"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling."
(NIV)

This is a blog about widows,
mothers and daughters,
facing change and challenges
and receiving ordinary, everyday blessings that don't seem quite so ordinary anymore.
It chronicles the journey from grief into the restoration of what has been lost.

*** I am no longer actively posting to this site, so please come visit me at my new site ***

http://www.jrrmblog.com/ - "Starting Over ... Again"

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Here's a great blog I found ...

I have been following this blog for a short while now, and I wanted to share it with you.  I won't spoil it by telling you too much about it; just say that the posts are funny and very touching.  So here it is:

The Real Full House

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Lesson #3 from the Garden - Sometimes You Just Need to Start Over

I had such high hopes for my garden this year.  I started planning for it in January.  I went to the local farmers co-op and get seeds, and Youngest Daughter and I spent a Saturday afternoon planting seeds in little paper cups and plastic trays.  We set up a cardtable near a sunny window, and kept the soil moist for the seeds to germinate.

Sprouts started growing from all the cups and plastic trays.  Everything was going fine.  But then I wasn't able to get a garden plot tilled up for awhile, with the weather so wet.  By the time I got the soil ready and got the sprouts in the ground it was too late.  They didn't survive.  I had such great plans for a big garden, but they all just withered and died.

So now I had a choice - give up on a garden for this year, or try a different approach.  Off to the farmers co-op again, this time for 4" vegetable starts.  I came home with two cucumber plants, two cherry tomato plants, two "pear" tomato plants, and two canteloupe plants.  Put them in the garden and prayed for the best.  And they took off and grew!  Everything grew and then outgrew the space I had alloted it.  The cucumbers took over, the tomatoes outgrew their cages, and the canteloupe plants are spread everywhere.

 
 

So what has all this taught me?  I see a parallel with my situation - having to "start over" in many ways.  Seeing something you have planned and work toward and hoped for wither and die.  Like my future with Robby.  We had so many plans and dreams for the future.  We were working so hard to put together a good future for us and our daughters.

When Robby proposed to me, his question was "What are you doing for the next 50, 60, 70 years of your life?"  We had planned on spending a lot more time together.  We only got 20 years.  A lot of people would say to be thankful for the time we had together.  That is one of the things that people say to those who are grieving - thinking that "looking on the bright side" will somehow make it better, and the grief will be easier to bear.  And I am thankful for the time we did have - but I still grieve the time we DIDN'T have together.

But having to start again in the garden has made me realize that sometimes you just have to begin again in other areas of life.  And sometimes when you being again, your harvest is even greater than it might have been originally.  I am still waiting to see what kind of "harvest" God will bring about in my life.  :)

Monday, August 27, 2012

Lesson #2 My Garden Taught Me This Year

Well, I told you about the cucumbers in my garden yesterday ... today it's the tomatoes.  I love tomatoes, and this year I planted four tomato plants.  And they are growing great - the best they ever have before.  They have totally outgrown their cages, and are expanding everywhere.  And they are loaded with little green tomatoes.  But here's the kicker - up until yesterday, they were all GREEN.



Loads of little green tomatoes, covering the branches and vines.  It's there - so many little tomatoes, just waiting to be harvested.  But they aren't ripe yet.  And I hate waiting!  I can remember the taste of those fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes from last year, and I want to taste that again.  But they aren't ready yet.  And I have to go out, day after day, and look at little green tomatoes.

Can you guess what this is teaching me?  Yup - patience.  Two weeks of waiting patiently (more or less) for the tomatoes to ripen.  Hearing how everyone else is seeing their gardens come alive with produce, and trying to be patient.  Waiting for these tomatoes reminds me of having to sometimes wait for God to work in our lives - seeing the work begin, knowing that there will be "fruit" produced, but having to wait for the end result.  Wanting so much to see the "harvest."

It's like waiting for the restoration that God promises us.  The restoration from the grief and the pain.  God promises that He will restore to us what has been lost.  We know it will happen - we trust Him to keep His promise.  But we must wait.  And that takes patience.  Unfortunately, something I have in short supply too often.

So God uses my garden to teach me stuff.  :)



Sunday, August 26, 2012

Lesson #1 My Garden Taught Me This Year

Here is the first lesson in which God used my garden to remind me of something important.  He used cucumbers to do it - God can be SO creative sometimes.  And He has to be creative when teaching me - sometimes very random things get used by God, and that's all part of the fun of being His child.  :)



This year my cucumbers have been growing like gangbusters.  Last year it was zucchini, this year it's cucumbers.  I only planted two plants, but they are taking over the garden.  I don't have much planted in there - at least, not much that has survived to grow and produce anything.  I have four tomato plants (two cherry tomato plants, and two "pear" tomato plants), a couple cantaloupe plants (which right now have about six little melons growing on them) ... and the two cucumber plants which are conspiring to take over the world.

So I went out there about a 2 weeks ago, and started looking for cucumbers.  I'm thinking there HAS to be some produce in amongst all those green leaves.  There had been so many little yellow flowers, and there still were many there.  So of course some of them had to have matured into cucumbers by that time, right?  I started poking around the edges and lifting a few leaves - nothing.  I'm not seeing anything that resembles a cucumber.  So I get discouraged and go inside, wondering what's going on.

Next day - go back out to the garden.  This time I am really curious - where are those cucumbers?  So I get more aggressive, starting to move the vines around and getting into the center of the plants.  There they are!  I had to get down in there, because there was so much growth (it seemed to be all leaves and vines) but there they were - three perfect cucumbers.  Well, as you can see from the photo they weren't really perfect.  But they tasted perfect in a salad that night!  :)



OK, so here's what those cucumbers taught me - since you've stuck with me through this blog thus far.  I learned that even thought we don't see the "fruit" (or veggies) that we are expecting to see in our lives doesn't mean it's not there.  We may have to look a little closer and investigate a little harder - but it's there.  It may remain hidden for awhile.  We may not be sure it's there, or we may not see it there on the surface.  But it's there.  Just like the work that God is doing inside us as we walk through the hard times that we experience.  We sometimes get through a tough time, and having been told that God is using this season in our life to produce the fruit of the Spirit, we start to ask God, "OK, Lord - where is it?  I don't feel any different.  I don't see this great and wonderful work You have been doing in my life and/or in my heart.  What gives?"

Maybe we just need to be patient ... which brings me to my next blog for tomorrow; lesson #2 that my garden has taught me this year.  :)

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Talking about Death to a Child

Kids are intuitive.  They pick up on things we don't expect them to - and often we are amazed (perhaps chagrined?) at what their minds absorb and their mouths then say.  We pride ourselves on sheltering them from issues we feel are "too adult" for them - and then find out after the fact that they have perceived what's going on anyway.  :)

As much as we would like to shield our kids from death, they will be exposed to it.  In many ways, they are exposed a little every day.

"Children are Aware - Long before we realize it, children become aware of death. They see dead birds, insects, and animals lying by the road. They may see death at least once a day on television. They hear about it in fairy tales and act it out in their play. Death is a part of life, and children, at some level, are aware of it.
If we permit children to talk to us about death, we can give them needed information, prepare them for a crisis, and help them when they are upset. We can encourage their communication by showing interest in and respect for what they have to say. We can also make it easier for them to talk to us if we are open, honest, and comfortable with our own feelings - often easier said than done. "

When talking with children, many of us feel uncomfortable if we don’t have all the answers. Young children, in particular, seem to expect parents to be all knowing - even about death. But death, the one certainty in all life, is life’s greatest uncertainty. Coming to terms with death can be a lifelong process. We may find different answers at different stages of our lives, or we may always feel a sense of uncertainty and fear. If we have unresolved fears and questions, we may wonder how to provide comforting answers for our children.
While not all our answers may be comforting, we can share what we truly believe. Where we have doubts, an honest, “I just don’t know the answer to that one,” may be more comforting than an explanation which we don’t quite believe. Children usually sense our doubts. White lies, no matter how well intended, can create uneasiness and distrust. Besides, sooner, or later, our children will learn that we are not all knowing, and maybe we can make that discovery easier for them if we calmly and matter-of-fact tell them we don’t have all the answers. Our non-defensive and accepting attitude may help them feel better about not knowing everything also.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Helping Teens Cope with Death

Here is one I haven't had to deal with as much - teens and death.  My oldest daughter was 19 when Robby died, and Rachel was 8 so we skirted the volatile teen years for the most part.  But helping teens deal with death is a little different than explaining death to a small child.  There are not as many questions, but the loss is just as profound.  They understand more about what's happened, but still need loving adults to help them through the many emotions that are sure to bombard them.



Here are a few hints about helping teens cope with grief:

Many Teens Are Told To “Be Strong”

Sad to say, many adults who lack understanding of their experience discourage teens from sharing their grief. Bereaved teens give out all kinds of signs that they are struggling with complex feelings, yet are often pressured to act as they are doing better than they really are.
When a parent dies, many teens are told to “be strong” and “carry on” for the surviving parent. They may not know if they will survive themselves let alone be able to support someone else. Obviously, these kinds of conflicts hinder the “work of mourning”.
Teen Years Can Be Naturally Difficult

Teens are no longer children, yet neither are they adults. With the exception of infancy, no developmental period is so filled with change as adolescence. Leaving the security of childhood, the adolescent begins the process of separation from parents. The death of a parent or sibling, then, can be a particularly devastating experience during this already difficult period.
At the same time the bereaved teen is confronted by the death of someone loved, he or she also faces psychological, physiological and academic pressures. While teens may begin to look like “men” or “women”, they will still need consistent and compassionate support as they do the work of mourning, because physical development does not always equal emotional maturity.