To honor Mark's birthday I plant a rose bush. I'm sentimental - if a child touches an item, I can't throw it out. So these rose bushes have to have symbolic names. The first year I chose a white rose that symbolized the peace and purity of God that I longed to experience in the aftermath of our son's death. The bush rarely bloomed that first year and I concluded it had died. But when I started to pull it out, I noticed a few green leaves. Without any pruning on my part, the bush bore two long stem white roses. When those two died, two more appeared. All summer, every day, two white roses graced that rose bush. No more, no less. A friend came over to give me a gift on July 6, the anniversary of Mark's death. I took her out to the yard to show her the rose bush and explained that I considered the two roses a sign from God - one for Mark and one for Kelly. She smiled and we talked about how God transforms what appears to be dead into a life-giving gift that can bring hope and help to others. That fall that same friend received the same kind of horrific phone call we received on July 6. Her only daughter was killed in a car accident. Chuck and I rushed home from our Florida vacation to be with the family. I walked out back to the rose garden and remembered our conversation. Instead of just two roses there were three long-stemmed perfect white roses. I gasped and concluded that God was sending a treasure in the darkness to my friend, Susan. The three white roses symbolized Mark, Kelly, and Rachel, pure, innocent and redeemed, with Jesus, like Jesus. I cut the roses and made a corsage for my broken friend. She hugged me tightly and wore the roses throughout her daughter's services. No more roses bloomed that year.

The death of a loved one creates an ever widening circle of losses. The sorrow isn't contained within that one relationship. Our sons married sisters whose mother had died when they were very young. Children who experience sudden loss before the age of 18 often do not process grief until the average age of 40. Life experiences remind them of the absence of their loved one in ways that can unexpectedly slam them into a wall. Our children learned this as they approached their weddings and welcomed their children into the world. But God sent Laura a special treasure that we believe was a wedding gift from heaven. And He used a rose bush as the conduit of His love for Laura and once more for me.

"Sweety, come out front with me. I want to show you something." Laura, our future daughter in law, followed her dad to the front of the yard. He stopped at a rose bush filled with blooms. "Laura, you know your mother planted this rose bush when you and Melanie were little. It never bloomed. But look at it. It's filled with roses. I think this is your wedding gift from Mommy." Goose bumps and tears were my response to Laura's gift. But maybe God had something for me, too, as we planned Dan's wedding without his sidekick, Mark, at his side. I rushed outside to my roses. Tears fell when I saw the glorious white roses that filled what was once a sickly bush. Could it be that these roses were another treasure in the darkness, reminding us that God was very aware of the shadow over the joy? A bouquet of her Mommy's roses graced Laura's wedding day.

As the years passed and we approached the eighth anniversary of Mark's death, I didn't expect God to send me any more rose treasures. I concluded that God only sent such treasures when the need was extreme and that year I had started to feel a little more "normal." As the Ghost of Grief is prone to do, he jumped me from behind and the days leading up to July 6 were excruciating. How long, O Lord, how long? I walked outside on that hot summer morning, trying to reconcile God's love with Mark's absence. God surprised me with a love note that reminded me He was very aware of my broken heart. Eight long stemmed white roses bloomed on this once dying bush. Eight.

Sometimes, though, we miss the treasures. Thankfully, God doesn't give up in drawing our attention to His love. Our daughter, Heidi, her husband Greg and their three children lived with us while their new house was being built. They all knew the story of my roses so on July 6 Greg expectantly checked out what was blooming. We were in the middle of a terrible drought so I knew there would be no roses this year. Greg came inside and reported, 'There's a beautiful, large red rose." I smiled and said, "It's on the City of Hope bush." But for some reason, the gift of roses had lost its appeal for me, especially since this single rose was not on my white, once dying bush. Two months later I spoke at a women's conference where I met a newly bereaved mother. She shared with me her own rose story, of how God clearly grew a specific number of large roses at just the right time to turn her heart toward him so that she would know how intimately involved He was with her. Then she said, "It wasn't until I learned that a single red rose means 'I will love you forever' and 'utmost devotion' that I recognized God's fingerprints on this gift."

Ah! Suddenly my eyes and heart saw God's gift on that hot, dry July day. In the middle of a dry season, when everything else was dying, God sent me a love note in the shape of a single large red rose. "Sharon, remember, I will love you forever. I am forever committed to loving you."

For those skeptics reading this, it's ok that you may minimize the "echoes of mercy" that God sends to broken-hearted people, treasures designed by Him. Just as lovers have a private language that no one else can understand, we have an intimate connection with our God that only speaks to our hearts. This note is for other broken people who may need to ask God to remove the scales from their eyes so they can see and receive those treasures in the darkness, designed by God to remind them of His presence and love. Such stories encourage my own heart to trust God more.

Today, on July 6, 2010, a single red rose blooms on my City of Hope rosebush this morning, a bush I added to our rose bed in honor of Mark's birthday years ago. A treasure in the darkness, sent by our Sufficient God to remind me that He is the Lord my God, the One Who calls me by name, on the anniversary of the last day we saw our son alive seventeen years ago.

A love note from my Sufficient God.

In His grip,

Sharon

I love the way Facebook connects me with friends. Their posts keep me connected to their children's funny comments and family outings, home invasions of spiders and snakes, pictures of homeschooling projects and accomplishments, book recommendations, responses to Lost episodes and shared spiritual lessons. Facebook also gives me a glimpse and reminder of the ongoing grief some of my friends experience every single day. And especially in the midst of changing seasons.

Almost seventeen years have passed since our son, Mark, physically left our presence. He's been gone longer than he was with us. My heart aches for my son. The Ghost of Grief surprises me by its presence in the changing seasons. Every spring I express how mystified I am by the deeper level of weariness I experience and Chuck reminds me, "Changing seasons make our grief sharper, especially in the spring when we face Mother's Day and Mark's birthday once more." Aha, now I know why it's harder for me to be "nice" and control the emotions that are always just below the surface. Now I remember how much energy such self-control requires and how it saps my already low reserves of emotional strength.

I see Facebook statuses from grieving friends who are experiencing that same kind of surprising longing for their missing brothers or sisters or daughter or son. They express so beautifully their need to just talk to them one more time or their deep desire for that ultimate reunion, the wish of seeing their loved one's pleasure in their earthly accomplishments. I read these thoughts and my heart just aches with a similar longing. I can't find words to describe the ugliness of grief - sometimes just UGH.

Seventeen years later - the longing is deep and fresh and unbroken. All I need to hear from a grieving friend is "I wish....." and I know immediately the driving anguish that brings that desire to the surface. We live with it every day but once in a while we just have to say it. For all my broken hearted friends, struggling to reconcile God's sovereignty with His love, for my fellow grief travellers who are longing for those who are no longer with us physically, especially as our grief is sharpened by the changing seasons, remember this: God Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. I will not, I will not, I will not in any degree leave you helpless nor forsake you nor let you down, relax My hold on you. Assuredly not! (Hebrews 13:5, Amplified) I hope this promise and song by Matt Redmond will give you a reason to release those tears and choose to trust that you are not alone in your sorrow. He's there and you are in His grip. We're there together.

In His Grip with you,
Sharon

Our daughter, Heidi Nequist, poignantly describes an impact of death that many experience but is often hidden from view. Perhaps her thoughts will reveal quiet opportunities for us to reach out and touch a broken heart that is trying to find its way back to the lap of God.

There were two instances this week in which I was reminded of the aftermath that death leaves in it's wake. There are the obvious broken hearts, the extreme loss, the empty arms, the grave, and the intense longing for heaven for those who know Jesus. And most people expect these things from the family of the one who has died...but I continue to be amazed that death touches so many...it spreads it's evil tentacles and grabs whoever it can and tries to destroy them. On Sunday, I was speaking with someone about a matter completely unrelated to death in anyway. She was sharing with me about how certain things have rocked her faith over the years. This is someone I consider to be a spirital rock and someone I have always looked up to. She was talking about divorce and how the concept of Christians divorcing has always scared her. She said that when it happens to someone she knows, she questions God and asks what will protect HER from the same thing? She paused and looked at me, and with tears in her eyes stated: "It's like after your brother died...my faith was rocked." She went on to say that she had felt that bad things happened to people as the result of their faith being weak, or the result of their own personal sin. She felt like she could keep bad things from happening. Then, when my brother died, she said that changed everything. She realized that there was nothing she could do to keep her world from falling apart. She shared with me that after Mark died, she didn't come to church for NINE MONTHS! I was shocked! I had NO idea. She said she felt that if God could do this to our family, who had given their whole lives to the work of the kingdom, then surely no one was safe or protected by the God we serve, who claims to love us. The aftermath of death.....lack of faith, the warmth of our Father's arms gone because of our pain, and our inability to absorb the shock of the death. 16 years later we are still hearing about the destruction and aftermath of our grief that was shared by so many.

Then, tonight, I was reconnected with someone I had lost touch with....thanks to Facebook! I had been an influence in her life, and I think of her all the time. I wonder where she is, what she's doing, if she's living out the things she was taught in her brief stay under the influence of the church. She was a foster child of a family I knew. During that time, the foster father died a terrible, painful, and slow death. The only father she had ever known was gone. The only man who had ever shown her love, instead of hate, was gone. And with him, death took her safety. Her life changed dramatically after he died. She ended up on her own again, in many ways by her own doing. She lost all her relationships, she went back to old ways. I asked her tonight if she was happy. No, she isn't. She said, "My dad would be so disappointed in me. I never would have lived this life if he had lived." The aftermath of death.....lack of faith, the warmth of our Father's arms gone because of our pain, and our inability to absorb the shock of the death. I cried as I chatted with her on Facebook and wished it had been different. I wished that I had been in a position to love her and show her the love of Jesus. I wished that I could've touched her more deeply so that my words would've been enough to overcome the grief that was her life. But, I couldn't...I wasn't the one....but there was one. And he suffered the ultimate grief....his own excrutiating death on the cross. As I was chatting with her a song came on the radio....."Come to Jesus.....Come to Jesus...." This song, sang at the funeral of 11 year old Ashley will forever haunt me. It will forever conjure up the images of a broken Daddy and Mommy wailing in agony for their baby girl. It will forever speak to the deepest part of my soul. And tonight, as I chatted across the country with a girl who stole my heart years and years ago, the song played on my computer....."come to Jesus....come to Jesus...."

-- Heidi's blog, My life...in print! Is a record of her personal battle to discipline her body. She transparently shares how she has lost over 100 pounds and the continuing war to maintain her healthy body. In keeping with her theology to share what God has taught her with others, she is now a personal trainer and helps other women find their way back to a healthy body. Heidi is a loyal friend to many and her compassion and desire to equip, energize and enable others to experience God's grace is evident in the way she offers God's treasures of encouragement. Can you tell, I'm very proud of our daughter!

In His Grip with you,
Sharon

"I hate Christmas. I wish I could skip over to the end of January and be done with it. I don't put up decorations and I refuse to listen to the music. It's just too hard to face without my child." My friend's words took me back to Christmas, 1993. Our first Christmas without our son, Mark. Oh, the anguish.

Before that awful year, I loved Christmas. I looked forward to after Christmas sales and started thinking about the best gift for each child months before the event. I baked more cookies than anyone could eat and we always had a big Christmas Eve Open House before the Communion service. The more people, the better. And those were the days I wouldn't let anyone bring anything - this was my thank you to all of our friends and family. We always invited hurting people, too. Of course, I drove my children and husband a little nutty but that's a confession for another time.

On July 6, 1993, that horrible night on our way home from the hospital, Chuck grabbed my hand and whispered, "Christmas, what will do about Christmas?" The reality of life without Mark was already slamming into our hearts. We knew that this most precious season of the year would never hold the same anticipation or joy of previous family gatherings. There would always be an empty seat. How, how, how would we face that empty place?

A few days ago, I played Christmas music while I cleaned. One of my tricks to easing into the holidays. As I dusted I heard the haunting rendition of The Little Drummer Boy. Mark was a drummer and this song is now his song. That first Christmas without him I imagined his first Christmas in heaven, playing his drums for Jesus. I look for a different drummer boy Christmas decoration every year. Hmm, I thought as the music played, I can hear this song without tears. I must be getting a little better. I thought once more of Mark in heaven, and wondered what he is doing right now. I imagined all of heaven preparing for Christmas! What must it be like to worship perfectly? To have no selfish motives in offering our gifts and talents to our King. I imagined our son welcoming friends we've "lost" this past year and connecting with the children of bereaved parents who have reached out to us in their fresh sorrow. What must it be like? Are they laughing with joy that their parents are choosing to trust God in their sorrow? Are they part of that great cloud of witnesses, cheering us on, urging us to faith, to reflect the joy of knowing Christ, even in the darkness?

Yes, my friend's sad, angry words were my words for many years. And I admit, there are moments that I still dread Christmas. I've never recaptured that fun anticipation. Some days I want to run away to a warm place and pretend Christmas is over. But then I remember those early years and how Christmas forced me to meditate on that first Holy Night. How my heart resonated with the heart of Mary's, the mother of Jesus. And how a light of understanding slowly glowed brighter and brighter as I began to reflect on God's gift of His Son for sinners like me. Of all the ways God could choose to demonstrate His love for us, He chose the parent/child relationship. What tighter, more intimate connection is there between a parent and child (when that parent loves as God designed)? What greater ripping is there for a human being than to have their child forcefully taken from their arms? Studies have shown that the worst crisis human beings can experience is the sudden loss of their children. It is no mistake that God keys in on this truth when He sacrifices His Son for His adopted children.

When I question God's love for me and how He could put me on this pathway, Christmas reminds me that the One Who gave me Jesus sent this dark place my way. I do not understand why, but I do understand He gave what I would never willingly give. He gave His Son to people who didn't want Him. What greater love is there?

And so, I miss Mark. And after my moments of rejoicing that I could hear The Little Drummer Boy without crying, the tears starting flowing. Oh, how I miss my child. Many of my sweet friends are experiencing deep, deep grief this season. And so this is for you, my dear friends. You are so fresh in your sorrow - even those of you who are seven years into the journey. I know this because I've been in that place.

Your heart will always long for your child. A piece of you will never be satisfied without him or her. But hear me on this. That's a good thing. Let that broken place drive you to the manger and carry you to the Cross. Get inside the Father's heart as you look at that little boy, our brother, Jesus, sent to die for the sins of His brothers and sisters.

Do not apologize for your tears but also give yourself permission to experience moments of joy. Look for the treasures that He will send your way, open your hands to receive the gifts He has designed to help turn your heart toward Him, to remind you that He is the Lord your God, the One Who calls you by name.

I am a credible witness of His faithfulness. God is sovereign and you can trust Him. I'm praying for you to experience Christmas Presence this year. His presence.

Don't forget to subscribe to the RSS feed by clicking on the link in the left menu. This will sign you up for receiving blog posts via email as soon as they are posted.

In His Grip,
Sharon

For more on Sharon's Christmas thoughts, order Treasures in Darkness: A Grieving Mother Shares Her Heart.

I laid in bed this morning thinking through the next week and tried to determine how to fulfill all the tasks on my to do list. To accomplish my goals, I had to stay focused on my responsibilities. God smiled at my thoughts for He had other plans.

My wonderful husband Chuck asked me where all of our old pictures are. He had read something online about the need to preserve them. Because of our life journey, our old pictures are priceless. We lose them, we lose many evidences of our son, Mark. Browse the walls of our home and you will see many family pictures that record our lives. At some point, you might notice that after July, 1993, one person is absent, and that Mark is frozen in time as a sixteen-year-old boy. Every picture of him is a treasure. Sometimes I wish I could put out a notice to all of his high school friends that if they find pictures of Mark in their elementary and high school memorabilia that instead of throwing them out, would they please send them to us.

But I digress from my original thoughts. Chuck didn't know that a few years ago, when our daughter was into scrapbooking, I organized all of our old pictures by child and topic. Since my desk is always a picture of chaos, I was proud to inform him that I had all the old pictures safely stowed in boxes in my office closet. I pulled out the crates and called down, "Chuck, if you want to be overwhelmed, here they are."

I couldn't resist. Old albums that pre-dated our marriage drew me in. Along with old pictures that reminded us of our dating years and engagement, were ticket stubs from every University of Delaware football game we attended. Dried flowers and our wedding invitation took us back forty years to a season of innocence and anticipation of how we were going to change the world for Jesus.

The clock was ticking and nothing on my to do list could be erased. But still I pulled out pictures. Chuck went downstairs to look for more albums as I rummaged through boxes of Mark's belongings, carefully packed away over fifteen years ago. I found a metal box, labeled "My Stuff." In it was a silver bangle bracelet. Another time I will share the significance of this treasure of encouragement. I caressed the pirate bandana Mark wore with his raggedy jeans and leather boots and tried to recapture his scent, long gone. A treasure trove of pictures of Mark's growing up years broke the walls of emotion that I usually successfully hold in check. I whispered, "This isn't right. None of this is right. I want my son now. What would he be like as a grown up, a husband, a dad? What about his kids, our grandchildren? Oh, Jesus, help me trust you and thank you for the life we had with Mark rather than stay in my buried grief."

Instead of gratitude for the sixteen years, all I could see was loss. God answered by reminding me of the little hymn written by J.B. F. Wright in 1877. It's the same song He placed in my heart during our Cousins Camp last week as I observed our grandkids making memories that will last a lifetime. And today this little song is God's treasure of encouragement, written and designed by Him over 100 years ago as a treasure just for me. Instead of staying in my sorrow today, may I open my hands and heart to this gift sent to turn my heart toward my Father. May I rest in God's sovereign plan for our lives as well as Mark's. And may any grieving sister reading this take hope and courage from her precious memories as well.

And now, I MUST tackle that to do list!
In His Grip,
Sharon

I posted this as my Facebook Status a few days ago and several friends commented privately that they were the ones who needed that special evidence of God's presence in their own lives. They admitted their loss is not through physical death but rather loss of their childhood through horrible abuse, loss of a spouse through betrayal, loss of a friendship and loss of joy through dark, unexplainable depression. Each one longs for God to reveal Himself in a tangible way. And oh, how I long for that touch myself.

Grief comes in all different sizes. Grief grabbed our church family this past summer in a way that changed life perspectives and the way many view their own children and life purposes. Eleven-year-old Ashley Van Wingerden died in a boating accident. Her sweet, young, godly parents and three siblings, her grandparents and hundreds of extended family members struggle to grasp the "why" of death. Their friends agonize throughout the night and day, praying for God to be near, knowing that grief will shadow them for the rest of their lives. Godly parents hover over their children and hold them tighter, realizing that only by God's grace do their children sleep safely in their beds each night.

Every bereaved parent knows that Jake and Wendy's forced entry into the foreign Land of Grief has catapulted them out of their once perfect world into anguish and sorrow that cannot be defined or adequately uttered. Chuck and I recognize their empty yet desperate gaze, the confusion, the intense grief labor required to scratch your way into a new level of normal - a life without their child. In an effort to find a message of hope for these precious parents, God led me back to my first journal after Mark's death. Five weeks after his death my scribbled, barely discernable handwriting reveals my unstable emotional state:

Even now, as I remember that moment, my heart races faster and my chest muscles tighten and I feel that primal wail deep inside. I want my child.

As much as I try to find the right words to offer hope and help, many times all I can do is whisper their names. Oh Jake. Oh Wendy.

Some who read this entry will wish they hadn't and avoid future posts on sorrow because it's so depressing. I understand. But for today I feel compelled to try to expose the dark, intimate early and what feels like never-ending anguish of grieving people.

Many who watch broken people will get tired of the sorrow. But God will call others to stand in the gap. Faithfully praying, pleading with their Father to reveal His presence, needing no acknowledgement or thanks from those who are broken. How thankful I am for those who continue to stand in the gap for us, who did not reject us when our grief destroyed our former selves. Who waited patiently for God to transform our ashes into beauty.

And yes, those of you who are desperate for a glimmer of hope, God will redeem every circumstance of our lives, if we cooperate with His purposes. Whether it is a failed marriage, poor parenting, the abuse of others, long term illness, shattered dreams, or loss through physical death, He calls us to do the hard work of grief with hope that one day we will offer His comfort and courage to a fellow traveler. In the early days and months of grief, I resented anyone suggesting that good could come from Mark's death. And yet back in the deep recesses of my soul, I clung to the hope that God would redeem this horrible grief and touch another life through our son's life.

Three weeks after Mark's death I wrote in my journal,

Longing to trust God warred with longing for Mark. Today, I see God's love won the battle. Along with too many others to count, I plead with God to give that same victory to every broken person reading this post. Do the hard labor of grief, trusting that one day God will keep all of His promises to you, either here or There. And remember, if you know Jesus, there is great freedom in surrendering to this truth: There are some wounds that only Heaven can heal.

In His Grip,
Sharon

Recommended Resources:

To Know Ashley

Treasures of Encouragement

Treasures in Darkness

Loss of a Loved One

Dr. Betters & Pastor Dan share from their hearts as they lead their home church through one of life's most difficult times - the loss of an 11-year old Covenant child in a boating accident. When the Betters lost their son Mark at only 16 years old they could not have known then that God was preparing them to hold up others who would one day walk the same dark path. These sermons offer a glimpse of hope and the opportunity to see light in an otherwise dark situation.

Click here to access Dr. Betters' The Ugly Enemy sermon.

Click here to access Pastor Dan's The Furnace of Affliction sermon.

Don't forget to sign up for the RSS feed for Current Audio and Video Sermons by clicking here.

An eleven-year-old little girl is gone. Her family and friends struggle to reconcile God's love with His sovereignty. We are on holy ground as we enter into the darkness with them. Though it is excruciating to go back into the abyss of sorrow, we go willingly for too many reasons to count. We desperately needed someone like us when our son, Mark and his friend, Kelly, died in a car accident. Someone who had lived in the foreign Land of Grief who could show us the way, give us hope. Our desperation for hope hid the sacrifice these precious grieving parents made in order to answer God's call to comfort us with the same comfort He had given to them.

We go also because to be with a broken-hearted person who is a daughter or son of our King is to be on holy ground. God promises He is very near to the broken-hearted. Yes, He is always with each of His children, but in some way we can't explain, He is nearer to those who cry out for His touch when their hearts are breaking.

In the darkest night of our souls, my sister, Jane Anne, came along side of me in a way that kept the light of Christ burning. I hated for her to see the ugly, oozing sores of grief that covered my soul. But she would not let me hide. God inspired her to express in words how she viewed this calling. I included this piece in my book, Treasures of Encouragement, Women Helping Women in the Church. If God is calling you to go into the dark abyss of grief with a friend, whether it is grief over death or any other loss, I hope Jane Anne's perspective opens your mind and heart to the realization that you are on holy ground where you will discover riches stored in secret places, designed to help turn your heart toward Him.

Jane Anne also wrote, "Throughout my tears and frustration God led me to places I had never been and showed me things I never would have seen. My spiritual life has depth I had never experienced. I know better who I am because I know better who God is. The reality of death has brought God closer than ever. I see Him in everything now. I have confidence that He will do what I cannot do, and I know that His ways are beyond me. How grateful I am that He chose me to be the vessel from which He poured out His love to Sharon. Little did I know on that life-changing night that the treasure found in darkness, which God was planning for my sister, would be mine, too." (Treasures of Encouragement, Women Helping Women in the Church, page 179, P & R Publishing, used with permission)

Recommended Resources:

Treasures of Encouragement

Treasures in Darkness

Loss of a Loved One

In His Grip,
Sharon

I tried, really tried to ignore the anniversary of our son Mark's death. Sometimes the anticipation of a holiday, birthday or anniversary of the loss is worse than the actual day. But this year fun family times filled the past two weeks as we welcomed Chuck's brother and children and grandchildren from Texas for a mini-family reunion. Then we celebrated July 4th with our children and grandchildren. Lots of laughter, noise and delicious food occupied the hours. When longing for Mark snuck up to remind me of that awful day sixteen years ago, I gave myself permission to privately cry for a few minutes but then chose to enjoy the many blessings God continues to send our way. Big hugs from little people and four-year-old Caleb's quiet words, "Grammy, I really do love you, you know!" kept grief at bay and I gladly opened my hands and heart to the genuine joy and contentment God sent my way.

Instead of licking my wounds on July 5 in preparation for this awful anniversary, I taught a women's Sunday School class. I worshipped with our covenant family. I took a long evening walk. I tried to see July 6 as just another day. I really tried. It's been sixteen years after all. So why did I wake this morning with a dark heart and fresh tears? Isn't it time to move on? To "get over IT?" Each tender message from friends via email and Facebook, quick hugs at church and whispered comfort touched the wound that never quite closes, the loving words acknowledging the never-ending grief that honors our son's life and legacy. Each word a treasure in the darkness reminding me of God's presence and comfort. But...

Sometimes the only way to "move on" is to give up trying...to stop smiling, to give yourself permission to grieve, to lean into the pain. So I let my mind race back sixteen years, another July 4th weekend filled with family and celebrations. A dry, hot summer weekend, soon forgotten if not for the terrible phone call...I hate this. I hate this...this awfulness...this upside down turn of events, a parent burying her child. No. This is not right. I stand on the edge of the abyss of grief and conclude that remembering that awful time is too hard, too much. I fear I will never recover if I go too far, if I take one more step into the deeper darkness.

And so instead I focus on Mark's ever-growing eternal legacy. God reminds me of treasures in the darkness, love notes from Him designed to help turn my heart toward His sovereign eternal purposes. I remember the many mothers who have contacted me since, the ones who long for help and hope as they try to process the deaths of their own children, those who are attempting to embrace a new level of normal. I think about the stories of horrific loss, terrible sorrow and grief that cannot be adequately described, only known and understood by another grieving mother. I remember how God has transformed our journey into one of hope and comfort for others. I am once more mystified by the supernatural work God has done in my heart, evidenced by each grieving mother who tells me that the cracks in my soul reveal Jesus. And I know their message is a reminder from God, giving me tangible proof that He is keeping His promise to bring beauty from ashes. Because I could never "work up" such strength.

Yet still, in the midst of remembering, of acknowledging God's faithfulness, today I am one of those mothers who longs for her child. Wishing for one more moment, one more day, one more lifetime. So I give myself permission to cry trusting that I do not cry alone, that my Heavenly Father is holding me tightly in His grip, and that He will give me faith and strength to thank Him for the treasures in the darkness that I have experienced. I remember that even in this moment, He is keeping the promise of His presence and that my weeping is a nighttime visitor that will someday leave as morning joy moves in.

But for this moment, with full confidence that God is sovereign and I can trust Him, I cry for my son.

In His Grip,
Sharon

Recommended resources:

Treasures in Darkness

Loss of a loved one

Faithful friends with servant's hands not only encouraged me to keep moving but came alongside to help me do so. One special friend called every week to decide what project we would work on to get our house ready for our daughter's December wedding. She came alongside to help make decisions, paint, paper, redecorate. One day she organized a group of about ten people who did a summer's worth of yard work while others painted kitchen cabinets. They looked around, saw what needed to be done, and did it. They understood that we had no idea of what our needs were. They didn't say, "Call me if you need me." Most bereaved people will not respond to that message. It isn't that we aren't grateful. It's just that we are on emotional overload. Every bit of energy is being used for survival.

Friends stayed with us through the night of the accident and the days following. They prayed and wept with us, kept the coffee going, and made sure there was food in the house, plenty of paper goods, tissues in every room, and cold wet cloths for our faces. They kept lists of gifts, phone calls, and messages. They ironed shirts, put away clean clothes, took out the trash, watered and ran the dogs and watered the flower beds. All without asking what we needed them to do.

Others realized that we needed to be in charge of details concerning Mark, and they brought those decisions to us rather than making them for us.

Some people prefer privacy in their grief, but for us the constant flow of friends to our home satisfied our need for a physical expression of God's love. We needed to see their tears, feel their hugs, see the agony in their faces. Beautiful flowers and plants reminded us of the beauty of our son - now serving God in heaven. Parents who had lost children stepped back into their own pain to give us hope. Friends helped clean Mark's room and were with me when I found his prayer journal, further affirmation of his walk with Christ.

Galatians tells us to bear one another's burden so that we can bear our own burdens. IN the first few months of our grief, the body of Christ swept us up and carried us along. We were powerless to carry ourselves. Now as a result of their encouragement and strength, we are able to bear our own burdens.

After Mark's death, I questioned the sufficiency of God to help us survive. But God, in His grace, provided members of His body who believed in His sufficiency for us when we could not believe it for ourselves.

Grief is terrifying both to those experiencing it and those who have to watch it happen. We want to make it go away, but the Bible tells us there is a time to grieve. It is a natural process that leads to healing and wholeness.

Wise encouragers know they are there to facilitate the process, not stop it. For people who are problem solvers, this is a hard assignment. An understanding of God's sovereignty equips us for this job. Although circumstances do not make sense, God does, and He will supply whatever His children need.

From Treasures of Encouragement,Women Helping Women in the Church, pages 193 - 194.

What's your encouragement story?

May God give you a deepening sense of His presence as you offer His treasures of encouragement to others.

In His grip,
Sharon

When you're trying to encourage a hurting friend:

A sensitive heart will say...
~I love you.
~I'm so sorry this has happened.
~Nothing. (But give lots of hugs and shed lots of tears.)
~I'll be in touch (and follows through).
~I'm praying (and does).

A sensitive heart will...
~Listen.
~Allow her friend to express all emotions and not interject judgmental comments, especially in the beginning.
~Read books that teach her how to help.
~Keep visits short, unless the hurting friend insists she stay longer.
~Discern when her friend needs to be alone, but not allow her to isolate herself completely.
~Assure her friend that she is not crazy, just brokenhearted.
~Offer to find more help when she senses her friend is sinking.
~Acknowledge the pain.
~Give permission to talk about the loss.
~Stay in touch for the long haul with cards, phone calls, and special remembrances on anniversaries, birthdays, special holidays.
~Ask the Holy Spirit for specific Scripture to share at the right moment and trust God to use them as a healing balm.
~Offer to do menial tasks (but never disturb the possessions of a deceased person without permission - i.e. do not clean out his or her room, change the bed, etc.).
~Recognize that grief is a long process.
~Tolerate volatile outbursts and intense emotions.
~Not expect or demand thanks.
~Pray, pray, pray every time she thinks of her friend.

From Treasures of Encouragement, pages 191 - 192:

What's your encouragement story?

Next: More practical ways to offer encouragement to a hurting friend. Until then, may God give you a deep sense of His sweet presence as you offer to your hurting friends the treasures of His encouragement.

In His grip,
Sharon

I just learned of a horrific accident that took the life of a ten year old boy. His mother and sister are injured but will survive. This family desperately needs their friends and family to surround them with the hope and courage that only faith in Christ can give. I don't know this family but I can guarantee that their friends and family are feeling completely helpless to offer that hope and help this morning.

In every Q & A session I have during a conference, someone describes an accident like this and then asks, "How can we help this family?" And vignettes from the hours after the death of our son, Mark, and his friend, Kelly, flash in my soul, one gut-wrenching picture after another.

But fast-forward far enough and I begin to see the treasures of encouragement that God sent through His people to help turn our hearts toward Him. In my book, Treasures of Encouragement, I list things to not say and do as well as what to say and do. Below are things NOT to say and do. In my next post I'll list things TO say and do. If you don't need this list now, you will, so feel free to copy it and tuck it away for future ministry. Better yet, get a copy of Treasures of Encouragement, Women Helping Women in the Church and learn how thinking biblically prepares you to encourage others to trust God in the darkness.

From Treasures of Encouragement, pages 191 - 192:

A sensitive heart does not say:
~I understand.
~Call me if you need me.
~You can have more children, get married again, fill your life with other things, etc.
~I don't know what to do. (And then prove it by doing nothing.)
~God needed him more than you.
~God must really love you to put you through this.
~You have to get on with your life.
~Don't cry.
~Be strong!

A sensitive heart does not...
~Try to be always cheerful.
~Try to explain why.
~Think her grieving friend is crazy.
~Compare losses.

What's your encouragement story?

Next: What a sensitive heart will say and do.

Until then, may you experience God's special presence as you offer your friend the treasures of His encouragement.

In His grip,
Sharon

Grief is war. I started to respond to some of the comments to my previous post and decided to make my remarks a blog entry. Thank you to Bev, Donna and Jeannie. When I wrote about choosing life in the darkness, I started to add a "disclaimer" because I don't want women who are struggling to walk by faith to feel less faithful because of any words I write. This choice to celebrate life comes through blood, sweat and tears and I am sometimes shocked by the supernatural strength God gives us to make such hard choices. For my sisters who are deep and fresh in grief, struggling to walk by faith in broken places, trying to offer encouragement to family and friends who have been thrown into the throes of sorrow, soak in 2 Peter 1:3 - 10. I camped in this passage in my own grief journey and just this morning God took me back to it because of the waves of sorrow that crash over me unexpectedly, especially at this time of year. On those days when I could barely get out of bed, God reminded me through this passage that He had given me everything I need to reflect redemption. And so, by faith and His strength, I put one foot on the floor, sometimes crawling, but still moving, and forced myself to trust that promise. He exhorts me to extend every effort to add to my faith specific character qualities. And then he exclaims that if I lack these qualities as a child of God, I am near-sighted, seeing only what is in front of me (death, disease, calamity, spilled milk, broken relationships, disobedient children, traffic jams, etc.) and I have become oblivious to the fact that I am a daughter of the King, cleansed from sin. Go back and re-read that sentence. When I struggle to trust Him and get stuck in sin, I see only the struggle in front of me, I forget whose I am and what my Father has done for me. So when I am stuck in my sorrow or sin and I wonder why it's so hard, Peter challenges me to remember the love of God that has cleansed me from sin and to remember who I am in Jesus. Again, a disclaimer, this is not easy. Sometimes it is minute by minute, no, second by second, choosing by faith to trust the precious promises Peter mentions in this passage. For those who are fresh in grief, don't beat yourself up over how hard this pathway is. It is like being in a meat grinder or having major surgery without anesthesia. Grief is a marathon of hard, hard labor. At first when I felt pushed into the abyss, I was terrified because I was afraid I would never climb back out. I learned that the hard periods grow shorter. Fifteen years later, I am surprised every "anniversary" when the tears won't stop. How can it be that I haven't talked to my youngest child in fifteen years? It's outrageous. Choosing life is harder on some days than others. Grief is war and the sacrifices of praise are often covered with blood, sweat and tears. Chuck often said that we were like two wounded soldiers trying to help each other crawl off the battle field. Wounded sisters, listen to this wounded veteran of the Grief War who walks with an obvious limp. Fight the despair and depression. Get up out of bed and move. Choose life and know that you are in His grip. He will never let you go.

In His grip with you,
Sharon

"Grammy, do you love your hummingbird?" Emma's question reminded me of the warm fuzzy love extended to me on Mother's Day from our grandchildren and their parents. Mother's Day fell on May 11 this year, what would have been our son, Mark's thirty-first birthday. Chuck placed flowers in the church to honor me and to remember Mark. We gave the Mark Betters Christian Character and Church Service award to a special young man who grew up in our church and was graduating from high school.

Our kids gathered at our home after church and served a fabulous meal and filled our house with laughter and joy. The grandkids couldn't wait to give me their specially chosen gifts like the hummingbird wind chime and personally prepared cards and pictures! What fun!

In the middle of the happy chaos, I thought about Mark a lot. I miss him. I sometimes mentally disconnect from the noisy conversations that always accompany our family gatherings as I watch our adult children interact and imagine Mark in the mix. I watch the spouses perfectly chosen by God for our children and I wonder what Mark's wife would have brought to the family. I see our grandkids building strong friendships and I imagine the children Mark might have had. And I miss him. And I long for what might have been.

Though not physically present, the reality of our son or Uncle Mark, as the grands call him, is interwoven throughout the fabric of our family life. It's not unusual for one of the grandchildren to ask me a question about Uncle Mark. Every time one of them looks at his picture in my locket and then smiles knowingly at me before running off with the other kids I sense God hugging me. It's easy for them to comment that their mommy cried while singing a worship song in church "because she was thinking about Uncle Mark" or to ask questions about his likes and dislikes. He's almost as real to them as their other uncles and aunts.

Raucous laughter from the adults or a grandchild's request for special attention brings me back from my musings to the present. Laughter bubbles up and washes away the invisible tears in the secret places of my heart when one of the grands gives me an unexpected hug and whispers, "I love you, Grammy!"

Grief teaches me to listen and watch carefully because when I do I get glimpses of the treasures in the darkness that God places in my pathway to remind me that He knows my longing and He's holding me tightly in His grip. He wants me to expect new blessings every morning.

The first week of July is a tough one for us. But God is already sending me treasures in the darkness, riches stored in secret places designed to remind me that He is my God and He calls me by name. I can see them even through tear-filled eyes. It's up to me if I will choose to let God's treasures help turn my heart toward Him or refuse to embrace the love He is sending my way

What treasure is God sending your way, treasure designed especially for you to help turn your heart toward Him? Encourage me this week with your story of God's faithful love.

In His grip,
Sharon

Each detail made the truth more horrifying than the first. A five year old beautiful little girl, adopted into a loving family dedicated to serving Christ - killed by a terrible accident in her own driveway. A family celebrating a graduation, now struggling to understand how such terror forced its way into their home. I have never met the Steven Curtis Chapman family but I know their hearts. I know the mother better than most of her closest friends. I know the unending ache in her chest, the tears that will not stop, the desperate longing for just a few more minutes with her sweet little girl. I know she has just taken the first steps of the longest trail she will ever travel. And yet, as well as I know her sorrow, she carries an even greater burden as she will try to help her son experience God's mercy and comfort in ways few of us will ever need.

Several people have asked if we have sent the Chapman family our book, Treasures in Darkness, or our Loss of a Loved One CD interview. Certainly as God opens up doors, we will offer our encouragement. But for now, this dear family needs to be given the freedom to cry out to God, to lament, to plead for His mercy and comfort, and yes, even and perhaps most of all, to freely admit their disappointment with His plans for them. There will be great expectation in the Christian community for them to step up to the plate and display only strength and deep faith, to never question God's love or presence. I plead with their friends to protect them from such expectations and to guard their need to lament in the wilderness. For it is in the darkness of this frightening place that their understanding of God's love will grow deep and wide.

A friend of Amy Carmichael, missionary to India, once said, "The woman who has no experiences in the dark has no secrets to share in the light." Shortly after the death of our son, Mark, this statement challenged me with a choice. Would I accept midnight sorrow as an opportunity for God to reveal his secrets of the darkness? Or would I refuse to open my eyes and hands to treasures designed to turn my heart toward him? In time, desperation to understand my heavenly Father and experience his power drove me to place my hope in what I know about him, not in what I do not know. That's when I began to more clearly experience the treasures in the darkness and riches stored in secret places.

Learning to see when the lights went out took me back to the foundations of my faith, where I unpacked each belief and examined it through the grid of God's Word. I needed to know that what I had believed and taught for more than twenty-five years was absolute truth. For years and through tear-filled eyes, I searched for God's presence everywhere and in every event. No detail was insignificant. It still isn't.

In an article in Today's Christian Woman, Mary Beth Chapman (http://www.christianitytoday.com/tcw/2003/sepoct/1.40.html) tells the story of adopting two of her children and how their entrance into her life helps her fight clinical depression. I love her honesty in sharing this part of her life. I have to believe that God gave her the courage to share so transparently in preparation for this moment when deep darkness would fall and threaten to pull her down into an endless abyss of despair. Because of her honesty, I'm praying that her closest friends will encourage her to remember God's past faithfulness, but also give her freedom to wail before her God if she is struggling to reconcile His love with His sovereignty.

Grief is hard work. Honest grief can take us deeper into the heart of God than we have ever experienced.