Finding the path to life and joy

Welcome back to the blog! While I've taken a hiatus from posting, I've not stopped writing. It's just that I'm exploring different platforms (and have decided on nothing)...because, I think that I have outgrown this site.

...for those who are 'new' to reading my posts - here's a history: I started this blog as our wedding website. Instead of a site on The Knot (or whatever other site there is), I wanted a place that we could have to keep our family and friends updated on our new life together. So, prior to May 29, 2011 - this site had tabs about our wedding, hotels, registries, our awesome wedding party, the story of how Dan and I met - and posts about wedding prep. After, I wrote about our life together as newlyweds. Then, it became our 'homebase' for Dan's treatment. ...and for the last 3 years, where I have shared my journey through the valley of death...and into life. So, eventually, you'll see something new!

That said: let's spend some time here.


Words, phrases - those matter to me. (along with proper punctuation - for the love of God stop using apostrophes to pluralize a word!)  (ahem, let's start over)

Words, phrases - those matter to me. They speak deeply to me.

How many of us have heard, "Oh it's better..." as a phrase to console. "Oh, it's better. Dan is in a better place. It's better for him to no longer suffer, to no longer be living in a body that fights itself."

a) No. That's not helping. because - How can it be better for us to be separated by death?

b) I know that God desires for us (aka all people) to be in relationship. He created us for relationship: first with Him, then with each other. I know that God cherishes relationships - and has graced our marriages as a Sacrament - to be a revelation of His Son to the world. ...so, how could that (our relationship ended by death) be better? How could it be better that this revelation be destroyed by death?

And so, I reasoned that if God allowed this - then, He intended to redeem it. Specifically, I believed - trusted - that He could make good come out of this tragedy. That He could call from light from the darkness of this veil of death - that joy could emerge from the mourning.

Take those words into the frame of our marriage - our covenant of oneness - what was better for one of us, must be better for both of us. This 'better' must be reciprocal by reason. If Dan's death led to resurrection for him - and that IS better, I wholeheartedly concur - then, surely, there must also be resurrection for me.

This is the truth that I clung to as I began the journey of walking through the valley of death. The death of our spouse isn't the end - but the beginning. The valley is where we do the hard work of grieving. God's shadow protects us as we fumble forward - feeling our way toward life - and resurrection.

As I visited Dan on Memorial Day, I had a little conversation with him:

You know, I think the real work of our Sacrament didn't come until you died. It took that release of the flesh to allow me to fully trust you. ...and, it took the release of the flesh for you to fully, unselfishly love - and for me to respond and receive. 

I suppose that's true for all of us. While we are in these bodies, we can never be fully free from selfish ambition or vanity - though we can certainly strive for it. We learn to - sometimes, slowly - sometimes painfully - but, we learn to put the other's needs above ours. We learn to listen. We learn to value the other's voice. presence. help.

Our whole life leading up to marriage is an exercise in, "I can do it myself." (say it in your best toddler voice) We are taught to rely on self...so much so that even God can become an afterthought if we construct our world carefully enough.

This was me. I did this, Dan.
...yes, you did, too. You did, too.

Our journey toward holiness was learning this together.
Our journey toward completion was learning this, even in death.

Finding myself separated from you by death, I looked to you for a guidance - in a way I hadn't in life. I had relied on - and relished - your presence, though I also relied on myself. 
Finding myself without you, I learned to listen for you. I allowed you to be what you wanted to be - 
...the light to help see me through,
...to heal the hurt till the hurt is gone...
...and you consistently led me to Jesus.

...everything I had wanted you to do - to be - in life, you have done in death. 

...and I guess, that's how I know resurrection is real. 
...because somehow,* you are alive and guiding me - though you died. 

When I listen, 
when I quiet myself 
and when I ask: I know.
I know you're...here. 
Still trying to get me to dry my tears and not take life so seriously - to just relax, Jessica.

God is far better - far bigger - than we can even grasp. 


*
This morning, while looking through one of our wedding albums, I was reminded of one of our wedding readings.

1 John 4:7 - 12
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love.  

In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another.  

*No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.

A Sacrament is the revelation of God to the individual and to the world. First, the invisible, almighty, overarching God revealed through Jesus. Not only was God revealed to us through Jesus, but through Jesus, in Jesus, God became accessible to us. We had access suddenly to the Almighty, Ever-living, Everlasting God. Through the Holy Spirit and the reception of Sacraments, not only is God revealed to us, we now become a revelation of God to the world.

This is mind-blowing. And how does St. John instruct us to reveal God? Through love. By loving, we are brought to perfection.

You guys, we are imperfect. We love each other imperfectly. On our best days, we still end up rubbing against each other. My image is that our spouse is like sandpaper for us: smoothing the rough edges - perfecting us through love. But it hurts! But it is worth it - to be smoothed out into our best self.

My friends, if you are in the thick of it - where marriage is hard - where your spouse is grating on you - where you feel like at every turn you are coming up short: stay the course. Lean into the Holy Spirit right now and ask for the grace to be LOVE revealed to each other. Marriage is a beautiful, powerful thing - and precisely because of that, it can be hard.

Receive - don't resist. Yield - don't shield. If you learn to journey toward life together - Love will you bring you to perfection.


Happy anniversary. DK Forever. 

Donuts for Dan turns 2!

If you happen to follow me on Facebook, no doubt you're aware of the greatest February holiday: Donuts for Dan! #donuts4dan

Thanks to Facebook memories, I realized TODAY is the two-year anniversary of the conceptual birth of this amazing, feel-good event.

Two years ago, I sat in my apartment "prayer corner" perplexed by how I would be able to approach Dan's birthday, February 14. Two years ago, I was facing his first (absent) birthday. Two years ago, I was muddling through the murky waters of grief and making sense of a life without Dan in it. I had no idea how to endure this day.

So, I did the only thing I knew to do: ask God for an idea.

God...I don't know how to spend this day. I don't know what to do. What should I do? 

In that first year, all I wanted to do was share Dan with others. I wanted others to know Dan existed - no - not that he existed - that he LIVED. That Dan Kiesling LIVED and he LOVED and he WORKED with his full self - with an enthusiasm and a vigor...and that he would want each one of us to LIVE and to LOVE and to WORK like it meant something.


How could I do that? God, how can I share Dan with others?


...what if I shared something that Dan loved?
...Dan loved donuts.

My mind wandered to a vision of taking donuts to my chiropractor - my first Williamston connection here in Michigan. Then, to Father Mark. ...then, to campus.

...what if I surprised people with donuts?

Yes.

Yes! this felt right.

....WHAT IF EVERYBODY SURPRISED PEOPLE WITH DONUTS!

YES!

DONUTS FOR DAN! #donuts4Dan


.........and, like what happens when God gives you a fully-formed idea: the pieces magically came together in a week. I had the name and the hashtag. (all good movements have a hashtag, yo!)

I saw a logo.

My friend Nicole whipped up this amazing logo:

I reached out to our local donut establishment, Groovy Donuts - and they agreed to donate 10 dozen donut holes for our inaugural cause.

I started work on a Facebook page, while my friend Taylor put together a cover photo. Donuts for Dan wasn't going to be about 'random' acts of kindness. It was going to be about INTENTIONALLY choosing kindness - intentionally choosing JOY - and intentionally sharing that with others.

Meanwhile, Taylor and Tracy (part of my amazing friend-colleague crew) put the wheels in motion to make this an event. Taylor recruited people to donate, to pass out, to spread the word. Truly, it was inspiring.

Across America, our friends were gearing up to participate - thanks to the power of Facebook.

The day of: I had taken the day off work. I had no idea how my emotions would roll that morning. I wanted to be able to take it slow. I went to Mass and delivered an apple fritter to Father Mark. Then, I went to Williamston Wellness and dropped off donuts there and explained what I was doing.

I drove to campus. The sun was shining - and so was I. I was full of joy that on a day I could have chosen sadness - I was choosing LIFE - just like Dan would have wanted me to. When I picked up donuts at Groovy, the lady there hugged me.

When I got to campus, the energy in Anthony Hall was palpable. It was so inspiring to see students I didn't even know telling people about Dan, sharing their joy. It was so uplifting.

THEN - THEN - I went to Facebook, and my wall and the page were FLOODED with people partaking. It was absolutely the best way to spend that day...


Last year, we had the second Donuts for Dan - with even more participation.

To be honest, last year was harder than the first year. You know, in the first year - when things are "new," it can be amazing how far adrenaline can take you. Also, when things are new - it feels like people might care more. They still check in on you. I wasn't sure for year 2 if people were still going to be "in" on this thing.

For me, I wanted to see it happen...but, the adrenaline was gone. Grieving Dan emptied me of a lot...and I felt that 'runnin' on empty' feeling more last year than I had in the first year. Last year, I reached out to my friends and said, "I don't know how I'm going to be able to do this. Can you please make it happen? I want to see it happen, but I don't have the energy."

...and man. Again, I was blown away. CARRIED away by the generosity of our students, and our incredible network of love spread throughout this world.

You guys, sometimes the lie of grief is that everyone has forgotten your person. That people move on.


What I hear consistently is that Donuts for Dan is a gift to you. YOU get to celebrate your friend, your brother, your colleague, your uncle, your cousin, your mentor, your coach, your son - with people that you work with. YOU get to celebrate and you get to grieve. YOU get to remember and YOU get to laugh.

Sometimes we can stunt our grief because we feel like we can't talk about those who've died; maybe it'll hurt to bring them up; what if it's awkward; what if I cry? what if I don't?

Sometimes the hardest part of losing our loved ones is that the people we love won't get to know them. (not sometimes: always)

My nephew Tucker said when Dan died, "I never got my Uncle Dan moment." THIS event lets him get an Uncle Dan moment every year because he gets to share something his Uncle Dan loved with a bunch of people.


I am a "connectedness" person - and year after year, Donuts for Dan proves to me this truth: we are one of another. We are made for each other. ...and when we come together for INTENTIONAL acts of kindness - we move mountains!

THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart to the tips of my toes. YOU breathe life into me. Keep telling your Dan stories - and keep feeding your kids donuts. (at least one day a year)

Recognize what you have

I wrote this a year and half ago when our sixth anniversary - my first without Dan - was approaching.

One of the best things that Dan and I ever did in our marriage, for our marriage, was to take part in a Worldwide Marriage Encounter weekend. As a result, Dan and I learned to listen to each other, recognize and voice what we loved/appreciated in the other, and to enter into each other's feelings. It changed our marriage.

Dialoguing was a practice that helped transform a good marriage into a great one. Learning how to dialogue helped me discover the great gift that marriage is: a Sacrament.

As a result of Marriage Encounter and our consistently inconsistent practice of dialogue (writing a 10 minute 'love letter' in response to a question/topic), I have 2 years of love letters from Dan. When I was preparing the list of what filled my bucket, I relied nearly completely on those letters.

My reaction to reading them:

1) I can tell when I needed to go to Reconciliation, but I often didn't make time to go regularly. I wonder if we had if we would have felt more secure in both our place with God and each other.

2) I just didn't get it! I didn't know how much Dan loved me, and I didn't REST in his love as a fact. You can tell the moments when I am resting in his love, because I write like it.

3) When I rely on my own feelings, my own understanding of the situation - I am often wrong/off base.

4) I needed to take more opportunities to build up Dan. He needed to hear those words from me, just like I did from him...but I used them as a reward instead of as a life-giving NEED, a requirement. He just needed me to tell him, "You're a good man, Dan." One of the best, Babe.

----------------------------------------
12.28.2018

After a year and a half now of reflecting on these realizations...and listening to my friends struggle through some of the rough points in their marriage, I lovingly plead with you: recognize the gift you have.

I don't say this to guilt you. I promise. I don't say it to be...vindictive or to pour salt into your own wound. Sometimes widows do that, right? We don't give you a chance to feel like you can experience struggles or frustrations with your spouse because "if only xxx was here;" "what I wouldn't give for another minute".... Those statements, while we mean them, can often shut our friends down who are in the middle of real hurt and pain.

I say it because I look back on my time with Dan, my marriage - and I have regrets.

To quote the Garth Brooks' song, my tomorrow never came - and I didn't always try in every way, to show him every day that he's the only one.

So, my regrets come to you as an invitation: love the one you're with. Recognize the gift in the person beside you. Reminisce on the joy you shared; the magic in the story of how you met, dated, grew in love for each other...ponder the quirks they possess that no one else does - and then: TELL THEM. Tell them and don't stop telling them. Tell them even on the days that they are the MOST unlovable; when your respect is wavering - tell them.

...and most of all, stop comparing your marriage and your situation and your family to the ideal you created in your head - or your friends' marriage/situation/family - because that is the surest enemy to resting in the love of your spouse.

Dan was not Ben. Dan was not Jon. Dan was not Joel.
He didn't ask me to pray every morning. He didn't lead me in the study of scripture. Sometimes it felt like pulling teeth to ask. There were parts of our marriage that weren't like other people's.

I was always keeping a measure - trying to make sure that we were "on track;" that we were "okay;" that we were enough like other people. I am sure that Dan felt it. ...and knowing my beloved husband who struggled with feeling like he was enough, already - it hurt him more than he even knew.

Ugh, if I could go back...if I could go back and address my own hurt and feelings of inadequacy - if I could have told him that I didn't feel like I was good enough, that I always felt like I was just a little bit short, that I felt like I was always either too much or not enough...maybe that would have made a difference, sooner.

If I could go back, I would stop needling him to spend less time at the office and throwing himself into that stupid department that would never show him the respect he deserved - I would. I would instead praise him for investing in something that he believed in; in kids who might carry the lessons learned into their next phase. I would voice my respect for his belief in the value of planting seeds - and of doing the hard thing.

What might it change? I suppose it could have the effect that he still spent just as much time at the office (maybe even more now that his wife was proud of him). [and that right there is why you shouldn't use your words of respect to manipulate for YOUR desired/expected outcome]

It would have let him know that I valued him. I valued the effort he put forth for others. I saw him. Maybe no one else saw how much of himself he poured out, but I did. I saw, and I recognized him. I respected him. I loved him.

Dan needed those words like parched ground needs a drink. He didn't just need them every once in a while. He needed them on a regular basis. Our words are life-giving to our spouses. Our time is life-giving. Our service is life-giving. Our gifts are life-giving.

Dan's love language was acts of service. In retrospect, I can look back and see how his devotion to work was a devotion to those whom he taught and supervised and worked for. I can see how much he was thirsty for respect and freedom. I can see how much I was thirsty for affirmation and love.

Marriage Encounter brought us out of our individual bubbles. "Daily" (in quotes because we never quite made it every day - we averaged more of a three times/week practice) dialogues pulled us out of our own experiences, and gave voice to our spouse's feelings. Then, we would just try to identify with the other. (We often tried more to talk about the issue than just focus on identifying what the other person was feeling. We weren't the best - but, I guess, that's not the point. The point is to just do it.)

Marriage Encounter was a start for us. ...but what really clinched it - what really changed my perspective and my practice - was Dan's diagnosis.

Suddenly, not knowing how long I might have Dan in my life caused me to FINALLY drop every part of that comparison/expectation practice. No - Dan wasn't Ben or Jon or Kyle - he wasn't my dad - he wasn't his dad - HE WAS DAN - AND THAT WAS VERY GOOD.

He still worked as much as he could - more than he should have, probably; he still chewed tobacco; he still did things that didn't seem as efficient as I might do them - and while I cared - I loved HIM more than those things. I focused on the person - the gift - he was to me - and he knew it. ...and he finally started listening to my ideas for his work. I really think that once he realized that I respected his work, he finally could trust me to make it better - that it wasn't a personal mark on his 'failing.'

I hate that Dan ever felt like a failure. I certainly never saw him that way...but, I can see now that if he already harbored a fear of letting down his family, his friends - me - that any "suggestion" would only come across has a mark of 'not good enough.'

I sometimes forgot that Dan could have insecurities. I just saw him as a whole being. Competent. Confident. Assured. But he was a real being - with fears and insecurities. Marriage Encounter was a key that helped unlock the door for my husband to let me into that room he felt that he needed to shut away from the world. The dialogues helped us establish trust; they connected me to Dan's heart.

While the questions were sometimes dumb, I have an entire collection, in words, about what Dan valued about me - and our marriage. Sometimes, I rolled my eyes at his, "that meal tonight you made was excellent!" for the 'appreciate something about your spouse' part. But showing love isn't always a grand gesture; recognizing love doesn't have to be a sonnet.

However, you must have a heart that is able to receive a line like "that salad was amazing" and recognize it as love.  The world will NOT tell you that love is a a compliment about your salad. Rom-coms are going to brainwash you into thinking it's a grand gesture. My friends, it can be a grand gesture. It can be dancing under the stars in Paris. ...but those are one-time, grand gesture events.

While beautiful, it's the ordinary time love that we miss most. The hug from behind when you're doing dishes; the sigh (followed by a smile) when you are 5 minutes late (again) coming down from the office; the random note that says "I love you! Your Shining Steed;" the comments about your good cooking; the feel of his camel-hair blazer when you're at an event...the feeling of his hand in yours while you're praying at Mass.

So, my friends, if you are lucky enough to be with the one you love today: recognize what you have in a way that manifests to your love how much you love and respect them. Breathe life into them. Don't wait for a diagnosis or a disaster. "If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." While it is still today, act. Love them, respect them with all you've got.

In the end, that's the only thing that matters.




The world will tell you to "live with no regrets." I'm here to tell you that's stupid. Of course you have regrets. You're an imperfect being who is figuring out yourself while trying to also keep others alive and functioning. Give yourself the grace to be imperfect. Give your spouse the grace to be imperfect. Just start small. Work on consistency. Just start. Waiting is the only thing to regret.

Finding JOY in Christmas by loosing the tradition

 Earlier this week, my hairdresser asked me if I have any Christmas traditions. ...I couldn't think of any.

There was a time that I felt bound by traditions - that if we didn't do each of the things we had done in the past, then it wouldn't be Christmas. It felt to me, in my twenties, that for Christmas to be Christmas, then it had to be like it was - like it always had been - and thus, forever would be. It felt that I needed to recreate the Christmas of childhoods past; if you could do Christmas like you did then, you'd have Christmas. (Apparently, I hadn't realized  that in the midst of all those years growing up - we were creating traditions; they weren't something that had been etched in stone from the beginning of time.)

I still remember throwing a tantrum as a 28-year-old while on the phone with my mom. For the first time in the 24 years since arriving in the world, my brother would not be spending Christmas with us. He would spend it with his girlfriend's family. I. was. aghast. WHAT? HOW could it be Christmas without Matt? What would we do on Christmas day if we weren't unwrapping presents? We were going to wait until December 27 to open gifts? WHAT. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? It would just be the three of us?

...is this what the rest of my life will look like? Just me, hanging out with my parents like it's a regular day while Matt is off being in his own family and I'm a 28-year-old spinster with no one to love her? This? This is what my Christmas existence is resigned to be?

Okay; I get it. I'm *a little* dramatic. Even in the moment, I knew that I was being dramatic. But those were my true feelings. I had bought into the Hallmark-version of Christmas. Christmas is family AND LOVE (probably love first) - and traditions - and all the boxes must be checked - or was it actually Christmas?

Christmas became an event. Even though I knew the reason for the season, Christmas was more about me than Jesus. I was longing for love; for the time of fulfillment to come; my life was a big Advent still - I was waiting for the 'event'.

When Dan came into the picture, Christmas became less about the traditions. ...more about us. It was like when Dan came into my life, the time of fulfillment had arrived. Christmas - the Incarnation - Jesus revealing God to us - is the revelation of love. When love came, Christmas wasn't an event anymore. It was more of a state of being.

The incarnation is not an event, but an institution. What Jesus once took up, he never laid down.  ~Father Vincent McNabb

I tend to think of Christmas as an event. Jesus born - it happened; we celebrate the happening of an event. But this...posits an establishment of a new covenant.

The Divine dwelt among us (John 1)...the Divine continues to dwell among us.

Christmas is not simply an event. We are not just celebrating a one-time happening - but a truth revealed. Christmas celebrates the continual revelation of TRUTH to the world.

...like marriage...the wedding may be an event, but it is the establishment of an institution. A family unit, a Sacrament, has just been created. We celebrate not just the happening - but the "Yes" created. Saying "yes" is more than a ring - more than a piece of paper - more than a legal document - more than an addition. It is a creative fusing. A new bond created - a new limb bursting forth - a shoot sprouting. The "Yes" makes way for an entirely new life to exist.

Christmas ushered in a new way to exist! A new way TO LIVE.

Once I found love, I began to loose my hold upon tradition. I didn't need to rely on doing things the way they'd always been done to ensure that the event happens the way it was supposed to. (just like the Jews didn't need the law once the Messiah came) When you have love in the flesh - you have everything you need!

I have everything I need. After Dan and I were married, we spent Christmas in Tucson, in California, with strangers, with friends. What mattered was that we were together. The 'one thing' that we always did was Mass. That 'one thing', that is what remains constant for me every Christmas. From the time I was a wee babe until now: Christmas is spent worshipping.


I have everything I need. I am surrounded by love. Moreover, I am inhabited by Love - Love the Holy Spirit; Love the Eucharist. The only Christmas tradition I need now is Love: worshiping God at Mass and being with those I love, my family and friends.




If I watch Elf, great. If I bake some cookies, cool. If I don't - well, I still have everything that actually fills my cup of cheer.

Merry Christmas, dear ones. May you know how deeply, highly, and widely you are loved this Christmas and always.

That first Christmas...

The other day I saw a meme on Facebook about grieving at Christmas with tips about that "first Christmas." I thought...I don't remember anything about that first Christmas without Dan. I had to sift hard through the memory bank to come up with anything.

...and then I remembered.

To take you back there, this is the Christmas letter I wrote on Christmas Eve.

What I remember most about that first year was exhaustion. I don't remember what I bought my family (other than some cool light-up stocking caps for the boys). What I remember most was feeling like living required every ounce of my energy. Just getting through the day required an immense amount of strength. I think every fiber of my being was clenched to keep myself together.

...and I remember sitting in the front pew of Immanuel Lutheran Church listening to O Holy Night - and I cried. I cried and cried and cried. My soul was weary. My heart heavy. My body tired. ...but, I didn't feel a thrill of hope. I didn't know if rejoicing could come.

...and that magical second line drew me into my the arms of my Savior, my Jesus.

"In all our trials born to be our friend. 

He knows our need - to our weakness, (He is) no stranger..."

 That first Christmas wasn't all sadness; no, I am determined to be able to rejoice with others. I determined to be strong, I suppose, to not be a wet blanket upon everyone's joy. ...but, I carried such sadness in my heart, still. I think I can only admit to that heaviness, sorrow, and exhaustion now; now that it is only in retrospect; now that I am not weighed by that burden. But, I don't know that I could have admitted to the depth of it then. It would have overwhelmed me too much. However, Jesus knew my need - my need to be sad, to cry, to be held; with Him, I could release.

In Him, I could find release (and have). For me, it is now my third Christmas without Dan. For my friends grieving this Christmas, know that it is okay to feel your feelings. It is better to feel your feelings than to "put on a happy face." Your body cannot hold onto the trauma you've felt - let it release the tension.

For me, this past year has been a slow maneuver of release. The day Dan died I was told that I had to let him go - which probably triggered a response in me to say: I will not. I will never. I will carry him. I cannot leave him behind. I cannot let go of Dan.

I don't know how else to explain this except that I have physically felt my body holding on. I have muscles that can't seem to unclench. Training for that half-marathon certainly didn't help my body release. I should have treated myself with some gentleness, but instead...I pushed it. This year, I started doing some morning stretches 4-5 days/week. My body is finally releasing - after 3 years of tension.

In October, I started attending a gentle yoga session 1-2 times a week. Through the addition of this practice, I can feel the tension (slowly) letting go. During one week, we were laying on our backs with our legs up the wall - a good stretch to release the hips, where most of my tension is. This pose was then used in our 'shivasana' - the resting pose.

 As I lay there, I could first feel parts of my body tense, and as I pressed into the ground - release. I had an epiphany: I don't have to be the one holding myself together. I don't have to hold myself together. I don't have to carry the tension. I was made to be supported. The world was created to support us...we were not created to be self-supporting or self-sustaining.  We were made one for the other.

In all our trials born to be our friend.

He knows our needs; our weakness no stranger. 

Behold, your king. Before him lowly bend.

Oh holy night, when the Light of the world put on flesh to be our friend. Oh holy night, when the God who created us became just like us - entering the world just like I did - exiting the world through death - He became like us in every way to form a new way to commune with God. He carried every burden so that we could know we are never alone - in any trial, in any weakness. He experienced frailty, humiliation, loneliness, desolation, hunger, grief - so that we would know there is always HOPE. That HOPE will always spring up even when the darkness seems to be closing in.

 Light cannot be overcome by darkness - and LIGHT can be within us. In Him, our burden can be LIGHT - not dark nor heavy. Through the miracle of Jesus, we can experience joy even in our mourning.

I am living it. Jesus has changed my life. I didn't think it was possible; I thought that I was "good with God" three years ago - but, the emptiness that Dan's death brought has been so consumed with the Light of Jesus Christ that joy is more the cadence of my life as a widow than sorrow. That is resurrection. ...and resurrection is one of those miracle that only exists because of Christmas.

Merry Christmas my friends! May God bless us, every one.

My heart still breaks

I don't know any other way to say this then to say it how it is: my heart still breaks when other people die. ...and it always will, I think. ...and that is a good thing, I think.

Nearly three weeks ago, I had news that one of my former students' wife died - at 26 - of a rare cancer. Two and half weeks ago, my dear friend and roommate lost a close friend of 22 years. Last night, a friend of my brother's passed away, at 30 (ish), of cancer with a wife and young son. In the summer, a friend from high school passed away after years of battling brain cancer, leaving his wife and two children.

...and I type my condolences and when I say, "I am so sorry," I literally mean: I. AM. SO. SORRY. I can't type those words on your facebook page without tears filling my eyes. I. AM. SO. SORRY.

I am so sorry...that you have to say good-bye to someone who has been a bedrock to your life; who has occupied your heart; you has become the voice in your head. I am so sorry that your person is no longer physically present to you...and now you have to navigate life without them.




Six weeks ago, I met a man whose father passed away in a tragic accident (before his very eyes) about 6 weeks prior. He (John) was assisting me in a cover letter workshop for my class. For some reason, we were talking about something...maybe how I got to MSU - and, I am now at the point in my life where I weigh whether or not to include that I came to MSU because of my husband and my husband is dead now. I know now that not everyone can handle the information - and I know now that whenever I say something about Dan dying...I am met with, "I'm sorry."

When I shared whatever I was saying, John then told me about his dad. ...and I said the obligatory, "I'm sorry" (and laughed - it wasn't out of context; it was the type of conversation we were having; trust me it wasn't a weird heartless thing). He laughed, too - and said, "Yes! You'll notice I didn't say that to you - because people have been saying that to me this whole time...and I know now how fake/insincere it comes across. ....and I used to be that guy. I used to say that all the time to people."

...and it's true. I can count on one hand the number of people who haven't said, "I'm sorry," when I mention something about losing Dan. At first it was weird, and then I came to expect something because everybody says it. You just expect that when you're telling the story about how you came to MSU that when you mention Dan passed away that there will be this interruption in your story (I'm sorry), that you have to acknowledge.




...there will be this interruption in your story...




...that you have to acknowledge....





That is why I write it to these people: to my student, to the childhood friend, to the widow I've never met  -- because I know this loss that they've experienced. I know it. I know it so deeply that sometimes I forget the wound. It seems impossible that you could forget the depth of the loss...but healing really does exist. It really does come...

...but, my heart still breaks.

...my heart breaks that these young people - these people whose lives and love I've watched grow and blossom - that they must also share in this deep grief, this heart-shattering, world-rocking loss.



...and you know what? my heart breaks at the unfairness that these beautiful people didn't get to live out their dreams.

With today's loss, there is just so much parallel between Dan and Chasen's stories. They were not the same - but there are so many parallels. ...and you know what? I'm so mad that these two were taken in the prime of their life. That these two men with dreams and goals and abilities to make them realities instead were given a cup to drink that included cancer and dying too early... and I'm just broken about it.

I'm so mad that Dan didn't get to live out his life. He finally made it home. He finally made it to a place that appreciated his work, effort, and truly valued him... and he didn't even get a year. and the year that he did get was filled with chemo appointments, sickness, pneumonia, and back pain ...and the unfairness of it all is so...upsetting to me, today.

He would have been so good at his job. When he had to make the call in late December 2015 to not field a team for 2016 - that broke his heart. He loved working. I am so sad that he never got to fulfill his dream.


...and sometimes the unfairness that instead I'm left behind to try to decipher his dream and his goal and see it become life - or to make something that remains that tells the world of Dan Kiesling - I just feel so inadequate to that task, sometimes. I was ready to support his dreams, be his cheerleader - I didn't have the career ambition, he did. Why am I the one left?



I know this post is wandering today. I just want you to know, I guess, that my heart still breaks at the injustice of death. Even when I know that healing can come - that God can be closer to our hearts in grief than we can even imagine to be possible - that God can make beauty from ashes...I still wish that this weren't the case. ...and I wish to God that these beautiful lives were not whisked away so early or that we had to try to make sense of life without them.

Emma, Chasen, Brian, Shay, Dan - they were golden like the sunset.



...and I am so sorry that we have to learn how to live without their physical presence...

Overcoming: the diagnosis, the death, the darkness

Toward the beginning of October, I'd said that I would write when little things prompted. Apparently, for the last three weeks, I've not been prompted by much. ;) Or, rather...the words didn't just flood my mind.

This morning, though, the words came with this little headline: "Dear Christians, please stop saying everything happens for a reason...."

Yes, please do. 

Sometimes the reason things happen is because they are the consequences of a series of stupid decisions. Sometimes the reason things happen is because they are the consequences of a series of sacrificial choices in the moment in the hopes of a better outcome down the road - and then, they are. Sometimes the reason things happen is because of sin, brokenness, hurt, and death. Sometimes the reason things happen is because in this life, we will have trouble. (because of those aforementioned)

In this life, you will have trouble....

Jesus himself told us so. In this life, we will have trouble. For some reason, I thought that if God was really good, though, He would exempt me from this. If God were really good, if God really loved me - then, He would demonstrate his love for me in this: Jessica would not know suffering. 

So, when Dan would repeatedly get sick, and after every single judging trip come home sick and be sick for a week...and doctors just kept saying it was a sinus infection because he "worked in a petri dish"...my trust in God waivered. ...and by waiver, I mean, I put a strong-arm up to keep God from getting too close. I still practiced my faith, still sought him...but at a reasonable distance. 

Why? Why would I do that? ...it was a natural response to fear. 

When we are afraid, we put up a defense. We build a wall. We hunker down. 

...but why were you afraid of God, Jessica? I thought you loved him. 

I thought I did, too. ...but, I think I was more in love with the idea of God than the reality. ...and, I put parameters on God's goodness. 

(and, to be honest, I'd been doing this since I was in college. My response to someone challenging my prayer request for a farmer-husband: 'what if God doesn't want that for you?' "Well, of course, he does - God loves me!" ...eventually, I worked through that one) 

Because I'd worked through one parameter, I thought I was done. I thought I'd entered into the pasture of my rest.

As we neared closer and closer to Dan's diagnosis, the fear was overwhelming. Not only were we about to have breakthrough - we were also moving 2000 miles - "home". The day that we received Dan's official diagnosis, the same day that our house was loaded onto a moving truck, I finally broke. In the car, driving to Dan's appointment (where we were late because of the whole house being packed up, thing), I broke. 

At Mayo, you can't be more than 10 minutes late. If you are, then, you are rescheduled. Well, we couldn't be rescheduled. We were leaving the state - that day - (by original plans) - and it was literally impossible that we would make it anywhere near a 10-minute mark. It would be at least 30. 

We were screwed. At that realization, (while driving), I yelled and remember hitting an empty, plastic water bottle against the steering wheel at the injustice of it all.

But - 

In that moment of sheer anger and fear, I yelled to God that HE ALONE had to fix this. He HAD to do something. This was absolutely impossible for us to remedy. I could do nothing else. Nothing. I could do nothing. I was powerless...He alone was the only one who could open a door - a window - anything. He alone was the only one who could take the wheel, and lead us forward.

take heart! I have overcome the world. 

Miraculously, when Dan called Mayo back (he had already called once when he was told about the ten-minute rule leading to Jessica's breakdown)...they told him that the doctor would see us whenever we arrived. Whenever - we - arrived. Whenever.

(Maybe I should have taken that as a sign things were serious?) 

In that moment, I knew that I had crossed over the threshold. The walls were broken down. The Light had come. God heard my prayer. God saw me. God was not distance. He was here. 

He was really for us. 

That was the moment that my life changed. Yes, I had been walking with God my whole life, really. Yes, at the age of 20, the Holy Spirit "turned on the light" and I knew that Jesus loved me - and I understood what it meant to "be in relationship" with him; to love him meant to live for him. I understood it. I lived it to the best of my ability. ...but, I had only let God in so far. 

There was still so much about him that I didn't understand - but could only be learned through entering more fully into His presence...which meant allowing Him to enter more fully into my heart. To come into the rooms that I didn't really want him to know about; to shine light into the corners. 

Being accepted has always been the deepest cry of my heart, and I was convinced that if Jesus were to really see the depths, there'd be no hope for me.

But, in that moment, I knew: Jesus was is my only hope.

In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world.  (John 16:33)

It would be absolutely ridiculous at this point to say, "Well, Jessica, there is your reason. Dan got cancer so that you could come closer to Jesus. See? Everything does happen for a reason." What sort of backward world do you live in? What sort of cruel God is this? Who causes cancer just so we can get outside our petty selves for a moment to see the bigger picture? 

No.

Cancer, evil, sickness, disease, death - these are not created by God who because of His nature of goodness can only create what aligns with himself. 

Instead, when we allow God into a situation, He can work those events together for good. (Romans 8:28) 

When we allow God into a situation, He can bring good from it - because He is all Goodness. 

When we allow God into the darkness, He always brings light - because He is Light. When we allow God in, He brings His full nature. 

When God enters into a situation, He redeems it. Because Jesus himself suffered, suffering can be redemptive for us...but, it is dependent upon us. We have been given free will, and we can choose in our moments of suffering, doubt, darkness, temptation, fear, grief - if we are going to allow God to cross the threshold or not. Even when He has entered, it is still entirely dependent upon us whether we show him around the place and let ourselves be seen, known, and accepted as we truly are - or whether we just keep him to the safe spaces.

God will not push you. He will wait in the sitting room for you. He will wait in the alley. He will throw rocks at your window. He will hold a boombox over his shoulders. He will let you rail against him and hit a water bottle on the steering wheel: but when you lift up your tearful eyes, and give him permission to come close - he will. 

While he might be thinking, "what took you so long?" He'll wait to say it until you know that you are loved, cared for, and held. ...and then whisper with a twinkle in his eyes, "I've always been here. I've just been waiting for your, 'yes.'" 

Remembering - what grief feels like

Hindsight is 20/20. Only in the rear view can we really see what we just lived through. When we have emerged from the fog, we can begin to see the crisp lines, the hard edges become clearer - for before they were just blurred edges. The reality dulled by the grief and disbelief. 

Two years ago today, I posted this: 

At that time, I was nearing the 3-month mark. Three months of learning that Dan was dying, and then Dan dying, and then...walking through a fog trying to find life.

Last week, a friend and mentor celebrated her "retirement" from the university. Two years ago, our other full-time advisor announced his sudden retirement - and I was the only one for 500 undergrads. I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place under my belt. I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place, teaching 3 classes (one had 2 sections). I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place, teaching 3 classes, and drowning in grief.

I didn't know I was drowning in grief. I thought I was doing pretty well, really. ...and I was. But I was also drowning. 

You don't know how exhausting just living is until you have had the life drained out of you...and no one to replenish. That's what that first year was like for me. I was in the deep end, treading water, doing my best to shout encouraging words to everybody else, holding the hands of the students who needed it, trying to keep them afloat...while slowing going down.

I didn't realize how much Dan's presence and his love had buoyed me. He helped anchor me. He rooted me. ...and now, where was I? who was I? 

These were the questions that sat at the back of my mind - though I didn't acknowledge them. I'm not even sure I heard them. If I did, I did my best to ignore them - to just get through this day - because dang it, I CAN. Susan didn't know how much just her presence in the office gave me a lift. It was a reminder that someone else was helping. Someone else could shoulder what I couldn't carry. I didn't actually have to do it alone.

If you know someone grieving, just be their community. Listen to them when they start to share their heart about what is burdening them. We, the grieving, each have "an impossible task" - the one thing that seems impossible to us. Listen to us describe it to you. Don't give us advice. Don't offer to carry it for us. Just listen. That's the thing - we who are grieving and have lost our person - we are far emptier than you can begin to fathom. 

We don't need advice. We need you to listen. Hear us - because we feel a bit like no one does. (Even when we know God hears us; we need a human, too) We need you to tell us that it is okay for us to take a grief day (if we are the type who need both permission and are trying to manage it all on our own)...and, we might just need you to say, "Let's go sit outside in the sunshine." "Let's go for a walk," if we haven't left the house in a while. 

Let's be still, together. 

Back to School...

I'm being reminded from various factions that I haven't posted in quite awhile. To be honest, while I have some things to share, sure...I haven't quite felt the push to write - or to share it on this blog. I think part of this is influenced by the fact that while I have always been the sole writer, this was our space...and I feel as though in my life I am emerging from the shadow of death, ready to embrace "the next."

For the first school year since Dan died, I am ready. Sure, my syllabus is still "under construction" and the D2L site isn't as pretty as I want it. But, I am ready. I am excited. Genuinely excited and looking forward to this year. Ready to build connections with students and see them soar.

During my first lecture of each year, I give a little personal background to my students by answering the question "how did I get here?" Then, I have them share with a partner their story of getting here. During those first three semesters, this has been my little plea to say, "please be gentle with me, students," my reason for being here is a little muddled right now. I am here because Dan was, and thus, I know of no other place to be.

As I have emerged from the shadow of death and grief, I can say that I am choosing to be here - because Dan was, yes; because of everything this department and school and place meant to him, yes - but also now because of what it means to me. I am excited to work with the people in my office suite and department. They inspire me. I am excited to work with my students to see them grow in the way that they have been designed and encourage that.

So, in the last two days, I've toyed with the fact that maybe I don't have to drop the "widow bomb" on the first day of class. Maybe I can just be ... me. Just be a bubbly, effervescent Jessica whose excited.


The swing of life as a widow doesn't mean that not wanting to share with students means I'm leaving behind Dan, or shamed of that part of my life, or I have forgotten. These are impossible things. It just means the death isn't the prominent thing - the death of Dan doesn't define me; I no longer have to be defined by the separation.

Instead...maybe, I can focus on the presence of Dan that has always been my comfort.


As I drove into work today, I listened to some praise and worship. There was a common theme in those songs: death. The destruction of death.

As I drove, I thought about the new school year. Wow! Three years are completed already? That doesn't seem possible. Starting year 4? Wow. That doesn't seem possible. ...and then, I thought that I have now had twice as many years at MSU without Dan than I had with him.

...and that doesn't seem possible, either.

Two years?

Two years that he hasn't been here.

How can that be?


Sometimes our life together feels like a dream. Like it was so long ago...and that must be some type of a grace God gives us, so we can focus on today. But, sometimes - I am given the grace to remember those school days together. Our drives into work along Grand River - and how can that have been three years ago, now? How have I survived two years without him, and am now starting my third?

So, I wept.

and wept.

and wept.


I can grieve for the life that I do not have, so that I am ready to embrace the life that I do have.


MSU, we love thy shadows....




Ah, Daniel Dean...pray for us.

DK Forever.

The Power of Yes

The greatest story of my life began with a fairly simply response: "Sure, why not?"

Or, in the words of the great Molly Reel/Jessica Rohrig Costa Rica Spring Break Study Abroad theme: Porque no?

About a week-ish prior to April 29, 2008, my favorite student from my student teaching experience sent me a Facebook chat: was I interested in coming to his graduation party? 

Um...sure! Why not? 

He was graduating from Iowa State now and a member of the Alpha Gamma Ro fraternity. The brothers were having their graduation party at Outlaws, the country bar of Ames. I knew a couple of the guys from student teaching, and it's true - they were my favorites. 

Only I had never been to a college graduation party. Really. For whatever reason, I had never been to one when I was an undergrad...and hadn't since. Besides wanting to see Matt Ramaeker, I was excited to go spend some time with my brother's girlfriend, Jessica. (Yes, there are 2 Jessicas in this story and also 2 Matts. Try to keep up.) In fact, knowing that I could go with Jessica and that she was a popular person made me feel comfortable with going to my first graduation party, first fraternity graduation party - as a 28-year-old.

As the days came closer, it became clear that another reason for attending the party was that I could finally meet this guy that Jessica wanted to set me up with. This friend of my brother's had befriended me on Facebook a few months earlier, and since that point, he became the go-to "well, we could see what this guy is up to tonight" if ever I lamented my singleness. A bit exasperated with the teasing, I reached the, "I haven't even met the guy!" point - and we decided this party could be the opportune time. Kyle was a fraternity brother, a first-year grad student, and would no doubt be at the party. 

Great. Let's finally get this over with.

The night of the party, Jessica contacted me to find out if I really wanted to go. "Yes!" 

She had started to come down with a bit of a cold...but was willing to go if I really wanted. I said, "Yes!" and compromised with a "we can go early and leave early - so you won't be out late - plus I have a campus visit tomorrow, so I can't be out late anyway." After all, I was 28 and had a real job now for 5 years. 

I conveniently lived within walking distance of Outlaws and the two Jessicas set out. As we neared Outlaws, Jessica turned to me and asked if I had the invites. 

Invites? 

Yeah, we need invites to get it.

Well, Matt invited me. 

But, do you have invites? 

...no...it'll be fine, I said with this air of confidence that had I possessed 7 years earlier this wouldn't have been my first college-graduation party. 

We walked right up to those "bouncers" who checked IDs and asked for our invites, and I smiled and said, "We don't have invites, but Matt Ramaeker invited me. I'm his former teacher," and we just walked on by. Jedi-mind trick complete. 

The first "Fiat" of this story has been locked into place. Eternal thanks to Jessica for being willing to go out on a Tuesday night with a bit of a cold and to Matt Ramaeker for that invitation, and thinking me cool enough to keep me updated on his life.

Since we were early, the party hadn't really gotten into full swing - which may have helped that Jedi-mind trick thing. Matt was nowhere to be seen, so now is where Jessica as wing-woman became helpful because girl knew people. I got to stand around near her and jump into conversation.

Cue Dan Kiesling's entrance. 

About 10 pm, a guy walks up to Jessica (not me) and starts chatting. This Jessica (me) listens and chimes in with a clever anecdote. Dan Kiesling turns to me, initiates a handshake, and says, "I'm sorry; have we met?" 

Only in one of your better dreams.

No, I obviously didn't say that - girlfriend is not that clever. I introduced myself - Dan discovered I was Matt Rohrig's sister - then that I was Matt Rohrig's older sister - and then kept pressing to discover when I graduated high school (like I wasn't already conscious of being 6 years older than most of these "kids") - and when I finally admitted my age ("her ladyship can hardly expect me to own it what with three younger sisters all out in society") - he responded with, "I graduated in 2000! You're 28! I'm 26." 

Oh. Someone my age. Okay...

The rest, as they say, is history. 

Dan had come to the party that night with the friend Jessica had wanted me to meet. I never met him that night. When we learned that Dan had come with Kyle, Jessica suggested that Dan go get him and bring him over. Dan, not one to share the spotlight, or lose the chance to stop talking with this girl with a pretty smile (me), said, "If you want to talk to him, go get him!" (SO Dan)

Ten years ago tonight. Ten years ago tonight at this very hour. Ten years ago tonight at this very hour I was engaged in one of my favorite conversations of my life. I remembered every detail, every word for days - months - years. I loved talking to him. I didn't want to our conversation to end...and neither did he - since he asked me out on a date that very night. The first time that a guy had asked me out that immediately. 

I love to live in the light of possibility. That is what I think is so beautiful in the "Fiat" - Mary's yes - the yes of faith. "Let it be done to be according to your Word" indicates not just a trust but a firm belief in the creative, life-giving, loving kindness, purpose-fulfilling power that infuses God's will. This belief that God is for us. That God's intention for us is the discovery of our full-self, fully infused with himself - is our best life. 

At the moment in my life when I met Dan, I was entering that place. Walking in faith - knowing that God created me for a purpose and that the desire of my heart was a good desire - one He'd placed in me - and that the One who calls me is faithful, that he would do it. This "knowing" gave me that confidence to "Jedi mind trick" the bouncers...not that I knew that I'd meet my husband that night..but I knew that eventually I would. ...and I knew there was potential for something that night.

Ten years have passed since I met Dan Kiesling and my life is far different that I would have imagined it to be. ...and I am glad. I am SO. GLAD. that I met Dan Kiesling that night. I am so glad that I said, "sure why not?" I am so glad that he, too, had to give a fiat - to step out in faith to enter into a committed relationship with a girl like me. Different from any girl he'd dated before, and the fulfillment of prayers. Just like he was for me. 

To me, Dan was the embodiment of the willingness to say yes. Sure, why not? Yes, get the shoes, honey. :) 

The song, "So Will I" (Hillsong United) has been on repeat in my mind/heart's playlist lately. This song is the essence of "Fiat" - as you speak, if creation sings your praises: so will I. I love how each stanza emphasizes the importance of God speaking life into being, His purpose in each aspect of creation, and our natural response to this wonder and awe. So will I - echoes a thought of "who am I to not?" 

I am writing this memory today not to rehash old memories nor to cling to the past...but to honor this moment that changed my life - to honor the God who willed it to existence. 

If you left the grave behind you, so will I
I can see your heart in everything you've done,
Every part designed in a work of art called love,
If you gladly chose surrender, so will I.

I don't know what my future holds, but I know that I live in the light of possibilities - because I choose to surrender to the God of the Universe who fills all things in every way. Life lived in Him is full of the infinite in every ordinary moment. If Mary lived in Fiat, so will I. 

...and so today, on the tenth anniversary of meeting Dan Kiesling, we celebrated the next generation of Kiesling Fiats: Henry's first communion. 

Tim (Dan's brother), Henry and me

Remember: at the heart of every Fiat is love. 

Let us live in love, walk in love, and be in love. 

If we can learn anything from Dan Kiesling, it is this: life is worth living each moment. So say Yes! Do the thing you long to do. Do the thing you don't normally do. Go out on a weeknight. Go to the graduation party. Ask the girl out. Kiss her. You don't know the outcome? Who cares? Do the thing! Live in this moment - because this is what you have, right now! Stay in the castle. Buy the shoes. Starch your jeans. Go to work. Do your best job. Eat the dessert. Lick the beaters. Enjoy the whiskey.

Clear eyes; full hearts; can't lose.

What healing looks like: honest questions

This Lent, I decided to get back to basics: back to simply immersing myself in the Word of God, my first love. Looking longingly, lovingly into the words of Jesus to return to his heart, my heart. It has been such a gift. I can get so fixated on the doing of life that I mistakenly think that it's the doing that God cares about most. I forget the gift in being in His presence and adoring who He is...and somehow, reading & writing is how I meditate best, cultivating thoughts on Him - and me - and life springs up inside me.

I've been reading through the book of John - slowly, chewing, cherishing each section. I've wanted to share some thoughts I've had - and it just so happens that yesterday's Gospel reading and today's reading fit right in with what I was meditating on last week. (...and this one was a hard one for me, took a couple of days of honest prayer)

Without further ado, my thoughts on John 4:43-54, the healing of the Royal Official's son.

What isn't said that is necessary for understanding?


The Royal Official comes to Jesus in Cana:

Sir, I hear that at your word, water becomes wine.
Sir, I hear that you have performed many signs and wonders -
my son, my son whom I love...
he is sick - near death - please come and heal him.

I wonder, I picture him, bowed low, cap in hand,
humbling himself in spite of his position -
out of respect for authority and deep love for his son -

How could Jesus' heart be indifferent?
unmoved to compassion?
He is not like me. He does not grow tired or weary.
He will.

...but my heart has experienced this loss.
My heart cried out; I humbled myself - didn't I?
Didn't I?
Was it not enough?
Surely if not me, then his own parents -
was it not enough?
Were we not enough?
Was our faith too small for healing?
Did we accept that dying is just part of life?
That you, God, didn't will it for Dan?

I don't understand, to be honest. Why did you heal this man's son - and not Dan?
God, forgive me for my unbelief - for my questions,
but I need you to show me.
It feels too much like indifference, sometimes.
Forgive me for thinking your ways are mine, but I ask you -
with a contrite heart, please come into this part of my heart
and heal my hurt. Help me know how much you delight in healing -
in our wholeness.


...
There are no notes on John 4:45-54.
a son healed and not one word...
Jesus knew that the generation needed to believe;
this man believed that Jesus alone could heal his son.
he did.
~only say the Word~
He did: you may go; your son will live.
he believed -
and then -
he heard; he saw: at the very hour He spoke -
healing.
and a household believed.

Your words are LIFE.
You give Life.
You are Life.
You are more than a teacher.
You are God.

In February 2016, Jesus told me that Dan would be healed. Clearly, as Father Mark prayed for him and I prayed, begging for his healing: I knew it. I felt it. I "heard" it.

It can be hard to explain this - because 6 months later, he died. But Jesus told me something about healing that day:
Healing is about wholeness - 
and a person is only whole in Jesus.

Miraculous healings - these are signs to accompany faith -
to produce, affirm, confirm, strengthen faith...
so that a person may experience greater wholeness with Jesus.
or even a community of people.

The thing is - this Royal Official's Son, he still died...eventually.
For me, that is what I must accept:
that in the goodness of God,
in His providence -
Dan's death, leading to ultimate unity: wholeness with Jesus -
this could lead more to faith in Jesus than his life could.
It seems impossible -
but with God all things are possible -
even life from death.

Searching for my heart's love

Today, I am sharing with you one of the most significant moments of my pilgrimage to Ireland. This was the Saturday of our trip; our second-to-last day in the Emerald Isle. Our pilgrimage included daily Mass, and the members of the pilgrimage took turns sharing the duties of reader. I read the first day (Sunday)...and was asked to read prior to Saturday's Mass. Nearly every other day, I read the readings ahead of time - so that I'd be ready, just in case. I didn't on this day. If I had, I probably would've said no. :) 

...without further ado, my story:

7/22/17

Today, I read.

I'm not in prison; just reading behind the bars separating the chapel from the Benedictine sisters.

It was a very hard reading, especially given the dream I had the night before I left for Ireland. In a soap-opera-like turn of events, Dan had been discovered as not dead, but I'd believed that he was - and had been in the process of "living my life" - when this announcement was made. So, I went to where he was (this strange hospital/school) - but I couldn't get to him. I could hear him, but I couldn't ever get to where he actually was. It was very upsetting.

Today's reading was from the Feast of Mary Magdalene:

A reading from the Song of Songs 3:1-4b: 

The Bride says:
on my bed at night, I sought him whom my heart loves;
I sought him, but I did not find him.
I will rise then and go about the city;
in the streets and crossings I will seek
Him whom my heart loves.
I sought him but I did not find him.
The watchmen came upon me, as they made their rounds of the city:
"Have you seen him whom my heart loves?"
I had hardly left them
when I found him whom my heart loves.

I feel like I have a choice of two things to write about: the deep sorrow in my soul ... or the fact that only in the heart of Jesus do I have any solace or hope of comfort. Our Mass today was said in a Benedictine Priory dedicated to the Perpetual Adoration of the Sacred of Heart of Jesus (Cobh, Ireland).

The Gospel reading was Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene after his resurrection. "Don't cling to me, for I have yet to return to my Father; but, go - and tell my disciples to go on ahead of me - to wait and to pray till I come to them."

Father said Mary, devastated by the loss of the One who had restored her to wholeness, was probably rejoicing that things would be back as they were. As she embraces Jesus, he seems to know that her heart longs for the way things were - and yet, "Behold, He is making all things new." Always.
(it's not a one-and-done, but a constant converstion to the newness.)

So, he gently tells her. He speaks to her heart - and then sends her out with the gospel - "Behold, you (even you) will be my witnesses to the ends of the earth." Go - tell my brothers what you have seen and heard and touched. Go.

So, Mary does.

She does exactly the opposite of Moses (whom we've been hearing about all week). She doesn't question, "Who am I to go?" Mary Magdalene has been transformed by love - and she knows the One who has made her new. She knows she is loved, and she loves him in return.

She doesn't question, "What will I say? Who will I tell them who sent me?" Jesus tells her exactly waht to say and to whom to go. She knows the One who sent her - and she trusts him because He has loved her in a way no one ever has.

I had a moment last night where I think God came to me... I had this vision brighter than I'd ever seen - my eyes were closed, and these images of green and gold - like sunlight through trees - brighter than anything I'd ever seen, passed before me - and I felt like I was in the presence of holiness.

I just wanted to stay in that place; bask in that presence...but I felt prompted to ask for what I wanted.
But I had no idea what to ask for.
I had no idea what my heart wants most.
I didn't fell like I could ask for it - instead just a "I don't know; what do you want for me?
What will you do for me? Do you want me to hope for the things I have before? for motherhood, for marriage? Will you do that for me?"

...and then it was dark and I felt like I'd lost it - like maybe I don't really know His heart for me.


After Mass, three different people told me that the face that I read this particular reading is a sign. But a sign of what? I don't know.

Have I found the One whom my heart loves?

I feel like I'm a "yabbit" here. Yes...but.

Yes, in an amazing, miraculous way I have found more of Jesus in my heartbreak. I am in love with him more now than I was with Dan here. I have a much stronger, more profound, deep knowledge that I am loved - and I trust his heart more for me now than when Dan lived.

I do. I love Jesus more now than a year ago - and I want to love him more. I want more of him. I am no longer afraid of the Holy Spirit living in me - I want that. I want more of Him. More. More. MORE.

But, I still want to love a person. I want to be married. I want a family. I still want those things. I do.

The hardest part of grief is feeling you straddle two worlds. Two lives.
One that feels broken, desolate, a promise dashed.
One that hopes breathes, that lives, that laughs.

Two hearts.

Like today's words: Don't. Go.

I don't know how to live in two worlds. I don't know what my "don't" is...but my soul clings to Hope. My heart has been buoyed by Hope - and my Hope has a name: Jesus.

A view from the backside of the Priory

Now that it's been over 6 months since I penned these words, I see how the Holy Spirit has continued gently leading me through this process of voicing my heart. I can't speak for all Christians, but for me, I have often felt a need for permission to want what I want. Like, it is somehow holier to be all "whatever God, have your way" - when there are desires he's pressed upon us - when he wants to hear us articulate what is on our hearts.

Of course this doesn't mean that I dictate my will to God and expect him to "Magic 8-ball" my requests; but what I am invited to do is to share my hopes and dreams - and ask the One who has loved me with an everlasting love, who has created me, who knows me to have his way in me...while trusting that what he's laid on my heart is good - and that the One who calls me is faithful - and He will do it.

So, what's all that mean, anyway, Jessica? Gah, you've figured me out, self. You know how I like to couch my thoughts. 

What does it mean? Well, I want to be a mom, and I want to be married. I want to be part of a family; I want a family. I do. Those are still desires of my heart...and I want to trust God to provide for me, believing that He will...in His way and His time. It took me awhile to be brave enough to voice it. 

St. Mary Magdalene, pray for us.

I will rise

Today I'm sharing with you "My Moment" from my pilgrimage to Ireland this past summer. There is a lot on my heart as Dan's birthday approaches tomorrow. The last few days have been plagued by the heaviness of grief...and I have need to "hear" from Dan (but haven't). Reading this reminded me of the hope to which I cling...that hope which is a buoy to my soul.

My moment...at Mass today (7/20/17)

Today was the first time I saw Dan's resemblance in someone else.

Today during the Gospel reading, I looked up at Father David - and I saw Dan. His hairline, his nose, his eyes - his resemblance. Now, I've looked at Father for 4 days so far and not once seen him [Dan]...until today. ...and to have the first person you see resemble Dan be a priest? His "dream" job? ...how do you handle that?

My heart - overcome with grief...all I could see and think was how much I missed him. How much I love him...and I was so, so sad. And I cried. and my nose ran. And then, they came with the offering basket...and my purse completely spilled. And, I was so distracted from my grief that I laughed, and that was Dan.

During the Eucharistic Liturgy, I just felt so sad...all the tears. I remember feeling so sad looking out at the beauty behind the altar, wondering how I could long for heaven when my heart hurt so much here - when this pain feels so much more real...and I just invited the Holy Spirit to come, come.

Then I noticed a cow grazing at the foot of the cross. Honestly, it just made me feel sadder.
After receiving Jesus, as I prayed I looked back out at the cross and the sun was lighting up the field with the cattle, and I heard the song, "I Will Rise."

I will rise on eagle's wings, before my God fall on my knees - and rise...

No more sorrow, no more pain - I will rise. I will rise.

No more sorrow. No more pain.

In that moment, I knew. I knew that God was reassuring me Dan was in a far better place. There is a peace that he has come to know - his faith is now his eyes. He will rise.

Photo credit: Emily Holman

As Mass ended, I headed to the pasture to capture this beautiful scene and to worship.

There's a peace I've come to know though my heart and flesh may fail.

There's an anchor for my soul, I can say, "It is well."

Jesus has overcome, and the grave is overwhelmed. 

Victory is won - He is risen from the dead.

I will rise when He calls my name, 

No more sorrow; no more pain. 

I will rise on eagle's wings, 

Before my God fall on my knees - and rise, I will Rise.

There's a day that's drawing near when this darkness breaks to light; 

and the shadows disappear and my faith shall be my eyes.

And I hear the voice of many angels say, "Worthy is the Lamb!"

And I hear the cry of every longing heart, "Worthy is the Lamb!"

 

 

The Gift of Christmas Present

We give up joy when we focus on loss.  (Marie Crews)

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about how the ghosts of Christmas Past can sneak up on this time of year - and we don't have to be grieving to have them find us. I remember a conversation with my mom about ten years ago. My brother was spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his girlfriend's family...and I felt left behind. I remember saying, "I just don't know how to have an 8-year-old's Christmas at 28!"

To me, it felt like Christmas had to be about reliving those past traditions in order for it to be Christmas. ...and how do you relive a tradition without an integral family member?

You don't. ...and that tension of recognizing what has been is not what is can be very hard, frustrating, lonely or painful. For me, I think that Christmas was the first of letting go of the parameters put on Christmas and letting it just be.

Lucky enough for me, I didn't have to endure too many "single" Christmases after that. In fact, the very next year was what Dan and I referred to as the "awkward" Christmas - when he traveled to Orient for Christmas dinner when we were sort-of/almost dating - and it was a really fun day, really fun - one that you want to have again...but afterward, I felt a little more confused. I mean, what were we? Did he like me enough to actually ask me out?  Looking back, a magical 8-ball could've told you all signs point to yes - but cautious Jessica just wasn't quite sure.

One of the gifts of Dan's presence in my life was a feeling of settling. Not like "settling" - where you give up...but a feeling of being...grounded. Whenever we speak of the peace of the Holy Spirit resting upon us - this is what I think of: the feeling of being grounded even when the rest of your life feels out of control.

I had felt, for so many years, that I was running behind everyone (my peers): not yet married, no kids...just me. and my parents. I must have a bit of a competitive nature because I felt like everyone around me was "moving forward" in their life, and here I was, a 28-year-old trying to either live out an 8-year-old's Christmas or live with the emptiness of being single. Dating and then being married to Dan changed that.

The last ten years have really been a lesson in loosening the parameters and allowing the present to be just what it is. However, it took Dan's diagnosis to make this lesson not just a good idea (an ideal), but a necessity. From the second day of the diagnosis, I realized that the best way to get through this was to stay grounded in this moment. That realization helped Dan and I truly live the last year of our lives with peace and joy in the midst of uncertainties.

I don't much remember Christmas last year. Maybe I was too focused on the getting through it...but, this year, though there are moments of heightened loss, I am finding my joy in the gift of Christmas present. My health coach shared this pearl of wisdom with me this past fall:

We give up joy when we focus on loss.

Those of us who have experienced loss realize the gift of today. Today, you have this moment to be with your family and friends: live it. If you feel pain, feel it. If you feel lonely, reach out. If you feel scared, open your heart to God. If you feel joy, laugh. If you feel you are not enough or your validation comes from giving the most presents or the goodness of the day is measured by what you get: then renounce those lies and send them to the pit of hell. Seriously. When you focus on loss, you give up joy. Don't let the joy of what really matters be stolen. You will only get this day once. Live it.

Jessica of ten years ago would be measuring herself by those around her. Has she arrived yet? Is she a wife yet? Is she a mom yet? Jessica today does feel the sting of loss at times. Of course she wants to be with Dan; of course she wants to be married; of course she wants to be a mom. And yet, this moment: this is enough.

It is a gift to be Aunt Jessica. ...and by all rights to be the cool aunt. Instead of spending Christmas Eve sewing last-minute gifts for your kid, it's for your kids (nieces).

It is such a gift to get to be Mom's cool friend to my friends' kids. When a 5-year-old requests that you be the one to put him to bed - and finds delight in your laughter and enjoyment of his presence: that is a gift. When an 8-year-old requests to wait on going home just so she can talk to you about her favorite things: that is a gift. (and when that 8-year-old is explaining how she just doesn't understand the logic behind one of the desserts at her favorite restaurant and she says, "It just doesn't make sense, you know?" You say, "I do know!" because you know that as a first-born, you need the world to make sense!)

...and when you get side-lined by a freak case of the stomach virus - you just come home and rest. Enjoying the chance to relive a bit of Christmas past: sitting in the dark with nothing but Christmas lights and Mannheim Steamroller...and taking a 2-hour nap before the opening of the presents.

In the past, I may have felt like if one little detail - or even one program missed - that Christmas would be ruined. For Christmas had been in the doing. Christmas is in the being - the dwelling. If we miss that, then we miss Christmas.

My dear friends, Christmas is about rejoicing: returning to joy in the midst of whatever your circumstances or feelings. JOY. The One who not only dwells in unapproachable Light but is Light itself has put on our flesh to be not only like us, but to be with us. If this is not a cause of wonder and awe, I don't know what is! But this same One has come to fulfill these words in himself: Comfort, comfort My people. Proclaim a day of rejoicing for the blind see, the lame walk, the captives have been set free! By the Lord has this been done and it is wonderful in our sight!

The gift of Christmas present: yesterday, today, and always.