Recently, several people have suggested that I share this piece of writing openly. It can be a very difficult story to read, but I offer it because it is chiefly a story of God's personal redemptive work in the lives of two people in desperate need of a Savior. May it speak to you in the ways you need to hear, may God be glorified, may Brenda be honored, and may anything here not of Jesus just fall to the ground and escape all notice. To quote someone who lived a very long time ago, "I am but a hole in a flute through which the Breath of Christ blows. Listen to the Music." God's peace to all'y'all.
Brenda (9/29/66-6/3/02)…
At the time of her death, Brenda and I had been married for 10 years, 7 months, and 8 days.
Brenda passed away on June 3, 2002, of her own accord. She died on her own terms, and, in many ways, it was a good death. Brenda suffered from the effects of an extremely difficult childhood. The intimate details of the many acts perpetrated on her are not important at this time. Needless to write, they were very personal, and they attacked her at the core of her being.
Brenda and I met in March 1990, and we married on October 26, 1991, following a year-long friendship/courtship and a six month engagement. When we married, I knew of some of the troubles Brenda had endured in the early years of her life. It wasn’t until after we’d been married for a few months that a number of things began to surface. In a nutshell, Brenda suffered from a very rare form of dissociative identity disorder (she was “poly-fragmented”), from borderline personality disorder, from post-traumatic stress disorder, from anorexia nervosa, and from bulimia. In many ways, it was over for her before it began. The losses she sustained are unimaginable. God's rest to her soul as she is cradled in His Arms.
Brenda first told me of her battle with suicidal thoughts in December 1992. I will never forget her words: “Dave…if I ever do end my life, I want you to know that it won’t be because you weren’t enough.” Those words are still very tough for me to hear in my memory, even after so many years. In my heart, I can hear my own words: “But I wasn’t enough. That’s pretty obvious, isn't it? Oh, God, why couldn’t I have been more? More than I was?” And, yet, I can also hear the gentle voice of God in direct response: “Dave…NO ONE can be more than they are, and, as for Brenda, she needed far more than anyone on earth could have ever provided to her. Had I been her husband, even I would have had a difficult time.” So, yes, from time to time, I still hear the same conversational argument going on in my mind: “Not enough!! But how could I have been?? Not enough!! But how could anyone have been?? You did the best you could, Dave. Yeah, but I COULD have done better. SHOULD have been better. But how could you have?" Guilt…solace…all wrapped up in one cacophonous exchange of competing thoughts.
Brenda was extremely intelligent, she loved Jesus, and she loved kids. She taught school off and on, was a nanny for a time, and babysat countless kids. She was kind of like a pied-piper with kids. They just seemed to be irresistibly drawn to her. For years, most Saturday nights (usually 40 or more per year), Brenda and I were in someone’s home taking care of their kids. And there were a lot of kids. Through all of this, Brenda suffered greatly. And so did I. Even though Brenda appeared to have things together to those around her (a very unique byproduct of her particular disorder conglomerate), our marriage dissolved into a care-taker kind of relationship. In many ways, though, things resurrected for a brief time there before she died. Perhaps, "resurrected" isn't the right word, because, through it all, we loved each other very much. I guess it just felt to me a little bit like Brenda was back for a while. Though we didn't really articulate it at the time, I think we both saw it as a time of saying goodbye. Unimaginable sweetness wrapped up in the horror of all horrors.
In January 2001, Brenda suffered a minor stroke. Over the next year or so, she experienced two more. In March 2002, she was diagnosed with MS. I will never forget the day she called me on the phone, just moments after leaving her doctor’s office, to tell me of the diagnosis. (It was her PC physician who had actually told her. He broke the news [at Brenda's unrelenting insistence--a hallmark of her personality] the day before we were to meet together with Brenda’s neurologist. Because of this, I was not there with her when she first heard the news.) When Brenda called, she was crying uncontrollably. It wrenches my heart today just thinking about it…her expressions of deep anguish and loss (once again). I left work that day without even telling anyone. Less than three months later, and Brenda was gone from this life.
Brenda was in therapy for most of the time we were married. She used to tell me, “Dave…I’m going to work real hard now so that someday we can have a bright future together.” To Brenda, the MS diagnosis seemed to rob her of that future.
In May 2002, Brenda attempted suicide, but did not complete what she’d set out to do. Three weeks later, after a session with her therapist, Brenda and I sat in her jeep and had what I would consider to be the conversation of a life-time. It was, perhaps, the most honest conversation we’d ever had with each other. Not that we lied to each other in other conversations, it was just one of those conversations where there were no secrets, nothing hidden, nothing done to shield the other from anything. Brenda told me how much she loved me as well as how much pain she was in. Over the next couple of hours, she told me of the depths of her pain and of her feelings that she’d finally come to the “when” in her life. I told her that I understood and that I would support whatever she decided. I gave her the best gift I could give her: Permission. Permission to end things on her own terms, knowing that she was and had been loved, that she would be returning to God, and that at least one person had heard her pain, knew at least some of what she’d endured, and had watched her fight so valiantly for so long. Did I make the right decision? Only God can answer that. All I can say is that I feel both comforted and guilty about it. Such are the paradoxes and ambiguities of life. One week later, on June 3, 2002, Brenda took care of herself and ended her life in the back seat of her jeep.
On Monday night, June 3, 2002, after arriving home from a Dominican Republic Missions Trip meeting at my pastor’s house, I found the following note on the kitchen counter of our condo: “Honey, Had to go do stuff. See you in a while. Love you—B.” Five minutes later, Brenda’s therapist, Barb, called me to tell me that a police officer would be showing up at my front door soon. Barb went on to tell me that Brenda was somewhere in her jeep and that she’d taken all her meds. The police officer arrived, talked with me for a while, and then got a search going for Brenda’s jeep. Fairfax County Homicide took the case two days later. It felt very strange to give them my computer and let them go through all the details of my life with Brenda. I suppose with any missing persons case, family members are automatically scrutinized. They were, of course, just doing their jobs. They didn't know me from Adam. Even though I harbor no bitterness, I don't ever want to go through anything like that again. The local newspapers were not particularly helpful either. (Reston, VA, is a fairly small community.) It's been more than eight years since I've even looked at a newspaper. Anyway...
After the officer left, I called my pastor (Father Jim Papile, Rector, St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, Reston, VA, http://www.stannes-reston.org/) to tell him what was going on. He came over to my place, and we talked for a couple of hours. I remember telling him that Brenda was probably somewhere peaceful where no child would be able to see her. After Jim left (it was probably about midnight), I went to bed, only to wake up at around 2am and begin searching for Brenda myself.
I looked for her for ten days, calling her cell and work phones repeatedly just to hear her voice. It was the most difficult and absolutely heart wrenching ten days of my life. Brenda was out there somewhere. Exposed. I wanted to find her, if only just to preserve her dignity. I focused on residential areas during the day, and business/commercial areas at night. During the day, I figured that residential areas would clear out, and, late at night, I figured the same would be true of business and commercial areas. I enlisted the help of an army of friends to search for Brenda. FCPD Homicide conducted their own independent search (of course), and I was in regular contact with them. Tom Flannigan, the homicide detective I worked with, was fabulous. It was probably the first time I'd ever known a homicide detective and, most certainly, the first time I'd ever nearly become friends with one. In the end, it was a friend of mine who found Brenda on the back seat of her jeep on Thursday night, June 13, 2002. I’d driven by Brenda’s location at least twice in my search for her. She died in her jeep ¼ mile from the front door of our condo. The location she was in was surrounded by tall pines and overlooked a garden trellis. Her jeep sat up high and faced a western sky (I like to think that she watched the sunset just before she climbed into the back seat of her jeep to lay down for that last time). In God’s providence, I didn’t see Brenda's jeep the times I’d driven within 30 yards of it in my search. I never saw Brenda's body (and, most fortunately, don't carry those images with me) and never really got the chance to say that final good-bye. I did see her jeep once before my insurance company "totaled" it (for reasons that I probably do not need to explain). A part of me died the night of Brenda's memorial service (June 27, 2002). I’ve never been the same. How could something like this not change me? Perhaps even fundamentally?
About a year before Brenda died, as my pastor (Fr. Jim) and I were praying together in his office one day, a very vivid picture came to my mind. I was in the mountains somewhere, and everything around me was on fire. Everything. I was able to find some protection in a cave of sorts. After the fire had burned through the entire region, I emerged from the cave, surveyed my surroundings, and noticed that, except for a few pockets here and there, almost everything in all directions had been burned to a crisp. The forests of green had been nearly eradicated. At that moment, in my heart...in my mind...I believe God led my thoughts. The gist of what I heard was this: “Forest fires are absolutely necessary, Dave. They infuse back into the soil nutrients necessary for life to flourish once again.”
When Brenda died, I felt like my whole world had crumbled...but that was only the beginning. Within twelve months, I proceeded to leave a 13-year career, to sell my condo, to give away a lot of my possessions, and to move from my hometown to a place where I'd never lived before. The reason I'm telling you this is that at that point in my life, a lot of what I had possessed previously was no longer mine. And, in time, I came to the realization (at least in part) that it never was. Everything was, is, and will always be God's. Most of me knows this, but a part of me still resists it from time to time.
Sometimes--and I emphasize SOMETIMES--the things we love (or trust in) most are the things that we most need to let go of. God, in His providence, uses the losses we sustain...loss of family members, friends, marriages, careers, dreams, the esteem of others, even the "felt" presence of God...to burn-up “the old forests” in our lives. Though my perspective is limited, I do think that God uses these things to infuse back into the soils of our souls those absolutely critical things that are needed for life to truly flourish. In nature, there is no garbage. Everything is used…every event, every material, every element, even time. The same is true in God's Economy. While I don't want to be overly dramatic, here, I imagine that you, my dear friends, as well as your family, have suffered...perhaps greatly. (Ultimately, I don't think any of us escape this.) The injuries, the loss, the pain, the grief...lots of suffering. If you’ve endured suffering, clinging desperately to the garment hem of the Lord Jesus, than I know you can understand completely what I mean when I tell other people, "I need the Gospel. No, I don't think you understand, I REALLY NEED the Gospel." I am not a Pollyanna, my friends. Not everything works out. And God knows it. He sees it all...every injury sustained, every dream shattered, everything...and He weeps with us. He shares the feelings we feel. He is in us, and He experiences it all right there with us. "Jesus wept," the scriptures read. And He still does. Life is flourishing, my friends, and it will continue to do so. There will be many fires, but they serve a purpose--every one of them. And the signposts all point to God our Creator and Everlasting Father...the Source of All Life and Redemption.
When Jesus wept (after coming upon Mary and Martha and after being led to where Lazarus had been lain), I'm not so sure that He knew in that moment that God was going to raise Lazarus back to life bodily right then and there. Maybe He did; maybe He didn't. That question--at least in my mind--adds even more to the notion of God being completely present with us in our sufferings and our triumphs as well as those things that fall somewhere in between. "Jesus wept"...for very real and personal reasons. In my heart, I believe He wept because He felt sad. Sad over the loss of His friend. Sad that death still seemed to reign so supremely in "life." Sad that, through the grip and fear of death, so many of His created family have, down through the ages, had no concept of what it really means to live--to live fully...as eternal beings created in the image of an Everlasting God, as beings intended to live in loving community with God and with His children. Theologically, I believe that God is both imminent and transcendent. And, while I do believe that God knows all and sees all (and I DO NOT want to discount that), I'm not so sure that He always chooses to know beforehand what will happen moment by moment. I think He is a waiting God, a very present (as in present-tense) God, and a God that takes tremendous risks with us. I believe He makes Himself vulnerable to us in ways that, in our humanness, I think we have a hard time putting our hands around. I believe that His feelings for us are completely genuine. He does not pity us, but He does have compassion on us (and there is a huge difference between the two). He endures our sufferings right along with us (as though they would never end), and He gives us the strength to accept (and even embrace!!) what “is” as well as the strength to persevere far beyond our innate (or even developed) abilities to just cheer ourselves up. I take great solace in God's imminence in my life. In Him, I really do live and move and have my very being. When I laugh, I laugh in Him. When I dance, I dance in Him. And when I weep, I weep in Him. And He participates right along with me...moment by moment, and in the present-tense. Always in the present-tense.
Today, in this moment, I am the happiest person I know. I am grateful to God for everything that has ever happened to me. Everything--all of it--has brought me closer to my Savior and has helped me to become more of who I am already. And, today, Brenda's doing just fine, too. For a time, she used to come and visit me in my dreams. I'll share one in particular with you. This one came to me about a month after Brenda's passing, while I was in the Dominican Republic. In my dream, I am on an athletic field enclosed by a stadium filled with thousands upon thousands of people. The swelling cheers are so loud, that I can hardly hear myself think. Anyway, I'm down on the field, and I'm limbering up in preparation for an event. As I finish one particular stretch, I look up and see Brenda walking toward me. I stop what I'm doing and just stare as she approaches. With a playful smile on her face she says, "Hey...I just wanted you to know that I'm going to be up in the stands watching as you run and that when you reach the finish line, I'll be right there." With that, she turned and walked away. Brenda is, I believe, amongst a great cloud of witnesses cheering us all on. Can you hear them? I can (sometimes). When I listen closely to the Whispers of God's Spirit in my own heart (and if I listen very closely), I can hear or sense the cheering in the background. The feeling (and sounds, if you will) remind me a lot of the falls at Niagara: Constant, majestic, ever changing, and yet remaining the same--all at the same time. I is so very energizing to my spirit. I urge you, my friends...open the ears of your faith, sometime, and, as a dear friend of mine has said to me on occasion, "give it a listen, and let me know what you think."
Live in the moment, my friends. Take great care of yourselves, embrace what is, and bask in the restorative warmth of God’s imminent presence and loving-kindness. May He bless you beyond your wildest dreams.
God's peace,
Dave
"The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh away. Praise be His Name." Yes, Lord, and AMEN! May Your Name be praised forever, and ever, and ever, and ever...
At the time of her death, Brenda and I had been married for 10 years, 7 months, and 8 days.
Brenda passed away on June 3, 2002, of her own accord. She died on her own terms, and, in many ways, it was a good death. Brenda suffered from the effects of an extremely difficult childhood. The intimate details of the many acts perpetrated on her are not important at this time. Needless to write, they were very personal, and they attacked her at the core of her being.
Brenda and I met in March 1990, and we married on October 26, 1991, following a year-long friendship/courtship and a six month engagement. When we married, I knew of some of the troubles Brenda had endured in the early years of her life. It wasn’t until after we’d been married for a few months that a number of things began to surface. In a nutshell, Brenda suffered from a very rare form of dissociative identity disorder (she was “poly-fragmented”), from borderline personality disorder, from post-traumatic stress disorder, from anorexia nervosa, and from bulimia. In many ways, it was over for her before it began. The losses she sustained are unimaginable. God's rest to her soul as she is cradled in His Arms.
Brenda first told me of her battle with suicidal thoughts in December 1992. I will never forget her words: “Dave…if I ever do end my life, I want you to know that it won’t be because you weren’t enough.” Those words are still very tough for me to hear in my memory, even after so many years. In my heart, I can hear my own words: “But I wasn’t enough. That’s pretty obvious, isn't it? Oh, God, why couldn’t I have been more? More than I was?” And, yet, I can also hear the gentle voice of God in direct response: “Dave…NO ONE can be more than they are, and, as for Brenda, she needed far more than anyone on earth could have ever provided to her. Had I been her husband, even I would have had a difficult time.” So, yes, from time to time, I still hear the same conversational argument going on in my mind: “Not enough!! But how could I have been?? Not enough!! But how could anyone have been?? You did the best you could, Dave. Yeah, but I COULD have done better. SHOULD have been better. But how could you have?" Guilt…solace…all wrapped up in one cacophonous exchange of competing thoughts.
Brenda was extremely intelligent, she loved Jesus, and she loved kids. She taught school off and on, was a nanny for a time, and babysat countless kids. She was kind of like a pied-piper with kids. They just seemed to be irresistibly drawn to her. For years, most Saturday nights (usually 40 or more per year), Brenda and I were in someone’s home taking care of their kids. And there were a lot of kids. Through all of this, Brenda suffered greatly. And so did I. Even though Brenda appeared to have things together to those around her (a very unique byproduct of her particular disorder conglomerate), our marriage dissolved into a care-taker kind of relationship. In many ways, though, things resurrected for a brief time there before she died. Perhaps, "resurrected" isn't the right word, because, through it all, we loved each other very much. I guess it just felt to me a little bit like Brenda was back for a while. Though we didn't really articulate it at the time, I think we both saw it as a time of saying goodbye. Unimaginable sweetness wrapped up in the horror of all horrors.
In January 2001, Brenda suffered a minor stroke. Over the next year or so, she experienced two more. In March 2002, she was diagnosed with MS. I will never forget the day she called me on the phone, just moments after leaving her doctor’s office, to tell me of the diagnosis. (It was her PC physician who had actually told her. He broke the news [at Brenda's unrelenting insistence--a hallmark of her personality] the day before we were to meet together with Brenda’s neurologist. Because of this, I was not there with her when she first heard the news.) When Brenda called, she was crying uncontrollably. It wrenches my heart today just thinking about it…her expressions of deep anguish and loss (once again). I left work that day without even telling anyone. Less than three months later, and Brenda was gone from this life.
Brenda was in therapy for most of the time we were married. She used to tell me, “Dave…I’m going to work real hard now so that someday we can have a bright future together.” To Brenda, the MS diagnosis seemed to rob her of that future.
In May 2002, Brenda attempted suicide, but did not complete what she’d set out to do. Three weeks later, after a session with her therapist, Brenda and I sat in her jeep and had what I would consider to be the conversation of a life-time. It was, perhaps, the most honest conversation we’d ever had with each other. Not that we lied to each other in other conversations, it was just one of those conversations where there were no secrets, nothing hidden, nothing done to shield the other from anything. Brenda told me how much she loved me as well as how much pain she was in. Over the next couple of hours, she told me of the depths of her pain and of her feelings that she’d finally come to the “when” in her life. I told her that I understood and that I would support whatever she decided. I gave her the best gift I could give her: Permission. Permission to end things on her own terms, knowing that she was and had been loved, that she would be returning to God, and that at least one person had heard her pain, knew at least some of what she’d endured, and had watched her fight so valiantly for so long. Did I make the right decision? Only God can answer that. All I can say is that I feel both comforted and guilty about it. Such are the paradoxes and ambiguities of life. One week later, on June 3, 2002, Brenda took care of herself and ended her life in the back seat of her jeep.
On Monday night, June 3, 2002, after arriving home from a Dominican Republic Missions Trip meeting at my pastor’s house, I found the following note on the kitchen counter of our condo: “Honey, Had to go do stuff. See you in a while. Love you—B.” Five minutes later, Brenda’s therapist, Barb, called me to tell me that a police officer would be showing up at my front door soon. Barb went on to tell me that Brenda was somewhere in her jeep and that she’d taken all her meds. The police officer arrived, talked with me for a while, and then got a search going for Brenda’s jeep. Fairfax County Homicide took the case two days later. It felt very strange to give them my computer and let them go through all the details of my life with Brenda. I suppose with any missing persons case, family members are automatically scrutinized. They were, of course, just doing their jobs. They didn't know me from Adam. Even though I harbor no bitterness, I don't ever want to go through anything like that again. The local newspapers were not particularly helpful either. (Reston, VA, is a fairly small community.) It's been more than eight years since I've even looked at a newspaper. Anyway...
After the officer left, I called my pastor (Father Jim Papile, Rector, St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, Reston, VA, http://www.stannes-reston.org/) to tell him what was going on. He came over to my place, and we talked for a couple of hours. I remember telling him that Brenda was probably somewhere peaceful where no child would be able to see her. After Jim left (it was probably about midnight), I went to bed, only to wake up at around 2am and begin searching for Brenda myself.
I looked for her for ten days, calling her cell and work phones repeatedly just to hear her voice. It was the most difficult and absolutely heart wrenching ten days of my life. Brenda was out there somewhere. Exposed. I wanted to find her, if only just to preserve her dignity. I focused on residential areas during the day, and business/commercial areas at night. During the day, I figured that residential areas would clear out, and, late at night, I figured the same would be true of business and commercial areas. I enlisted the help of an army of friends to search for Brenda. FCPD Homicide conducted their own independent search (of course), and I was in regular contact with them. Tom Flannigan, the homicide detective I worked with, was fabulous. It was probably the first time I'd ever known a homicide detective and, most certainly, the first time I'd ever nearly become friends with one. In the end, it was a friend of mine who found Brenda on the back seat of her jeep on Thursday night, June 13, 2002. I’d driven by Brenda’s location at least twice in my search for her. She died in her jeep ¼ mile from the front door of our condo. The location she was in was surrounded by tall pines and overlooked a garden trellis. Her jeep sat up high and faced a western sky (I like to think that she watched the sunset just before she climbed into the back seat of her jeep to lay down for that last time). In God’s providence, I didn’t see Brenda's jeep the times I’d driven within 30 yards of it in my search. I never saw Brenda's body (and, most fortunately, don't carry those images with me) and never really got the chance to say that final good-bye. I did see her jeep once before my insurance company "totaled" it (for reasons that I probably do not need to explain). A part of me died the night of Brenda's memorial service (June 27, 2002). I’ve never been the same. How could something like this not change me? Perhaps even fundamentally?
About a year before Brenda died, as my pastor (Fr. Jim) and I were praying together in his office one day, a very vivid picture came to my mind. I was in the mountains somewhere, and everything around me was on fire. Everything. I was able to find some protection in a cave of sorts. After the fire had burned through the entire region, I emerged from the cave, surveyed my surroundings, and noticed that, except for a few pockets here and there, almost everything in all directions had been burned to a crisp. The forests of green had been nearly eradicated. At that moment, in my heart...in my mind...I believe God led my thoughts. The gist of what I heard was this: “Forest fires are absolutely necessary, Dave. They infuse back into the soil nutrients necessary for life to flourish once again.”
When Brenda died, I felt like my whole world had crumbled...but that was only the beginning. Within twelve months, I proceeded to leave a 13-year career, to sell my condo, to give away a lot of my possessions, and to move from my hometown to a place where I'd never lived before. The reason I'm telling you this is that at that point in my life, a lot of what I had possessed previously was no longer mine. And, in time, I came to the realization (at least in part) that it never was. Everything was, is, and will always be God's. Most of me knows this, but a part of me still resists it from time to time.
Sometimes--and I emphasize SOMETIMES--the things we love (or trust in) most are the things that we most need to let go of. God, in His providence, uses the losses we sustain...loss of family members, friends, marriages, careers, dreams, the esteem of others, even the "felt" presence of God...to burn-up “the old forests” in our lives. Though my perspective is limited, I do think that God uses these things to infuse back into the soils of our souls those absolutely critical things that are needed for life to truly flourish. In nature, there is no garbage. Everything is used…every event, every material, every element, even time. The same is true in God's Economy. While I don't want to be overly dramatic, here, I imagine that you, my dear friends, as well as your family, have suffered...perhaps greatly. (Ultimately, I don't think any of us escape this.) The injuries, the loss, the pain, the grief...lots of suffering. If you’ve endured suffering, clinging desperately to the garment hem of the Lord Jesus, than I know you can understand completely what I mean when I tell other people, "I need the Gospel. No, I don't think you understand, I REALLY NEED the Gospel." I am not a Pollyanna, my friends. Not everything works out. And God knows it. He sees it all...every injury sustained, every dream shattered, everything...and He weeps with us. He shares the feelings we feel. He is in us, and He experiences it all right there with us. "Jesus wept," the scriptures read. And He still does. Life is flourishing, my friends, and it will continue to do so. There will be many fires, but they serve a purpose--every one of them. And the signposts all point to God our Creator and Everlasting Father...the Source of All Life and Redemption.
When Jesus wept (after coming upon Mary and Martha and after being led to where Lazarus had been lain), I'm not so sure that He knew in that moment that God was going to raise Lazarus back to life bodily right then and there. Maybe He did; maybe He didn't. That question--at least in my mind--adds even more to the notion of God being completely present with us in our sufferings and our triumphs as well as those things that fall somewhere in between. "Jesus wept"...for very real and personal reasons. In my heart, I believe He wept because He felt sad. Sad over the loss of His friend. Sad that death still seemed to reign so supremely in "life." Sad that, through the grip and fear of death, so many of His created family have, down through the ages, had no concept of what it really means to live--to live fully...as eternal beings created in the image of an Everlasting God, as beings intended to live in loving community with God and with His children. Theologically, I believe that God is both imminent and transcendent. And, while I do believe that God knows all and sees all (and I DO NOT want to discount that), I'm not so sure that He always chooses to know beforehand what will happen moment by moment. I think He is a waiting God, a very present (as in present-tense) God, and a God that takes tremendous risks with us. I believe He makes Himself vulnerable to us in ways that, in our humanness, I think we have a hard time putting our hands around. I believe that His feelings for us are completely genuine. He does not pity us, but He does have compassion on us (and there is a huge difference between the two). He endures our sufferings right along with us (as though they would never end), and He gives us the strength to accept (and even embrace!!) what “is” as well as the strength to persevere far beyond our innate (or even developed) abilities to just cheer ourselves up. I take great solace in God's imminence in my life. In Him, I really do live and move and have my very being. When I laugh, I laugh in Him. When I dance, I dance in Him. And when I weep, I weep in Him. And He participates right along with me...moment by moment, and in the present-tense. Always in the present-tense.
Today, in this moment, I am the happiest person I know. I am grateful to God for everything that has ever happened to me. Everything--all of it--has brought me closer to my Savior and has helped me to become more of who I am already. And, today, Brenda's doing just fine, too. For a time, she used to come and visit me in my dreams. I'll share one in particular with you. This one came to me about a month after Brenda's passing, while I was in the Dominican Republic. In my dream, I am on an athletic field enclosed by a stadium filled with thousands upon thousands of people. The swelling cheers are so loud, that I can hardly hear myself think. Anyway, I'm down on the field, and I'm limbering up in preparation for an event. As I finish one particular stretch, I look up and see Brenda walking toward me. I stop what I'm doing and just stare as she approaches. With a playful smile on her face she says, "Hey...I just wanted you to know that I'm going to be up in the stands watching as you run and that when you reach the finish line, I'll be right there." With that, she turned and walked away. Brenda is, I believe, amongst a great cloud of witnesses cheering us all on. Can you hear them? I can (sometimes). When I listen closely to the Whispers of God's Spirit in my own heart (and if I listen very closely), I can hear or sense the cheering in the background. The feeling (and sounds, if you will) remind me a lot of the falls at Niagara: Constant, majestic, ever changing, and yet remaining the same--all at the same time. I is so very energizing to my spirit. I urge you, my friends...open the ears of your faith, sometime, and, as a dear friend of mine has said to me on occasion, "give it a listen, and let me know what you think."
Live in the moment, my friends. Take great care of yourselves, embrace what is, and bask in the restorative warmth of God’s imminent presence and loving-kindness. May He bless you beyond your wildest dreams.
God's peace,
Dave
"The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh away. Praise be His Name." Yes, Lord, and AMEN! May Your Name be praised forever, and ever, and ever, and ever...
No comments:
Post a Comment