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.

Assurance

Yesterday's Gospel reading (from Matthew 11) contained a line that caught me:

The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent are taking it by force. (verse 12)

Intrigued by that, I set off to read more of Matthew 11 to gain some insight and clarity.

The beginning of Matthew 11 sees John the Baptist's disciples acting as his proxy. He (John) is in prison (by Herod - awaiting his death, but he doesn't know that part yet, but maybe he can sense it). ...and John has a question. John needs ASSURANCE from Jesus that Jesus really is the guy - the One - the Messiah. Are you who you say you are?

"Are you the One who is to come - or should we be looking for another?"


True to form, Jesus doesn't just say, "Yes." Instead, he says:

Tell John what you see and hear: 

the blind see,
the lame walk -
lepers are cleansed (nobody had seen that before) -
the deaf hear -
the dead are raised -
the poor have the good news preached to them;
and blessed is the one who takes no offense at me. 

With this response, Jesus is actually honoring John's intelligence and intuition. How? you wonder. In that response, Jesus directly quotes Isaiah 26, 35, and 61 - all Messianic prophesies. These passages were well-known to the Jews as signs to recognize the coming, the arrival of - the Messiah.

John the Baptist was the first to recognize Jesus (in utero he leapt for joy at the sound of Mary's voice, she pregnant with the baby Messiah). From the womb, John was living his calling of 'preparing the way for the Lord'! His whole life was spent living out this calling. (wouldn't we love that assurance?)

Jesus knew that John knew the Truth - but he just needed some assurance. The cultural expectation was that the Messiah would usher in a time of VICTORY, power, vindication...that the kingdom of the Jews would be redeemed and rise up. (post-Hamilton I can't use this phrase and not think of RISE UP.)

...yet...John finds himself in prison...and Jesus has come. He's the Messiah, right? The Messiah is HERE - IN OUR MIDST - but...I'm in prison? I thought I was going to be his right-hand man? I thought my job was to help usher him in - that together, we would RISE UP... but I'm in prison - and my intuition is giving me a feeling that something foreboding is on my horizon. ...is this...the plan?

Trying to make sense of his current circumstance that seems to be defying all expectations of "the plan" - John sends his disciples. Jesus tells John (via his disciples) via Isaiah:

You know me. You know my mission. You know. You recognized rightly. Rest in your calling and your mission, my friend. You are blessed in my kingdom.

AND THEN - Jesus does something extra. Jesus tells us - the crowd - who John is.

"Amen, I say to you,
among those born of women
there has been none greater than John the Baptist;
yet the least in the Kingdom of heaven is greater than he. 
.....
All the prophets and the law prophesied up to the time of John. 
And if you are willing to accept it,
he is Elijah, the one who is to come. 
Whoever has ears ought to hear."

I find this part so beautiful - and so like God. Sometimes, our deep struggle isn't simply needing assurance about God's character or mission - we need assurance about ourselves, too. 

Have you seen me, God?

Do you see this burden? Is it from you, God?
Should I keep going - or put it down?
Am I who you say I am?
Are you here with me?
Will you continue with me? 

AND THEN - Jesus speaks to the heart of John's confusion:

From the days of John the Baptist until now,
the Kingdom of heaven suffers violence,
and the violent are taking it by force. 

John, my cousin:  My coming isn't like our forefathers' vision. It's not a physical, earthly reign. We aren't building a castle or overthrowing Rome - like that. It's one for the Spirit - the Spirit manifesting itself in humanity - and transforming the physical, earthly realm through all people upon whom my favor rests.

You, my cousin, have been taken by force. They may take your life, but they cannot claim your spirit - or your calling - and they cannot a quench this revolution by taking a life. 

You are Elijah - and you have prepared the way of the Lord! You have fulfilled your calling, done your part.

This is enough for John the Baptist. In John's Gospel - it is noted that the Baptist responds with:

No one can receive anything except what has been given him from heaven. You yourselves can testify that I said 'I am not the Messiah, but that I was sent before him.' 

The one who has the bride is the bridegroom; the best man, who stands and listens to him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice. So this joy of mine has been made complete. 

He must increase; I must decrease. 

Week 2 of Advent focuses on Peace. Let us take note of John the Baptist's response to confusion and fear: he simply asked Jesus for clarity. ...and Jesus answered. Today's gospel (also Matthew 11) ends with "Wisdom is vindicated by her works." When we are in need of assurance: true wisdom asks God to 'rise up' - and waits with open eyes and ears to recognize the answer through the messenger God chooses.

I love that this reflection ends with point us to joy. When John received Jesus' message, he received the PEACE of the Holy Spirit. That peace led him to JOY - and greater love. WOW. 

 

 

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. 

Thankful Thursday: lessons in the midst of illness

Well, I think it's about Day 11. Here are thoughts I've had over the last several days:

God did not cause this illness - but He is allowing it to happen. If he is allowing it, then it must be for my overall good. If it is for my good, I will accept it and seek Him to (understand) it, through it, and for it.

1) I am so glad that I took ANS 270 19 years ago and learned proper handwashing technique. Get the water nice and hot (but not scalding), wet your hands, lather up while singing Happy Birthday - or the ABCs - or counting to 20 (the long way "one-one thousand, two one-thousand"), rinse.

Since the only way to effectively prevent the spread of crypto is good hygiene practices, I'm glad that FC made this part of his class. ...and also that our group did such a horrible job in putting together or presentation on it that the shame for doing so poorly really engrained the concept to my long-term knowledge.

2) Fasting improves my spiritual faculties.
Huh. You'd think that might be part of a good spiritual practice or something....

See that? It's the Sacred Heart of Jesus in the clouds...

3) Spend as much time as you can in the sunshine.
Starting last Tuesday, I have spent time nearly every day just being in the sun. It's the one thing I miss when I'm in the office all day long.

4) Nigel is wise; listen to him.

5) If it is to be - it is not necessarily up to me. I do not have to do it all; I do not have to be it all.
It's okay for me to say no and disappoint others. Those who care about me will understand, and those who don't understand need to learn some adaptability lessons, and I get to teach them! :)

6) You can let others pick the grapes so the birds don't eat them.

At the start of last week, I still had 25% of my arbor abundant with grapes. I intended to pick them for a couple friends. ...finally by Friday, I had to recognize that I wasn't going to have the strength to do it - nor was it probably a good idea for me to pick them for other people. A friend and her mom did come pick grapes - but they had been mostly picked over by the birds. (this lesson also relates to #5)

7) Getting stressed about not being at work is not going to help me get better.
This relates back to #5.
Last week and this week was supposed to be "resume review" week for my class of 60 students. I honestly love this time, but it takes a lot out of me - even when healthy - because it's 15 minute appointments x 60. This year, I thought I'd be smart and spread it out over 2 weeks. It was smart...but, then crypto.  On Monday, I was really getting worried about how I could implement this part of the course without being there.

8) My best ideas come from prayer. 
So, on Monday, as I was upset about still being sick, and concerned about "how to do it all without being there" - I prayed about it. ...and God showed me this great idea to share the burden, but also empower students to be critical and support each other. While I miss out on the opportunity of getting to know my students individually, they can still get the support they need and we can still progress forward.

9) I am basically a cat.
AKA - give your body the rest it needs. See post #3 (being in the sunshine) plus I have taken a nap every day. Each afternoon, I have taken a nap. I'm a napper that needs to be covered up. I love wrapping up in a blanket and sleeping.

10) Essential oils are amazing. Valor, Lavender, Peace & Calming, Stress Away, DiGize...they are really helping buoy me.

11) My circle! 
Leslie (my roommate) has ran errands for the past two weeks picking up loaves of bread, rice, bottled water, coconut water, bananas. Tuesday, I was reaching a breaking point - running out of foods, tired of the BRAT diet for the past week...yesterday, Leslie went to Kroger and bought me some exotic foods: Gingerberry Kombucha (from Synergy - I cannot get enough of the BUBBBLES), English muffins instead of bread, Refresh tea (because Zen was out) and even though it's $4.69: Sweet & Spicy GoodEarth tea (my favorite!). 

I replaced my toothbrush. Well, Leslie did and she picked out a FANCY one. This is the old one. Take no chances.

Dean & Linda have delivered homemade applesauce (I only had one bag from my mom) and chicken noodle soup. ...and some saltines and Vernor's ginger ale yesterday (again, I needed to "spice it up"). ...and maybe some chicken & dumplings soon....

Alex & Charles mowed my lawn on Tuesday in less than 45 minutes. It takes me 2 hours to push mow it; they brought in their rider and took care of business. SO thankful that I no longer have to worry about being the blight in the neighborhood.

Tim fixed my sink and garbage disposal. ...I knew that the disposal wasn't working well...but I didn't realize that the sink was leaking. Saturday morning I discovered that the sink had leaked, water was sitting in a bag of replacement towels - which were now covered in mold...and promptly disposed of.
But now it's all better.

12) Video chats:  My dad helped me fix my toilet on Saturday night (seriously, how many plumbing issues can you discover in a day?) using Facebook video messenger. I think that sucker had been running for a month (resulting in a larger water bill) - and now it's not. Plus, having a broken toilet and cryptosporidium do NOT go together.

13) Joy is a non-negotiable. You can find it every day in every place in every circumstance.
Do not stop until you find it. It's your birthright.

This is my favorite view. My backyard is huge...but I just love the REST that this picture evokes.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today my dad turns 62. In normal fashion, I have not put his card in the mail yet. So, he gets something even better: a blog in his honor!

Going through my pictures, I realized that my dad and I don't take selfies very often. Instead, I'll share some pictures of my dad's handiwork. My dad is one of the hardest working people I know. I would imagine that "Achiever" is one of his CliftonStrengths because he is one of the most productive people. He is always working on a project. He exhausts me. :)

When he comes to visit, he works tirelessly on projects. Don't mishear me - I LOVE that he does all of these things for me because...otherwise they wouldn't get done. But once in a while I think, wouldn't it be fun if you came to Michigan and we just went somewhere? Like, we actually vacationed? :)

When I moved into my new house, he spent the entire weekend learning to install flooring. Blog about Dad :)

When I had a small surgery this summer, he spent the entire weekend cleaning up my yard.
Friday: he cut down a veritable forest growing in the backyard and destroyed the whistlepigs' portal to Narnia

Bye-bye whistle pigs! or as Leslie would say, "Get outta here, whistlepigs!"

Saturday: he repaired my grape arbor

Sunday: he built shelves in my little storage shed and then cleaned out my gutters

The man is a work-horse, and I love him for it.


My dad is also the champion of bringing my ideas to life. When I said that I wanted to have  make my wine-bottle/candle-holder centerpieces, he didn't say, "That'll be a lot of work. What a dumb idea. Why don't you just use regular votive cups?" He found out how to cut glass and places that sold glass cutters in Michigan. (Every time I drive by Delphi Glass on Jolly Road, I think - 'Hey! That's where Dad bought our glass cutter!') THEN, he and I spent the entire weekend making the candle-holders. ...and it is one of my most cherished memories from the wedding-planning process.

The other idea my dad brought to life was our dance floor for the wedding. I didn't want to spend precious time during the reception tearing down tables for a dance floor. Instead, why not use the stage as the dance floor? The stage is better for dancing anyway. Then, I said, I would like there to be twinkle lights up over the dance floor. My mother immediately dismissed the idea and tried to talk me into something new. But not my dad!

I think my dad must also have the Restorative talent - because he so great at meeting a challenge. Rather than think a thing impossible, he brainstorms ideas and ways to bring it to reality. I know that if my dad says a thing cannot be done - then, it probably really can't be done.




There are so many other times that I have spoken of the gift that my dad is to me. He speaks truth to my heart when I need it most. There was that one time he ran for office, and I wrote about his character and impact upon me.

Dad, I just love you so much. I am eternally grateful that you have been my dad, and I am your daughter. Your efforts in life bear much fruit in the lives of those you love and serve. May you be filled to overflowing by the Holy Spirit so that grace, peace, and good works abound to the glory of our Heavenly Father through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Here's some earthly bounty wrought by your arbor:

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.

Coming full circle...

Eight years ago, June 30, 2010, my grandfather, Joseph M. Kremer breathed his last. My grandpa was my hero, an idol, one of the greats...and I couldn't imagine life without him. ...and without knowing it, eight years ago, I entered into this tug-of-war in my heart - this niggling question of doubt: how can God be good if we die?

I didn't realize it at the time because I knew the answer. I knew the right answer based on my years of study and attentiveness: God is good. Period. End of statement. What is there to question?

Because, up until that point in my life I had known no other reality than goodness. I hadn't really endured suffering or hardship. Nor had I experienced love, really. I mean, yes, I knew the unconditional love of my parents and family; I knew phileo love - the constancy of friends... but not the depth of love that causes you to realize that you can't imagine a moment where you didn't love this person...where your soul knew a level of completion that it hadn't before.

When Grandpa Joe (affectionately known as Grandpa McGillicuddy to his grandkids) died...his was the first loss that I really felt. My grandpa had been sick for a while; his kidneys first started to fail three years earlier. For three years, his body battled the slow process of shutting down - and my grandmother, the angel that she is, allowed no one else to care for him. (eventually of course there were nurses that had to come in, but up until the last few weeks, she was adamant that he would be home)

He had a stroke (I think; now the details are becoming fuzzy to me) a few weeks before he died. At that point, he moved into a nursing home. I visited him with my aunt Mary, cousin Amy, and Grandma, after my cousin Cynthia's wedding. He was alert and attentive. Like he was. ...and I think it was that week that the reality of losing him started to sink in for me. I remember sobbing in Dan's basement as the reality that a man like this was a gem; a rare treasure; and that this earth would lose something profound when we lost him.

To live such a life, right?

To live such a life that the world notices.
...that a void is left not only in the lives of those that loved you - but in the world itself.
...that a space is created asking another to take up the cross of courage and compassion, to step into this life of truly living and serving and loving others.

I wouldn't say that he loved with abandon - but rather, with reason. He considered. He contemplated. He sorted through a complex issue with logic - and compassion. He then communicated through wit and humor, endearing those to his side - or, at least to listen and to consider. His faith was the foundation of his life, creating an ordered discipline and understanding of the world. His love of family was placed securely upon that foundation: ordering his choices and tempering justice with compassion.

It is through reflecting on his life that I start to see the lesson he modeled to me: love justice, seek mercy, and walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8) I think of his last letter to me where he said, "we were put into this world to help one another." He taught me to not only believe in the good of the other person, but more importantly to be the good.

.....

So, yes, his loss was profound, but at the time, I didn't realize the question planted in my heart. For as he left this world, then Dan left Iowa for Arizona - and my life speed started to ramp up. I decided to join the Catholic church, and during that year of formation sensed my grandpa's pleasure at this new path I was embarking on my mountainous journey toward God.

During RCIA, I remember doing a visioning prayer exercise where we were envisioning a wall around a palace...and the palace was supposed to be heaven and what we were picturing was where we were, in our hearts/belief, at that moment in relation to God/our understanding of death, etc. (I obviously am not remembering all the details perfectly) BUT - I do remember that for me, it was like a bright, autumn day, the fields surrounding the place were golden, ready for harvest...but there was no entrance. I was on the outside of that wall, with no way to get in.

For right-understanding-Jessica-who-believes-in-God-and-has-made-a-good-confession-of-faith-and-therefore-is-not-afraid-of-dying...like-any-good-Christian-and-of-course-she-is-a-good-Christian; if-she-is-anything-she-is-a-good-Christian - that was a really startling revelation. And, like any good respondent, upon realizing this, I promptly threw it away - paying it no mind - it wasn't in line with the truth. ...and I am in line with the truth.

So, I went on with my life. Joining the church. Getting married. Moving to Arizona. Starting my married life. Moving forward.

...but that seed...that fear of death...that separation...continued to grow/fester.

...and then Dan was diagnosed with cancer.

In a way, the diagnosis amplified the fear, yes. ...but, it also steeled my resistance to believing that cancer would win. The barrier that fear had created was melting in my heart with every Rosary that I prayed - as I focused on the truth of who Jesus is, and focused on His works. I am sure that Mary was fervently praying for me to not only know, but to fully love her son not only through this trial, but beyond.

I have said it before that I never thought Dan could die. I mean it. I was afraid, of course, that he would - but I truly believed that if God was good, Dan would not die. How could he? How could He? How could He bring me to this man, and cause him to love me, and give us this life together - only for it to be snatched away? How could that be good? How, in a thousand lifetimes, could that be considered good?



It would seem, of course, that God had more lessons to teach me.

A lesson that, I think, both my grandpa and Dan knew to be true, through their years of suffering in the body: God's goodness is bigger - than death - than life - than our present circumstance (no matter how good or bad). God's goodness is more than we can even start to comprehend. His goodness is LIFE. His goodness is LOVE.  His goodness is the very reality of His presence to us - even in our present suffering.


In those weeks after Dan's death, as I attended Mass and prayed the Rosary, God so simply laid it out there: our dying defeats death. It completes the one circle, while starting another.

Most authors/grief counselors will impress upon the truth that grief is not linear. You do not progress in stages - like ascending or descending stairs: instead, it is a spiral. You are experiencing many things as you progress upward (or downward depending on whether you are healing or festering) - and you will circle back to different stages and emotions - and even memories - as you progress. ...and, I think this is also true of our life: we are spiral. Moving upward or downward...and our dying is not the end of our spiral, but a gateway to the next.

Now, let me say this: Jesus' death is the ultimate dying that has defeated death. I am not saying that we are mini-Christs or anything like that. His death is what defeated sin, and therefore eternal death - while opening up the gateway to eternal life. Only Jesus. Likewise, through Him, through our living of this life and carrying our cross: doing the right, loving goodness, and walking humbly with our God, does our dying defeat the cycle of sin/death.

Early on after Dan's death, I remember coming to Mass with the question: "but why death, Lord?" As I prayed the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary that day, the 4th mystery - where Mary is assumed into heaven (thereby not dying), I knew why we, though Christians and thus "saved" from death, experienced death. Because of sin. Although, we have been washed in the waters of baptism, as we walk through this life, we are still battling sin and temptation. Though we are safe in the grasp of our Father, the enemy is still prowling about like a roaring lion trying to ensnare us, to entrap us, to get us to throw up our hands and not do the right, love goodness, or walk humbly with our God - anything to get us to be ineffective and not bear fruit.  ...and our death is actually like a final thrust of the sword into his heart. A reminder to him that he cannot - and will not - win...and though a void be left, by the grace of God, more will be coming to fill our place.


If you have never read the Book of Wisdom, I highly encourage you to set aside some time and read the first 5 chapters. You will be blest.

Reading 1WISDOM 1:13-15; 2:23-24; 3:1-4

God did not make death,
nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.
For he fashioned all things that they might have being;
and the creatures of the world are wholesome,
and there is not a destructive drug among them
nor any domain of the netherworld on earth,
for justice is undying.
For God formed man to be imperishable;
the image of his own nature he made him.
But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world,
and they who belong to his company experience it.

But the souls of the just are in the hand of God,

and no torment shall touch them.

They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; 

and their passing away was thought an affliction

and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace.