The Nearness of God Will Be Evident

I will always remember how sick I felt the first time someone suggested that through Jacob’s death I would gain. Gain what? This person probably meant I’d gain valuable things like insight, compassion, wisdom, etc. But benefiting in any way from Jacob’s death seemed appalling to me.

From the moment I learned Jacob’s accident had left him dead and his friend hanging on to life, I knew I had a choice as to how I would live my life going forward. I kept saying to myself and others, “I don’t want Jacob’s death to be in vain.” However, by refusing to let myself “gain” and be transformed through Jacob’s death, I was the one who was guilty of allowing his death to be in vain. My initial stubborn refusal to let beauty arise from ashes for me personally was also in some way disregarding the victorious and miraculous battle Jacob’s friend was fighting to stay alive and rehabilitate.

Then, it was almost as though I could hear Jacob’s voice saying, “Mom, if you don’t allow my death and Matt’s brave struggle to bring forth positive attitudes and changes in yourself, then my death as well as Matt’s hard work HAVE been in vain.” They were not only going to be in vain, but they were going to be the breeding ground of destruction and pain in my life and the lives with which I came in contact. How could I possibly do that to my son? How could I do that to his friend?

Knowing that my greatest comfort came as I read Scripture and prayed, I began to press into my relationship with God. I leaned on Him more than any other time in my life. He “spoke” to my spirit, especially when I felt fearful about Jacob’s final moments and his experience of entering Heaven. Jacob’s eternal life in Heaven was not in question, but whether or not he was lonely or frightened during those moments of transition from his earthly body nagged at my heart and mind. During those times, I could sense God reminding me, “I was with him, and he is here with Me now.”

God gave me a vision ten days after the accident. In this vision that played out like a movie before me, the accident had just taken place, and I was suspended above and slightly behind Jacob’s car. He was in the vehicle, but I did not see his friend who was riding with him. While it was dark and raining, the scene was very clear. A large, black hand wrapped its fingers around Jacob’s torso and pulled him out of the car. Jacob was unconscious and slumped forward, so he didn’t struggle or show any fear. A deep voice that I knew was connected to the black hand could be heard saying, “I’m going to tear this family apart!”  At that moment, I saw a figure come from the right, and I instantly “knew” who it was. Jesus gently took Jacob’s right arm with both hands and calmly but firmly stated, “Let him go! This one is Mine!”  The hand released Jacob immediately. Jacob’s head lifted as though he was now alert, but still somewhat groggy. He said nothing. Jesus then left with Jacob. Four months later, when we visited the accident site for the first time, the location matched my vision, even the positioning of the vehicle was the same.

During those first months, my nearness to God was unlike anything I had ever known before. Rather than consciously offering up a prayer now and then throughout the day, it was as if I was in a constant dialogue with God. I think that’s the connection God intended us to have with Him.  Ever so slowly, that has slipped away. There is more silence on my part and His, but I think that’s because I’ve allowed the distractions of this world back into my life.

The spiritual experience of God’s nearness was like “scales falling from my eyes.” I was seeing things as I had never seen them before. Even when I closed my eyes, vivid colors would swirl around. Things I had never noticed before caught my attention. My hearing was altered. Usually, I have difficulty deciphering competing sounds, so I’m horrible at conversing with people in a group setting where multiple people are speaking.  Concerts are usually very frustrating for me to attend if people around me are talking.  Less than two weeks after Jacob’s accident Michael and I attended a Jars of Clay concert.  To my amazement, despite some less than ideal acoustics, I could clearly hear the lyrics being sung.  It felt like God was opening my ears to hear because the words ministered deeply to my soul.

I also heard things I never heard before. On more than one occasion, I heard Jacob’s voice. One time I heard, “Hey, Mom!” which is the way he would frequently greet me. This all may sound terribly strange or even scary, but I never felt more alive and “in tune” than ever before. Nearly a year after Jacob’s death, I literally heard a male voice while my husband was out running and my daughter was sleeping. This voice calmly but firmly declared, “Put them together.” That made no sense, but I quickly shared what I heard with friends and family anyway. By that afternoon, the phrase made perfect sense because of the way the day’s events miraculously unfolded. Many of us were in awe that a seemingly meaningless group of words suddenly had full meaning.

The nearness of God was so intense that the account in Scripture of Moses going up on Mount Sinai and standing in the presence of God came to mind a number of times. When Moses returned to the people below, he had to veil his face because he was so radiant as a result of the close encounter with God.  Each time Moses entered the Lord’s presence and then spoke to the people, he was radiant from having been in the presence of the Lord.  In the weeks and months following Jacob’s death, there were several occasions when people, even complete strangers, told me that I was “glowing.” One time, two men working at a desk in an office building in Atlanta jumped when they saw me walk in. I wondered why they had such a reaction. The first one said, “This may sound strange, but you are glowing! I mean, you are really glowing!” The other guy said with his eyes wide open, “It’s true! You are!” If they only knew I had lost my son months earlier. The only explanation for this glowing was nearness of God.  His intimate presence brought forth a radiance that could ONLY come from Him.

God is always near, even when we don’t believe He exists. When we are grieving, He draws nearer still. If we invite Him in with hungry hearts, He is like skin on skin. It will be known, not only to us, but to those around us. Ask God to draw near to you. He will.  And your face will show the evidence, even in your most desperate hour.

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. ~ James 4:7-10

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A Ride On A Magic Carpet

Making it through another Christmas without my son, Jacob, is hard.  When I allow myself to think about all that could/should have been, the pain is deep and tears flow easily.  Most of the time, I just try to keep my thoughts elsewhere.  I know I’m not alone in this approach.  Many people have become my support during these past three years and three months, and most of them have been other moms who have lost children.  It is to these people I look to determine whether my actions and attitudes are “normal”–whatever that means.

Last night, I found myself going to a group on Facebook I’ve been a part of for over two years.  The group members are moms who have lost children.  It is a closed group, so I apologize that you can’t go check it out.  Sometimes it’s important for us to have a safe place to go and write what we need to write.  Other moms who’ve lost children understand the need to cry out for help or to say it has been a surprisingly good couple of weeks.  We can freely write about our children and not worry about someone getting bored with what we would like to share.  As I pored over the site last night, I found a wonderful posting by one of the moms.  She had gotten it from a website called HeavenLetters (http://heavenletters.org), and I’d like to share it here.

HEAVEN #2943 A Ride on a Magic Carpet

God said:

No matter what I say and how much I say, it seems that My children fear death, so-called death. Do you not know that leaving the cumbersome body is part of life?

That the body dies is no secret. Must it seem like such a dire thing? Must it? Life on Earth is not really a matter of life and death. I know you think so. You think that death is some horror waiting for you. Haven’t you been taught to fear it? Camps called hospitals have been set up to delay it, medicines to defray it. Concern with the body’s death is an occupation on Earth. Do not let it become a preoccupation. It’s not worth it.

I will tell you, with all due regard to life, that from life to death is like going from riding a donkey to riding a magic carpet. I do not disparage life on Earth by calling it a donkey, for you know I love everything, every creature, and you. Riding a donkey is a wonderful thing. Flying on a magic carpet is another wonderful thing. This magic carpet awaits all. It exists for you. It is your servant. No one really wants to live forever in his body.

Death is not a vulture waiting for you. There is no death, beloveds. It is a lovely thing to ride on this metaphor of a magic carpet. When you ride on this magic carpet, illusion falls away. All the troubles of the world are illusion. Do you really want to hang on to illusion forever?Illusion serves you as it serves you. It serves only for a little while. It serves only in the illusion of time. Will you believe me when I tell you that Reality far exceeds even the finest of illusions on Earth? Again, this is not to take away from what you hold important and all the love that the world does hold. This is not to take you away from the joy of children and the fun of hopping, skipping, and jumping. Because the world is illusion doesn’t take away a jot from the joys of illusion. The joys of illusion are like previews of what is to come. Not only what is to come, but what has been, and never was otherwise.

The clothes you wear on Earth are cover-ups. Even the body is hidden on Earth. How much more is hidden from your view!

There is no death. There is no purgatory. If there is purgatory, consider life on Earth that. Life on Earth purges you of many things. That is not to say that you need to get ready to be in My Presence. You have never been anywhere else. You are already in My Presence.

I simply don’t want you to have so much mumbo-jumbo about death. Death does not bring you to your knees. It is not an ogre. It does not defeat you. It is just a servant. Whatever you think, it serves you well. It is not that Death helps you to escape from life. Death is a leaving, but it is not an escape. Life is yours forever. Death brushes your hair from your eyes so that you can see all that which was obscured from your view. It is like Death takes your sunglasses off. You simply don’t need them anymore. No angle of the Sun’s light is too bright for you anymore.Are sunglasses, even designer sunglasses, really so precious to you? Do you think you are not you without them?

When your body dies, nothing has happened. It is not the big deal you have thought.When on Earth you travel from one country to another, you simply travel from one beautiful country to another. You are still you.

And when your time on Earth is up, you simply change your direction and continue on your adventure. And you are still you.

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Having “Jacob’s Limp”

When I am looking for advice or counsel on some matter, I go to a person or people who have experience regarding that matter.  If I have questions about my computer, I ask someone who is computer savvy, not my mother, who still doesn’t have internet access in her home.  But if I have a question about cooking or mothering, I call my mother, not my computer savvy friend.  You get the point.  It’s not any lack of respect for either my mother or my friend.  They each have experience that lends itself to specific areas, and it only makes sense to go to the one who has the experience.

A few weeks after Jacob died, I received a letter from a cousin.  For years, I had admired this cousin for his deep faith that had remained strong through good times and bad.  His letter contained an interesting perspective that I’d like to share with you.

My cousin wrote that as he was driving in his truck, he was listening to a Christian radio station.  A woman was speaking.  She mentioned that whenever she needed advice regarding matters of faith, she would only seek out those who had what she referred to as “Jacob’s limp.”  She went on to explain the story of the Old Testatment patriarch, Jacob.  Jacob’s life was very blessed, but he also faced many struggles.  In fact, one night Jacob wrestled with “a man” all night until Jacob’s hip was wrenched by the man, leaving him with a constant limp.  That “man” was God.  In the morning, God blessed Jacob saying, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and HAVE OVERCOME.”  Jacob’s limp served as a reminder not only of his struggles, but of his blessings and his strength to overcome.

The fact that this woman’s reference included Jacob’s name was enough to catch my attention, but to grasp what she meant by it made the reference all the more special.  This speaker was saying that she didn’t trust the counsel of anyone who had basically just sailed through life with little disturbance or difficulty.  She wanted someone who had faced a few major storms and lived to tell about it and praised God in the end.  The ones who had survived had wisdom that those who had never been tested could ever hope to have.

My cousin went on to say that I had developed “Jacob’s limp.”  He knew that the counsel of one who had struggled with the death of a child was worth much, if in the end she was able to overcome and continue to glorify God.  I was so deeply honored by my cousin’s words.  No vanity or ego was wrapped up in that honor whatsoever.  In fact, I was humbled that he saw me as one who had overcome and saw God being glorified through our experience. May God receive ALL the glory and honor for His goodness and grace that is beyond measure!

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You Might Need To Try Something New This Christmas

There is always the question that comes when special dates are approaching, “What do we do?” To ignore a special date can cause the one who is grieving to feel they have betrayed the loved one who is gone.  Guilt can result, leading to a deeper grief. On the other hand, some might find it too painful to do any formal recognition of the date or event.

The holidays are different. Unlike a birthday or anniversary, the whole world knows when it is holiday time. The stores show signs of the approaching holiday several weeks in advance. When it comes to tradition-filled holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas (if you celebrate either one), it is important to have a plan in mind for what you are going to do. Some people want to hold onto the traditions because doing so helps them feel close to the one who is gone. Getting out the decorations for the holidays might begin a sweet, heart-warming trip down memory lane. While a few tears might come during that process, it can still be a very positive experience.

Another option is to start some new traditions. If doing the same thing (but without the loved one) is not an option, then this might be the approach to use. This might mean gathering at a new location or doing different activities. It might even mean taking a trip somewhere, unlike any you have done before. If tradition will only cause pain, it is better to try a new routine.

Then there is always the option to skip the holidays all together. For some, going through the motions just to please everyone else is more than they can bear. It’s kind of hard to pretend it’s just another day when on Thanksgiving or Christmas all the stores and even most restaurants are closed. However, if going out is not necessary anyway, it’s possible to create a feeling of “just another day” inside one’s own house. Maybe getting away on a cruise is the answer, but chances are they will be playing holiday music and have holiday-themed activities.

For us, doing something entirely different was the answer. The 2nd Christmas without Jacob, I was able to decorate, but most of the decorations were new ones. I still couldn’t bring out the handmade crafts from when the kids were younger or the familiar ornaments. Rather than stay home or be with extended family. We headed south and stayed in a condo in Florida near the beach. It turned out great.

One family we know was given tickets to a cruise for their first Christmas after their son died. The mom and dad and five kids set sail. For the kids, it was a fun diversion, but for the mother, it was a nightmare. All she wanted to do was get off the stupid boat and have her son back. She was a prisoner at sea. But another couple we know who lost their only child, a daughter, went on a cruise for Christmas, and it was very helpful for them. Being in an entirely different place made it feel less like Christmas, which made it better.

We each have to try our own thing based on what we know about ourselves and our situation. The choice we make may not end up being the right one or the best one, but that’s how we learn. Sometimes the “wrong” choice can be devastating, and we need to be prepared for that as well. Our first Christmas was disastrous, but the second one was far better. The third Christmas was the first one in which we were comfortable being in our home again since Jacob’s death.  We couldn’t attend the Christmas Eve service at our church, so we attended a different one.  We are about to face our fourth Christmas without Jacob. We’ve opted to repeat what we did last year, except we are in a new house–a house in which Jacob never lived.  I still haven’t been able to bring out the old ornaments or handmade decorations of Jacob’s.  We’ll be attending the same Christmas Eve service we did last year because it has become our new church home.  We don’t really know what to expect this Christmas.  There is no guarantee that it will be good, but we think it will be okay.

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Please Don’t!

Journal entry from May, 2007

My only advice about what NOT to do is this: Don’t touch anything that belongs to or had anything to do with the one who died. Don’t make up their bed, clean up their bathroom, or wash their clothes. Don’t move pictures (except if they need to be used at the funeral/memorial service). Consult with the family before changing, cleaning or removing anything.

As strange as it may sound, I wanted to have my son’s dirty clothes because they smelled like him. I wanted to find strands of his hair in his hairbrush or even in his bed. I wanted to hear his voice in the message he left on our answering machine a few days earlier (which, oddly enough, I had not yet erased just in case anything ever happened to him). The shorts he wore to the beach that day were still hanging in the shower and I wanted them to be there when I got back home. Don’t worry if people will be coming into the family’s home and you think they might want things clean and tidy. The reminders of the family member who has died are far more important than cleanliness.

I am grateful for EVERYTHING my friends and family did for us, even if they did things I wouldn’t have asked them to do. I knew they did it all out of love. Their kindness will be deeply appreciated forever.

My hope is that nothing I have mentioned here offends anyone. Please know that all I can do is tell you about my experience and how I felt. This is not to say everyone would feel the same way I did, nor that they should. Some things are pretty universal, but our individual responses to death are not.

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Carrying Another’s Burdens/How To Help

A journal entry from May, 2007

One of the amazing things I learned through this loss was what it means to carry someone else’s burden. When someone else stood or sat before me and cried over the death of my child, it literally lifted a piece of my grief from me. How that happened I don’t understand, but it happened and I could feel it.

Oh, how it moved me to see someone else shed tears for my son. Somehow I was able to breathe a little easier and the heavy darkness that surrounded me seemed to lift just a bit. Please don’t think your tears will upset the one who is grieving. I felt honored that someone cared that much. When people didn’t cry, it made me wonder if Jacob meant anything to them. I know some people just don’t cry in public, but to see someone who was willing to let down their guard for the loss of my child meant more than words can say. No one was doing me any favors by “holding it together” in my presence. Just to see someone’s eyes tear up touched me deeply.

I can’t even begin to tell you how in awe my daughter, husband and I were when we returned to our home the day after Jacob’s accident to see cars lined up and down the road. People filled our home who just wanted to hug us and tell us they loved Jacob. To see my son’s favorite elementary school teacher standing in my kitchen just about knocked me to the floor. These people not only brought words of love, but food and drinks and offers to help in any way they could.

My dear friend who has the gift of organization and administration began taking people up on their offers to help. She coordinated efforts of all sorts, including having our cars washed and detailed for the funeral. Several large coolers of iced drinks were brought in. Someone even came to the house to pick up our trash because it was overflowing after a few days. Hotel rooms and homes were arranged and donated in order to house dozens of family members who would be arriving from out of town.

Food was coming in left and right, and a neighbor offered her extra refrigerator to store the overflow. A path was worn between our two homes. Believe it or not, one of our dogs was even taken to be groomed during all of this. Friends mopped my floors and washed dishes. They took our dogs out and fed them. Nothing was left undone.

My husband and I didn’t have to answer our phone for days because someone was always at the phone taking messages and putting through only the most important calls. I have a notebook that lists all the different people who called and left a message of love or condolence. Another notebook lists all the flowers/plants we received and who sent them. Friends and people I hardly knew did this all. They just wanted to help.

Something that really touched our hearts were the parents/families that came by who had also lost a child. They knew our pain and they wanted to offer whatever they could to help us. One father was very honest, and I appreciated that so much. He said, “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” My first thought was that he wasn’t helping me feel better, but then I realized the wisdom in his words. He wanted me to know that it was OK to feel worse as time went on and that I didn’t have to feel good for anyone on any time schedule. How right he was!

Eight months out I still have some days or moments that seem worse than any other day or moment. People we didn’t even know up to that point shared with us parts of their journey, both good and bad. They knew what we were going through, and we were blessed by their presence and words of wisdom and experience.

Another very meaningful thing someone did for us in those first days was to bring blank pages of quality lined paper like you might find in a nice personal journal or diary (not just notebook paper) Each page had “Jacob Memories” printed at the top. As friends and family came by the house, they were encouraged to either fill out a page right there or take one with them to return to us later. A table was also set up in the reception area at Jacob’s memorial service with these pages and a sign with basic instructions. All the pages were able to be placed in a scrapbook. My husband and I have read those pages over and over. They have brought both laughter and tears. What a sweet gift in the midst of heartache and tragedy!

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Life Has Changed

This was an entry I placed in a journal back in 2007. Several of those entries will be used here. They capture the “rawness” of my grief-a rawness you might be able to relate to right now. Other writings of mine will reflect the softening of grief that takes place over the years.

June 1, 2007

To say “life has changed,” is the understatement of the decade, but it really hit home today. It’s a Friday afternoon. With my husband at a lunch meeting and my daughter heading out to spend the rest of the day with friends, I was trying to decide what to do. My decision? To go to the cemetery where my son’s ashes are. Weeks have passed since my last visit. That’s when it hit me, “Oh dear Jesus, on June 1st of last year my family was on it’s way to Seattle, Washington for a summer vacation.” We were filled with joyful anticipation. Our family had always enjoyed traveling together, and that trip was going to be our last before Jacob, our 18 year old son, headed off to college. We were cherishing every moment.

Now,  just one year later, I am thinking of going to the cemetery where Jacob’s ashes remain. Life can change so much in a year, or even in a moment.  Life really has changed. Yes, there is some good to be found in those changes, but mostly it has been very difficult.

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Coming Together On The Journey

Sojourners are people who reside in a place for a time, but do not remain there. Along the journey of grief, we will find the need to stop and rest for awhile. To keep going all of the time is exhausting. My hope is that this blog will be a place where you can come and rest with me on your journey through grief. None of us can do this alone.

My name is Sandy Nyenhuis and I am delighted you have found this place of rest.  I lost my son, Jacob, on September 24, 2006.  He was an 18-year-old freshman in college.  While on his way back to campus after a weekend at home, his vehicle hydroplaned and crossed into oncoming traffic.  Jacob died on the way to the hospital.

This picture was taken at Jacob’s graduation on May 26, 2006.  On the far left is my husband Michael, then Jacob, my daughter Raleigh and me.

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