Broken Mess, Highly Blessed

Friday a wave of grief hit me like a mac truck.  I don’t know why I was shocked.  A fall on the way to work didn’t help set the tone.  I was reminded of how unhealthy I am as I struggled to get up off the floor with a previous leg injury, osteoarthritis, fibromyalgia, a deformed knee and morbid obesity all fighting against me.  In my stubbornness, of course I insisted on doing it myself, which probably prolonged the event by 20 minutes.

 

By the time I got to work I was wore out, weak, shaky, and just thankful that a weekend was coming.  I came back to work two weeks ago.  The diversion has been good and for the most part I’ve been able to move on, business as usual.  But not yesterday.  I was stripped down to my most vulnerable parts. 

It started when I was introduced to a young woman whose husband had been someone who had been meeting with Josh to pray and talk.  She and her husband, Blake, had a small group of college aged adults that met in their home on a weekly basis.  They went to a church in Greenville.  I knew of someone named “Blake,” because Josh would share with me sometimes the things they discussed.  Once Josh died, I really didn’t know how to go about contacting Blake.  A group of people from that small group introduced themselves at Josh’s Life Celebration, but still I hadn’t met Blake.

I learned that she and Blake had been in Haiti when Josh died. All I could do was sob and hug her like I didn’t want to let her go.  It’s strange, to feel like you want to hold onto people who knew your son.  The emotions just fell out me.  I wanted to know every detail of their encounters.  She shared with me a small piece from an email her husband had sent out to the group that met in their home.  In it he mentioned a question Josh asked the first time they met together. He wanted to know why he couldn’t just sell all of his possessions and serve the poor like Jesus did?   He went on to say Josh was someone always looking to Go deeper with God.

I laughed, because we had this conversation more than once.  He felt like the bible and American life was a giant contradiction.  Here we are striving to gain more, to do better, to improve ourselves, but Jesus’ life was one about giving up, dying to self, giving yourself away.  I remember one time I reminded him that if everyone quit their jobs, it would be hard to serve the poor.  It was another crazy little treasure God sent to remind me that he loves me and  hasn’t forgotten me.  Here was another stranger sharing with me about how much they cared for my son.

That encounter ignited the pile of grief and pain that has been smoldering beneath the surface.  I was pretty useless the rest of the day.  By 2:30 when my boss asked me if I needed to leave, I was exhausted.  Part of me felt bad for leaving.  I don’t want to need special treatment.  I don’t want to require special handling because I’m seen as “fragile” or “weak.” Where does that fierce pride come from?  This “I don’t need anyone I can do it myself” mentality that has marked me for so long?  Why does it feel wrong to just be broken and sad and be ok?

I know I depended on Josh more emotionally than I should have as a mom.  He was so easy to talk to and we looked at things in similar ways.  My lack of boundaries with people in my life frustrated him. He wanted so much more for me than I ever wanted for myself.  He wanted me to be physically healthy, emotionally healthy, and financially healthy. 

The two big ideas that came to me immediately the night of Josh’s death were::  First, Josh's death would be a crisis of belief for many people, but if people knew the Jesus Josh knew, there would be no crisis.  Secondly, the best way for me to honor Josh's life is to become the healthy person he wanted to see me become.

This is what I’m going to try to focus on the coming week.  I feel like I’ve cried a river between yesterday and today.  God, forgive me for my stubbornness.  I am a broken mess.  I hurt.  I am sad.  I invite you in to help me get through this.