Archives For loss

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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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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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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A season of loss

Tim Jackson —  August 15, 2011 — 5 Comments

I haven’t written this blog for a couple of weeks.

I’ve been gone.

It’s been a rainy season for me and my family.

“When it rains, it pours,” was a saying my Grandma would often use when things were piling up and we were feeling overwhelmed. You know, like when when the muffler falls off the car, then the hot water heater sprouts a leak and floods half the basement, and the door on the toaster oven breaks and you have to jamb a pencil in the latch to make it work because you just spent what money you had on getting the items needed to get your kids prepared for the new school year.

You know what I mean.

Don’t you?

But those kinds of things aren’t life-changing. Frankly, they’re just plain annoying.

But what about when significant losses begin stacking up one on top of the other? That’s not just annoying. That’s overwhelming. Drowning or suffocating is more like it.

That’s been my summer so far.

My wife fell on April 29th, tearing all three hamstring muscles away from the bone on her right leg. Surgery was require to reattach them. Twelve weeks in a brace and no weight bearing, followed by 42 weeks of extensive physical therapy. Yep, that’s 54 weeks total recovery.

On May 13th my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died 3 weeks later on June 3 at 81 years of age. A shock to all of us since she seemed so healthy just 6 weeks prior to the diagnosis.

Then my dad began to fail. Alzheimer’s had been stealing his life away for the past 7 years. He didn’t know mom or any of us for most of the past 2-3 years. And in spite of the fact that we didn’t tell him about mom’s death, after 60 years of marriage, he somehow just seemed to know that his sole mate had gone home to heaven to await his arrival. And he didn’t waste much time. 8 weeks and one day later he arrived to greet her with a healed body and mind.

Yesterday I snapped at my 20-year-old daughter about something I thought she was negligent about. Her defenses shot up. We both felt the tension tighten. She called me on my “accusational” tone. She was right. And I knew it.

She asked me what was going on with me. I didn’t know, but soon I was reduced to tears. And I still didn’t know why.

Then it hit me: “I’ve got no emotional margins left. I’m depleted.Wrung out. Overloaded.” The losses have piled up around me. I just buried both of my parents within 2 months. My wife has begun a long road to recovery. And I feel buried emotionally.”

The journey through grief is a long one. Especially when it’s compounded by multiple losses. “Personal, painful loss forces a door open into the deep parts of our soul, exposing what which we’d just as soon not admit exists, let alone face”(p. 3). I believe that. I wrote that 20 years ago in a booklet on grief, How Can I Live With My Loss? Now I’m re-living it afresh.

Loss is as common as the air we breathe. But our journey through grief is unique to each of us. I’m on that journey. Maybe you are too. Let me reassure you with words from my Father that I find deeply encouraging and comforting in the middle of turmoil that is so disconcerting:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deut. 31:6)

“. . . because God has said,  “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5)

What’s reassuring for me is that I’m never alone on this messy journey of grief after a loss. And neither are you if you’ve put your hope in the God who raises the dead.

I’m sure there will be more to come as I process what God is doing in me because of these losses. For now, knowing He’s always with me is what keeps me going.

 

 

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Funerals vs. Parties

Tim Jackson —  June 17, 2011 — 1 Comment

Do you ever read things in the Bible that you just find baffling? I mean, you know what the words say, but you just don’t get it? I sure do.

And then, after some time has past and some things change in your life journey and you reread one of those puzzling passages and go, “Oh, I think I get it now!” Has that happened to you?

It has for me. Here’s one of those baffling texts that became clearer recently for me:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting . . . Prov. 7:2a

Now I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought that being invited to celebrate at a party was much better than attending a funeral. One is happy. The other is just plain hard. Right?

But having just gone through the first week after my mom’s funeral, I think “I get it.” Or at least I understand it better than I ever have before.

The writer of Proverbs went on to explain,

. . . for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Prov. 7:2b

Since I received the call 2 weeks ago today of my mom’s death, there has been one theme that has dominated my thoughts, invaded my dreams and ransacked my emotions–death. But when I say “death,” I don’t just mean my mom’s departure from this planet. I mean eternity. Her’s, mine, and everyone else’s who matters to me. Eternity is life viewed through the door of death as the exit from this world into the next. Death is not a cessation of life. Rather, it’s being transported from this reality into the next. It’s letting go of this present reality of struggle and being released into the reality of freedom and joy in what Jesus called “Paradise” (Luke 23:43).

Death pushes our buttons like nothing else in life. It is the finale enemy to be conquered (2 Cor. 15:26). No one gets off the planet alive. If we live long enough, we all die (Heb. 9:27). It’s a foregone conclusion.

But, we spend so much of our lives distracted from what’s most important. Parties do that. They’re distractions. They distract us from the realities of eternity that are vividly unavoidable standing before an open casket with the lifeless body of a loved one inside.

Funerals bring what really matters into HD reality. It’s like watching a football game on a  standard definition 18″ TV. It’s good. You see all the plays. You know what’s happening and you’re fine with it. But then replace that TV with a High Definition 1080p large screen plasma and watch in amazement how the same game explodes with all the crisp, clear, and vivid colors that were unimaginable before. That’s what the writer of Proverbs is saying.

At a funeral, the issues of life and death, of love and relationships, of meaning and what really matters are strikingly displayed for all to reckon with. And like it or not, we all do reckon with them one way or another. And if, in that reckoning process, we “take things to heart” we’ll discover that the little things that really don’t matter much, just don’t. And the important things that do, really do.

All of us must face our mortality (death) and our destiny (eternity). A funeral helps us do that. Taking this to heart can change the way we live the rest of our lives. It should. I know it’s changing mine, and I don’t want to forget it.

Maybe you’ve had a life-changing experience after the loss of a loved one that you’d like to share with the hfml family. We’d be honored.

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That’ll leave a mark

Tim Jackson —  June 14, 2011 — 2 Comments

My brothers and I, along with our families and friends, buried our Mom last week. It was a bitter-sweet experience. The bitter–we all miss her deeply. The sweet–we know that after 81 years of life on this earth, she’s dancing in the arms of Jesus in heaven. And frankly, for a good Bible church girl, that’s saying a lot!

Our comfort comes from knowing she’s home . . . I mean, really home! Her present reality is what we all dream about and long for. What we imagine heaven to be like, she’s experiencing firsthand. Wow! And that’s a sweetness that has provided a peace that is sustaining us beyond description (Phil. 4:7).

The funeral was a celebration of her life and the difference she made on everyone she touched. When it was my turn to speak, the phrase that kept echoing through my mind for the days prior to the service was: “That’ll leave a mark.” We use that phrase humorously around our house when we are clumsy and bump into something hard, scrape a shin running up the steps, or some such affliction. We laugh and say to each other: “that’ll leave a mark.”

That’s true of my Mom too–”she left a mark on all of us.” In big ways and in little ways, she left her fingerprints all over our lives, our spouses, and our kids. Because Jesus had marked her life with His love and compassion, she left His mark on us each time that she touched us with her love and compassion. She modeled for us John’s encouraging words that remind us that “in this world we are like him” (1 John 4:17).

I have a myriad of words I could write about her. And for me, since words are the tools of my trade, that’s one of the gifts God has given to me to help me process this painful journey through grief and loss and to the celebration of a life well lived with gratitude and hope.

Jesus left a mark on my Mom, and I’m so grateful that He did. And she left a mark on me. And now it’s my turn to leave a mark on others.

In one of my last conversations with her, I told her how much I loved her and that she was a great mom. And I reminded her that her life mattered, that she made a difference and that every life that my brothers and I, our wives, and our children touch–even you reading this today–she has a part in.

Now that’s a legacy. That’s leaving a mark that really lasts.

Now . . . it’s my turn. And, it’s your turn too. Make a point to allow the love of Christ Jesus to mark your life in such a way that you make His mark on everyone you touch today.

Yea, that’ll leave a mark.

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Soul Surfer

Jeff Olson —  April 14, 2011 — 1 Comment

Last weekend my family took in the excellent film Soul Surfer.  The film tells the inspiring true story of teen surfer Bethany Hamilton who beat incredible odds to become a competitive surfer again.

Life was anything but easy for Bethany after she lost her left arm and nearly died after being viciously attacked by a large  tiger shark.  She not only had to rise above her fears of going back into the water and to learn how to surf again with only one arm, but she also had to struggle with how to come to terms with why God allowed such a terrible thing to happen. Although she wrestled to understand God, her faith, like her determination to surf again, remained unshakable.

With the help of family and friends, she came to trust God with her unanswered questions. Eventually, she began to see how God takes something as traumatic and awful as a shark attack and turns it into something beautiful and powerful for good.

Anyone struggling with severe loss or thinking about quitting on life and God might want to consider seeing this film. It is so much more than your typical shark attack movie (I’m thinking Jaws). It’s an amazing story that will move your heart and remind you that while God isn’t always safe, He is good!

You may also want to check out the Day of Discovery program When God Takes What Matters Most, Part II: They Mayer Family.

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