Time Heals All Wounds ... Really?

Time, they say, heals all wounds. Hmm. 

How much time? How long? And ALL wounds? Oh really? 

My dad died of widespread brain cancer in 1993. He was in a lot of pain before he passed. A LOT. At the time, God gave me the grace to let him go, and I didn't wish him back because I saw how much he hurt and how helpless and afraid the pain made him. Those memories - memories of him crying out for his mama, memories of him forgetting significant portions of his life - are still as fresh as they were back in October and November 1993. 

There have been times since then - times I've been hurting - that I've missed him so much. The pain of losing him catches me off guard when I see something that reminded me of him, or hear one of the kids (usually my youngest, more about her later) say something or take an attitude that he would have. 

And today ...  today I ache to feel his arms around me again, to hold me close to his heart and murmur in my ear, in his deep, rich bass voice, that everything is going to be all right. 

Because it isn't all right. Not right now, anyway. 

I know that it will be. Someday. But not today. 

Today, I grieve. Today, my baby girl's body lies in a funeral home near Edmonton, Alberta, after a car accident that separated her spirit from it. 

They will put her earthly shell (beautiful as it is) on a plane in Edmonton on Tuesday** morning. (She never got to know the thrill of flying, feeling that surge of power as the plane accelerates, and the sudden smoothness as it lifts off the tarmac.) Her body will be flying and being delayed by layovers all day long and into the night to get here. The staff at the funeral home here need time to prepare everything - probably another day. Seeing as that would put it to a Halloween wake (not a good idea because so many parents want that evening for family time) yet another delay. Unavoidable. (** - Now postponed to Wednesday. Glad now that we opted for a Friday wake!)

We will have what folks here call "the wake" on Friday night, ten days after her accident and nine after we were notified that it happened. 

I know that in time, (and I think that this is the spirit of that saying) the sharp edge of pain will dull. Memories we have will be able to come to us without us bursting into tears at random times, because we are so keenly aware that she is gone from us. 

But that it HEALS? No. No, it is not time that heals. 

And yet.  AND YET... 

It is such a comfort to know that our baby girl had such a powerful experience with God on the night of September 17. She called us on the 18th to tell us about it. And she called her "2nd mother" (which the funeral home doesn't "get" at all ... so they're calling our Dorothy her 'godmother') and she told her too. And she told everybody who would listen, especially if they were hurting and alone, struggling with life. 

We know that we know that we know it was real. Nobody can take that away from us. It makes the grief almost bearable for me. Almost. At least I'm not curled up in a fetal position in a psychiatric ward. I might just be if it weren't for the fact that I know where she is right now. And SHE is not in that funeral home. She is with her Saviour - the One she embraced at age 3, and again at age 5, and the One to whom she responded in love and gratitude over a month ago after He made His presence felt. Powerfully. (See my post below, "Outside the Box".)

But since the accident - and I have recurring flashbacks to that moment when I learned of it and waking dreams of the moment of the crash, usually in the mornings - I have experienced some measure of healing. But not from time.

It's from love.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the outpouring of love that I and my family have experienced these last several days. I have remarked before that it's the kindnesses shown by people, the expressions of sympathy, the acts of love and compassion that seem to hurt the most when we are in pain. Operative word: SEEM. 

Just like it SEEMs that the antiseptic ointment stings in a cut. The stinging, we told our girls when they were growing up, is the feeling of thousands of germs dying. It is necessary for healing. 

Arms have held us, squeezed hard sometimes as we have each grieved in our own way. Hands have brought us food, made phone calls for us, watered plants at the workplace. Feet have run errands for us. We have felt protected, sheltered by close friends and protected from additional heartache by total strangers - everyone from police officers to coroners to two women we have never met who offered to go identify her body. Thank God they were spared that task - since it apparently falls to a family member to do it - and thank God that the coroner's office made it possible to do electronically rather than making us fly out there. There is healing there.

We've heard voices of people we have not heard from in decades. Last night, there was a knock at the door and there stood a neighbour - he and his wife live two houses up the street - whom we hadn't had any interaction with for over 10 years. Yet they had heard of our tragedy. He was carrying a pot of chili. His son and our girls used to play together in both our back yards when they were little. An argument over something stupid made one parent ban the other parent's kid from their property. The friendship survived between the kids, but the parents never got over it. How petty is that? He was decidedly uncomfortable and said his speech, shook our hands, gave us the pot and told us to bring it back when we were done. Gruff, yes, (just his way) but he and his wife didn't have to do that. There is healing in that.

Our daughter's friends have "friended" us, as the saying goes on Facebook. We find that while we have lost one daughter, we have gained dozens of children in the process. It has given us the unique ability to speak life and love into their lives. What a privilege. I am in awe. God has enlarged our hearts. 

Let me explain this to you because ... it is huge for me.

I used to have a saying that made people feel rather uncomfortable: "I hate kids. I even have a hard time liking my own!" When a friend was visiting here a few days ago, I was talking about some experience we'd had and I just quipped, without thinking, "I-doan-even-like kids..." and ... thankfully, she laughed. 

Photo "Sleeping Baby" by Dynamite Imagery at 
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Yet somehow, even as I spoke the words, they didn't ring as true for me. And just yesterday, I realized why. 

Since Wednesday, I've noticed a growing fundamental change in me. 

I used to stay away from babies like they were the plague. Someone would bring a kid into work and folks would gather around and make inane noises at it while it did everything from burp to gurgle to shriek. I'd flee to a far-off corner until they were done. But yesterday, though I was assured by people that I didn't need to go (I guess losing a child gives you a doctor's note), I attended our home church. And I started noticing kids. Of all ages. The baby on Melissa's hip. The pre-schooler hanging behind Lindsey with her finger in her mouth. The young 9-year-old boy who wears the suit coat to church and whose expressions of boisterous affection used to annoy me. The young people who fidget and who sometimes talk to each other throughout the service when I'm trying to hear what Pastor has to say.

And somehow, though I don't understand it, the feelings have changed. Without me trying to change them. I can't explain it. They just have. This is HUGE.  Through this crucible of fire, in a way I can't describe or take credit for, I have learned to love children. 

Who knew.

The common denominator in all of this healing, and it is still ongoing .... is not time. Time sucks, actually. Time makes people age, and time takes them away from us. What IS the common denominator is LOVE. 

Love reaches out. Love embraces, cries when you cry and laughs with you as well. Love breaks barriers. Love builds bridges, mends fences, and gives hope. Love serves. Love picks up the phone and calls. Or texts. Or sends an email with encouragement and affection. Love shows that it loves, and then it SAYS that it loves. And then it shows it some more. These are all things that my baby girl understood, because that's how she lived her life. And now she's teaching me. 

It is not TIME that heals all wounds. 

It is LOVE that heals all wounds. 

And love. never. ends.

Spiritual Codependency

Today I was sitting with my pastor chatting about another matter and he asked me to share what was on my heart.

Since I am in a situation in my family that is extremely stressful, I shared my concerns with him, enough so that he knew I was suffering intensely because of the actions (or inactions) of someone that I care very deeply about. 

We talked about a lot of things. We prayed together. And then he said something that made it click for me. What he said was so powerful that it burned itself into my innermost being. 

"Jesus died for _____ (person's name). He bought ________'s peace. That peace belongs to ______.  But listen. He also died for you, Judy. He bought your peace. Don't let ________'s issues take away YOUR peace. It belongs to you." He paused for a moment, and looked straight into my eyes, knowing I would understand this. "If you let anyone else take away your peace, that's kind of like ... codependency.  Only it's SPIRITUAL codependency." 

Photo "Father and Daughter" courtesy of
photostock at
www.freedigitalimages.net

That's when it clicked for me.  

He knew that I understood the concept of codependency (to find out what that is, here's a link to my "What is Codependency?" page.  It's on my main blog, "Get Unwrapped!")  What I had been struggling with was ... where to draw the line between taking the appropriate responsibility I needed to take to look after someone I loved, and assuming someone else's responsibility for their own spiritual and personal growth.

It was just what I needed. I felt the tension drain away from my spirit, as the edges un-blurred and all appeared to shift into focus as I admitted once and for all my utter helplessness. 

As we prayed together, the image of a child spending time with its parent just for the sheer joy of it (rather than to be fed or to be comforted) came into my mind, the image spoken about in Psalm 131:2 ... "I have quieted my soul, like a weaned child rests against its mother." No demands, no ulterior motives ... just resting in Him, leaning on His shoulder. Now that I think about that picture, it is just one more way to "Be still, and know that I am God." (Ps 46:10) ... something a Christian buddy of mine was trying to tell me the other day ... and something that someone else sent to me on Facebook - a song sung in the 1970s by Chuck Girard called "Slow Down." (ignore the ad when you click on the link). 

In my obsession to fix that person's issues, I had lost myself and placed myself in turmoil, in torture. My pastor pointed me to the cross and helped me find the peace that had been waiting for me all along. 

And that is beyond anything I could understand or hope to explain.
It just IS. 

Asking permission

"Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands ..." - I Timothy 5:22(a)

It's happened to just about anyone who goes to a church that believes in the laying on of hands (either for healing or for authorization for ministry, ... there are more instances.)

There's something wonderful about the support that is expressed by touch. It can be a great source of comfort. 

However, it can also be a great source of DIScomfort. It all depends on who you talk to. 

I've lost count of the number of times and situations in various denominations where I've felt the need to go to the altar to pray. And within seconds after I get there, only wanting to kneel and talk to God ... I have gotten pounced upon by some well-meaning extrovert who only wants to impart some spiritual energy. 

Hmm. That kind of assumption has the opposite effect, quite frankly. Nobody ASKed me if they could do that; nobody ASKED me if I wanted to be alone; I had thought that by kneeling, it was an automatic gesture that I need to meet with God. Not His people. At least, not in that instance. However, I guess the one with a hot hand heavy on my back and shouting in my ear (oh, sorry, praying over me....) didn't get the memo. If I had wanted someone else to pray for me, I'd have gone up and stood in front of someone and ASKED. 

Not that I would. At least, not often. 

Asking for prayer opens me up to the personal opinions and pet doctrines of the person I ask to pray for me, because being "prayed for" or "prayed over" puts me in a very vulnerable position. Therefore, I need to implicitly trust that person. I don't usually trust people who assume that because they would like to be prayed for, that I would as well. Besides which, I've had too many people go all "Christian commando" on me ('taking authority' and 'binding the enemy' and all that stuff, stuff I used to do and sometimes still do - in private!) And then they get a whole group of people involved (as if by joining forces they can better twist God's arm). At that point I start to panic, and my simple need gets to be broadcast all over the place without my consent, when all I originally wanted to do was get alone with God and seek His face.

If I refuse their offer ... somehow that's not well-received.

I'd really like to be asked for permission instead of being TOLD to submit to some person's idea of "ministry." Just saying.

The same thing goes for legislated love. ("What in the world is THAT?" I hear someone saying...)

I like to hug people; I like to express my affection for someone, and I like it to be spontaneous. And most of all, REAL.  But an enforced hugging (that is, being told to hug or "love on" someone just because he or she is a believer) is, to me, like a social violation. Quite frankly, I usually absent myself from such exercises.

I'm kind of particular about the person or persons with whom I share personal space. To me, any social situation is riddled with risk. The only reason I go to church gatherings is to obey Hebrews 10:25 - not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together.  I am still SO not comfortable with mandated mingling. So I duck out. Or I stay in my seat. Or I go get a drink of water ... or go to the washroom or something, ANYTHING to keep from engaging in meaningless (and by meaningless I mean without meaningfulness) social babble.

Photo "Blue Butterfly" is used
with the kind permission of "dan"
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

 Let me contrast that with something that happened last Sunday morning. 

It had been a particularly rough week emotionally for me; I was (and still am) concerned about the health and safety of someone I love ... and the emotional pain and sense of helplessness has been excruciating. I was totally spent; I had nothing left emotionally, physically, even spiritually. I was exhausted in every way. 

And it was Thanksgiving. It sure didn't feel like Thanksgiving. 

Before the service, while the worship team was practicing, I saw someone I knew and chatted with her a bit. She asked about how I was doing and I knew that she really wanted to know. So I told her. Warts and all. She didn't judge me. She encouraged me, cried with me and hugged me. When she prayed, it didn't sound like she was blaming me or coming up with answers of her own, but just loving me and bringing my situation to Someone who loves me.

It meant so much.

During the service, the music was uplifting (even if it was bittersweet to listen to through the pain), and after the worship time, I leaned heavily on my husband's shoulder while there were some administrative things like announcements and offering, and then someone preached a very short but well-articulated sermon. When hubby left to go back up on the stage and finish up the service with the music ministry team, I let the music wash over my soul again. 

And as I got up afterward, another woman from our assembly was standing there in front of me - and she let me know that she had been praying for me and for my situation, and that she would continue to do so. It was very low-key, and very sincere, and it touched my heart. She asked about that situation (in a way that told me that she cared and that this wasn't a fact-finding mission to fuel gossip later) ... and I shared some information. Then she asked me if it would be okay with me (!!!) if she contacted a friend who might be able to help in some practical ways. 

I was blown away by her respect, by her genuine concern, and by her compassion and gentleness.

Other things happened that day ... among them, the choice of a particular song by a worship leader to sing in practice, specifically to speak to our needs - regardless of  whether we did the song in the service or not. 

Again, so special!

I'm still so thankful that every once in a while, God touches me in unexpected ways and shows me that He is still at work in His church -- that it isn't all about who can show to the most number of people that he or she is most spiritual. God uses real people to minister to real people who have real life issues. Hurting people want ... no, NEED ... that kind of reality. 

If only it wasn't so rare. 

God willing, maybe it won't be.