moms.  And through it all, God has allowed her to write, ultimately focusing primarily on devotional writing for women, those who grieve or struggle in other areas, and those just called to do life. To contact Bev, email her at bleckie@sbcglobal.net.

 

Do you have a difficult time finding things that bring you comfort? We have put together a list of thirty ways on how to bring yourself comfort and take care of yourself after the death of your child. We know God is the ultimate comforter, but it can help when we know how to give Him something to work with and to flow through. 
Let us know below if you would GPS Hope to send you this list. You will also begin to receive a Weekly Word of Hope, that is easy to unsubscribe from if you no longer want to receive it.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

 

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A New Year Means New…?

Every time a new year shows up, it brings lots of emotions for many of us bereaved parents, especially if this is the first time the calendar has turned since your child died.

There are lots of words that can describe what we think and how we feel. Numb, regret, anger, sorrow, fear, confusion… I am sure you could add quite a few of your own words to this list.

These are all valid, for sure! And as you can see, they are all negative. So, how can we start to move the needle toward the positive, especially if we don’t see how that is even possible? Or maybe you are someone who doesn’t know if they even want to?

I believe there is a word that is the bridge between the two.

HOPE

When we have no hope, we have no desire to live.

We know the enemy is out to steal from us and kill us. If he can’t do it physically, he will do it emotionally. When our child dies, we have the biggest red target on us for the enemy to do exactly that. He steals our hope, leaving us wanting to die to go be with our child. Even if we have other children, a wonderful marriage and had a life full of purpose and passion before our child’s death, it all comes crashing down and we are left in a world of darkness and hopelessness.

However, the death of our child did not blindside God like it might have done to us. That means we do not have to stay a slave, chained to our prison of darkness with no hope. Jesus came to break every chain that could ever try to keep us bound. He will carry us through this valley of death, back into a place of abounding hope.

There is a seed of hope already inside of you! It may be dormant at the moment, but it is there. It just needs to be nurtured, and in time, in its season, it will begin to break through the hard ground and begin to sprout.

And that brings up another word.

TIME

Time can be terrifying to us now. Time means we are getting further away from our child. In the beginning, I used to dread the day my daughter would be gone for five years, and I couldn’t imagine her not being here for ten or twenty years or more. The thought of it can take my breath away and bring stinging tears!

And yet, as time goes by, it also means we are getting closer to seeing our child again, and that makes me excited!

The pendulum of time…it is all in our perspective.

I don’t believe that saying, “Time heals all wounds.” That is impossible when it comes to the death of our child. But I do believe what we do with our time makes a big difference in how long we stay in that place of suffocating darkness.

And one thing we can do, that can bring a huge shift is to

SURRENDER

This is not easy to do, especially if we feel like God betrayed us by allowing our child to leave this earth (and even more so if it was a traumatic departure).

During grief, people either move toward God or away from Him. But the truth is, when we move away from Him, we are moving away from the One who can help us the most. God wants to walk with us through this valley of death. He wants to give us comfort and strength. He wants to give us hope and yes, even a vision for our future that still has good things in it.

These are all things we desperately need. But if we choose to move away from Him, we will continue to desperately need these things.

Grieving the death of your child is a time to get as close to God as you possibly can.

It makes me think of a distraught child crying uncontrollably and his father bending down to embrace and comfort him. The son is so upset he is kicking and screaming and fighting, not wanting to be picked up and loved on. Eventually the child runs out of strength and relaxes in the embrace of his loving father. And now that child can receive the comfort, strength and hope he wants and needs.

It is the same with us. Don’t fight the One who can give you the very things you need. Surrender, allowing Him to embrace you and carry you in His strong arms of love.

In talking about surrender, I mentioned another word:

FUTURE

Like I said, the death of our child did not blindside God. In His eyes, we still have a life to live. He has a plan for us, and believe it or not, it is a good plan. Does it seem next to impossible to believe that? How can a good plan for our future be one that is without our child in it?

I had to learn the reality of the truth that my plans are not God’s plans. His ways are not my ways. His thoughts are not my thoughts. I have grown into a deeper faith in how awesomely powerful my God is. That He really can take something as horrific as the death of a child, and somehow, miraculously, bring good from it.

If my focus is on my loss, I cannot rise above it to face my future. But if my focus is on my promised future, then it is much easier to rise above the loss and step forward into that future and the good things God still has for me. (And don’t forget about the future we will have in eternity, never to be separated from our child again!)

Not only do we still have a future with good things in it, our life can have meaning and

PURPOSE

Each of us has a set number of days here on this old earth, and then we move on to the glorious side of eternity. Our child’s time here was much too short as far as we are concerned, and we were supposed to go first. But the fact remains, our child has now moved on to his or her permanent home and is more alive and full of life than we are! For reasons we don’t understand, their purpose on earth was completed before ours was.

So now it is important that we continue moving forward in our earthly purpose, so that when we join our child who is waiting for us, we will both hear the wonderful words, “Well done, good and faithful servant…Enter into the joy of your Lord.” (Matthew 25:21 NKJV)

And that brings me to my final word:

LIFE

Bad things happen to good people. Horrible and evil things happen to God’s people. You have paid what many will say is the ultimate price of sacrifice on this earth—the death of your son or daughter. (Sound familiar? I know someone else who paid the price of His Son a little over two thousand years ago.) But you did not give your child willingly or have a choice.

The question is: Are you going to let it be a wasted sacrifice? Are you going to become bitter or better? What value are you going to place on the life of your child? That is where the mind shift happens. Life or death?

I refuse to let death cause more death! I will not give the enemy that kind of a victory! Because Jesus lives, I can live. I have allowed my God to make good on His promises in my life, to give strength to the weary and hope to the hopeless. And I will allow that hope to continue to grow as it becomes joy that reaches beyond death, both my child’s and mine.

I hope and pray in this new year, you decide to make the same choice.

I want to encourage you to ask God to give you a specific word for this year: a word that represents what He wants to work into your life through this grief journey. My word is joy. I want and need the fullness of His joy back in my life again. I would love to know in the blog comments what your word is!

Much of this blog was taken from the My Grief Journey: Coloring Book and Journal for Bereaved Parents. It has forty-two words that describe our life after the death of our child. Each word has a coloring page, a journaling prompt, a thought about that word, and an appropriate scripture. Here is a list of those words:

We would like to offer our readers the same recent discount as our listeners to the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast. You can purchase When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the death of Your Child for $1 off, PLUS receive a FREE copy of My Grief Journey: A Coloring Book and Journal for Bereaved Parents! 

Just click here, put the When Tragedy Strikes book in your cart and use the promo code PODCAST37.

 

Expressions of Hope is written by author, speaker and singer Laura Diehl. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, including being invited to hold one-day GPS Hope & Healing conferences.

If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference, click here.

 

 

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