When to take a picture or a video

It was Ginny's birthday today and she listened to a recording of Dad singing happy birthday from a voicemail he left last year. It's ironic. Of all of the songs Dad sang a million times, happy birthday is nowhere on my top 40 list and yet it's what we have. If I had a recording of singing a duet of Down by the Old Mill Stream with him or him singing Kaw-Liga or Farmer Boy, or The Wild Colonial Boy I'd be ever so much happier. But I don't. It  never occurred to me to record it. Not once in my life. Not even as he drew his last breaths and I gasped my way through thanking him for everything I could think of to thank him for. I sing for him day after day now and I miss him so bad when I sing his lullaby to Hazel. I'm glad he sang to me. I bursted into tears when Hazel asked me to sing Kaw-Liga yesterday in the car. I asked him to sing it in the car over and over and over as a child. When I was very small he made up a parody about me and my blackbird because I was sad to go to school. I wish I remembered it. I wonder why I always just thought I'd go stand by one more bonfire and have one more family singing fest with him. I wonder why as people told me to soak up and savor every second with my children, I didn't heed the voices reminding me to savor everyone else just as much. When they told me to take pictures of the childhood because someday I will forget... I think I took those warnings a little too literally. I have a million pictures of people eating icecream and standing primly for the first day of school and playing dress up... And don't get me started on zoo animals. Lately I've talked to mommies facing the first day of school who shed a tear as they let go a little bit more as they send one off to kindergarten or high school and I think - it's bittersweet. It's worth a snapshot. It's a moment worth pressings to your memory. I suppose it's the end of something but it's nothing like good-bye. If I had a movie of me sitting by a tractor singing song after song with my daddy when I was a kid, I think it would be the greatest gift. And I think I need to open my eyes and really see what my treasures are that I will want to revisit. Things that will transport my kids back to the happiest moments in their childhood someday. Things we do. Things we say. Things we sing. Things we share. I remember a day a song was playing and Jody swept me into his arms and danced with me and sang it in my ear as we danced and I think... what if I could have recorded it so I could see it all over again someday? So listen to me as I say, take that picture or that video when someone is laughing uncontrollably or leaping into a grandparents or if you are super lucky a great grandparents arms. You'll like that progression of pics of your kids on the first day of school and all of their childhood antics but there will be nothing like those moments you were full of joy. I laugh in earnest at the people who say to put down the camera and just live in the moment. For someday we will conclude, that is exactly the moment we wish we had a window into. This is something I know.
Here is a moment when Jody was chasing Hazel and she dashed into GG's arms and said "you can't get me Daddy!" And GG murmured in her ear "don't worry I won't let him get you. You're safe."

Mourn with those who mourn

Who knows, maybe I need to write ten more, maybe I'm repeating myself... maybe I don't care. Because I've concluded that if I really need to write something, someone must really need to read it.  I do believe there is a Biblical direction for how to help your grieving friends. If my "how to" tutorial is too much for you. Content yourself with the Word.  I can't even say how many people have told me how completely at a loss they are when confronted with a grieving friend or relative. They are paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing. It's scary. It's like trying to move someone out of a car wreck that might have twenty broken bones. You don't want to do any more damage or cause any more pain. I totally understand that. But that paralysis is soooooo much more damaging than trying, trust me folks. I'm the paralysis queen. "Uh-oh... my three year old just went in the water over her head and I'm not out of my swim cover up and I have a coffee in my hand... what should I do first?" As I gingerly set down the coffee my fully clothed husband rises up out of the water with my rescued child in his arms staring at me like I'm a freak of nature. Rightfully so, when someone is drowning, you wade in. And if you are in doubt, grief is like drowning. You can't catch your breath. You see black spots. Your lungs want to explode or is that your heart?
The thing that hurts a grieving person is indifference or the appearance of it very simply. Sure, every griever wishes they knew the appropriate answer when you ask how they're doing and they wish you would never say that they need to just get over it, but saying those things shows a presence which is quite simply better than nothing. And if they vent about other people saying those things, you may think more damage was done than help but you'd be wrong. Even people saying and doing the wrong things give the experience a tangibility. It's the avoidance of the grief that is truly unbearable. I'll be honest, every time someone asks me how my mom is doing... I crumple inside. I don't want to answer. I don't want to cry. I don't want to say she's ok which she isn't. I don't want to say she's dying inside which she is. But I know they care. And that's the bottom line. They ask because they care and I think it's one of those things that hurts but doesn't cause harm if you know what I mean.
The other day my pastor said that Job's friends started out doing exactly what you do for a grieving person. They were present, and they shared his grief. They heaped ashes on their heads for his pain. They had no losses to grieve for themselves but his pain was their pain and thus they grieved with him. Knelly grieved with me. I kinda wonder if I would have made it through that rough patch without her crying with me when I cried. Christine did too, she walked me through my daily tasks like I was a little child and comforted me every day, making time for coffee and Costco and thrifting. I was unhinged, out of sync with Jody, out of touch with most of my family and friends and I honestly can't say what might have happened without those two special people. Jesus gave them a job and they didn't say no. I doubt they realized how desperate I was. Not everyone is that vulnerable but I was and with one person under each of my arms I crawled out of that ravine. It was very very very dark. I remember one very hard day I got a phone call from Jody's aunt MaryLu. She said she felt like she just needed to call me. I was overcome. She ministered to me, loved on me, prayed over me and that was that. It still makes me cry and wonder why people don't do that when they know someone is hurting more often.
One day I was reading a commentary or something about Jesus saying "blessed or "happy" are those who mourn for they will be comforted. " The commentary went on to say that the happiness comes from knowing that you have a reason to mourn and are able to look back at the amazing thing you had and lost and know that you are the blessed one. And that is what will comfort you. It's not a vague promise, it's a statement of fact with all of the parts of the process stated so succinctly you almost don't realize it's all there. I am constantly comforted by imagining my Dad resting his head on mine and saying "well Boogle..." I am comforted by picturing his forearms covered in bits of hay and his beautiful hands smudged with grease which symbolizes his hard work. I am comforted by the memory of knowing and being loved by a man; a really really great man who happened to be my dad. I am comforted by picturing his face alight in a smile as he reminisces about my childhood or even my own children's antics that delighted him." I am comforted by the memory of the happiness that gave me a reason to grieve when I lost it.
I suppose I could find myself in a sea of regret if I'm not careful, but for now I am able to bask in my memories. They are plentiful. They are beautiful. They are a gift so rarely ever bestowed on anyone that I shudder to taint them with anything other than broken thankfulness.
I remember when I was a teenager. A young man from my youth group was killed in a tragic car accident. I didn't actually know him, but he was an only child. Our youth group went to his house to comfort his mother. My youth pastor was literally broken by the pain of this loss. And so for several days even though I didn't know him or his mother at that time, I interceded for the mother and my youth pastor and I fasted. My heart became so heavy at one point, I laid down and felt rooted to my bedroom floor. I was holding for a moment their grief. It was terrifying. I cried my little heart out and laid there and begged God to let me hold onto it for them a little longer because I couldn't imagine holding that burden all day every day. I think I heaped their ashes on my head even though they never knew.
Humans are all so different. We help each other in different ways through different struggles. There is no cookie cutter approach to helping people. The only thing we can do is act with love.