Butterfly Chronicles Volume 84: Let the Sunshine In

Thank you, God for giving me words to write and for letting the sunshine in!

This holiday season was the hardest yet.  Somehow, like a potato peeler scraping away one thin layer after another, the numb melted, melts - imperceptibly - catching me off guard - my brain floated amid the twinkling lights and shiny red packaged gifts and hugs and meals and Merry Christmas's and "Silent Nights."


Zach is not here.  No Zach gift tags.

No Zach stocking hanging.

A dull pounding, the question persisted: how will I do this year after year after year after year? Future stretched, stretches.  I closed my eyes. Dark.  Not better.  Different.  I don't want to take any more steps.

Peter MD is my toilet (his words) - he, the dumping ground for the steaming misery piles which fill me up as my well of strength empties.  The grieving body can only take so much.  The tank empties; reserves dissolve in the voices of guilt, despair, what if's, why's, bitterness, self-pity - harder and harder to push away, the soul's fortressed walls pummeled, battered, broken, breached.

December's Peter MD appointment was cancelled to benefit another.  Like the toxins build when the body backs up, so my soul filled with stench.  By the time January rounded the New Year and the Peter MD day came, the rot of depression and grief permeated the air around me to the point I could hardly speak. I made myself sick...the bubbling black a time bomb.  NO ONE need hear hopelessness - so sad to my own self I felt straight jacketed by it - words - to let them out - a black tsunami.  My soul muscles shivered with the ache of barely holding it back.

Even with Peter lifting the toilet lid, readying for the dump, I could barely let it go.  Ugly words splash. If words could draw, their pencil would've sketched Satan.  Stuttering, crying, I denied my faith, God, hope, happiness, prayer, the slow dripping of pain easing the pressure.  I didn't say it all.  I said enough.

As the clocked tocked to "times up," Peter MD, who ( thank you, God for providing him) uttered in his degreed dialect, black and white way, "The Psalms.  The Psalms are full of woe, distress, despair, pain, and praise. A thanks, a thanksgiving.  If you can't pray anything else, give thanks even for one thing."

Cha-ching!  My money's worth ten times ten.

Chinks of light filter into the dark.  A slow trudge up thankfulness hill is bringing the sun back to me. Madison is out of town today, the day after Zach's birthday; I'm still in jammies and slippers at 1:08 pm waltzing through piles of dirty to clean to folded laundry, piles of dishwasher clean dishes to loaded dishwasher dirty dishes, to the thoughts of thanks for messes.

Let God let the sunshine in.  Life is messy.  An earthly body dead is sealed in a box and buried.  No more messes. Life is dust bunnies, fender benders, flu bugs, strewn socks and shoes and school books, and a friend's baby boy riding his toy across a hard wood floor littered with a 1000 crayons. And life is pain and grief.

Those messes we march through represent the lives of those we love.  Thank you, God, for rubber gloves and dish soap and my very own mess makers.  Thank you for holding me and molding me when I am a hopeless mess. Thank you for Peter and his toilet.  Grief sucks, but thank you for letting the sunshine in.

Give thanks to Him; bless His name.  I will give thanks to the LORD with all my heart. Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing. Praise the LORD! Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good. Let those who love Thy salvation say continually, "Let God be magnified."

46 seconds of letting the sunshine in:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-4w9gKlR3U

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 83: In the Blink of an Eye

Today is Zachery Michael's 16th birthday and his 861st day in heaven.  In 861 days, God has never failed to send me at least one butterfly to remind me of Zach's eternal address. On the darkest days of which there are many, God sends so many butterflies I almost can't believe it really happens.



We Christian mothers in this awful dead kid club are acutely aware of the importance of putting one's faith alone in Christ alone. Because our hope is in the salvation of the Lord, we know that in the blink of an eye, we will meet Christ face to face and rejoice as we reunite with our children who have gone before us.

As I give thanks for the knowledge that Zachery is at home with the Lord, I ask you to contemplate your own eternity. Do you know Christ? Could you put aside all your preconceived notions, all the bad examples you've ever seen in Christians, all the church hypocrisy you've witnessed, and all your disbelief?  Put it all aside for a moment.

Take a chance on believing that the butterflies for 861 days aren't an accident or coincidence. Make today the day you sincerely seek the truth about Jesus Christ. Call His name. Tell Him you want to know Him and to know who He is.  He's always been calling to you, to the weary, and to the broken. He already knows you by name.  He was there when you were knit in your mother's womb; He loves you with perfect love.  No matter who you are or what you've done or what you've left undone, Jesus Christ is waiting on you to accept His grace gift of salvation, and He will meet you right where you are. Give Him a chance to fill your life with His light.  He may never give us a perfectly smooth road or ride, but His light is available to guide each of us on whatever road we travel.


If you're not sure about which way to go, read His story.  If you don't have a Bible, message me, and I'll find a way to give you one.  It is the greatest true story ever told.




Happy birthday, Zach.  Enjoy day 861.  I love you and will survive the missing of you because I know I'll see you in the blink of an eye.  To God be the Glory.




UPDATE: I haven't been able to write since before Thanksgiving because it would've been so dark. This is NOT the blog I started writing today.  The original was full of misery, sadness, and the weary heaviness and depression I felt all through the holidays.  Before I do a blog, I ask God to give me words when I write, and I only publish when I truly feel in my gut I'm supposed to press "send." Today's blog morphed into the words above over the course of about 3.5 hours, and they surprised me because they are not the words nor the journey I was on in the beginning.  I'm glad God got His message in front of mine!  PTL

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.