Archives For grief

Loss of a Child

Tim Jackson —  April 10, 2013 — Leave a comment

Some losses are unthinkable.

As a parent, there is nothing more devastating than the thought of losing one of my children. Just thinking of it feels unbearable.

But the aching reality is that millions of parents face that overwhelming loss every year.

According to Wikipedia, 6.9 million children died worldwide before the age of 5 in 2011. In the United States, over 53,000 children die under the age of 19 every year.

The journey through grief is one we are never prepared to take, especially when it comes to the loss of a child. Grief isolates. And that’s why we’re here. We’ve produced a program to come alongside those struggling through the loss of a child to let them know that they are not alone.

Two couples, Kevin and Dawn Burgess and Bob and Chris Zedeck have courageously opened their hearts and lives to share with us in their own words what their journey through grief has been like for them.

Here’s a trailer for the program that airs this weekend on the Day of Discovery television program on the Ion Network.

Please, if you or someone you know is grieving over the loss of a child, join us for more on The Journey Through: Loss of a Child.

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Unavoidable Pain

Tim Jackson —  February 1, 2013 — 6 Comments

In my role as a father, I’ve always considered protecting my three children from harm and from things that would hurt them as one of my primary missions. Hot stoves. Sharp knives. Power tools. Bikes. Cars. People. All of them have the potential for good or harm. Knowing how to handle each is crucial to minimize the risks of pain.

At times, I’ve succeeded. But all too often I’ve failed miserably. Or at least that’s how I feel when I’m helpless to prevent something from hurting one of them.

On Friday, I felt that helpless feeling again. This time it was a text from my youngest, my baby girl. (Yea, she’s 22, but she’ll always be my baby! You dads know exactly what I mean.)

The text was urgent, simple, and pointed:

“Please pray. One of my friends Micah is in the hospital after passing out in the pool. They haven’t been able to fully revive him yet. Please, please pray!”

A few moments later, she wrote, “He didn’t make it . . . Please pray for his family.”

My wife and I were on our way to meet my son and his wife for dinner. We were anticipating a wonderful time together. Now we were stunned, kicked in the gut. We ached for our daughter, but we felt a deeper grief for Micah’s parents who we’ve never met and who just lost their precious son. (His older sister had been on my daughter’s floor last semester.)

As we parked the car, my wife and I clutched hands and prayed. We asked that God be present with our daughter, and that He would hold and comfort her, her friends, the student body and staff of the Christian college she’s attending, Micah’s family, his roommate, the young men on his floor, and the students who pulled him out of the pool and did their best to revive him. All are reeling in pain from the loss of this vibrant young man.

We prayed that God would surround them with His loving embrace so that they would know they were loved even in the middle of their pain.

Recently I’ve been working through some material on the loss of a child in preparation for an upcoming program. In his book Written In Tears, Luke Veldt writes about the tragic and sudden death of Allison, his 13-year-old daughter. He makes an astounding and terrifying statement: “It took the death of my daughter for me to begin to understand the love of God” (p. 24).

Yikes! I want to know the love of God, but must it require that pain and loss be inflicted on my heart to truly know His love? Luke’s book describes his personal journey through grief and “how I came to know God better, not just despite my loss, but because of it” (p. 25).

Luke goes on to quote A. W. Tozer who wrote: “The Bible was written in tears and to tears it will reveal its best treasures” (p. 22). It’s the journey through grief that often drives us to the God of the Bible for answers. But there are no answers that will bring our loved one back or remove the pain of their absence.

Yet God is there. He’s not silent. And He weeps with us because He loves us. He’s not impotent or uncaring because He didn’t prevent the pain. Even though He’s a perfect parent, God never promised to protect us from all pain. But He’s with us in our pain.

The journey through painful loss was never meant to be taken alone. We need others to go with us, reliable guides who have walked this path and found hope in the God of all comfort (2 Cor. 1:3). How Can I Live With My Loss? is a booklet we’ve prepared to help you navigate your journey through grief.

And a request: Please pray for Micah’s family, my daughter Tracey and her friends, classmates, and the staff at Moody Bible Institute as they take this journey through grief together. Pray that the pain of this loss will bind them into a healing community that is empowered by the loving God who welcomed Micah home with joyful celebration.

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Holiday Blues

Jeff Olson —  December 20, 2012 — Leave a comment

The holiday season is normally my favorite time of the year, but not so much this season. While much of the world celebrates the “most wonderful time of the year,” I’m often feeling blue, hurting inside over losing both of my parents this past year.

What I’m finding as I go through this first holiday season without Mom and Dad is that the things I’ve loved my entire life (Christmas music, decorations, family gatherings) are often painful triggers that remind me that my parents are gone.

Thanksgiving was rough. I cried as we drove over to a family member’s house for dinner and felt down throughout the day.

Christmas won’t be any easier. There will be no phone calls wishing each other Merry Christmas. No gifts to exchange. No “I love you’s.”

And when I’ve caught myself feeling festive and enjoying the season, I sometimes feel guilty. It feels “wrong” to be happy and to celebrate when they are not here.

Guilt tells me I should just be sad.

The truth is I am sad—for good reason. But I’m also happy. Though there are times I may need to feel one more than the other, God has been teaching me that it’s okay to feel both. Both can coexist in me.

There are no exact rules to follow as we grieve the loss of those we love, let alone go through the first holiday season without them. We each have to figure out our own way. For me, giving myself permission to experience both sadness and joy has been a part of finding my way through this season of grief.

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Traditions, Tragedies, and the Incarnation

Dennis Moles —  December 18, 2012 — Leave a comment

During the last few weeks Tim has asked us to consider traditions, specifically Christmas and holiday traditions. He described these traditions as anchors—present practices that remind us of a shared story. Traditions communicate belonging. They remind us of our place in history. They show us where we have been and situate us within history’s unfolding story.

Traditions can be fun or somber. They can be new or ancient. Traditions can also vary in their scope. Traditions can be personal, familial, geographical, cultural, or religious. But whatever their designation, most traditions situate us within a tribe; a group of insiders that share a common story.

But what happens when tragedy hijacks our stories? We were reminded this weekend that we live in a world where evil and suffering exist.

Friday morning was just another day for the students, parents, and staff at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Life was normal. They lived in a safe place where evil was real but distant. Horrific acts happened, but they did not happen in Newtown. But at 9:30 a.m. the world changed forever. Evil marched into Sandy Hook Elementary School. Shots rang out. And in a few short moments just over 2 dozen families were forever altered. By 10 a.m. on Friday morning these families became part of an unwilling tribe of mourners.

What happens when tragedy and evil hijack our stories, pull up our anchors, and pollute our traditions? When these kinds of events take place, they shock and sadden outsiders and threaten to completely tear apart insiders. They leave all of us groping for answers to nagging questions: Why my child? Who would do something like this? Could anything have been done to prevent it? How could a good God allow this to happen?

For those who find themselves in this newly formed tribe of sufferers, family traditions will never be the same. The unopened presents under the tree only serve as a heart-wrenching reminder that their stories have been forever altered.

At times like this, our hearts break as we watch the pain and struggle of others. We sympathize as best as we can but very few of us will ever know pain and sorrow like this. And let’s be honest, none of us really want to know how they feel. We all want to remain sympathizers and outsiders because none of us ever want to experience their pain.

In times of intense suffering, sympathizers often wonder what they can do to help. We want to offer hope; we want to soothe the pain. But what can we do?

Here are just a few things we can do for those who belong to this or another tribe of sufferers:

  • Acknowledge that there are things we just don’t know.
  • Listen to and tell their stories.
  • Live the hope of resurrection.

Here is the hard truth: We don’t know why God allowed the tragedy in Newtown to happen. Yes, we live in a fallen world. Yes, evil is real. And yes, sometimes human beings visit terrible evil upon one another.

But we don’t know why God allowed the Sandy Hook shooting to take place. And while the truths about sin, death, and the fall might bring us some measure of understanding in the abstract, they often fall flat when gripped by tragic loss and inconsolable grief.

When we acknowledge that there are things we just don’t know, we accept our place as finite creatures. But we must not stop there. Redemptive love demands that we look events like these full in the face, for within them we see our Savior’s heart and our desperate need for Him. In this one event, we see both the depths of human depravity and the heights of redemptive love.

Dawn Lafferty Hochsprung began the day as an anonymous principle of a small elementary school in Connecticut. By 9:30 a.m. she had showed us what Jesus looks like. She stood in harm’s way, dying a martyr’s death, for her students. She lived the incarnation, and her sacrifice provides us with an anchor within the midst of terror and grief.

Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13 NIV). This is why the actions of Dawn Hochsprung and her colleague Vicki Soto resonate so deeply with us. There is something noble, right, and just when a person sacrifices themselves for another. The events of last Friday remind us that we live in a fallen world where evil and injustice not only exist but at times seem to triumph. The actions of these heroes move us so deeply because they reflect the story of God’s love manifested in Christ toward all humanity.

In recent days, many have offered ideas about why God was not at the Sandy Hook Elementary School on Friday. Some have guessed that he abandoned all those precious little ones because we have pushed him out of our society. I could not disagree more. I think God was there. He was there standing in harm’s way—just as He was 2,000 years ago. When Vicki Soto was shot trying to protect her students, He was shot too. Anytime redemptive love shows up, the spirit of God is present.

Today we mourn, but as followers of Christ we mourn with hope. We mourn because of senseless violence and reckless evil but have hope because Jesus has conquered death and presently rules and reigns. We have hope because we know that, even though evil seems to have won on Friday, evil will not ultimately win. We mourn the loss of so many lives and so much potential. Our hearts go out to the families and friends in their grief. But we are reminded even in the midst of Friday’s great tragedy that light is greater than darkness, that good will conquer evil, and that resurrection hope is more powerful than the steely hands of death.

This past Friday, many stories were hijacked by evil, but even in the midst of this horrific scene God continues to write the story of courage, grace, and love—a story He started some 2,000 years ago.

Dennis Moles
Bible Teacher/Content Developer

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Remember & Move

Tim Jackson —  June 18, 2012 — 4 Comments

I received an unexpected note this past week from my friend Kevin. We served together on the men’s ministry team at our church where I have taught a 24-week class on God’s call for a man, what it means to become a godly man, and what it means to be a husband and father.

His note was simple and kind. In it he mentioned that he knew this Father’s Day would be difficult for me, not because it’s my first as a father but because it’s my first without my father.

Many of you know I lost both my mom and dad around this time last year within 8 weeks of each other. That was hard. And throughout this past year, the journey of grief has had it’s ups and downs to be sure.

But while I appreciated what Kevin wrote, what I found most encouraging about his note was that he remembered. Not only did he remember, but with everything going on in his busy world, he took the time to write a brief note to encourage me by his words and prayers on my behalf.

Let me tell you, that stuff matters. Thanks, Kevin. I needed that reminder too.

The challenging question for me (and you too) is this: Will we take the time to remember and then move? By doing so, we can become the voice of God as we encourage others along the way in their journey through life’s struggles.

If we put this into regular practice, just imagine what kind of an encouraging community we could become. We might even begin an epidemic of encouragement!

So how about it? Do you have a “Kevin” in your life who has encouraged you? Share your story here with all of us so we can be encouraged and inspired together. Let’s see what God can do in and through us when we remember and move.

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The Final Enemy

Tim Jackson —  April 27, 2012 — 10 Comments

“The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (1 Cor. 15:26)

Those words have been stuck in my head these last two weeks–and the reminders are everywhere.

As you read in last week’s beautiful post by my fellow blogger Allison about the unexpected death of her sister Jodi, death still seems to be winning. The previous week marked what would have been my dad’s 86th birthday. We lost him last July, just 8 weeks after my mom lost her battle with cancer on June 3rd. Her birthday on May 1st is not a day I’m looking forward to, nor is Mother’s Day.

And as I write, my friend and co-worker in the cubicle next to me is watching vigil with his family gathered at the bedside of his elderly mother who is slipping away into eternity. The eerie parallels to last May for my family are uncomfortably familiar.

Death stinks! I hate it. It’s a ruthless enemy. I know it’s the last enemy to be destroyed before Jesus starts making everything new. I, for one, can’t wait.

In his vision of the way things will someday be, John wrote of it this way:

“‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ He who was seated on the thrown said, ‘I am making everything new!’ Then he said, ‘Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.’” (Rev. 21:4-5)

The real deal is that someday, death will be decisively crushed under the heel of Jesus Christ, the One who tasted death for us all so that we too can share in His victory dance.

“‘Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting.’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Cor. 15:54-57)

So, until that day when we will dance on the grave of death with our Lord, let’s embrace one another with words of comfort, prayers of support and acts of compassion in our times of loss, sorrow and grief.

For more on facing death, check out Michael Wittmer’s The Last Enemy.

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Hiding behind Humor

Jeff Olson —  January 20, 2012 — 7 Comments

Hunter Adams, a physician whose life was the basis for the 1998 film Patch Adams, has spent his career encouraging doctor-patient relationships that rely heavily on the use of humor and play. Adams believes establishing this kind of connection with a patient is essential to their physical and emotional health.

Laughter and humor are an important part of life. The book of Proverbs says “a cheerful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22). Generally speaking, all of us could use more laughter in our lives.

Certainly there’s a time for laughter, but we sometimes use humor to hide.

Sometimes laughter or making a joke is part of a cover-up. We can joke around as a way to hide from others so they won’t take us seriously. Many of us have learned to play the clown and hide a lot of deep heartache behind our humor or wit.

While it’s true that “a cheerful heart is good medicine,” the book of Proverbs also says, “Laughter can conceal a heavy heart, but when the laughter ends, the grief remains” (Proverbs 14:13).

Although laughter can mask the pain, it eventually wears off. The pain is still there, and the most healthy thing we can do is acknowledge it to ourselves, to others and to God.

Are you hiding some pain behind humor? Perhaps it’s time to turn your laughter into mourning (Ecclesiastes 7:3-4) and allow others and God to get close enough to carry your burden and comfort your heart.

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the presence of others

Jeff Olson —  January 6, 2012 — 1 Comment

Tomorrow morning, a couple of friends and I are planning to drive two hours to attend the funeral of a stranger. The deceased actually is the brother of a close friend and co-worker who unexpectedly died of a brain aneurism at the age of 50.

We’re attending the funeral for the same reason we’ve called and texted our friend over the past week. He loved his brother dearly, and he’s reeling from such a profound and sudden loss. We can’t begin to take away the pain of his loss, but our presence is a small but meaningful way to rally around our friend and show that we care.

Jesus modeled how important the presence of others is during a time of grief. The night He was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, when His soul was crushed with grief to the point of death, Jesus asked a few of His disciples to sit and pray with him (Matthew 26:36-38). They couldn’t take His grief away either, but He desired, even needed their company and prayers.

Just as Jesus needed others to be with Him in His time of need—we need others too. Having others around comforts a grieving heart more than we know.

 

 

 

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A Grief Revisited

Tim Jackson —  December 20, 2011 — 12 Comments

I spent last Friday with the HelpForMyLife video crew capturing the story of one of our coworkers, Kevin Burgess and his wife Dawn. Kevin works the audio magic to “sweeten” the audio of many of the RBC radio productions. (I have no idea what “sweetening” entails but I don’t think is has anything to do with the little sprinkles we like to shower over Christmas cookies.)

For those of you who have followed the HelpForMyLife.org blogs over the past year,  you may remember Kevin and Dawn. I featured them in my December 22, 2010 blog, A child is born . . . and one is taken. What a privilege to be with this amazing couple!

Their story is one of sorrow and grief, courage and compassion, endurance and hope. Having lost their precious son, Braeden, to cancer just a little over two and a half years ago, just shy of his 4th birthday, they allowed us to take the journey of grief with them as they shared their story.

And it’s a story worth telling.

Our hope in this new year is to launch a new portion of our website that features the stories of real people with real struggles that requires real faith. We’re thinking of calling it, The Journey Through . . . series. It’s because we’re always in process. We don’t arrive until we’re finally and fully restored in the presence of our good God. So on this earth, we’re all journeying through something.

For Kevin, Dawn and their remaining children, their hurt hasn’t evaporated over the past year. They quickly dismissed the notion that “time heals all wounds.” It doesn’t. Braeden’s absence at their Christmas celebration this year is just as poignant and painful as last year and the year before. But they also reflected something that only they can through this journey through grief . . . hope.

Kevin and Dawn readily admit they’re not immune to grief. Neither are they incapacitated by it. Instead, they are inspired by hope. They are using their experience to touch others who have lost children too. They want to share what they’ve learned on this journey they never chose, but that chose them.

What became very clear to all of us who witnessed their story first hand is this:

They have a story to tell. And we have the privilege of telling it.

Their story is not about a destination, but a journey through grief.

Their story is not over yet. They are still on the journey, they haven’t given up . . . because they have hope.

Why? How? As they would tell you emphatically, “God is in this.”

And their story inspires me to hope too.

So as you celebrate this holiday season with your family and friends, be grateful for those who are present, grieve over those who are not, and always remember the  glorious Hope that arrived under the cover of darkness to a couple in a stable 2000 years ago who is our Prince of Peace who heals the brokenhearted and brings comfort to the grieving (Isaiah 61:1-3).

Merry Christmas.

And, look for Dawn and Kevin’s story of hope in the new year at HelpForMyLife.org.

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Compassionate Friends

Allison Stevens —  December 7, 2011 — 5 Comments

I talked with a friend today about the death of her son.  She’s dreading the holidays without him. She and her husband are consumed with thoughts about him and seeing him again someday.

I remembered that I had read an article in the newspaper about an organization called The Compassionate Friends, a place to help grieving families after the death of a child. I told my friend about Compassionate Friends and an event CF started 15 years ago: The Worldwide Candle Lighting night. Each year, the second Sunday in December is dedicated to remembering, honoring, and reflecting on the lives of children who died. December 11, 2011 is the Worldwide Candle Lighting night, and this is a time where families can attend a special service in their area or light a candle at 7:00 p.m., wherever they are, to honor their child.

Holidays can be difficult for many reasons, but especially for those whose child has died – at any age and from any cause.  Whether this is the first Christmas without your child or the 25th, you will never be the same without your son or daughter. Your child’s death has markedly changed you.  The grief you feel and the changes that take place as a result of your child’s death validate the significance, meaning, and love of your relationship with your child.

If you have lost a child or you know someone who has, I recommend this website as a source of hope and healing:  www.compassionatefriends.org.  There is also a place to post a remembrance note about your son or daughter. It’s one way a family can express their grief, share their memories, honor their child, and maybe even find new friends who can help them along this arduous journey.

The executive director of CF, Patricia Loder, wrote that the reason they do the Worldwide Candle Lighting is so that the child’s “light may always shine.”

What a beautiful picture of a child:  light; like a star’s light breaking through the darkness.

Let’s pray for the families that are grieving the loss of a child this holiday season. We can help carry their burden by praying for them, lighting a candle for their child, weeping with them, listening to them, and allowing them to grieve naturally. There is no time table and parents who’ve lost a child never ever “get over it.”  They need to grieve their incredibly deep loss for as long as it takes.

If you’d like, please use this space to post a remembrance note about your dearly loved and missed child.

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