Butterfly Chronicles Volume 40: Graduation

Her graduation verses:  Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him and He will make your paths straight.

 

Taylor’s graduation looms – 24 students on future’s runway fueling for flight.  Homeschooling is different from “regular” school in so many good and bad ways, but graduation is one of the best – God is welcome – exalted – praised openly and unabashedly, a front row seat – no back alleys or whispered prayers for Him here.  Last year, I attended my first one – my first homeschool graduation.  Amazing.  A witness to the power of Jesus Christ from beginning to end.

I am nervous.  At last year’s graduation, I boohoo’ed through the whole thing, and I barely knew any of the kids graduating.  It was just such a testimony to the Lord to watch parents who have lived through homeschooling and who have raised their children moment by moment to His glory finally come to the end of that journey and gently release their children into the sky of future dreams.  A metamorphosis.

Now, it is Taylor’s turn.  She is ready.  My broken heart beating with a passionate pride and resonating prayer for God’s blessing on her life, her steps, her paths, her decisions -all to His glory – that’s what I pray for her.

Last year I cried.  This year…I just hope I can make it through the ceremony without passing out from lack of air uptake in a tear stained snot stuffed up nose.  Prayer.  That’s my only hope.  The overwhelming joy of Taylor’s successes culminating in this ceremony is huge, yet we will all tip toe around another place where Zach’s chair will be empty.  Another day he won’t be there to celebrate in the life of our family.  I know, I know. He’s face to face with the Savior and all that, but my heart still aches and breaks and has a hole.  There’s a jagged, black, deep hole of missing him even though I know where he is.

Fall Apart, the song Taylor chose to play during her ceremony slide show presentation, speaks volumes about what she’s been through this “senior” year – a year growing her faster to old than should’ve been, and the song speaks her walk this year in such a way that I never could.  She chose it - the song that sings her story. I am excitedly looking forward to watching her graduation unfold – tissues, lots of tissues, a must.  Her song; her journey; her butterfly metamorphosis into future flight - thank you God for all the gifts you gave us in her and those you gave to her. 

Trust the Lord, Taylor.  He will make your paths straight.  Fly sissy.  Fly high!

Her song…

Fall Apart

Why in the world did I think I could
Only get to know you when my life was good?
When everything just falls in place
The easiest thing is to give you praise
Now it all seems upside down

'Cause my whole world is caving in
But I feel you now more than I did then
How can I come to the end of me
But somehow still have all I need?
God I want to know you more
Maybe this is how it starts
I find you when I fall apart

Blessed are the ones who understand
They've got nothing to bring but empty hands
Nothing to hide and nothing to prove
Our heartbreak brings us back to you
And it all seems upside down

'Cause my whole world is caving in
But I feel you now more than I did then
How can I come to the end of me
But somehow still have all I need?
God I want to know you more
Maybe this is how it starts
I find you when I fall apart

I don't know how long this will last
I'm praying for the pain to pass
But maybe this is the best thing that has ever happened to me

'Cause my whole world is caving in
But I feel you now more than I did then
How can I come to the end of me
But somehow still have all I need?

God I want to know you more
Maybe this is how it starts
I find you when--
You will find me when--
I fall apart

Fall Apart by Josh Wilson

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3EWHPp80EA

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 39: The Power of Prayer

New every morning are His mercies.

Last night it stormed.  Shaking the walls and jolting me out of slumber, thunder erupted and lightening poured through the blind slats.  I went to bed late; I didn't sleep well.

Yet, somewhere between writing it all down last night and prayers going up, I feel better today.  Stronger, more able to block the thoughts that bring me down.  I really do know that God is there, the butterflies are His gift to me, my family, and everyone who shares the butterflies with us.

As the day ambles on toward tonight, I'm sure the day's stuff will weigh on me, and the tired will bring that hard to wrestle sadness.  While I am strong and feeling hope, I wanted that person who may be having an awful, miserable, lonely day to know that God is there, He cares, He wants me, you, all of us to cast every care we have on Him, and I want that person to know especially that His mercies are new every morning, and His faithfulness is great, infinite, always more than enough.

I don't know all those people who pray for us.  I just know that those prayers are making all the difference.  Zach, I believe, knows about your prayers and mine.  He's okay, I'm not okay, and that has to be okay, until God walks us through to a better place or just holds us in this one.

To God be the Glory for the things He has done through those of you lifting us up.  Prayer - so powerful, so perfect, so purposeful - will not go unheard or unfelt.  I feel it.  It feels peaceful, happy, thankful.

His mercies are new every morning.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 38: Me-Gideon

"O my lord, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?"

  

I am overwhelmed with sadness, guilt, shame, self loathing, and all that jazz.  And covered, shrouded, engulfed by butterflies.  Everywhere, they are just everywhere.

I’ve become Gideon.  Trying hard to just call the butterflies a myth, not real, imagined, not from God – like I’m daring Him to skip a day and at the same exact moment absolutely hoping He won’t.

Everything’s all jumbled and making no sense.

The list of all the ways I went wrong with Zach is a line around the building kind of long.  Peter MD always asks me if I’m isolating.  Yes, as much as possible.  It’s too hard to be around people and “be” normal – like I will ever be normal again – I'm the self that mothered Zach into the grave.  I don’t want anyone’s opinion on how I should think differently or better or Godly or holy or trusting or whatever the advice might be.  Put my shoes on and then you can say whatever you want.  Otherwise, be quiet.  Is this the angry, depressed, hopeless stage of grief.  Who cares.

There’s still a black worm hole in my mind where the knowledge of what’s happened is hidden.  After almost 8 months, the almost time it took to grow Zach in my womb, I still can’t connect what happened to real reality.  Lately, the movie of that night is played over and over and over in my brain like it happened to someone else but my mind understands it happened to us but at the same time won’t believe that it happened at all – when is Zach coming home?  Your football jersey hangs empty, waiting.  Come home.

I drift into sleep the images playing and wake to them in the morning.  The reel looping around and around again and again. Things don’t get better, just different and harder as the time lapses and I don’t want to be around people who think I should be living all is well when I can’t even look at his pictures.  My stomach lurches when I see him, look at him, remember that last moment of him, how him there on the floor is my fault.  How does a mother not want to see her boy?  How can that be right?  Pictures too painful. Another mother thing I don't have right. 

So many can’ts in life now.  Can’t look at his photo.  Can’t sleep without dread dreams.  Can’t help wanting and needing to isolate from people.  Can’t feel hope. Can’t talk about it.  Can’t socialize.  Can’t listen to what others think I should or should not do.  Don’t care.  Can’t know what I know to be true is true.  God.  He’s true and real and alive.  But right now I’m Gideon.  Make the ground wet, and me dry.  Rain on me, but keep the ground dry.  One butterfly, 10 butterflies, a hundred, a thousand, every every every day butterflies and still You must show me more.  Show me it’s You.  Tell me Zach is warm and cuddled and loved by a better love than I failed to give him.  I want to know and believe and know.

I can only write it down trying to make sense of the senseless.  Don’t make me speak words out loud – the price is too high, a price I can’t survive.  I can’t be me and I don’t know who I am supposed to be.  I don't like the me I've been.  Make me invisible or make me new again.

When God knew how this parenting mothering would turn out, why didn’t He give Zach to someone else?  Someone who could get it right.  Someone who could grow him all the way to grown-up.  Mother’s day…and my son is dead. And motherhood is so scary now.  A mystery of how to be different, squeeze out a different ending, fix what’s broken; with Zach it’s too late.  Too late.  Forever too late for me to mother my son and get it right.  And my daughters – how do I get it right with them?  How does a broken mother – mother?  And they are precious, and I love them with my whole self and do they know and feel and see and hear that love?  Zach on the floor - somehow, I did it all wrong. This mothering.  Now, how do I get it right, better, different, or is it the same?  And if I didn’t know with Zach, how can I know ever at all?

Right now I feel I deserve to feel a floundering failure, hanging off the edge of a cliff, only air under my feet, barely clinging to a life with a road ahead.  Barely.  So many times in reliving the life history of my life’s mistakes, I wondered if God would punish me by taking my child or children.  I shared this with another mother who shared the same feelings with me.  Is this punishment because it sure doesn’t feel like grace unless the grace is for Zach and God saving him from me.  If this is self pity, I don’t know how to not ask these questions;  I don’t know how to stop my mind careening dangerously around the bends of my life to arrive at a place where I am okay.  And only God can do it but is He even there and are the butterflies just my wish that He is really real and Zach is really there and this is really working together for good.  Isn’t that ridiculous to imagine – that a mother’s son is dead and that’s working toward some good?  His ways, God's ways, are not my ways.  His thoughts are not my thoughts.  My thoughts are deeply dark and just sad.  Sad.

Would I be thinking a different way if Zach had gone some other way?  I don’t wear those shoes so how can I know?  How can I know another mother’s grief when I can’t even decipher my own?  Sad.  Ugly.  Dark.

Maybe there is one other person this writing might help or ease the aloneness and sorrow over the too lateness, the unchangeable, the endless why’s and what if’s.  No matter how much it is said, no matter how much others wish it to not be so, I know that if Zach had been given another mother, a better mother, a different mother, that night wouldn’t be the nightmare.  And if I’d known, would I have given him up to that mother to change the ending - like the mother who gave her babe to keep him from being cut in half.  Could I be that mother?  How would a mother give up a son, but I do want a different ending, a different mother, a mother who could’ve known and helped and saved.  I wasn’t different.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t help.  I didn’t save.  Another mother I wasn’t.  I am just me and it wasn’t enough.  And how do I live with that?  How do I keep taking steps?  Michael, Taylor, Madison.  Step…step…step…faltering step by step.

If only.  I wish.  It’s too late.  Why God did you give him to me?  How can this be Your plan?  How can this be worked together for good?  Butterflies. ? ? ?  How why what if if only.  I’m Gideon.  I need the butterflies – even though right now this life minute I can hardly believe in them any more.  I’m broken.  It doesn’t feel like healing; it feels like hell.  I need to believe in butterflies even when I can’t.  Hear the prayers I can’t speak.  I don’t want to pray.  I’m too tired.  To heavy are the weighted shoes I wear. 

Isn’t truth that things have to continue the down spiral to bring the Savior back to gather us to Himself.  I don’t want a better world.  I don’t want the tides to turn.  I want to be swept up into the bosom of Christ and end this nightmare – seeing Zach in the light of the Lord’s face to face.  Trudge onward Christian soldier.  Wounded, bleeding, hopeless, toward the Hope that will heal.  Trudge on.  When will it be well with my soul?  Trudge on.  Lord make it so.

 Lord, why?  Why has this happened to us?

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 37: Grief Still Sucks

 

O Lord, make haste to help me

Today was the deadline.




Due?  Insurance enrollment.  I was fine.  Almost done. And then there it was.  I was unprepared. I had to delete Zachery Michael Sinclair.  Can you imagine deleting your child?  Will this ever get any easier?

It will always just be what it is.  It sucks.  Very hard week full of butterflies.  Come quickly, Lord.  Come quickly.