Butterfly Chronicles Volume 28: Uhaul Butterflies

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD.

We have WAAAAY too much stuff.  After picking up our Uhaul truck this morning from Manager Dave, we ended up making two full load trips to storage. We filled the first storage space QUICKLY and needed to rent a whole other "room."  I returned to the Uhaul dealership where we had rented our truck because our rental meant we were eligible for a 30 day free storage unit. ( I had rented a unit at a different place before learning about this freebie!)  Manager Dave was gone, so I signed sealed and delivered the paperwork to a happy, smiling, beautiful young woman named Jo for my free month.  This is Jo, and these are Jo's butterflies.  Another butterfly tattoo was on her back she told me.

I told Jo about the butterflies - that my son had died and that ever since then, God had been sending me butterflies - in all kinds of ways and would she mind if I photographed her and her butterflies.  She smiled as I captured her digital self.  You are my butterfly blessing today I said.  She hugged me and said she was glad.  Strangely, the Uhaul space, when I went to peak inside,  just wasn't big enough, so I had to return to Jo and un-rent my free storage and reserve a unit at a different location.  I'll miss Jo.

God sent me to Uhaul and to Jo on an errand that He already knew wouldn't work out.  I believe He needed me to meet Jo to show me her butterflies, and maybe He needed her to meet me and to hear about mine.

I don't understand His ways. I shared my butterfly story with Jo.  She didn't really have a story...she just really loves butterflies.  God does this over and over.  He brings these butterflies over and over.  Texts, packages, letters, gifts, photos, and on and on and on the butterflies keep coming.

Mostly, I write to ease the pain.  Today I wanted to write about how He keeps His presence close - all the time. And how a smiling woman named Jo who loves butterflies was used by God in a Uhaul rental office.  I guess if I had any advice to give anyone, it would be to just stop for a second or minute or while and just look for whatever way He is showing his presence to you.  My pain doesn't go away, but the butterflies are like bandages that slow the bleeding of my heart.  I know He is the hope that is within me.

His thoughts are not my thoughts.  His ways are not my ways.  His thoughts and ways are so so so much better.  And I'm so thankful today that he led me to Jo and to her smile and to her butterflies.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 27 - Guilt and Faith

 
 Today I am overwhelmed with guilt.  Those who love me remind me mercilessly that guilt is just Satan talking.  Today, the volume exceeds "talking."  Vibrating bumping bass volume pulling up next to me at a stop light car shaking, screamo hard core heavy metal kind of loud talking is what ole Lucifer is pulling on me today.

By the grace of God, it looks like we will close on the sale of one house and the purchase of another all next week.  And so I pack - some more.  Today it was removing the pillows, slowly peeling back the camo comforter, untucking sheets, and burying face into the boy smell that still lingers there.  His room empty of all signs of him.  Boxing up the last part of his days, saying goodbye to so many goodnight hugs, snuggles, and tucking ins, his bed covers all gone, mattress naked and devoid of the clothes which wrapped him all up and my heart breaking all over again. 

The balloon filled.  That's what counselor Maria calls it...a grief balloon.  Filling, it stretches dangerously close to explosion, and that's when I write.  Letter by letter, sentence by sentence, the grief is expelled from the balloon, saving me from a pop.  But I didn't quite make it to a keyboard in time today.  I sat on the top step of the upstairs that will no longer be mine and I popped.  The guilt is strangling.  Lead weights entangling my feet dragging me under a sea so dark I can't see my hands in front of my face.

God, I'm so sorry.  I'm just so sorry.  I'm so sorry, son.  How did it come to this?  What of the many mistakes that I've made caused this?  Did you know how much I loved you?  We loved you?  Did I tell you enough?  Did I hug you enough?  What happened?  What did I do wrong?  You seemed happy, enjoying fishing, lacrosse, your friends, working at Super Friday.  How could my baby be in such a place, and I be so blind to not see it?  How, God?  How did this happen?  I don't understand and how can I keep going when nothing is safe or sure or secure?  Nothing.  Is that the faith journey?  Step by step without even the certainty that there will be path underfoot?  To just keep going?

And please, although I know you mean well and are trying to do what you think is right unto the Lord, please don't tell me that my son is in heaven and better than ever.  I know that, and I don't care.  Knowing a cast brings healing doesn't cast the pain of the break away.  Knowing Zach is in heaven doesn't stitch up a heart.  It doesn't help yet.  It may never help.  Faith - I know he's there, and I will see him again.  Reality - it doesn't erase the pain even a little.

Most times, I feel better after I write it all down which is why I do it.  The balloon deflates just enough, and then some more, and then I can breathe again.  And I realized this week that it isn't just the writing.  It is the prayers that come about as a result of the writing.  That the balloon deflates as the prayers go up - soul helium, lifting me into His arms.  He hears.  He acts on what He hears.  That He would even listen - now that is something.  I don't even understand faith, but I know I have it.

I'm sure about the things I can't see.  And I know He'll give me the eternal things I hope for.  But even that bandaid isn't big enough - yet. 

Thank you for praying and for all the butterflies.  They come quickly on the hardest days.  He acts on what He hears.  I have faith.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 26 – Here Comes the Sun

That song no longer makes me happy, and I am not alright.

“So faith looks up and sails on, by God's great Sun, not seeing one shore line or earthly lighthouse or path upon the way.”

So many life parts are changed. Ways of living, of seeing the world, of meeting people, of closing self off, of being afraid to look up or catch eyes. Hugs hard from anyone who meets me for the first time since. New normal sometimes a lethal dose. Everything upside down. I don’t want to be a part of life’s buzzing throng. A quiet life. An invisible life. Counting sidewalk cracks and grocery store floor tiles. Cloaked behind eyes that only follow the ground.

Strange new fears, exploding unexpectedly, vise gripping my neck, shallow gasping breaths, panic. Panic – how do I describe the straight jacket claustrophobic, heart pounding evil hold of it.

We were packing – again. So much stuff. This day, the garage our goal. Zach present everywhere – tackle box, tool box, baseball bag, hammers, projects, Zach’s essence a gentle wave caressing the room – memories, flowing through the stuff, bringing it alive.

It was too much. Michael quietly left to go inside – to take a break from the memories and heart pain.

The panic rose, a thunderstorm silently rumbling, picking up speed, cracking earth, shaking windows, starting slowly like the tingle of cold toes on the way to frostbite. It slammed ice pick through heart. I plunged into the house, rocked by the waves tsunami now, sucking me under…calling, Michael, Michael, louder, but not too loud so the girls wouldn’t hear and so they wouldn't fly back to the panic and screams and end.

Running through wet concrete, bent over, clutching stomach as fear folded me tighter, pressing over my face, suffocating me, heart pounding, remembering, seeing Michael behind a closed door, dead. Where was he? Michael, please answer, oh God, oh God, not again, not again. I can’t survive this again. Sinking, barely shuffling to a closet door, locked in the rolling wave tumbling, feet flailing, searching for sand. Slow motion moving fighting through the panic - please God where is he?  Why won't he answer?  Reaching for the knob, looking where I couldn’t bear to look. Michael? Michael! No where. Blindly searching, where, where? Circling back to back door, calling forced calmly, girls where is your dad?

 

“He’s here mom.” He, out front door, as I had staggered into inside through back door. Michael, in front, safe.  While I called trying to pull him back to the now from nowhere, he stood breathing, stroking the fury new puppy life from next door at the front door. Straight jacket steel hard muscles cramping, unwinding, softening as I collapsed back inside and sobbed. Every minute of that night raging through my tear jerking body. 

 Michael knelt beside me; I disappeared in his arms, overwhelmed at the presence, smell, warmth of him being alive.  I don’t want to go through that again. But it has happened - the real, and the panic that it might be real again. It might happen again. “They” say this is normal. This fear. Fear that it could happen again. I fight the fear. When can I cry uncle?

 

How can tacos dredge grief to the pouring of eye watering face, drip drip drip stream. Some days are okay. But only because the stone on stone separating Zach from me wall grows up between him and my thoughts rolling a stone over the door of the place he lives in my head. How does a mother push away child? Suckled, rocked, soft songs sung, heart beat to heart beat, that tiny life step by stumbling step growing into manhood. How does a mother wall out child? But I do. And I get up. And I try. And it is so hard.

 

What could I say to another mother, child gone to heaven this way? How could I tell her it will ever be okay when I don’t believe it? It will never be okay. Ever. And that damn sun will still come up tomorrow. And these are lessons I don’t want to learn. And they don’t feel like they are for my good. And I wonder if I will survive.

 

Hope is the thing with feathers. Sometimes it flies away.

God, I wish the cup could’ve passed and that sin didn’t make life and death this way. That sun is coming again. And faith means I don't know why and don't see the path, and somehow, someday, some way that has to be okay - the not knowing or understanding. Because the sun is coming anyway and butterflies fly best in the sun. Here comes the sun...dodododooodo.  Here comes the sun.  God, make it alright. 
And thank you for the every single day butterflies.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 25: Every Good Thing - Every Perfect Gift

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above.

Dear Zachery,

Today is Valentine's Day. And, it is Tuesday. I try not to think about that, and most Tuesdays now I can keep my mind away from Tuesday being that day. But, today was hard.

I saw you in the faces of people I passed, places I went. Madison is tired of Saxon - just like you were. So, off we went to the Homeschool Store to choose something else. Walking through the rows, I was struck with the memories of so many trips there to buy and sell books. You and Madison sitting in front of the little TV watching Veggie Tales or some other "keep the kids entertained" kind of movie.

Later, I was driving on Kingwood Drive and turning right onto W. L. H. Pkwy. My light was green, but the young man crossing in front of me had the "walk" sign, and as I waited for him to safely pass, I thought about him and that he is someone's son and how lucky she is to have him and does she know it and act on it enough? And I wished he was you.

Fighting the sadness, I struggled to climb into the happy memories. Raging rapids, you shooting through that fast stretch of river in New Braunfels - your legs splayed straight out, pressing against the tube and arms holding on for dear life and that toothy, extraordinarily shiny smile that wore your whole face.

My little leather chapped up, fringed leather vest wearing cowboy, Bible Man, Star Wars light saber wielding warrior, camouflaged, army helmeted, tummy army wiggling through the fern forest flower bed.

And that picture that comes to my mind so often, taken just weeks before that Tuesday - you on the inner tube behind the boat, on your knees, arms stretched to heaven - free, so free, and I thought so happy. We thought. But your chains are gone. You've been set free. And that's what I think when that picture of you pops into my head and I cry tears of pain and joy all tumbled up together. Chains gone, free. You are free!

You, the good thing given. You, the perfect gift from above. We miss you, son. But I'm so thankful we have the good memories given - the good memories a perfect gift from above. And we have the good and perfect gifts of each other, our family, our friends, and people we don't even know who pray peace and comfort over us day in and day out.

Happy Valentine's Day, son.

Love,
Mom

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 24: Raw Skin,

...no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.

Dear Zach,

The band aid, cemented to our skin, has been viciously ripped off and underneath layers of raw, pink-red skin, burning, opened stinging in the open air that's clearing from the numbing fog - we are falling into the feeling and it sucks. Funny, it seems we are all open wounded simultaneously, all in one week.

Grief manifests itself, alive, different for each. Bottles sailing-crashing into walls, desperate acting out of anger - mean, ugly, swirling temper tantrums, tears and heaving shoulders, the wish for tribal screams instead of the inner screams that no one can see or hear. You, we are all raw to no more numb missing you in our lives. I only thought it hurt before and I hope it doesn't get any worse. We know where you are, but you've been excised, extracted, sucked out of our lives, heaven for you, a hole for us, learning to cope and trying not to dig a hole and cover up.

Absolutely, knowing to the core of my soul, deepest recesses of my mind, we all know you never would have taken this road if you could've known the future. Gunner, your first hello at waking. Every time I look into the eyes of your nine year old puppy all grown up, I see you. Gunner is you..exploding muddy paw prints painted all over us, full of energy, smiles - you with four legs, tail wagging. We know you would have never, ever left him if you could've looked into that crystal ball of future.

Your dad, so so so sad. You would've never ever put that look, that missing, desperate, lost look in his eyes, his soul groping for understanding, trudging through work, holding us all in his strength, but so sad.

Your sisters. Not understanding. Closed off, coping within a limited scope of maturity. Not understanding. Raw. Sometimes so frightened. Wondering if someone is next. Changed forever. Clinging to the knowledge that you are saved and safe, but missing, missing, missing. They know too. Never, ever would you have ever ever hurt any of us if you had known - even a tiny piece of the wreck we are and brokenhearted and trying to undent ourselves-you didn't know.

Your Aunt Natalie - a butterfly - bringing hugs and butterflies and love and hugs-holding back tears until the dam breaks. Uncle Greg, Landon, Jonathan, Lauren, Callie, Kyler, Connor, Uncle Patrick, Aunt Cherie, Mimi, Ken, Nana Pony - cupcakes and love and Bible verses and prayers - all them, every single one lifting prayers, Grandaddy - calling, so needing, desiring to do something when there is just nothing anyone can do but bow down in front of the throne of grace as God slowly pieces us back together. Raeann, Todd, Lynn, Josh, Ryan, Darren, Eric, Amber, Anna, Matthew, Laura, and this list just goes on and on and I couldn't even say the names of everyone who misses you. On and on - this list.

Nana and Grandad, our shelter in this storm. So kind. So hospitable. So strong. We are walking slowly together, injured, bleeding, sleeping and rising and rising and sleeping, waiting on the Lord for a house sale and house purchase. Them covering us with a roof of love, walls of steel, talking the Lord to us.

Oh, son. I'm so sorry we missed whatever it is that we missed. But I also know that only God schedules the time and place and circumstances of our departure for the journey to eternity. I know He is a good God. I know. I know. We are bleeding, raw. Where is the scab, when will it form into the scar that will always be so thick on our lives. We'll survive, but the deep wounds will take time, months, years, never to heal. Only God can surgically sew us back into survival.

It rained all week off and on. In the grocery store, I was suddenly overcome by the image of you in that box. I couldn't see or hear or move. Seeing it lower, knowing your soul was not there, but thinking of your human body, cold in the rain. Get thee back Satan - you are trying to steal my hope and trust and faith in my Lord. Get thee BACK in a tribal scream that blows off my head. You will not destroy us. God is for us. You have lost and I am angry at you, never at my Zach or my God. Fury, anger, hate for who you are and how you thumb your nose at our holy God and seek us, that evil lion waiting for the moment when we are weak. Get theE BACK. You have pissed me off and MY GOD IS INFINITE AND I AM STANDING STILL KNOWING HE WILL FIGHT AGAINST YOU FOR ALL OF US. YOU WILL NOT WIN. WE KNOW THE END OF THE STORY AND YOU WILL NOT WIN. I am armed with the Word, the helmet of salvation, the Mind of Christ, WE ARE SEALED. You will not win.

Zach, I can't breathe most of the time. But I know you never ever never never had any idea or where we'd be. Dear God I so wish this could be different. But please, please don't let it be in vain. Save someone from this very evil, bring someone to his knees in front of You to accept Your grace. Let someone see us persevere, shattered as we are. Let us show them what a good God can do and work and heal. God, tell Zach we know.

Zach, we know.

We love you.

We miss you.

Forever in the light; we know you are.

God use this, use this. Please. All things work together for good and please show us how You are working.

Zach. We know son and we will never ever stop loving you and living forward to that day when we sit in a chair on the lacrosse sidelines and watch you glory in God's field of forever life.

We know.

I love you. We love. We know.

Mom

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 23:

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.

Dearest Zachery,

I love you. I miss you.

Yesterday, we went to Taylor’s mock trial competition. You would’ve been so proud of how well she did. She misses you so much, but she is strong in faith and rests in the fact that you are with Christ. Right after you left us, she lost her driving passion for golf. It just wasn’t fun for her anymore. That happened to all of us - the normal no longer feeling right or good. Some days are really hard for her, but she is learning how to deal with what has happened, and I believe she is living a testimony for the Lord. She has gotten back to golf, just at a slower pace, but she’s enjoying it again. Graduation is coming quickly. It will be a bittersweet day without you.

Madison, although she isn’t really able to talk much about you right now, has your lacrosse picture on her jewelry box where she brushes her teeth each morning and night. Precious Cody wrote Madison a letter just after you left us, and when she wrote him back she talked about how she missed you, her best friend. She wasn’t much interested in soccer right after, and she took off for a while, but none of us felt like doing our lives, and it has taken time for all of us to get back to a smidgen of normal. You’d be proud of how Madison has gotten back into soccer. She’s finally having fun again.

Your dad and I get through each day by hanging onto the Lord as he drags us along. Without your dad holding us all together and pointing us back to the face of Jesus and your new home, I don’t know how we would be holding up. We are so blessed to have him in our lives. I hope you can see how much he loves and misses you and how much I love and miss you.

Nana and Grandad have given us a home since we can't go back to the old. We are searching for a new one, but know that moving won't lessen your absence. Our whole family including our friends family, has come together in a tight bond to survive. We are blessed so much by those relationships. I think we are life-preservers for each other.

We talk about your new home and what it must be like for you there. Your dad’s faith is so strong. He talks about how God may have pulled the curtain of eternity back for you so you can see how all this earthly stuff works itself out for God’s glory. We can’t see it or feel it right now, but our Lord knows exactly what our hearts and souls and minds need, and I just hope we can remain strong and courageous and stay the course and live His will.

I wish I knew why. I wish things were different for us. But I can’t say that I would ask you to come back. How could I - knowing you are perfectly, wholly, eternally healed from whatever pulled you to the end you chose. If it had to end, your life here on earth, I give thanks that it was immediate, no lingering pain or hanging on to life by a thread, caught between here and there. In a single moment you were out of pain and in the arms of our holy God. I’m so very thankful for that.

Your dad holds my head above the water that pulls me down, down, down. You know the kind of man he is. Truly he is our gift from God and his faith is so pure, true, and steadfast. He told me one day that he prays for you in heaven. I didn’t even think about being able to do that. He explained it to me. Zach, your job is not done; your work for the Lord is not complete; it is just beginning. You have eternity to grow and learn about and glorify our infinite God. So dad, and now I, pray that you will glory in glorifying the “I AM”, Alpha and Omega, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – our great and awesome God.

I don’t know if you know about the butterflies, but I hope you do, and maybe God even lets you send them to us sometimes. I really don’t know how much or what God reveals to you about what’s going on down here, but if you see, then know I am comforted over and over by the butterflies, and they draw my thoughts to the One who can see us through this and to you and to knowing that you are okay. Madison never misses a butterfly day either and is constantly pointing them out to me. I hope that everyone who knows the butterfly stories thinks of the Lord when they hear about them. Maybe someone will meet and love Christ because of the butterflies He has sent to comfort us and let us know you are with Him.

I have so many things I want to say to you – even though you don’t need to hear them, but it helps to get it out and hopefully, over time, I will be able to pour them out and get to a feeling better place. Mrs. Raeann says I am getting stronger, and I hope she is right. Some days, I can’t think about you because I just couldn’t take another step if I did – the heartbreak is just too much. It is an awful guilt that consumes me when I have to push you away, and I pray that someday I won’t have to excise you from my mind for periods of time in order to keep moving, living, breathing. Taylor and Madison and your dad need me just like I need them so sometimes I have to close my heart to the pain, and my mind to you and you not being here. Then, there are days when all I do is think about you. The good and last moment memories mingling, drawing tears and weighing my heart heavy. I pray the good memories overtake the last ones someday. I’m waiting on the Lord.

You are such a blessing. You filled our lives with joy and when the pain slows, I know you will again. Joy is hard right now. We miss you. We know you are so much better than okay, but the missing you is just so hard.

We love you forever and look forward to the day God reunites us. Have a glorious day on heaven’s lacrosse fields, my boy. Glory in the glory of the Lord. Your life is just beginning. That is what we have to walk toward – you are just beginning!

Now I only know in part, but someday I'll know fully. I love you, Zach.

Mom