Death… Guest post from Tammy Stearns

I’m struggling to find words to share today, so I’m borrowing someone else’s. Lately it seems like death is all around, and I’m having a hard time articulating my feelings about it. But I keep feeling the nudge to share in some way, and hopefully it will help someone who needs it.

The beautiful truth in the words below was shared by my friend Tammy Stearns. Tammy is a missionary in Nicaragua with Project HOPE and from the first time I met her, I sensed such a peace and gentleness in her spirit. Over the years, I’ve learned so much from her in the wisdom she shares through her experiences. She serves the Lord and his children with every fiber of her being. She’s an amazing example of obedience. A few years ago, she unexpectedly lost her teenage daughter, Taellor. The ways she has poured her heart out in writing since then have been such a huge help to me and to so many. The words below were originally shared by Tammy over a year ago, but are as relevant as ever today. If you’re dealing with a loss, I pray you can find some peace. 

Death…..

We can either let it draw us closer to God as we celebrate the reality of eternity or we can allow satan to use it to draw a wedge between us and God. It’s our choice.

Perhaps we just have to sing praises for awhile with tears in our eyes, read Scripture with our heart seemingly broken and in obedience follow through with being obedient as our flesh seems to be torn into and, yet, our soul is at rest.

At rest.

Our eyes may seep tears and our bodies feel faintly weakened but our very souls almost quieten as if hearing the words “Holy, Holy, Holy,”. The tethers of this world become lesser than the pull towards the throne. The veil becomes thinner. The Angels beckoning becomes stronger as we once again are reminded that this world is not our home.

There are those who have a picture in their minds of what grief looks like. A schematic, a drawing or an image with a descriptor that lays out what should be observed and what shouldn’t. Yet, too often, this is the worldly view of the grief-stricken. There is no picture that encompasses what grief looks like for everyone. There isn’t.

For some, it may ebb and flow. For others, it is a constant ache while for someone else it may be unrelenting. And yet for some, there is an inner peace that takes over and with a calmness that is indescribable. A joy that comes from foundational Truth. An assurance of not finality but rather eternity. The promise of tomorrow instead of the forgotten of yesteryears.

Satan tries to exploit death. He tries to make it fearful and mysterious. But the sting of death was overcome at the cross leaving no longer fear to create terror but rather pure joy to be had. And while there will be empty spaces in this world, there is rejoicing at the throne of one more coming home.

I choose to see joy. I choose to obediently look towards the cross. I choose to seek His face through tear stained eyes. For there is where peace will be found. For there is where the cross beckons. There are those who will forever call me crazy, delusional and misled but the only voice to which my ear turns is the One who took it all to the cross.

Tammy recently published a book, Know Hope, which includes a collection of her writings and reflections on scripture in the wake of tragedy. If you find yourself craving more of Tammy’s writing, like me, you can get your copy here

Tissues At the Doctor’s

When we welcomed Gage into our world, we were introduced to a whole new group of people who became a regular part of our lives as well.  Over the years, we’ve gotten to know Gage’s pediatrician, neurologist, ophthalmologist, audiologists and many more nurses and therapists pretty well. It’s amazing the way so many different people have his best interest at heart and we are so grateful for the excellent care that he receives.

Sometimes I think back to some of the first conversations we had with doctors and nurses. It seems like anyone who knew Gage’s diagnosis wanted to share a story about another kid they knew with CMV who ended up being just fine. I’m not sure I can trust my memory correctly and if that was reality or just what I wanted to hear. hospitalPerhaps I was clinging to any hope I could that it would all be ok and Gage would somehow magically outgrow his diagnosis. Maybe those people just wanted to say something comforting in an uncomfortable situation. It made me realize that any pediatric doctor or nurse has a two-fold job.  They are not only experts in their fields, they must also fill the role of counselor to grieving, hurting, confused parents.  While I trust that everyone responsible for Gage’s care is doing their very best for him medically, I’ve witnessed varying degrees of skill with the other part.

I remember one day being at back to back appointments with Gage and I just couldn’t keep myself together. The tears were flowing in the pediatrician’s office and they continued after we had his hearing checked. Both doctors did the same thing – they picked up the box of cheap, crappy tissues that are in every doctor’s office I’ve ever been in, and reached it out towards me. I sniffled and grabbed a couple. I’ve always felt awkward when someone has offered me a tissue when I cry. I feel like they intend for me to politely dab my tears, but I’m usually well past that point and end up loudly blowing my nose instead. Anyways, I don’t know why, but for some reason in both of those instances, that small gesture was so comforting. Like the doctor didn’t know what else to do or say, so they just defaulted to the tissue box move. (I wonder if they teach that in med school?) They didn’t use any words or say anything cliché, they just knew I was sad and they couldn’t change that, so they offered what they could – a crappy tissue. They just let me be sad. Like by offering that tissue they were granting me permission to cry, or in my case, blow a bunch of snot into it.

That experience made me realize three things.  First of all, even though not everyone can completely understand what we as parents go through, most people are doing their best to treat us with kindness. It might not come naturally to a highly intelligent brain specialist to be sympathetic and understanding, but he’s still doing the best he can to fill that counselor role. Secondly, I’d rather have a cold, impersonal doctor who is the most medically qualified caring for Gage than a less qualified one who is good at coddling me. And finally, I realize that if we will just take the time to look for it, comfort and kindness can be found in so many different sources – even a box of cheap tissues.

“Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love.” Lamentations 3:32