Butterfly Chronicles Volume 82: Do You Watch the News?

I don't have this verbatim, but it's as close as I could get it.

Knock knock.

     “Can I help you?” I speak peering through the front door glass at a gray-black crew-cut, balding haired man about my age.

     “I've been power washing on your street.  Since I'm here, I'm knocking on doors to see if anyone else is interested. I do driveways, sidewalks, patios - whatever you need.”

     Green algae rooted on my front siding and windows prompts my unlocking of the door and stepping into the world in my “What Not to Wear” fuzzy slippered feet and bleach splattered, bathroom cleaning clothes.
     “Siding?  Do you clean green algae off siding?"

     Instinctively knowing he's hooked me if his price is right, he excitedly points - I can do this - and excitedly points - I can do that, naming his prices.  They were more than fair.  I've gotten quotes.

     "That's a good price," he tells me.

     “Yes,” I say. "You can start when you're ready."

     “Okay."

     Then he starts speaking rapidly, "I've got to keep busy.  I was in a major car wreck a while back.  I've got to keep the money coming in.  I've got to stay busy.  Is it okay if I take breaks?  I can only work for so long at a time, and then I need to take a break, so it might take me 4 or 5 hours, but if you have to go somewhere, that's okay, and you don't have to pay me anything 'til the whole job is done; I have to keep busy,” he rambles in a disjointed way.  He's a talker.

     "That's no problem," I say.  "Take as much time as you need."

     “Do you watch the news?  The local news?”

     “No. I don't watch any news.”

     He forges ahead, “Well, did you hear about the double murder-suicide in San Marcos?"  

     "I think I did, but I don't know the details."

     "That was my daughter.  I just have to stay busy. I just have to stay busy.  Do you have a pool? A patio back there?”
    I'm stunned.  My brain screams WAS SHE A CHRISTIAN, but I never say it out loud because what if she wasn't? 

     “Yes. We have a pool and patio.”  Then he offers to power wash that for a ridiculously low price, and I say yes.

     He went to work.  I padded on slippered feet back to the bowels of the dirty bathroom, cleaning supplies lined up like soldiers in a row.  I too have to stay busy.  I have to stay busy.

     He worked.  I worked. He left to take his break.  Finally, I showered to get ready for taking my Madison out to lunch after picking her up from Super Friday.

     “So, where are we going to eat?" I ask her.

     She shrugs, “I'm not hungry.  We had fajitas today.  I'm tired.  Is it okay if we go home?”

     Home we went.  The Fungus Buster was back.  He met me in the driveway pointing out what he'd power washed clean so far.

     With elbows propped on the fence gate he says, “I hope I didn't say too much when I told you about my daughter.  It's only been 3 weeks, and I wasn't trying to get pity or using it to get the job because you had already said yes.”

     “I didn't take it that way at all.  And, you are right.  I had already said yes.”  I pause, thinking, then quietly say, “My son committed suicide in 2011.”

     “Oh. I'm so sorry,” he replies, shocked.

     “It is what it is," I say.

   


  “How old was he?”

     “Thirteen,” I say.

     “How did he do it?  Did he shoot himself?”

     "Yes."

     “I can't imagine that.” he sighs.  “I couldn't look at her, my daughter.  She was shot in the back of the head.  My ex-wife did.  She saw her, and it crushed her; she's devastated; she collapsed.  I don't know what she saw.  Was my daughter's head blown off? Was half her face gone?  I couldn't look at her – didn't see her.  Did you look at your son?”

     “Yes. I found him.  I don't know why God picked me, but I am the only one who saw him that way."

     “Yours is so much worse - I can't imagine seeing my child like that,” he said.

     “No.  Mine isn't worse.  It's different.”

     “Why did you tell me about your son?”

     “Because you opened a door when you told me about your daughter.  I don't know how you feel, but I know how it feels to lose a child – although my son is not lost.  I know exactly where he is.  I know you knew what I meant about losing him, but I'm a word person – and it's important for me to remember he's not lost.”

     “How are you making it?" he says. "It's been over 2 years for you. When I first talked to you, I never would've known.”

 
   “I'm not making it," I say.  "I have a choice.  I've been a Christian for most of my life.  Rubber met road.  I either had to live like I really believe what I say I believe or not.  It makes me kind of angry when people tell me I'm strong.  These Christians who mean well should know better.  They don't get it at all. I'm weak.  I'm devastated.  I am nothing.  And that's when God is strong.  If there is anything in me that looks like a survivor or like strength, make no mistake, it is Jesus Christ in me. Why would anyone think it is me?  My son is dead." 

     He says, “I was supposed to come here today.  You are saying things I need to hear.”

     I smile, “God has gone before you.  I've gotten quotes on power washing for months because we're having Thanksgiving here. Then we decided to do it ourselves and haven't. You came on the day I pretty much had to say yes, or my house wouldn't be clean in time.  God brought you here exactly when He knew I'd say yes. He knew I needed to talk to you too.”

     “Can I ask you something?  Does it get better?  Does it get easier?  I mean, it's been 2 years for you. It's only 3 weeks for me.  Does it get better?” 

     NO it doesn't get better I scream in my mind. 

     "It gets different,” my lips say.

     “So it doesn't get better?” he pushes.

     Again I tell him, “It gets different.  I can't say it gets better.  It just gets different.  It's different every day.  I never know what to expect.”

     “Sometimes, I'm okay,” he offers, “then all of a sudden I'm howling and crying and don't think I'll ever be able to stop.”

   
     “I did that at HEB in the parking lot yesterday and on Monday at Lowes," I confess.  "A song came on KSBJ, and I couldn't move, and the tears wouldn't stop.  I sat there after the song was over until I was finally able to go in.”

     “And that's after 2 years?  You're scaring me.”

     “Don't be scared,” I say.  Let God use it in your life.  It changes you, and you have a choice about it.  You can choose to let it change you for good or you can choose to let it destroy you.  You can let God work it for good for you and for others – which is what your daughter would want.  Or you can do drugs, give up on life, and do everything your daughter would be heartbroken over.  It's always a choice.  Let God work.  Did you know that the saints go to the very throne of God and pray – it's in Revelation.  Imagine your daughter going to the very face of God and praying for you.  She would want you to go on.”

 
    “I was supposed to come here today,” he says again. “It was on the news day and night for three days.  All I could think about was did he kill her last?  Did she die last because I thought surely he killed the boy first because another man would pose the greatest threat.  I thought about my daughter living through that right before she died. The answers came 5 days after it happened, after all the neighbors had been interviewed and the timeline figured out.  The neighbors heard a gunshot.  Then they heard her screams.  Then another gunshot.  He killed her second.  Made her get facedown on the floor and shot her execution style in the back of the head.  A friend told me to be thankful it was quick.  He's right, I guess.  But this is nothing compared to finding, to seeing your son that way."

     "No," I tell him.  It's just different. Your nightmares are different than mine.  I can't imagine living through what you are living through.  But I do know what it's like to grieve for a dead child.”

     “I was supposed to come here today.”

     “Yes.  You were supposed to come today.  Today I can talk about all of this.  Another day I wouldn’t have come to the door.  God goes before both of us.”

     He asked me more questions.  He talked about how it is all so surreal.  He told me about the funeral.  He talked about visiting her graveside. He shared about his other daughters. Heartbreak.  Heartbreaking.  I thought about what their heart holes must be like.  Different.  Just different, I thought.  No better.  No worse.  Different.

     So much more was said, but as our conversation wound down, I told him about the butterflies and to look for God's signs.  I told Him God would SHOW Himself, so pay attention.  I told him about how a suicide brought butterflies which put gospel words into my mouth.  Let God use you, I told him.

     “I was supposed to come here today."

     “Yes,” I agreed.  “You were supposed to come here today because I needed to hear from you too.”

     He needed a break.  He went home with plans to come back the next day.  Michael would be home then.  He could talk to Michael.  He could ask Michael questions.  He might hear words he needed to hear, and maybe Michael would too.  Yes.  He was supposed to come.

Strange how God works.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 81: Once Upon a Time

November 2, 2013

Dear Zachery,

781 days
2 years, 1 month, and 20 days
111 weeks and 4 days
18,744 hours
1,124,640 minutes
781 days

Zach, I believe you know I drip with butterflies.  People say to me - you really like butterflies.  No, I say.  God likes butterflies.  I tell people about you, about your suicide,  about the butterflies.  I name God as my butterfly bringer. I tell them the butterfly represents the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  With some, I talk more. With others, I move on.

I prayed for this - for God to give me the words to speak about Jesus in an uncomplicated and simple way.  God works.  He sends me butterflies. He's given me words to tell the story.

If God had said I will answer your prayer and give you Gospel words to speak but only if you let me have your son who will die by his own hand, I would've sowed my lips together.  I'm not brave or strong.

God works.  I didn't have a choice about you or the butterflies. I think about what it all means, Zach - God's purpose in allowing you to pull the trigger. What picture is God weaving in this tapestry I don't see or understand?  I think about how I am a word person.  Imagine, Zach...what if someone is saved because God sends the butterflies and a person hears the words God has given me to tell about your story, our story, the butterfly story? Will that be enough - to know a person is saved?  For me, I can't say knowing a person gets saved because of your death is enough.

I'm sad. A lot.

Butterflies for 781 days and counting.

Zach, I will never, ever be the same.  I'm crazier now than ever before. My failings can never outpace God's grace, right?  This must be true, or why would He keep waking me up?  Maybe crazier is right where He needed me to be to fill me with Gospel words. He has a plan. I don't have a right to understand. Zach, I just don't want to miss the purpose of all this.

I don't sleep.  I'm tired.  I panic in the dark.  What is the purpose?

Come for a visit soon, son.  I've been praying to see you again.  Tell me about your crowns and your jobs and your best God stories and your best life.  Hug me again, so I feel your life.

I miss you.  Go before the throne of grace, will you?

 Tell God I'm asking for the privilege of understanding something about the reason and purpose in all this darkness.

I know you are basking in the Savior's light and dining at His table.  Eat. Drink deeply! Be merry.  You will never die.

I love you.
I miss you.

Mommy

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 80: Panic and Butterflies

I’m too tired to edit.  Forgive me. 

Just when I think my blog catharsis journey is over, it's not.

When my emotional tank is depleted or I get too tired, there is never a way for me to know beforehand what, if anything, will trigger an emotional eruption.  Today, I had one.  

At Home Run Ministries - where I teach one hour per week, our faculty meeting was today. SOOO many stressful and trying events cover us right now I knew I shouldn't go, so last night, I emailed saying I wouldn't be at the meeting.  This morning - the old me felt the tug of life's "have-to's," so I emailed and said I would be at the meeting. 

My heart was pounding before I ever got to HRM, and I barely made it inside but felt I had to. Susie handed me a butterfly bag. God knew what was coming.

Often in my "new" self, my old self takes over and says sure; I can do that. When the actual event comes about, I have no idea why I thought I could attend; I panic. I feel flaky always making excuses and having to explain, but such is the nature of this oh-so different life. I am a person who no longer recognizes self. I should remember to be like Rhett to Scarlett - Frankly my dears, I don't give a damn about "have to's."

I couldn't be invisible at this meeting.  Panic.  I had to introduce myself. Panic.  A photo celebrating a young man's difficult journey and ultimate success in entering Bible college was being passed my way. Panic...tiny holes boring into the dyke holding my tears.  A quick glance and pass of the photo.  Another boy growing up.

Susie calls for prayer.  A prayer request.  Another family, another daughter - suicide.  The fourth I know of this summer.  The prayer started; I parted - as fast as I could - choking on sobs, unable to breathe, suffocating.  Hurry to car.  Sit.  Sob.  Seat wet.  Unable to stop.  Breathe. Try to breathe.

NO GAS.

Arrive at gas station – still gasping for air.
Pump keeps turning off.
I keep working at the nozzle. Success.
I look down.

On the ground between me and the pump: half of a paper butterfly.

Susie emailed and said sorry she mentioned the suicide.  I wish I could explain it so people would understand.  As much as anything today, the meeting, the picture passed around, the panic were all triggers; the mention of another suicide was gas on an already burning flame. Sometimes, a simple walk through the grocery store is a trigger.  I just never know what it will be.

Right now, I don't know how to speak to anyone outside my immediate family. To survive I stay isolated. I barely check emails if they aren't from Susie or soccer. I don't check texts or voice mails anymore. But, today, strangely, when I escaped from the meeting and made it home, I went to my email.

A mother I treasure but don't get to see anymore wrote me the email below.  She says she didn't want to invade my space or offend me. 

How could I be offended when God must’ve whispered in her ear that He needed me to have His words through her words today?  

Her email:

Subject: Encouragement and prayers

Hello Beth, 

I do not want to invade your space but I feel your pain when I read your blog and I want to encourage you that you are on the right path and I want to respectfully disagree with any lingering self assessment that you failed as a mom.  I was also so happy that the Lord gave you the incredible blessing of seeing Him and Zach. Zach who loves you so very, very much.  (The Zach Encounter - Chronicle 75)

We all make so many mistakes as parents and I could easily be in your shoes.  I will share that with you if you ever desire.  You said "A child should not die."  You are right.  Do not let folks tell you that this was God's best plan for Zach or your family.  You are on the right track that God is a loving God.  Rather, Jesus tells us that "The thief comes but to steal, kill and destroy."  So the Lord did not want this pain for you or Zach.

This was the work of the enemy in a fallen world.  However, the Lord did know that for that very fleeting moment Zach would yield to the temptation of despair - we all yield at times, we have all made mistakes.  The Lord knew that that temptation was coming Zach's way and He made provision for Zach.  The Lord placed Zach in a very loving family who had Zach ready to meet Him that day.  The devil meant to destroy Zach but the Lord had already rescued him through y'all.  We serve a God that will always make a way of escape for us.


 Zach did not die because you were not a good mom.  Rather he was ready for eternity that the Lord knew he would face early because you and Michael were and are good parents - the parents God ordained for Zach.  God gave you Zach as a wonderful gift and I hope that you can accept that He gave you to Zach as the mother he needed and a wonderful gift.  Just as you love Zach despite the pain his suicide caused and would not trade him; Zach when you see him completely in Heaven will tell you he loves you immeasurably and would not trade you - that you are God's gift to him.

So too, the Lord knows your pain and He has made provision for you as well.    You said "Eternity beckons".  I felt that way too after Barbara, my sister, died - still do.  Life had lost its innocence.  Everything was somewhat "fixable" before that but this was not.  Things would never be the same.  Life had lost its allure.  In a way that ended up being one of the "blessings" God wrought.  Heaven is now more real to me - as it seems it is for you as I read your blogs.  I know Barbara and other loved ones are there and the world does not have as much of a hold on me.  What matters now is not the things of this world but the eternal.  Part of God's purpose for your life was to prepare Zach but the Lord has more for you to do.  

Despite the pain our family is blessed to have Barbara.  We will have her for eternity.  We would not have said, "No, to avoid the pain, please place her with someone else."  No, the pain is there but the blessing of having her as part of our family now and for eternity is far greater.  I know you would answer the same regarding Zach.   

So, I guess what I am trying to say is, God is a loving God.  He is for you.  He did not wish this but He is present in the midst of it.  He protected Zach from the devil's ultimate plan and He has a way of escape for you as well. 1 Cor. 10:13  The Lord has prepared healing and a new joy - not the "innocent" joy of before Zach's homegoing, but joy that will come.  A joy in serving Him, a joy in serving others, and a joy and peace that the "god of this world" has not and will not triumph.  Zach's words in your dream:  "You'll get there.  It'll just be harder." are true.  It is harder after the death of a child or sibling but those words are also a promise and an encouragement.  Again, y'all are in our prayers.   I hope that I have not offended you in any way.  I will always remember you in my prayers.  

God sends me butterflies and words from friends, 

and like it or not, I keep waking up.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 78: To Whom Much is Given

"In this world, you WILL have trials," 

and butterflies. Tryin' to keep it real.

Suicide
Strangling vice-like work pressures
Internal bleeding
Empty nesting
Emotional collapse
Anxiety ticktickticking
Cancer chewing a body to pulp
Heart attack
Death
Heart surgery
Menopause.  Good grief!?!


Job.
Stephen.
David.
Daniel.
ShadrachMeshachAbednego.
Esther.
JESUS CHRIST

To whom much is given, much is expected.  Going through trials?  Suck it up. Flash your man card.  Pull up your big girl panties. Meld into the armor of God. You - me - in our trials, read the Bible, we are in excellent company. Frankly, I believe American Christians today are spoiled, self absorbed, arrogant, and a bunch of wusses - At least I am, no doubt.  So easy my eyes dance off Christ like a butterfly to light on self in arrogant pity while forgetting the most holy Jesus Christ, beaten, hated, spat on, nails penetrating flesh, bones.  FEEL those nails dragging through tendons, muscles, crushing, slicing through the bones in His hands and feet as His body slowly slid down the cross.  Grisly gospel side Christians forget to remember.

Sin poured out on the Lamb - rape-incest-murder-child sacrifice-suicide-drug use-abortion-wife beatings-arson-satan worhip, embezzlement, adultery, child abuse, greed, addictions, mutilations, serial killings, torture, holocaust atrocities, lies, lust, and all the darkest evil thoughts of mankind - ALL sins for all time - poured on Him a thick blistering tar bubbling, melting His skin to bone, to death. Three days dead - a rotting stinking human corpse - to know our lives and our deaths.  We see self and forget to FEEL His sacrifice, to look upon these deeds of Jesus Christ on our behalf. We rush through the turnstile of life jauntily tossing Him fleeting glances in our frantic search for happiness instead of resting in HIS joy: a joy alive in ANY circumstance. Erasing His grace, we super glue our eyes on our own petty, pitiful, paltry selves -  we, all, undeserving of even one breath.

To whom much is given, what we've been given: the price Jesus paid and His gift of giving us the choice to accept or reject His saving grace.  Yes, to whom much is given - even in the most unimaginable tragic horrific circumstances - MUCH is expected.

We grow or say no.  We survive or nose-dive.  We step day by day, or we give sin its way.  We grip our faith rope as it slides through our hands to bloody raw, or we take Satan's road gripped in his horny claw.

I fail.  I fall.  I turn from His face.  I wallow in my pain. Yet, He paves my road one step at a time.  And somehow, He gifts me through another day.  Weakly waving a white concrete surrender flag - I beg God to lift the boulders of life's gut punches from my family's shoulders. Then I turn away from Him for another day.

To whom much is given (the good and the bad), much is expected.  When God finally spoke to Job, He didn't call Job to His lap for rock-a-bye baby.

"Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?"  Job learned wind in a hurricane fast just WHO GOD IS. I AM GOD; you, Job, are not.

My brain only sees black and white - I don't get "nice speak."  So, I TOTALLY get it when God jerks Job up and reminds him who is CREATOR and who is CREATURE.  Man!  I get it.  I forget it.

Jerk me up, oh holy God.  Humble me in my grief. Blind my eyes to my petty pain. Grow me to revel in and celebrate, and give thanks for Christ's pain, the MUCH He gave and endured for me.  Thunder in my brain that my pain is no gain.  His pain SAVED THE WORLD.

I fail.  I fall. In this world I will have trials."...take heart," He says, "I have overcome the world."

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 77: Whywhywhy?

I do not know whywhywhy
You picked me for this; I crycrycry








My body aches with longing pains
SuicideHeartAttackCancer rains





I'm barely hanging onto grace
Struggling not to turn away from Your face





My family walks stepstepmiles
Satan counts tears, watches, smiles






His evil stalks, draws me near
I'm bloody and bruised; worn out with fear





I'm weak.  Carry me. Or I'm all done.
You gave me Yours.  You took my son.






Full this life of sorrow to bare
You send butterflies. They're always there.


I'm tired.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 76: I'd Tell the Truth

Every time I hear (and sadly I hear often) of another suicide, I ask God to tell me what He wants me to do.  Sometimes I feel like He's saying that I will have something to say someday.

I told my sister a while back that I'd never have anything to say because all I could say would be the truth.

It will never feel better.
You will never be the same.
It will never be easier.
It will only be different.
Your family won't ever be the same.
Your brain will never be the same.
It will always suck.

The only thing you can do is trust God and take another step.  And another. And BEG HIM to make it different - even if you don't believe your own prayers.

I thought I could never say those words to another person hit with a suicide.  Too much hard truth.

But the Zach Encounter (Butterfly Chronicles Volume 75) has changed everything.  Isn't that just like God...to take my never evers and make them into something new - something that only HE could make.

From the Zach encounter, HE gave me the words to say at the end of all those hard, true things.  Words that are also true.  So, now, I can say the truth.

It will never feel better. You will never be the same. It will never be easier. It will only be different. Your family won't ever be the same. Your brain will never be the same. It will always suck. The only thing you can do is to trust God and take another step.  And another. And BEG HIM to make it different - even if you don't even believe your own prayers.

And here are the new words I can say:

One day, after all those steps and prayers and begging Him, He will be swift, He will answer, and HE will give you a HOPE that you know is HIS gift.  You will just know.  HE is the HOPE.

I can tell all the truth because I can say at the end of all that hard, hard truth, that if you can grit your teeth, and drag yourself through the shattered glass of your broken heart to the throne of grace, and beg God for what you need, He will show Himself to BE the HOPE.

She won't believe me - that mother with the dead son.  I didn't when the mother of the dead daughter told me her story of getting to a place of hope.  Just because I didn't believe it, and another mother won't believe it, God won't stop making it true.

Maybe someday I will have something to say that someone somewhere will need to hear.  Maybe.

For now, it is enough to be filled with hope.

Zach, the butterflies give me hope.  I love you.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 75: The Zach Encounter

Satan swings a two edged sword.

God’s word is sharper than any two-edged sword.

Don't know if it's true in other people's grief, but in ours, emotional rockets red glare and bombs burst in the air around every holiday now.

The days leading up to, on, and after Mother's Day were no exception.  

Here’s a sampling of what unfolded pre and post Mother’s Day:

We ramped up for several days of emotional terrorism under our roof in preparation for Mom's Day.

Mother’s Day - a cacophony of grief’s emotional dysfunction.

Mother's Day evening - daughter to ER – internal bleeding confirmed.

Tuesday - daughter to Baylor for plan of action in dealing with internal bleeding AND daughter learning about a golf acquaintance’s attempted suicide.

Wednesday - me, total collapse at Michael’s office and rushed by ambulance to ER.

Thursday - daughter major medical procedure requiring anesthesia to locate internal bleeding.

Friday - cancelled a party for the second time due to physical collapse.

At some point, daughter learns suicide attempter died.

More drama, fuses blown, emotional grenades.

 

ER Wednesday, I sat working at my desk.

My eyes got jiggly.

The room rocked and rolled.  

I couldn't stand up.

I couldn't walk, talk, or open my eyes.

Paramedics pumping cuff recording blood pressure drop to 80/60.

Body shut down, but WEIRD - my mind conversed with itself in razor sharp clarity.

"Are you dying?"

"I don't think so.  I'm kinda freaked and nervous, but there's no bright light."

"Are you having a stroke?"

"I can't remember the symptoms."

"Are you dying?"

Much less stressed, "I still don't see a bright light."

Then they were there.  He, Jesus Christ, and he, Zachery, were there.  I couldn't see my Savior’s face, but my whole being knew Him and His peace that passes understanding.  His height surprised me; I could only see Him from the waist down, but the glimmering golden, ethereal flow and texture of His robe gave Him away.  From behind the Messiah, Zach peeked, flashing me a joy-filled mischievous smile.

 

My full self heard Zach's message, but he didn't speak aloud.

"It's not your turn mom.  You're okay.  It's not time yet."

A knowing he was right washed over me. In the presence of  The Son and my son, I knew that if it was my time, Zach would've walked to me, he would've put his warm, vibrant, sin-free, perfect, pulsing hand in mine, and he would've joined in the glory of my coming face to face with the I Am.  I melted into this truth so immense; I was swallowed by the sweet knowing of it. 

Zach's words, "It's not your turn, mom," set my soul free, a freedom poured out by my King.  I didn't understand.

In the ER, my blood pressure returned, but my body refused to follow directions, completely held in the grip of an inescapable, crushing exhaustion.  

The next day was daughter's procedure in search of the bleeding, and Nana Pony took my place with dad at the hospital because I was stilled trapped inside a straight jacket of exhaustion.

The tribe and family and others prayed.  We're no closer to answers about daughter, but I have to believe they will come.  Back to Baylor we will go.  And go.  And go.  Until we know.

When I finally made it to Dr. Stacy's table, she gently reprimanded and reminded me that stress plus grief added to an onslaught of difficult events heaped atop emotional turmoil manifests itself in serious health issues.  You crashed she said.

As she poked me with her clicker stick, my Zach encounter drifted back to my mind.  I had forgotten about it. I told her the story.

So wise is she; Maybe God needed you to be completely helpless in order to give you His message with unequivocal clarity.  

Instantly, an avalanche of the past week's begging prayers, whose memories had been lost in the emotional and physical emergencies, painted themselves across my internal forehead. "God, why?  Why are you allowing all this trauma, terror, tumult?  I doubt. I wallow in guilt, relentlessly. Take this guilt because I can’t let it go.  God, send Zach again.  Send him to me again.  Show me his presence in Your  presence and that You are."

The Lord of Lords answered my prayers and came with Zach and his mischievous smile, and I forgot about it…lost it in all the drama trauma.

Mother's Day, the beginning of emergencies and melt downs.  A week after Mother’s Day, I happened to glance at my profile picture on Facebook which has been of my Zach since he died. In the past almost 2 years, Zach’s pictures brought me to my knees in heaving sobs. I couldn't look at them.  The current Facebook picture features Zach with his dad.  I looked at the picture - really looked, and there, staring back at me, Zach flashed that very smile he had smiled at me in heaven.

Unsettling.  Unnerving. God gifting me to SEE Zach in that picture – God rubbed and seared that sweet smile into my eyes and soul without the always pain from before. This seeing Zach was peaceful, happy, tears absent.  God washing me in that smile, letting me taste and savor HIS freedom.  For the first time since Zach’s suicide, my Alpha Omega pulled back my iron shroud of guilt and let me see my son.

NO!! This can't be right.  I searched for it.  Reached for it.  Longed for it.  Chased after it.  Gone, the guilt. As far as the east is from the west.  Nothing in its place, just the guilt completely gone. I could see Zach.  I COULD SEE ZACH!

I've begged for this freedom from guilt, desperately wailing for a forgiveness I refuse to believe in; Burning for forgiveness, but refusing redemption;  I shout the arrogant I wills of Satan.  I will be bigger than You.  I will be more powerful than the Most High.  I will be God, and define me by my rules.  I will own my guilt.  I will cleave to it.”

Dressed in His glimmering, ethereal robe, with Zach peeking around Him and wearing that mischievous smile, God answered my I wills and said, "No."

I don’t want to speak it out loud – that the guilt is gone.  The guiltless days add up, and the guilt doesn't come back.  I am wary.  I am untrusting. I wait.  God holds me in His hand.

As I tried to figure out the "aha" of this long story, it hit me after hearing 4 different teachers teaching 4 different Bible lessons about our battle.  I and we are at battle with the unseen principalities. For the past almost 2 years, I've opened my armor of God and been a gracious hostess to Satan allowing him to slash my soul with his two-edged sword of guilt.

The great news:

God’s Word is alive and powerful.  Sharper than any two edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

If I can let go of the “I wills” and let God be God, Satan doesn't stand a chance.

I've looked.  I can’t find the guilt.  I find a hole in my heart and an indescribable missing.  No guilt. Maybe this means I'm back in the battle.

I love you, Zach.  I can't wait to hold your hand.  Your butterflies find me every day!