For such a time as this

Someone is angry with me.  Someone who is hurting – who recently lost their son – who is grieving, broken, and doesn’t know me or know my own hurt and grief.  But they are angry.

Since my son’s death I have marveled at the grace of God.  How He could reach through our sorrow at the perfect moment to bring us laughter or joy or simply confimation that it wasn’t an accident – He took Nate Home on purpose and in His perfect time.  He understands our hurting and our confusion.  In our case, He made it so clear that He had accounted for that too, knowing that His decision to take Nathan would break our hearts.  He poured out peace and comfort on us in overwhelming ways.

God’s richness has been so absolutely vital to our grieving and healing that I can’t fathom grieving without Him.  That’s a thought that has recurred many times since November, in conversation, in prayer, even in this blog.  It’s a question that I raised again recently and one that, I fear, was grossly misinterpreted.

At Nate’s funeral, some stated that the Taylor Family had taught them how to grieve:  Our dependence on God, our faith and absolute assurance in Nathan’s salvation and his presence in Heaven, the sure knowledge that Nathan is more alive than ever and we will, without doubt, see him again. 

Others said that we had such big faith.  In reality, mine is so small.  But isn’t that the beauty of it?  Jesus said if our faith is as small as a mustard seed, that was enough to move mountains!  I have a mustard seed of faith, and yet that’s enough because God continually bridges the gap with His mighty grace.  He meets me wherever I am.

I don’t understand the anger, truthfully.  I never got angry with God.  Not when Nathan died, or in any of the crises that happened after.  My response was, and is, I love you, Lord, and I trust you, even when I don’t understand, even when I’m hurting. 

Sadly, it’s not the first time this has happened – someone expressing anger in grief toward us, me.  I’m not about to strike back.  We can do and say things when we are in intense pain that we would never do or say normally.  I am horrified that Satan would twist my words and use them to hurt someone already hurting so much.  But, as with all these difficult things, what Satan means for destruction, God works for good for those who love Him.  I love you, Lord, and I trust you. 

I woke up this morning with a particularly tender heart.  I chalked it up to being tired.  But my heart was seeking God more than normal.  I spent time in the Word, in prayer.  I went to the beach for some quiet time just to seek God and ask for extra measures of grace today.  That was before I learned that someone was angry with me.  Perhaps the Spirit was telling me a battle was coming and I needed my armor on.

These have been difficult days, being reminded of losing Nathan again.  Reflecting on our brokenness in the months after his death, knowing another family is starting that same horrible journey - one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  I pray that God pours out His comfort and mercy on them in even greater measure that He has for us.  I pray that they have the same peace, assurance, and hope.  I pray that they too completely trust in God, knowing that He is in control of even this.  I pray for forgiveness.

I am broken today.  In renewed grief, in regret, in empathy, in sorrow.  And yet will I hope.  I love you, Lord, and I trust you.

Logically I know it’s just the cycle of birth, life, death that each of us deals with.  But I’m having such a hard time wrapping my head and heart around yet another loss.

My husband’s cousin, Jayne, is a woman who loves her family deeply.  We received a call this evening that her son, Ryan, was in a serious accident, his head nearly crushed, and he’s not likely to live.  Of course, having just lost our son a few months ago, having gone through hours of not knowing, then knowing he was dead but being unable to find him, to facing the terrifying reality of his death, our heart breaks to pieces for Jayne and her family.

There is no greater helplessness and panic, deep, to the core panic, than knowing your child is dying and there’s nothing you can do.  As parents we want to protect them, but we can’t.  And our greatest fear is losing them.  And when they are gone, the world shatters to pieces.

Our prayers are being lifted high to Heaven for this young man, for his mother, for his family.  Praying is the least and greatest thing we can do.  It never feels like enough.  But in my grief, I felt those prayers.  They lifted me and sustained me.  They helped me to remember to just keep breathing.  Some days that’s all I could do.

Still, God, I wonder when will you give this family rest?  I thank you that we know so much on this topic and that you have used us, practically daily, to comfort those who have lost children, parents, siblings, spouses.  I thank you for my husband’s willingness to drop everything to be at Jayne’s side to comfort her.  But please, God, for a season, not another broken heart.  Allow us time to mend, to grieve, to heal.  Grant us a season of joy without sorrow.  My heart can’t take much more.

I do a lot of that here…reflecting on my family.  These relationships are so dynamic – complicated one moment, so simple the next.  Driving me nuts with aggravation one day and filling me with joy inexpressible another.

Each July, we host Family Camp – a reunion of (mostly) my husband’s extended family and occasionally some friends.  This has been an extraordinary year for our family and our gathering was smaller than years past.  Our perspective is, whoever comes is exactly who is supposed to come.  We don’t sweat the numbers too much.

Something happened this year that has never happened before…it poured every day.  Family Camp is held over a long weekend and it rained from Friday morning to Monday evening.  Strangely, that turned out to be such a blessing.  We have a nice shop with a big woodstove at one end.  We had a toasty fire burning, tables and chairs set out for games and activities.  We sat around for hours visiting, laughing, sharing stories.  And in the corner was the loudest, most competitive game of Mexican Train Dominoes you can imagine!

Every body pitched in (for which I’m thankful as I sprained my ankle just before the weekend), work was light, food was fantastic.  But it was the company that blessed my heart the most.

We shared what God had done in our lives in the last year, blessings and areas to pray over, we talked of Heaven and the Greatest Reunion of All Time that is certain and guaranteed, and we held each other and prayed.

One of the most impactful moments was when my sister-in-law Cindy asked me to take her down to the lake where my son Nathan died.  She had walked down with me after his funeral in December, but hadn’t been back since.  As with so many others I’ve talked to, it seemed the anticipation of being there was far more difficult and traumatic than actually being there.  My daughter wisely said, it’s harder to think about it than to do it. 

After spending some time lakeside and talking about the events of that day, of retrieving the boat six months later, and of seeing the lake every day and how God has brought such peace and healing, Cindy agreed that being there wasn’t anything like she’d expected.  It’s still sad, at times, but it’s also beautiful and peaceful. 

I was also struck by how many people have commented that Covenant Creek feels like Holy Ground.  This place has been set aside, sanctified, for God’s service and ministering to the hearts of all who come here.  Those comments bear witness to the Spirit of God that dwells here, the covering that we have, and the purpose that has been set before us.   

For those that didn’t come, for a number of reasons, we missed you and hope you come next July.  Please don’t let fear or anxiety keep you away.  I promise it will diminish once you are here – I have seen it over and over.  For those who did come, thank you.  What joy it is to be with you and to know you better, quirks and all.

We love you very much.

There are some days within a family that stand out – life changing days.

November 27, 2006 was one of those days.  Sweet Nathan was fishing with his friend, while I was grumbling about cleaning up after his pie-baking mess.  A normal day.  Until a sherriff deputy and chaplain arrived to tell us he was gone.  Life changing day.

July 11, 2007 is another one of those life-changing days.  We got a call early this morning that our third grandson, Isaac Timothy Taylor, was born at 8:30 AM in Chicago, IL (named for uncle Nathanael Isaac, and Dad and Grandpa Timothy).  At the same moment, Nathan’s family, Lauren and Jack, is on a plane over the Atlantic Ocean.  They are returning early from Sarajevo, Bosnia.  Going home to Denton, TX, to face life without husband and father.  A life changing day.

Not all change is tragic, but all of it is challenging.  Mandi and Tim now raising two boys. Levi now a Big Brother.  Lauren raising one boy on her own and stepping fully into that reality.  All of them facing new challenges, new futures, new possibilities.

I am so proud of my family.  Their love of God and devotion to seeking Him as they live their lives.  Their commitment to loving and serving each other.  Our closeness as a family.  I’m so grateful that Charlotte and Jeremiah live close enough that we see them often.  I can’t wait to see Tim, Mandi, Levi, Isaac, Lauren, and Jack, to love on them and enjoy them.

That’s my prayer today.  I am celebrating my family and praying that we are reunited in love and joy very soon.

Happy birthday, Isaac.  Welcome home, Lauren.