Wounded ~ Ready To Serve

Without your wounds where would your power be? …In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. – The angel in Thornton Wilder’s play “The Angel That Troubled the Waters” based on the 5th chapter of the book of John in the Bible.

Life is hard.

If you don’t think so, you probably haven’t lived long enough yet.

When wounded by certain things that happened in my life, a vulnerability set in.  The typical response for me as a young child into early adulthood was to hide the wounds or act as if they didn’t really matter. Out of fear, I lied to others and myself about how I was getting along in life.  I reasoned that if people REALLY knew how I was doing, they would probably run from me and no longer want to be my friend.  After all, their lives were nearly perfect.  Right?

Wrong.

I’m not sure when it happened or what triggered it, but at some point in my life, I decided it was time to stop playing the game.  I needed to accept who I was and the life I had been given.  When that happened, I think the sound of chains dropping must have been audible.  The truth shall set you free.

As I began to accept my own imperfections and the imperfections of my childhood, peace began to settle into my soul.  Compassion began to grow.  I could easily spot others who were hurting, and I wanted to let them know they were not alone.

The first day of my teaching career, my heart instantly connected with each of my sixth grade students as they walked into the classroom.  I could feel their pain as well as their joy.  That’s when I thanked God for the pain of my past.  Because of my own wounds, I was able to identify with the wounds of my students. I could love them and minister to them rather than resent their brokenness.

When my children were born, I was able to envision a life for them that was not so broken.  I knew some of the pitfalls and how to avoid them. While sparing them the personal pain associated with many of life’s wounds, I was able to talk to them about pain from first-hand experience.  Both of my children had wonderful childhoods, but they also had compassion for those who did not. In part, that was because of my childhood wounds. God was able to take the bad things and use them for good.

As a mother who has lost a child, I am deeply wounded in ways that cannot be healed this side of the veil.  Out of this pain, I can look into the eyes of another mother who has lost a child and assure her she has not lost her mind when she can barely think straight.  I can help her envision a life that is worth living, even though her heart will never stop bleeding until she holds her child in her arms again.  The only reason I can do this is because I have been wounded in the same way.

I would never choose the wounds of my childhood or the wounds that come with losing a child.  But I have them.  The question is what will I do with them?  I could hide them and pretend to be perfectly happy all the days of my life while dying inside.  Or I can unveil them and fight to help others who have been wounded.

As for me, I admit I am wounded, but ready and desperate to serve to the best of my ability.  That does not make me a hero.  I don’t see myself as anyone’s savior.  I am a broken and wounded person who can stand next to another broken and wounded person when just about everyone else wants to run.

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Michael & Jacob, You Made A Difference & You Still Are

Monday morning, January 4, approximately 1,000 people filled a church to remember a wonderful young man, Michael Warren.  Wednesday evening, January 6, hundreds more gathered in a chapel on the campus of the University of Georgia to do the same thing.  Michael Warren is a young man who touched a lot of lives and made a difference in this world during his 21 years with us.  His legacy will continue to flow through each and every one of us who knew him and loved him.

Michael Warren was not the kind of kid who was easily overlooked.  He wouldn’t stand for it.  Not because he needed to be the center of attention, but because he had an innate desire to meet and talk to everyone around him.  He loved people and he loved to talk, but not about himself so much.  He was usually asking questions or telling stories.  He was curious and he loved to learn about people, places, things, etc.

On the evening of December 31, 2009, Michael had a few options for what to do to ring in the new year.  He had a strong group of friends from a local youth ministry he was involved with that wanted him to stay on St. Simons Island to celebrate.  They loved Michael and wanted him around.  There was also a group of friends up in Athens, probably friends he met through a campus ministry, that he wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with, and that’s the group that won out in the end.  Michael got on the road to Athens mid afternoon.

He never made it there.

About 30 minutes before getting to campus, another young man about the same age as Michael was on his way home.  He was exhausted after spending a day and a half with his sister who was in labor at an Athens hospital.  He was obviously a young man who loved his family, like Michael did.  The birth of his sister’s child meant so much to him, he didn’t want to leave her, but when the baby proved to be in no big hurry to make her arrival, the uncle decided to head home, shower and get a change of clothes.  No one will probably ever know exactly how everything played out, but the pick-up truck this young man was driving crossed the center line and hit Michael’s SUV head on.

I can only imagine what that young man’s family is experiencing, but I don’t know him or his family.  I do know Michael, and I’m able to see how his wonderful family is grieving the loss of an awesome son and a wonderful big brother.

Michael and my son Jacob are friends.  I purposely use the present tense verb “are” because their friendship never ended.  Not when Jacob died, and certainly not when Michael died.  In fact, that friendship was made perfect on the night of December 31, 2009, when these two guys were once again face to face… but in Heaven.

Michael and Jacob met in 6th grade at Glynn Middle School.  Both guys got involved with FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) at the school. They got to know each other even better when they joined a Bible study of guys their age through the local youth ministry, The Gathering Place.  They met once a week during the school year at 7 am.  The two of them remained together in a Bible study until they graduated from high school.  By that time, only three guys remained:  Michael Warren, Jacob Nyenhuis and Matthew McCormick.

All three of those guys went to the University of Georgia together.  In fact, they all became residents of Russell Hall, a high-rise dorm on campus.  Five weeks into their freshman year of college, two of the threesome – Jacob and Matthew – were in an accident. It was September 24, 2006.  Jacob died and Matthew was about as close to death as you can come.

That accident had a huge effect on Michael.  He spent the next months trying to make sense of it all.  In the end, Michael’s faith grew deeper and he resolved to make a difference in this world.  He wanted to help make other people’s lives better.

Jacob had that same passion before he died.

Both of these guys didn’t just think about helping to improve the lives of others–they actually did something about it.

Jacob was making money through real estate transactions, starting at the age of 15, and giving a good portion of that money away.  At times he gave it to the church, other times he gave it to friends or even a family member in need.  His ultimate goal was to start a foundation.  He wanted to help people live life fully and fulfill their dreams.

I think that’s what Jesus wanted for people too.  That’s why Jesus came.

Michael was raising his own funds to go on mission trips.  He was reaching out and ministering to people all around him in his hometown and his college town.  Sometimes he was reaching people through formal groups or teams on which he served both at home and college.  Other times he was just doing his own thing… being Michael.  One of his many gifts was the ability to remember names and details about people.  If he had met you once, he likely remembered you and said your name the next time he saw you.  He made people feel special.  He took time for people.  He loved people.  He saw the good in people and all the potential that resided there.

Sounds like Jesus, doesn’t it?

On a very personal note, Michael was a blessing to our family.  He never forgot about Jacob, and he made a point of letting us know that.  Michael would stop by our house when he was home.  He also wrote about Jacob on occasion.  He would keep us up to date on his mission trips and stay connected on Facebook.  We enjoyed reading his blog posts and Facebook notes.

When he returned home from one of his mission trips, he came by the house and gave our daughter, Raleigh, a pair of slippers he had bought for her while he was overseas.  He had a way of making people feel important and special.  When my husband spoke at a Main Event of The Gathering Place ministry the summer of 2008, Michael stated that he wanted to help introduce Mr. Nyenhuis, and he did, along with Raleigh and our close family friend John Belt.

Michael always let us know that Jacob was special to him.  He said he’d always look for Jacob’s cross when he traveled highway 15.  It was only minutes down the road that his own accident took place.  How ironic.

Two great guys with big hearts and big dreams.  Michael was going to change the world and so was Jacob, but they both were taken from us.  We all need to grieve that loss and this temporary separation, but they wouldn’t want us to give up or get lost in sorrow.  They would want us to keep doing the good things they were already doing and keep their dreams alive.

Our family formally established The J9 Foundation less than two months after Jacob’s death.  Through the foundation, we have already awarded three $8,000 scholarships to a Glynn Academy graduate who possesses a compassionate entrepreneurial spirit much like Jacob’s.  We have also trained 60 young people in Africa to run their own businesses.  To learn more about the foundation, you can visit http://www.j9foundation.org.

Michael’s family already has plans to form a foundation that will help other college students go on mission trips and make a difference in this world, just like Michael did.  Any memorial gifts given to Frederica Baptist Church on St. Simons Island, GA that are marked for Michael Warren will be put toward the foundation.

Their dreams and passion will live on.  They will continue to make a difference in this world.

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Hope For A New Year

As a new year waits just around the bend, I can’t help but think of the many hopes and dreams I have for 2010.  I’ll get to those in just a moment, but first I want to mention what it was like for me on the first New Year’s Eve without Jacob, my 18-year-old son who died in a car accident on September 24, 2006.  As the hours ticked away and the ball began to drop on December 31, 2006, all I wanted to do was kick and scream.  I didn’t want to enter into a new year.  I didn’t want to live during a year in which my son never existed in the flesh on this planet.  I didn’t want to date my checks with “2007,” a year he never wrote on any college papers or checks.  Try as I might to stop the forward movement of time, the new year still came closer and closer.

A few days earlier, I had told my husband I wanted to mark the midnight hour by praying and looking at pictures of Jacob–by myself.  No one else needed to be dragged into my personal nightmare.  That’s what I did.  While pain was very present, peace also rested upon me as I talked with God and reminisced in my mind about our family while turning pages of photo albums.

Now that 2010 approaches, my outlook is very different.  I don’t resist the start of a new year, I embrace it.  After all, it means I am one year closer to being with Jacob again.  Please don’t take that as a death wish on my part, because it isn’t.  I love my husband and daughter way too much to want to check out early and leave them here without me.  At the same time, if 2010 happens to be the year I go Home, it’s OK with me.

My hopes and dreams for this year do not include going Home.  My hopes and dreams are to live life fully, just as Jacob did, and just as God would want me to live.  What does that look like?  I’m not really sure, but I think it involves more activity and involvement in The J9 Foundation, established in memory of Jacob.  I think it means researching and writing more about grief as well as entrepreneurship and business education.  I think it incorporates eating in a healthier way and exercising more.

While days come along that are almost impossible to survive, I still have hopes and dreams.  Life isn’t over for Jacob… or for me… ever.

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Christmas Will Never Be What It Was

On Christmas Day 2009, I sent text messages to a number of friends who have lost a child. One of my friends lost her daughter Christmas night, 2007. Sigourney was on her way home when a drunk driver killed her. My thoughts will be with my friend Laurence every Christmas from now until I die, because she not only has to do Christmas without her daughter, but she also marks the anniversary of her daughter’s death. Technically, her daughter was killed a few minutes after midnight, so she died on December 26, but for all intents and purposes it was Christmas night. On top of that, Sigourney’s birthday is December 27. She would have been turning 20. What unbelievable pain for one mother/father to endure in a 72-hour period every single year.

Another friend of mine lost her 18-year-old son this past May 18, 2009 in a car accident. This was her first Christmas without her son.  The last words of my text to her were the title of this blog.  Christmas will never be what it was.

It’s true.

While Christmas itself doesn’t change, the way we view Christmas after the death of a child does change.  The joy we once experienced at the sound of Christmas music playing in stores has diminished. Now, the sound of Christmas songs brings waves of pain and sadness. It triggers tears and even panic attacks.  Pulling out those old ornaments the kids made when they were younger brings tears of sadness rather than laughter.  Rather than the lightness of laughter as we see how goofy the ornaments look, there is a heaviness, as we are reminded of who is no longer with us.

Decorating the house for Christmas is an act of drudgery rather than an experience filled with excitement.  It is a chore, and we just go through the motions while memories course through our minds of how wonderful and easy life used to be.  What we wouldn’t give to experience the laughter and joy of Christmas once again with our child.

At the same time, Christmas becomes better in ways.  We no longer view it through the eyes of commercialism and consumerism. The meaning of Christmas changes, perhaps to what it always should have been. It becomes more about Jesus and the gift of hope that came through a Child born into this world who would save the world.  Because God was willing to become flesh and dwell among us, the pathway to hope was paved.  The way Jesus lived, died and rose again is the reason we can have assurance that life goes on after death.  We WILL see our child again.  Praise God!

Christmas music is lovely (for the most part), and Christmas decorations are beautiful (for the most part), but those are not what Christmas is all about. And it certainly isn’t about the gifts under a Christmas tree, as special and fun as they might be.  Christmas is about the gift of a Child to this world that offered hope for eternity.  Christmas serves as a reminder of all that was done for us so we could live life fully, die and live life again, but as it was meant to be.  Life without death or pain or sorrow will one day be ours to enjoy with God Himself and the child we so dearly miss.

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The Hope That Lies Ahead

This was a journal entry from January 20, 2009.  The message still applies today even though the event it was connected to is now in the past.

Today we saw a new president take the oath of office. With each new administration there is a sense of hope and expectation for what the future will hold, and this one is certainly no different. In fact, given the state of our country’s economic condition and reputation in the world, there is an even greater hope that the future will be brighter. Most likely it will be, but there are no guarantees when it comes to our economy. We can only hope, pray, and see how the future unfolds.

For a person who has lost a child, the hope and expectation for what the future will hold is shattered. Nothing looks bright, and any sense of future is lost or meaningless–at least for a time. Then, as the weeks, months or even years pass, little glimmers of hope begin to appear on the horizon. We begin to see that it is possible to have joy again, especially in the little things such as hearing a beautiful song bird or watching a butterfly land on a flower and display its beauty as it gently moves its wings.

As the ability to see the present with a heart of joy returns, our ability to see the future with hope and expectation also begins to grow. In fact, we might discover a new found hobby or past time that helps us to look forward with anticipation to what lies ahead for us. But there is no greater hope or expectation than that which Heaven offers. You see, for those of us who believe in eternal life and know Heaven to be our true home, this here and now is only a shadow of all that awaits us. The most beautiful sunrise here will be outdone a hundredfold in Heaven. The finest wines and foods enjoyed on this earth will seem like items picked up at the local mini-mart once we have tasted what is in Heaven. The pieces of music that stir our souls here on earth will bring us joy in Heaven, but they will pale in comparison to the sounds that will wrap around us as we move about the Kingdom of Heaven.

Yes, Mr. President, I look forward to the next few years with hope and anticipation, but even if you accomplish everything I hope you and your administration will accomplish, it will only satisfy to a point. My true hope and expectation lie in God alone and the Kingdom of Heaven in which I will live. There, I will be all that I was meant to be. There I will be with Him. There I will be reunited with the ones I have loved and lost here on earth. There I will be with my son, and we will laugh together and hug one another just as we always did, but it will be even better.

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