Plot Twists, Road Bumps, & Unwanted Pivots

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16 (KJV)

Let me set the scene —

It’s Monday night after a full day of teaching. I’m in comfy clothes and just settled into the recliner for a digital 12-step meeting. Chronic illness makes the days seem long, today just happens to be a good one. I’ve just finished a breathing treatment and am about to speak to the group. (Like, literally. My little digital hand is up and the lady before me is winding down.) The dogs tear out of my lair in hot pursuit of their favorite person. The hubs is home from work. Life feels on track.

Isn’t this how it goes? You’re hum-drumming along when wham-o! Life shows up, and complications happen. One sharp turn, an unexpected bump, a forced pivot and there goes your serenity. As the hubs climbed the stairs, I noted his normally cheerful expression was somber. In a matter of minutes, the day that felt like one in a million suddenly plummeted into unwanted turbulence.

Loss is a disturber of the peace, one none of us can avoid. Our precious kitty, Lolita, was gone from this world. The neighbor had reported it to my hubs who was now sharing the sad news with me. My heart broke. Grief descended and the sliding scale of pain that accompanies such moments felt like an avalanche hitting my chest. Disbelief, deep sorrow, bargaining, and anger stormed through my mind. She couldn’t be gone, she just couldn’t.

For the second time this year, we soon found ourselves standing around a shallow grave saying goodbye. As words of sorrow were spoken, my mind knew that time would march on, our lives would smooth out again, and eventually, we’d not feel as we did in that painful moment. The problem was the ache in my heart, the memories flooding me. I’d no longer pull into the driveway to see our porch lion lazing there. I already missed her soft voice, knowing eyes, and nonchalance for boundaries. Lolita had come into my life at a major turning point. She could never be replaced, was gone too soon, and would always be missed.

Grief has a way of opening up the wounds of previous losses. The rolodex of my mind didn’t want to stop. From childhood memories of grands and extended family to people I knew growing up, I am no stranger to death. The inevitable memories from 2017, when I lost my older brother, and my sons lost their brother — just six months apart — returned with a vengeance. Grief doesn't end there, it comes with dashed hopes and dreams, smashed relationships, and life plans gone wrong. Our experiences often become pocked with failed expectations, surely to be overwhelming when new losses pile on.

Tears fell, and a few phone calls were made, meanwhile, the algorithm of social media began spitting out grief quotes like it was part of the family. Slowly the minutes turned to hours, lights went out, and my family went to sleep. As I lay scrolling through pictures of my sweet girl, the hurt turned to thoughtful consideration. The melody of “All Hail King Jesus” had been playing in my mind throughout the day. To me, this was no coincidence. I began to wonder where I stood in the redemption and restoration of my life. Could I allow the love I’ve experienced through recovery to carry me in these moments of grief and pain? Or would I overreact as I so often had in the past? Would I try to alter my feelings or allow my creator to guide me through it?

I yielded. Lolita was with our maker, likely climbing atop those heavenly mansions and having a grand time of it. This notion brought on a fresh batch of tears, but in those moments of weeping came gratitude and peace. I felt myself begin to pray, hoping that when Lolita passed from this world she awoke in the lap of King Jesus, took a big stretch, and then with her dainty voice, meowed before she hopped off and went on her way.

I dare to hope and pray for something so beautiful because life has taught me that beyond grief and loss, we have a mighty and good God. One who loves His creations, who is aware of every blade of grass and living creature. Before coming into the rooms of recovery, I was not convinced of this. The pain I had experienced from my earliest days was too much to bear. How could I be loved and feel so alone, be so abandoned, having only myself to truly count on?

I have posed these questions dozens of times. With the loss of Lolita, I simply didn’t have to go there. Just as she came into my life at a transition point where I was finding restoration, her departure highlighted the growing testimony I have been gifted with throughout that process.

“…And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” – Matthew 28:20 (NLT)

Indeed, He is. Slowly and gently my soul has been filled with His light. I don’t like pain, I never will. Plot twists and road bumps are frustrating, uncomfortable, and inconvenient. The pain of grief is an echo that does not leave us. Yet, peace abounds when we can recognize that we are not forgotten. Redemption has been paid. Restoration is available daily. Nothing, and I mean nothing happens in God’s world by accident.

May you walk in the sunlight today & always.

—jo

Affirmation: Today I will reflect as I journey along my path, that I do not walk alone and be grateful for it.

—From the Fire Ring, Vol. 3, No.4