6 Months

 3 am tomorrow morning, April 2nd, will mark 6 months since Maggie and Ellen began making their way into this world and then on to paradise. 

6 months. 

I've survived.

To be honest, that's surprising to me. Before losing children I looked at others who have had to walk this road and thought "no way I'd ever survive that." 

But here I am. 

Breathing. 

Walking. 

Waking up every day.

 Choosing to live. 

Wanting to live well. 

To live fully.

I've learned a lot about myself, life, and grief in the past 6 months.

 I've never thought of myself as someone whose priorities were out of whack, but they were. 

The stress church life can bring, the stress of crazy situations, the stress of other people's stress . . . 

I don't want it and I've discovered I don't have to have it in my life. 

We don't have to step into everyone's stressful moments. 

We're not meant to be saviors or superheroes.

What I allow to consume my days, moments, thoughts, and memories begin to define who I am.

    I want to live a life consumed by what is true, noble, right, good, excellent and praiseworthy.

Those things don't happen unless I live in the present moment. 

"Present moment, only moment;"

my family's motto for the year. 

Stress. Drama. Anxiety.

I don't have time for you. 

I've learned that life is short. 

I don't want to waste my moments on matters that don't matter.

Grief is like an untamed animal. Some days are good. Some days aren't. 

Some moments are joyous. Some moments bring what we learned about in Colorado, 

STUG (Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief).

The more the days pass I think about Maggie and Ellen like I knew them.

Their voices, their laughs, their personalities.

We think Ellen had a tender heart, a mind for science, and a mild disposition.

We think Maggie would have kept us on our toes with her passion, energy, and extroversion.

Accurate or totally incorrect, it's been healing to imagine. 

I've learned that great grief requires patience and grace for yourself and others.

Well-meaning religion has taught me some really unfortunate theology.

It's difficult to admit, but I haven't prayed much in the last six months.

Like really prayed.

Prayer is like a language I've suddenly forgotten how to speak. 

What's prayer for? Why is prayer needed?

Aside from shaping my character into the character of God (a big aside, I know)

 does prayer even do anything?

All questions I've been wrestling with.

I realized a few months ago that my issues are more with religion than God.

No matter what, I believe that God has not abandoned us and God is a God of love.

Apart from that, I've learned I don't know much of anything.

I don't have a firm understanding of how God is involved in the world.

I can't explain the mystery of prayer. 

I won't get on-board with the belief that God "just needed a few extra angels."

 But amazingly, graciously, and in very God-like manner, God has still spoken to me (and I to God), sans typical prayer. 

We were incredibly lucky that the day of Maggie and Ellen's funeral my sister's friend was in town. 

This friend graciously agreed to come and lead worship.

He recently released a new album and it's been through his soul-moving music that God has spoken. God sings to me; I sing back. 

A mutual recognition that we are both still here and we haven't given up on one another. 

We are just mourning, and I'm a bit wounded, 

and we need to learn a new language through which to speak to each other again. 

I've relearned that God is gracious, slow to be frustrated by my questions, and abounding in steadfast love. God never hurries me down the road of grief. God knows this road well and isn't intimated by it.

I wondered and worried if there would ever come a day that thoughts of Maggie and Ellen would bring more joy and excitement than heartbreak and sorrow. 

I'm not totally sure that's a realistic hope, but I see glimmers of that possibility.

One of great things about having the hope of paradise, is believing their souls are alive and well and trusting we will be together again one day. 

I now crave eternity more than I ever knew I would. 

I know my ache to be reunited with Maggie and Ellen pales in comparison to the ache God has to be reunited with all God's children.  

As this day, this marker of six months, approached I have felt a deep desire to share Maggie and Ellen with our small corner of the world. 

Their little faces bring me more joy and pride now than tears and sadness. 

I think they are beautiful and precious and I'm so proud of them.

 As the months have passed I have found myself increasingly grateful that the first time they opened their eyes they saw the face of God.

God is and always will be with us. 

Emmanuel. 

Ellen Olivia and Maggie Jane Miller

When you can't do it alone

Sunday morning my family woke up together, in Texas. 

That day marked our 14th day away from home. 

Thankfully the weather cleared up long enough to make it back to the Sooner state.

On day 13, Ray and I woke up to be reunited with Abigail. 

We had been separated for 12 days. 

Had she not been in the care of the best grandparents and aunts in the world,

 there is no way we would have survived such a long (at least what seems long to us) separation.

Days 2-10, Ray and I were here: 

Marble, Colorado. 

We came here because 20 days ago, we realized we needed help. 

Having children die in your arms is something no person should ever have to experience. 

Watching your children be lowered into the cold, hard ground . . .  that just messes you up.

Add that to three years in a, as my friend Glennon Melton says, brutiful (beautiful + brutal) church; and what you get is a perfect recipe for burn-out. 

I've written pretty openly here about grief and how odd and unpredictable it can be.

You're going along, having survived the holidays and celebrated the 3rd year of your miracle child's life when, out of no where, something that was once normal collides with a life that's no longer normal, and the bottom falls out. 

For Ray, it was two funerals, done in the same week, 

at the same place Maggie and Ellen are buried.

In all honesty, neither of us were ourselves. 

We were worn from grief and exhausted from a year 

that had tested and tried us from start to finish.   

"The year from hell", as we not-so-affectionately refer to it.  

I would never make light of what a mother's heart and soul goes through in losing a child, but in some ways I think this kind of grief can be even more difficult for a father's heart and soul. 

Ray went back to work full-time, two days after M&E's funeral. 

Have you ever googled books for grieving father's who've lost babies? 

They don't really exist.

Often times men go into "fix it and keep it together" mode, and

they don't have the time or space or energy to properly deal with their very real grief.

So what happens?

Months down the road, something inside is triggered, 

in a PTSD kind of way, and you realize you have a mountain of grief in front you.

This mountain of grief gives you two options:

1. Climb me.

or

2. Be killed by me.

My husband, in his most humble and brave moment, decided to climb.

This wasn't an easy decision as it required a very public request for
unexpected time off from our church.

But thankfully my husband is brave and my church is loving.

So we packed up, left a huge chunk of our heart in Texas,
 and headed to the middle-of-no-where Colorado
for a 10 day counseling intensive specifically designed for ministers and missionaries.

The ministry of Marble has been active for 41 years and
has walked alongside over 4,000 broken and burned-out full-time ministers of The Gospel.   

The two things that concerned us the most
was group-session therapy and funding.

As someone who currently struggles with understanding and believing how and if God is involved in the world, I can't deny that only Holy intervention got us to Marble.

It just so happened that no other couples or individuals had signed up for our session.
We would have our incredible counselors to ourselves, for 6 hours, every day. 
A 10 day counseling intensive, with food and lodging and everything else you might ever need included, is not (as you can probably imagine) cheap.

My endlessly loving and well-connected sister put out a request for help and within a matter of days over $3000 came flooding in from people Ray and I will never know. People who simply want to care for those in the ministry. People who understand The Church is losing thousands of ministers every year to burn-out. Our church graciously paid the remainder of the needed fee and off we went.

Upon arriving one of the first questions we had to deal with was why we were there.
Yes, our daughters died, and that in and of itself is traumatic,
but we went for reasons beyond Maggie and Ellen.

Ray and I deeply believe in the theology of The Priesthood of Believers. We are all messengers of The Gospel. We are all invited to join God's work in the world, in our unique roles and vocations. Yet, Ray and I know from a life-time of experience, that it's different when your life is full-time ministry.

It's an "all-in" calling. It's not a job Ray leaves at the door of our home. In fact some of our most fruitful ministry is done inside our home. It's an all day, every day kind of life.
We love it and honestly don't know anything different.
Yet, we are still learning how to do it well and in a healthy way.
 In a way that we don't burn-out at the age of 30 and begin being the best
 nurse midwife and basketball coaching couple in the US.

We went for our ministry, yes, but more specifically, we went for our church.

Our church is such a unique blend of people. All really good people, from really different backgrounds, socioeconomic levels, political, and theological positions.
I've personally never seen such a diverse group of people be church together for such a long time.

Although they are wonderful and rare, they have some rough pieces of history (as we all do).
Even with the harder pieces of history and the things we've struggled through in the past three years, Ray and I have been deeply loved by these precious people.
All the character-building moments aside -
we know we've hit the jackpot with the hearts and souls of the people of FBC Shawnee.
We are lucky they have chosen us to serve them and live life alongside them.

Ultimately, we know that in order to serve these people well, we must be healthy and whole.

Imagine what God could do in a place with healthy congregants and healthy ministers,
 who mutually choose each other and respond to the invitation of God.

"So, why are you here?"
The question that took an entire day to fully answer.

We went to Marble to grieve our great loss and grain our savior's strength.
We went to learn how to be wounded healers, who are a bit more healthy and whole.
We went to better ourselves for the daughter we love with all the love this world has to offer.
We went for ourselves - to rediscover the people God has created us to be.

 

Our time and experience at Marble Retreat will forever be one of those spiritual markers in our lives as individuals and as a couple. A safe place we were could go and receive help, healing, and hope. Far too many people (ministers and congregants alike), suffer in silence and fear seeking help.

If you are reading this and find yourself in such a place, I pray you will find the courage to seek help. God gave us each other, the church, as companions on our life journey. Reach out your hand; seek help and healing, so that you can emerge as the whole and healthy person God intended and created you to be.