This has actually been a hard day.  It was exactly four years ago today that Jacob graduated from high school with all his dreams for life ahead of him.  Four months later, he died in a car accident.

It has been 3 years, 8 months since Jacob died.

Why would something like a college graduation be so hard for us to face when Jacob never even came close to achieving that goal?  After all, he died only 5 1/2 weeks into his freshman year of college.  It’s hard because his college graduation was a major life milestone we fully expected to mark with Jacob that we will never get to experience.  At least not during this lifetime on this side of Heaven.  But the families of his surviving friends and classmates are able to joyfully celebrate as they always expected.

We’ve received college graduation announcements in the mail.  Jacob’s friends have posted things on facebook about their own graduations.  And they should!  This is an exciting time of life for them.  But it is a painful time for those of us who never got to see our own children celebrate that achievement.

Michael is one of Jacob’s good middle/high school friends, who attended the same university as him.  Tragically, Michael died in a car accident only one semester shy of graduation.  His parents didn’t get to see him walk across the stage to receive his college diploma either.  However, the university awarded Michael’s parents his dual major diploma on graduation night because Michael had earned enough college credits to receive both degrees.  I know it was very difficult and confusing for them to be there when Michael wasn’t there as they had always imagined he would be one day.  Tears of sadness and pain had replaced what they thought would be tears of pride and joy.

Zack is another classmate of Jacob’s who went to the same university.  Zack died about two months into what would have been his sophomore year at the university.  His parents never got to experience the joy of watching him graduate from college either.  That makes a total of three students from Jacob’s high school graduating class of 2006 that never made it to their college graduation at the University of Georgia.  A total of eight young people from that high school class  of approximately 350 students have now died.  The most recent occurred this spring.  When will it stop?

Later this week, Michael and I will be having dinner with some friends who lost their daughter in a car accident only 6 1/2 months after Jacob died.  She was only 14 at the time of her accident.  The night of our dinner with them is the night their daughter would have been graduating from high school.  They are choosing to do what we did on a day that holds so much pain and heartache for them.  Keep busy.  Get distracted by other activities.  Don’t sit at home completely absorbed in thoughts about what should have been.  These days can be like a living hell,  yet the rest of the world pretty much goes on unaware.

Life as normal.  Life as it should be.  I miss the simplicity of that.

Graduation is only the beginning.  There will be careers that get started, weddings that take place, and babies being born.  Those are all things we looked forward to celebrating with Jacob.  Several of my friends who have lost a child in their teen years have said that they either could not attend the weddings of their child’s friends or they cried their eyes out when they did attend.  That leaves me asking the difficult question, “Do I really want to attend such events?”  I certainly don’t want to offend anyone by NOT attending, but I also do not want to ruin their joyful occasion with my tears of pain and sadness.   After all, the events are not about me; they are about the person who is graduating, getting married or having a baby.

I miss the simplicity of life as it used to be.  I miss my son.

One year, while he was in elementary school, we bought him a huge stuffed animal at SeaWorld.  It was a loggerhead sea turtle that Jacob affectionately named Logger.  He literally used Logger as his pillow until the day he died.  He didn’t take it off to college with him, but it was still on his bed at home, so his last night on this earth, he slept with his head on that “pillow.”

Jacob's Logger

The emotional attachment to Logger had ended years earlier for Jacob, but it was so comfortable for him that he just kept using it.  The funny thing is his sister Raleigh took Logger to college with her.  Logger had a strong connection to Jacob for her so he was given a special spot on her bed all year long and is now back home for the summer along with Raleigh.

When my niece sent the key chain with the turtle, she included a note that said, “A special gift from me to you! Happy Mother’s Day with love always from your beloved son, Jacob J Nyenhuis.” I thought that was very thoughtful. Before I opened the package, my niece sent me a text message sayinig there was a story that went with this gift. After I opened it, I figured the story was that she decided to send me a gift on behalf of Jacob as a sweet way to bless me and remember him.

Last Friday, my niece and I talked for the first time since Mother’s Day. She told me the REAL story. Here it is:

She was sleeping and had a dream. Her dog named Angel was in the dream. Angel was able to speak, but the voice was clearly Jacob’s. According to my niece, there was no confusing that voice at all. Jacob said, “You know that turtle key chain you bought when you were in Lake Geneva? I want you to give that to my mom for Mother’s Day so that she will know that I am with her on that day. I want you to include a note with it and this is what I want it to say, ‘A special gift from me to you! Happy Mother’s Day with love from your beloved son, Jacob J Nyenhuis.’”

My niece wanted to argue with him about it because she really loved the keychain, but she knew Jacob wanted her to give it to me as a gift. My niece woke up crying and sitting straight up in bed. She’s never had a dream like that in her life. She’s 31 years old. The first thing she did once she had a chance to wake up and gather her thoughts was run and grab a pen and paper to write down what Jacob told her to put in the note.

As my mind began to comprehend what my niece just told me, one amazing revelation after another unfolded.  It was as though pieces of a mysterious puzzle were being put together.  There are so many amazing facets to this story, but it would be too confusing to explain them all.

Here’s just one: During Jacob’s junior year of high school I began writing a book that I confidently believe God wanted me to write. The story is about a girl and her golden retriever named Angel. (To be honest, I’m not even sure if my niece had her dog Angel at the time I began writing the story in the fall of 2004, but I certainly didn’t get the story idea or the name from her dog.)  In the story, Angel is able to speak to the girl because she is a real angel from Heaven in the form of a dog that delivers messages from Heaven.

Jacob loved that I was writing this story. He would even ask me about it now and then.  He knew what the story was about, but I never let him read it.  When his senior year began, I had already written over 100 pages, but I decided to set the book aside.  I didn’t want to get wrapped up in my writing during Jacob’s last year at home. My desire was to focus on him, and he knew that because I told him.  After he left for college, I brought the story out again but hadn’t yet begun writing when Jacob’s accident happened.

Ten days after the accident, God began pouring into me more ideas for the story.  He clearly told me the story needed to change. The girl in the story (Katie) has an older brother named Matthew.   I sensed God saying that Katie’s brother now needed to die in the story and that God would comfort her in part through Angel. Many more details were given to me but I had no way to write them down they were coming so fast.  Even so, I still remember many of them to this day.

When I sat back and thought more about it, I became disgusted and upset with myself for thinking that God was talking to me about my book. After all, my son had just died. Why the heck was I focused on my book?

The shame I felt for focusing on my book in those first days after the accident has kept me from writing even one word of the story since Jacob’s death.  Today, however, I am wondering if God and Jacob were giving me a hint through a dream and a very personal Mother’s Day gift to begin writing the story again.  I’m going to be praying about this to see what direction to take.  The timing sure doesn’t seem the best, but that doesn’t matter when God is in charge.  In the meantime, I’m savoring the sweet gift from my son in Heaven.

As each new Mother’s Day approaches, I can’t help but wonder how I might experience Jacob in some way, if at all.  I don’t wait for a supernatural display like the one I received that first Mother’s Day, but I look for small signs.  I don’t EXPECT God to allow these things to happen, but I am hopeful He will.

Last year on Mother’s Day, I felt a deep stirring in my soul several times throughout the church service.  Jacob felt very near.  I was moved to tears.  Those tears are not typical tears.  They come when I experience what I refer to as a “Holy Spirit cry.”  The Spirit touches me deep inside and brings forth these tears.  It doesn’t happen often, so I know the difference.  I still remember having one of these during a church service in September 2005.  I had been experiencing the same thing the day before as I was gardening.  I couldn’t explain the reason behind the tears.  Looking back, I wonder if the Spirit was preparing me for what would take place on a Sunday in September one year later.  Jacob died on Sunday, September 24, 2006.

Another moment Jacob felt near last year on Mother’s Day was when a picture in our living room fell to the ground.  Our golden retriever ran over and began sniffing all around the area where the picture had fallen.  She is typically very timid when it comes to loud noises, but not that time.   In fact, she seemed excited with what she was picking up through her acute senses.

The picture that had fallen was of the sunrise that washed over our island the morning of Jacob’s memorial service.  Jacob’s uncle took the picture, had it framed and gave it to us as a gift.  We love the picture, but we especially love what he had printed around the picture:  “God is real… Heaven is real…  Jacob is Alive!”  And that’s the picture that fell to the ground on Mother’s Day.  That picture had never fallen prior to that, and it hasn’t fallen since.  I have a feeling someone wanted us to remember the truth behind those words.

For those of us mothers who have lost a child, we recently experienced another Mother’s Day, or perhaps our first Mother’s Day, without our child.  It’s a tough holiday to mark because the one who helped define us as a mother is no longer here in the flesh.  What we wouldn’t give to hear that child say, “I love you, Mom!” just one more time.  What we wouldn’t give to get another hug, another kiss, another card with a few thoughtful words of appreciation for who we are as mothers.

I will never forget my first Mother’s Day without Jacob.  My husband, Michael, was proactive and contacted several people asking them to remember me on that day.  Dozens of emails filled my inbox, and each one mentioned Jacob and Raleigh (our daughter).  They didn’t address me only as Raleigh’s mom, but Jacob’s mom too.  In fact, some even addressed their emails to “Jacob’s Mom.”  That reference wasn’t meant to exclude Raleigh, but they realized how important it was for me to know I was still very much Jacob’s mom and always would be.  The love and prayers of many people carried me through one of the most difficult days of that first year.

There is another reason I will never forget that first Mother’s Day after Jacob died. Jacob came to visit me.  Now I know some of you are thinking I’ve lost my mind or that I temporarily lost my mind back on that painful and grief-filled first Mother’s Day, but that’s not true.  I was very much of sound body and mind.  So was my husband.  So was our dog.  All three of us experienced Jacob’s presence in profound ways at the same time, in the same room.

It was the early morning hours shortly before dawn.  I woke up and realized it was still dark out, so I shut my eyes.  As I lay there with eyes closed, a scene began playing out in my mind.  I was viewing the scene as if I was standing on the opposite side of the bed and I could see that I was in bed, but Jacob was standing next to my side of the bed.  He bent down to kiss me.  As he did that, I immediately was back in my body and felt him kiss me.  Then, I could “hear” his thoughts and he could hear mine.  We both expressed a desire to be together on that Mother’s Day.  I sensed Jacob’s love for me in a wonderful way.  Then the scene ended.

When I realized what had just happened, I smiled and thanked God for such a precious vision on Mother’s Day.  Feeling such a closeness to Jacob was a sweet gift, and I was praising God for it.  A minute or two later, I felt Michael get up and let the dog out.  Since I sleep with earplugs, I could not hear when she got up and scratched at the door to go out, so it was part of our routine that Michael would usually let the dog out in the early morning hours and come back to bed.  I fell asleep again before he came back to bed that Mother’s Day morning.

Later that morning after Michael and I woke up for good, Michael said, “I think Jacob was here to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day.”  I was shocked to hear him say that and immediately asked him why.  He went on to explain what he had experienced early that morning before it was light out.  He said even though it was dark, our dog, Nikki, had been jumping up and down on my side of the bed.  It was just like the sound she made when she greeted us each time we came home.  Nikki’s nails clicking on the wood floor was what woke him up.  Normally he would wake up to the sound of her nails clicking on the wood floor as she walked over to the bedroom door to go out, but this was different.  He could tell she was jumping up and down.

Michael sat up to attempt to see Nikki jumping around and was overcome by a strong sense of Jacob’s presence in the room.  In fact, it was so profound that Michael began talking quietly to Jacob, telling him, “I love you, Jacob!” over and over.  Jacob’s presence wasn’t frightening or upsetting for Michael.  In fact, it was comforting and peaceful.  That was in stark contrast to another experience he had.  Shortly after Jacob died, Michael woke up to a strong presence in the room, but that presence was frightening and threatening.  He spoke out loud then as well, but it was a prayer for God to remove the presence from the room.

Nikki eventually calmed down and curled up in her bed once again.  Michael knew something had caused Nikki to get up out of bed and jump around like that.  The fact that she only jumped around on my side of the bed suggested that the “something” must have been right beside me since there wasn’t much room between the bed and the wall.  Having experienced a strong sense of Jacob’s presence at that same time, Michael figured the “something” that had excited Nikki was Jacob, and maybe Jacob had come to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day  A couple of minutes later, Nikki got up out of her bed again.  That time she went straight to the door to go out, so he got up and took her outside.

My vision of Jacob standing next to my bed kissing me and letting me know he wanted to be with me, Nikki’s crazy jumping around in the dark on my side of the bed and Michael’s strong sense of Jacob’s presence being in the bedroom were all occurring simultaneously.

Was it just our grief-induced imaginations?  Maybe.  But how peculiar that we would be experiencing those things at the same time.  Stranger yet is the fact that the dog was responding to something as well.  Make of it what you will, but we believe it was real and God allowed Jacob to visit me in a unique way to give me hope and comfort and to remind me that our relationship continues even after death.

That is a lesson quickly learned by someone who is grieving.  Words from a friend or acquaintance intended to comfort you end up coming across as insensitive or inappropriate.

People do hurtful things.

Despite the desire to be helpful, certain acts of service can end up harming a grieving person more than aiding in their healing.

A common mistake people make in coming alongside a grieving person is vilifying the individual or party that may have initiated the grief.  The friend who tries to be helpful by speaking poorly of a spouse/partner who just ended a relationship or the boss who just ended an employee’s job isn’t really being helpful.  That friend would be much wiser to sit with the person who is grieving, listen and acknowledge the pain.  Quietly. 

An act of service often performed by well-meaning friends for someone who has lost a loved one is cleaning up the home or removing evidence of the deceased’s existence.  The intention is good, but is often that last thing the grieving person wants.  Washing the dirty clothes of one who has died, especially if that death was unexpected, is not helpful.  Those clothes might contain the only remaining scent of the deceased. 

Removing and washing linens from the bed of one who has died is unnecessary.  Family members may want to lie down on those sheets one last time.  That may sound strange or even disturbing to some, but it comforts others.  Don’t worry if the linens were soiled.  Offer to wash them, but wait for family approval before acting upon that gesture. 

After my son’s death only five weeks into his freshman year of college, I was comforted by the thought that I could still touch and smell the dirty clothes he had left in his dorm room. He told me the washers on his floor of the dorm were not working, so he had a bunch of dirty laundry.  When I was finally ready to go through his personal belongings, I searched the boxes from his dorm room, longing to bury my face in his dirty clothes and smell that sweet combination of his deodorant and sweat. I found clean clothes of his that were neatly folded, but I couldn’t find his dirty clothes anywhere. I panicked! When I learned that a friend had washed his bedding and clothes, I screamed and cried. Some of the last little pieces of my son that were left on this earth had been washed away by a well-meaning friend.

I was grateful no one had washed the linens on his bed in our home. He had slept on them for two nights before heading back to campus the day of his accident.  In fact, those sheets were the last ones he slept upon before he died. The dirty clothes in his backpack from his weekend visit were untouched as well. To this day, I open that backpack, pull out his clothes and breathe deeply the scent of my son.  While I’ve removed the sheets from my son’s bed, I have never washed them.  They are sealed in plastic bags that I can open whenever I want.

Someone other than the mother and father packing up the nursery of the precious infant who never made it home is like denying the baby’s existence and the time during the pregnancy spent bonding with that child.  Part of the grieving and healing might involve touching each item and weeping over the loss.

Don’t try to cheer someone up or distract them from thinking about their loss.  Every thought, breath, or moment is filled with the pain of that loss.  One of the most refreshing feelings for someone who is grieving is being able to be real and not having to pretend in front of others.

Unless you are absolutely certain that you share the same beliefs as the person who is grieving, do not try to comfort someone using concepts from your belief system.  Far too many people have been hurt by shallow cliche’s that hold little meaning or comfort in the heat of the moment.  Telling someone “This is part of God’s perfect plan,” or “This will make you a stronger person” demonstrates a complete lack of respect for the agony of the moment.  It might make it easier for YOU to deal with the other person’s grief by saying those things, but it probably won’t help the person–at least not in the early days or weeks of grief.

What are the right things to say and do?

While every person’s needs are different, there are some general ways to be helpful:

Listen.  Eloquent words aren’t necessary.  A tender hug can mean more than words.

Acknowledge grief and respect it.  Never tell someone not to cry.

Offer very specific ways you can help.  “I would like to cut your lawn for the next four weeks,” is better than “Call me if you need anything.”  If a mild protest ensues, take that as permission to do what you’ve just offered.  If your offer is strongly denied, consider something else.

When someone has experienced intense grief that leaves them exhausted, coordinate meals to be brought to the home, preferably in containers that do not need to be returned.  If you are close to the person, bring the food about an hour before meal time and offer to sit and talk for awhile.  If you are not very close, simply drop the meal off with a few words of comfort and perhaps a card.

Stay in touch.  Reaching out to others is nearly impossible for someone who is grieving, so it’s easy to become isolated.  Calling the person or offering to go for a walk with them is helpful.  Since dinners are usually the only meal ever brought to the home, suggest going out for lunch or bringing a breakfast or lunch to the person’s house.

Ultimately, we should remember to extend grace to one another.  When the grieving person seems unappreciative or when the well-intentioned friend says or does something that inflicts pain, forgive one another. 

We are all doing the best we know.

New grief requires survival tactics, so if blaming others helps me get through the first few days or weeks, so be it.  For the long haul, however, I am much better off practicing forgiveness, offering grace and investing time in self-reflection.

Let me give you a few examples:

If I just lost a job, I might need a little time to vent about my boss or co-workers to ease the shock and pain for awhile.  But if I’m still ragging on these people weeks down the road, I’m only setting myself up for a bad attitude that will potentially reveal itself through future job interviews.  I am better off taking some time to truthfully evaluate my strengths and weaknesses.  By considering my strengths, I increase my confidence.  Where I find personal shortcomings, it serves me well to consider ways to overcome or compensate for them.

If my marriage is ending, my natural instinct is to protect my heart and my pride, which might lead me to express a lot of bitterness toward my ex.  However, if my desire to vilify him continues over time, it does more to reflect my own insecurity and unforgiving spirit than to hurt him or his reputation.  I sabotage my own reputation and other relationships of mine in the process.  Perhaps my energies are better spent considering where I might have been able to make the relationship stronger or what qualities I should be looking for in future relationships.

In some cases, the blame fully lies with another person.  Hopefully, these are situations where justice is served in a court of law.  But even then, holding onto the anger and bitterness only destroys me.  Directing my energy toward something positive such as bringing about a change in legislation so that further injustices do not occur is a more productive use of my time and effort.

Refusing to play the blame game in the middle of our grief is an essential step on the road toward healing and redemption.

I did too.

But my life will never be what it used to be. Planning vacations for our family of four, going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving, calling my son to see how his day was or receiving a random text message from him about some amazing car he has just seen were normal parts of my life before my son died. What made my life normal in the past no longer exists.  I had to create a “new normal” from the remains of the life I once knew.

In some situations, the new normal can be better than the old.  A change in career or job has the potential to bring about a whole new purpose in life.  A new relationship might prove to be deeper and richer than the one that ended.

My new normal, however, is not better.  Perhaps it will be one day, but right now, I have a hard time imagining such an outcome.

Life without him is different, but not better.

Granted, certain aspects of my life are better.  My faith is stronger.  My grip on the things of this world is weaker.  My love for my husband and daughter is deeper.  I am more in tune with nature and people, because of a new appreciation for the rhythm found in life and death, and in joy and sorrow. The big picture of life is becoming more apparent to me, therefore being stuck in traffic, missing an appointment or having to wait for a table doesn’t bother me as much as it once did.  My new house is smaller.  My needs are fewer.

But life itself is not better.

My friend, Molly, was a dance instructor who taught people of all ages how to dance.  She loved dancing as much as she loved teaching.  Her life and her career revolved around dancing.

Molly had to have her leg amputated below the knee due to a blood clot that went undetected for too long.  While Molly will dance again, she knows her life will never be the same.  She has been forced to find her new normal.

Molly will tell you her new normal is better in many ways—she has made new friends, renewed her faith in God, realized the depth of love and compassion in our community and discovered an inner strength she never knew existed.

Part of creating a new normal after a major loss like Molly’s or mine is recognizing and accepting what has changed.  Research shows that among those changes as a result of intense grief are changes in the brain.

Dr. Arif Najib, a German researcher, used MRI scans to study the changes in the brains of women who had experienced grief over the loss of a romantic partner and published his results in the December 2004 issue of the American Journal of Psychiatry.

Not surprisingly, the scans indicated increased activity in the regions of the brain associated with sadness.  However, the region of the brain associated with emotion, motivation and attention showed much less activity.

This kind of research is helpful in understanding grief, but the findings come as no surprise to anyone who has experienced it.

A woman in a grief support group I used to attend was always very punctual. Since the death of her husband, she has had difficulty getting anywhere on time.  Another friend from that same group never used to have a problem keeping her finances in order before her husband died.  After he died, she began making impulse purchases of clothing or items for her house that she knew she did not need.

Profound grief changes people.

Some of my family and friends might want me to be the same old Sandy I was before Jacob’s death, but that’s not possible.  Besides, I like the person I’ve become.  Maybe they will too, eventually.

The hospital we once drove by without a moment’s thought is now avoided because it holds the memory of the death or illness of a loved one. The office where we once worked now only serves as a reminder of being fired or laid-off. A favorite restaurant where we dined with a spouse or partner triggers a panic attack after the relationship ends or a spouse dies.

The list goes on and on.

After my 18-year-old son, Jacob died it became almost unbearable for me to go to church—despite a deep love for God and an ever-increasing faith. Every Sunday, since he was old enough to sit still, we sat together as a family in the same general area—the front, left section of the congregation.

We tried sitting in a different place, but I found myself staring at the area where we used to sit with an overwhelming sadness. We tried attending the 11:00 a.m. service held in the main sanctuary, but realized, as soon as the music began, it wouldn’t work either. That was where Jacob’s memorial service took place.

Tremendous pain was associated with what was once such a joyful place. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be in church, but not the old, familiar buildings and rooms.

Two years after Jacob’s death, my husband and I decided to attend a new church. In the end, the pain won out.

For my husband, our renovated 1950′s brick ranch, located a short bike ride from the beach, became a place of painful association. Years of memories—celebrating holiday dinners, decorating for Christmas, planting bushes that were Mother’s Day presents, tossing tennis balls for our golden retriever—turned the house and yard he once loved into harbingers of pain.

He wanted to move, frequently saying, “The same old life, without Jacob in it isn’t going to work. I need change!”   I couldn’t leave all of the memories.

I loved going into Jacob’s bedroom to look at his beloved collection of model sports cars, page through his Bible or touch his clothes left hanging in his closet and tucked neatly in his dresser drawers. I would even lie down on his bed and cry out to God, asking “Why?” Time and time again, God comforted me there. It was my refuge which was reason enough to stay.

My husband’s desire to move let up briefly when my daughter, Raleigh, also put up a fight about moving. He also sank deeper into depression, rarely smiling or interacting with us.  When he came home from work, he’d go to the couch, turn on the television and stare blankly at the screen.

I knew we were in trouble.

My husband asked Raleigh and me to consider other major decisions he had made for our family, pointing out he had served our family well in the past. He hoped we would reconsider his record and trust him on this one.

The next time my husband was out of town, Raleigh and I had a long discussion about the health of our family. Together, we came to the conclusion that having a husband and father who was healthy was more important than having a house that held precious memories. Life had already changed so much, but losing the house we loved was nothing compared to losing the man we so dearly loved.

Two-and-a-half years after Jacob died, we moved. In the end, the pain won out.

But that’s not the whole story.

Although I fell to my knees crying in Jacob’s room the day we moved, I was astounded by the peace and joy I felt in our new home.

The real test, however, was our daughter. The kicking and screaming she promised she’d do if we ever moved never happened.  Instead, she confessed to also having peace with the move. She still missed our house, but no longer hated the new one.  I discovered I was able to create a new place for my life and that our old house, without Jacob in it, just didn’t work anymore.

My husband’s wisdom served our family well.

Running from pain is not healthy, but refusing to inflict unnecessary pain upon ourselves is—even if it means choosing a different route, restaurant or residence. Personal experience and observation have shown me it’s good to create boundaries which may limit the pain of grief. Building impenetrable walls to block out all of the pain only slows the healing process.

We each make choices whether to stay where we are or move to a new place in the aftermath of grief. Those choices might involve compromise. And they require time. Lots of time.

We need time to honestly determine if staying in a certain place is our way of accepting the loss for what it is, or if it’s our way of getting stuck in the past.  We also need to decide if moving is our way of embracing life in a new way or if it’s running away from the past. Getting to the heart of what truly motivates us can be painful, but it is essential before making decisions that will not only affect us but those whom we love.

The hospital wouldn’t tell us his condition and the trooper who called the house had just told me the boys left the accident scene by ambulance “breathing and holding their own.”  That my husband would even entertain the idea of Jacob dying was incomprehensible to me.

Why?

Did I think something like that couldn’t happen to him?  Did I think such a disaster could not fall upon our family?  Did I think God simply would not allow it?  Yes. Yes. Yes and No. No. No.

In my mind I always knew disaster could strike my family at any moment, but I never really thought God would stand for it.  I had always been so grateful for the gift of a faithful husband and two healthy children who had good minds and made good choices.  My husband and I lovingly disciplined them and brought them up to know and appreciate the immense love God has for them.  We spent quality time with our children on numerous family vacations and weekend camping trips in our trusty VW Vanagon Camper.  We exposed them to other cultures and ways of life. We listened to them and got to know their hearts.  They grew up to be joyful, well-adjusted, compassionate and confident people.  God needed more kids like them in this world.  He certainly wouldn’t take one away.

As twisted as that might be, somewhere in the back of my mind, I honestly thought we were going to be spared from the worst of nightmares.  After all, my husband lost his mother at the age of six and I had lived with enough heartache, disappointment and dysfunction to be a guest on Oprah for a week.  Hadn’t we endured enough?

The problem is, life is not about equal amounts of suffering being distributed amongst the world’s population.  If that were the case, I could expect much more.  Compared to the pain and suffering of people in some of the poorest communities around the globe, my life was and continues to be pretty darn comfortable and easy.

The truth is, God never promised anyone an easy life.  There is nothing in Scripture that says once we follow God our problems will disappear.  In fact, we are told to expect problems.  In John 16:33, Jesus clearly says, “In this world you WILL have trouble. (emphasis mine)  The rain falls and the sun shines on the wicked as well as the upright.  Although it is possible to experience God’s favor while on this earth, it would serve us well to be prepared to experience heartache and disappointment.

So what’s the point?  Why live a life for Christ when He isn’t going to stop the pain train from smashing into us?  The reason to follow Christ has to do with all of the other things that come with a life in which Jesus is at the center.  When we draw near to Him, God draws near to us.  God sends us the One who comforts.  He gives us peace that is impossible to understand or describe.  He gives hope in the midst of hopeless situations.  He brings new joy into our lives each and every day.  He gives us eyes to see the good in life if that is what we long to see.

Jesus tells us to take heart even though we have troubles in life because He has overcome the world.  There is nothing in this world that he cannot help us overcome.  That is not to say we will never be faced with life circumstances that are more than we can handle.

There is an often misquoted passage of Scripture about this very topic.  People confuse I Corinthians 10:13 to mean that God will never allow us to face trials that are more than we can handle.  But that’s NOT what this verse says.  It says, “God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”  This passage is talking about temptation.

When it comes to despair, that’s a totally different thing.  God knows there will be times in life when we simply cannot make it on our own.  Paul says in II Corinthians 1:8 & 9 “We do not want you to be uninformed about the hardships we suffered.  We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life.  Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death.  But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.”

God wants us to know that He is there for us when nothing in our world makes sense.  When we feel we have no reason to have hope or to keep on living, He is there to pick up the pieces of our broken lives and put them back together again.  As Creator, His rightful place is to be the source of our life, and that’s exactly what He promises to be when we have no strength left to live.  Remember, He raises the dead.

When my husband and I were told that Jacob had not survived the injuries he sustained in his car accident, I wanted to die.  I felt betrayed by God and wanted to scream, “How could you allow this to happen?  Why Jacob?  Why my family?  Why me?”  Perhaps the better questions are ones that I should have asked myself, “Why should He have stopped it?  Why NOT Jacob? Why NOT me?”

Sure, I have perfectly good answers to those questions I should have asked myself, but they are from my human, finite and earthly perspective.  God’s answers are from His holy, infinite and Heavenly perspective, which is all together different.  And it’s perfect.  That’s still not easy to say or write, but it is true.