Genetics

Genetics. We love them or hate them.

As I scroll through photos of news articles with titles like " The most beautiful children of the most beautiful parents" it becomes abundantly clear.... you are either born with it, or you're not.

It's been 4 1/2 years now since my dad decided to take his own life. I've been stuck in cycles of mourning, cycles of despair, cycles of anger, cycles of questioning, and cycles of fear.

I watched my dad plummet toward certain death and nothing and no one could stop him. His mental status deteriorated before our very eyes. He was mad at the world. A victim of everyone everyone and everything around him. There was no encouraging word to speak that would lighten the burden that he carried on his weary shoulders.

The day he ended his life he ended his pain.

I've often struggled with my own dark pit- although incredibly now I find myself no longer in those long seasons. Sadness still brushes my face (and my heart) but I'm currently living in the glorious rays of sunshine... and I like it here.

I'm also deeply aware of how it felt when the sun no longer shone in my life. When the rays disappeared behind thick, dark clouds.

And I wonder- is this genetic? Was I born into this struggle? Is there something raging inside my body, so minuscule that it wanders silently until it grows so out of control that I can't stop it?

Today, my heart is left wondering if that same tiny shred built into who I am by the Maker who makes all things, also passed onto that child who grew watermelon sized inside my womb. The pit he's been falling into was deep and dark. We desperately tried to hold on as we flung rope ladders into the hole- yelling desperately at him to grab a hold and allow us to pull him out- but he couldn't do it. Lack of strength in those arms? Perhaps. Or perhaps he no longer really thought that there was light up here in the land of the alive.

The nagging lump in my throat tells the real story. Will this story end far too soon as it did with my dad? Will the help arrive to his little man heart too late? Is there still hope past the genes I sit tearful and cursing tonight?

It seems almost as if the fear has me frozen. Afraid to think anything but the best outcome.... but still that nagging question floats aimlessly around in my head. Bouncing off the right, then the left, and back again.  Will this end like my dad? Will this be the last time I hear his voice, or see his dimpled smile? Did we catch this twisted illness in time?

Just as I am nearly lost in the what if's, a song plays on my heart, right up through my ears:

"You stay the same through the ages
Your love never changes
There may be pain in the night
But joy comes in the morning
And when the oceans rage
I don't have to be afraid
Because I know that You love me
Your love never fails"- Newsboys

And folks, I gotta tell you, I am clinging to these words with all that I am. JOY comes in the morning. JOY comes in the pain. Don't be afraid, for I am with you to the end. And I remember and choose to stand on God's promises today. "Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." Deuteronomy 31:6

I stood by helpless as my father succumbed to depression and I never thought it would end in suicide- but I will not lose hope for my child.

Tonight as I sit in a dark room. As I rubbed the backs of sobbing children whose minds can't comprehend what's happening, I wipe tears and whisper truth hidden in my heart from long ago: “But you, Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, you descendants of Abraham my friend,
9 I took you from the ends of the earth,from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, ‘You are my servant’; I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
10 So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:8-10

Funny men and tears

It's all over the news and my Facebook feed.  The genius of comedy, the man who brought SO MUCH laughter, has ended his own life.

A friend told me the news tonight  and it seemed  unreal. Another life gone. Another family mourning. Another daughter being left- torn apart on the inside- scars that seem like they may never heal.

My heart breaks and I mourn. I mourn for the loss of a great American icon. I mourn the loss of my own daddy. I mourn the friends who have been lost. Suicide is SO Positively hurtful, harmful and hard, yet it affects so many. Everyday.

Every time I hear another high profile suicide death, my heart feels shattered again. The feeling of worthlessness, of hopelessness, anger, and confusion creep back from those dark, dusty shadows that they've been hiding in. The grief overwhelms once more, and my heart hurts. Just aches .

I've been in that pit of no light- the darkness is deafening there. The blackness consumes. The silence is wicked. The  isolation is  too much to bear.

When. When will we (as a society) begin to see that mental illness is real? It's victims are our friends, neighbors and children. The it causes pain is real. When will their heart hurts become our heart hurts?  When we decide that we will no longer silently judge those who struggle. When we decide to love people enough to be real with them and allow realness in return from them.  When it is no longer seen as crazy when someone makes a cry for help.  When we can talk about the darkness freely and ask someone for a hand  without shame. When we no longer  feel like we need to walk around with a smiling mask to hide  the tears streaming down in our souls.

People, I am begging you. Every single suicide is  preventable.  That dark place- you're alone there. But none of us have to be alone. So please, love someone today. Take the time to talk to  that person who needs to talk. Or sit by the one who weeps. No judgement. Just love. See sadness in the eyes of another? Don't pretend it's not your business. Point them to hope. Show them the light. Give them your hand so they can follow you out of the darkness.

I've had the pleasure of studying through the book of  Job this summer. It's been eye opening and thought provoking, and heart wrenching and  I never thought  I'd get  so much from it. God was there in the midst of  all of Job's loss. And so were his friends... and we don't want to be friends like that. Nagging, judging, hurting.  The man that lost it all lost his last shred of dignity when his friends  began  the shame game.

We are called to be so much more. Healers. Peacemakers. Love.
If we work on this together we will change  the  stigma  of depression- it claims waaaay to many lives.

That 3 letter word

It's such a small word. A small word with immense consequences.

I've been playing an illusive game of hide and seek with it my whole life.
I've fought for it in the darkest of places,the night that has swallowed some of my days.

If I could describe my last few years it would look something like this:
melancholy.
sorrow.
mourning.
sadness.

Guilt that comes then flees.

All that changed a few months ago.I think I've found it. I think I've found it and the key that unlocks it.


It's JOY.
It's the bliss found in the painted sky of sunsets.
The wonder as I watch the waves pound across white sand.
The delight as I stop and listen for little giggles that echo through my home.
The amusement of bare piggies running through green grass on a warm November day.

It also comes in the form of refreshment from tiny, frothy bubbles of milk sitting atop my cup of caffeine.
 Rich food that sits in my belly.
The comfort of a warm hand and attentive hug when I need it most.

Yes, joy. I write it with a gleam that illuminates my entire being. My body. My soul. I can't help but grin!

It's been hidden, buried so deep at times it seemed unreachable.
Unattainable, as I dug through memories, disappointments, and fears. As if I were burrowing my hands into the soft, brown soil, hunting some something unseen to the eyes. Digging deep, seeing a shining glimpse of what I was searching for, only to have the soil collapse like sand  around my weary hands. My soul no better now than when I began my pursuit.

My joy hunt came to me in the form of paper. A hard bound book with a photo of a twigged nest. Blue eggs.
Could this really help me find my joy?

As I began to read it, the author tells her story. Her joy dig. Her treasure hunt. Her secret to how she found it.
And I thought to myself, "why not?"

So began my hunt. It didn't require a metal detector nor any special tools.
It required not much more than my own eyes.
A heart that was willing to look beyond the hurt, the tears, and the pain.

Wouldn't you know it? After a few days of being intentional, in seeking those things that could make me smile, I encountered joy. Pure joy. It gets bigger and better the more I seek it.

Last weekend, joy found itself in a dance party in my living room. In shoes too tall to walk in. Us girls kicked off our tattered flip-flops and pranced and danced around in heels till our feet ached and our heart beat and our wind was gone from our lungs.

Today, joy comes in the form of my daddy's cup. Gold rubbed thin from years of his hand cupping it as he sipped. Today, I sip. I drink. And I find joy. And tomorrow? Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I dare you to find the joy in it.

Let them give thanks to the Lord, for His unfailing love, and His wonderful deeds for men. For He satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. 
Psalm 107:8-9

RIP Daddy

I just returned from a long, long trip. It's the kind of trip you welcome, where smiles, hugs and familiar faces greet you at the end.
It makes the road to get there worth it- no matter how much sleep you lack, how sore your old bones get cooped up in a car, or how many times you have to hear "Are we there YET??"

It's the road that starts to blur as you forge on ahead. Where you travel at speeds so fast, sometimes you aren't even sure where you are.

It's the road that has small white lines, meant to keep you on your path. Your right path.

This trip was all that and yet so much more. As we packed and I spoke the words that raised the eyebrows of the one I love,  he questioned me, "Are you sure?". My reply was solid. I'm ready. At least I think I am.

So, we packed up the heavy plastic box, with the hinge on one side and the white label on top. And it traveled with us. One last family trip.

After many days and thousands of miles we came to place where our car stopped. This was it.
The place my dad had fondly talked of, and brought me to often.. just to see the view.

He had worked this route on the railroad, and it was one of his favorite spots. It bridged a gap between where he lived, and where I lived, and it brought us together as father and daughter more than one time. But this would be the last time.

The car stopped and I looked ahead. The question swirled in my mind... was I really ready? Could I let go of him? A gentle squeeze on the hand by my husband told me the answer.

Slowly, we filed out of the car, and began a short hike to the special place. We were thankful the skies had cleared, as earlier they were sad, grey and wet.

I walked ahead, one foot in front of the other, memories clouded my mind, as did this verse. " The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; don't be discouraged." Deut.31:8

This kids babbled questions, but I couldn't really answer, for fear that opening my mouth would bring on the sobbing I fought so hard to control.

When I got to the spot, I slowly opened the plastic box, and with shaking hands I gently began to scatter my daddy's ashes, all over the ground. Tears rolled. I heard sniffling behind me only to turn and be greeted by my kids whose eyes were also filled with water. None of us spoke, we just poured and poured. We took in our breath and let it back out. We looked up at the tracks my dad had so frequently rode. He had been there, enjoying the view, so many times before. My heart longed to have him back with us.

A soft breeze carried some of the ash away. "Dad, we miss you." I heard myself whisper. How my heart ached for a new ending to this story. "Why couldn't you have been here with us today in person? Why did you give up hope? Why did you chose to die?"

I knew there would be no answers. And the ending doesn't change. But WE change. we choose life when we are tired and worn and want to give up. We choose to look up at the sky and see the blue, and the beauty in the clouds. We choose to believe God has the best in mind for us no matter how many tears fall to the ground. We choose to believe tomorrow is going to better even if today the valley seems so deep. And dark.

The kids pick a few yellow flowers and walk over to the spot. They lovingly plant them in the ground, covering them with soil. They pick up small rocks and begin to build a planter.

And I take a step back, and draw a big breath. Yes, Rest in Peace Daddy. The view is marvelous.... and so is the road ahead.

To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory. Isaiah 61:3

The Card of guilt

Today is my dad's 3rd birthday since he left. I'm only counting because this day had monumental meaning on the day when I walked into his office after his death.
I woke up this morning choking back tears. It seems the heavens are weeping with me today as the sky is shrouded in dark, grey clouds. The heavy, wet drops continue never ending- just like they won't stop coming from my eyes. Yes, I think perhaps God weeps with me today.

My dad had carefully arranged things on his messy computer desk. Intentionally making sure all would see that letter scribbled in such anger and hopelessness. The will. The glasses. All taking up residence next to his mousepad and moniter... sitting silently until someone made the discovery of what he had done. Right on top of that stack of paper and clutter, lay the card.

 The smiling, happy birthday card written with love yet some reservation, by us, just the month before his angry last grip on that gun. My dad had been changed for months before his death. He had given up on life. He had pushed me away. I didn't understand it then, but now I do. People who take their own life sometimes unconsciously push their loved ones away in an effort to shield them from the pain of what lays ahead.
I had indeed pulled away from our relationship as a result. After trying to reason with him about his enraged look on life, I too had given up. He wasn't going to change. All I could do was slowly pull back and love him the best I knew how.

The birthday card was my last correspondence to him. It represented the last thing I got to say, and he had put it out for me to see. The kids and I had wrote blessing to him. Reminded him of our love, and how much we missed him. But that's all I did. I didn't call, a statement that my dad had made to his brother. I didn't ever call.

3 years later, the card.... no, the birthday,  has left me with my head hung low in guilt. Tears welling in my eyes, my heart aching. Why didn't I just make the stupid call?  Every year I'm left pondering over and over in my mind the would- have's and could- have's if I had just lowered my pride and called. Maybe if I had made more of an effort he would have understood that he was loved, cherished and needed. Maybe he would have thought twice before allowing that darkness to close in on his mind.

I'll never know. But today, I weep. God weeps. And I try to break free from the guilt card that still has it's hold on me.

No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. Philippians 3:13-14

Happy Birthday Dad

                                               (Me and my Dad, many moons ago!)

Today marks your 60th birthday. I wish you were here to celebrate it. To be honest, when I first blinked my eyes open this morning, I had thoughts of buying a party hat. Putting it on your ashes (that still sit in my home-UGH!) and singing to you. Morbid and wrong I know- but don't judge! I just felt like I needed to somehow give you the honor I didn't give when you were alive.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was overcome by tears on more than one occasion brought on by the looming date of today.

I'm sure had you died any other way, this day would still be filled with sorrow and mourning. But today, for me, I also battle the gut wrenching guilt. It's something I believe.. no, I know, that every person ever touched by suicide in anyway, deals with. It's part of the nature of healing, of losing, and of loving.

Most of the last 2 years I have sought to be free from the guilt (and the shame) of being a child of a dad who didn't want to live. Today, as I've been bogged down, deeply pondering, it occurred to me that yes- guilt is bad. It's a stronghold of unforgiveness and unforgiveness toward anyone, even ourselves, turns to bitterness and anger in our hearts. It tears us apart. Makes us feel unworthy.

However, another thought I've been contemplating is that some feelings of "guilt" can lead us to change- and are therefor, good. "Church folk" like myself call this conviction. The guilt I've worked hard to shake these past two years has indeed been unrelenting. One day I think I've mastered it. I've repented to God for my rash and wrong behavior, and the next day- SWOOSH! I'm swept away once again in heartache, wishing I could turn back the time on this clock of life. the conviction comes from reading God's words to me. Recently, God has been using 1 Peter to talk to me. In it, Peter talks a lot about what is expected of one who follows Jesus, and if I am to take an honest assessment of my life before my father's suicide, I see that I fell short in loving him as I should have.

While I'm determined to live in self-forgiveness (as I know God already worked a miracle for me on that cross so I don't have to pay a debt for my behavior and sin), I'm equally as determined to live in a new light of love.
I can't turn back the clock on what happened to my dad the day he decided to take his life. I can't be responsible for his decision, but I can move forward in my own life paying much more attention to the wounded and hurting people I meet on a daily basis. I can make enough leeway in my life to help those people who are desperate and troubled. I can bring relief and hope to someone who may really need it today. I can refuse to turn away from the suffering and I can bring encouragement instead.

So... what will I do today? Smile at the grouchy lady or man at the store? Say a kind word to the cashier who is slow and seems angry? Take a meal to someone who is sick? Get involved in an outreach to the homeless? Volunteer to watch the kids for a mommy stuck at home? Take food to people who are stuck at home and need a friend like Meals on Wheels? Choose to keep my mouth closed when I am angry or have been wronged?

Whatever it is, I just pray that everyday, I'll live it to make an impact, to love, and perhaps save a life.

Happy 60th Birthday Dad. 

 ^"Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing." 1 Peter 3:8-9

God heals using time

 (My dad, a cousin, me, my grandma, my dad's bother, my dad's dad, and my dad's sister and her husband enjoying my grandfather's home in the mountains of Utah 1970's )

It's been a while since I last posted on this blog. My dad has now been gone for 1 1/2 yrs. Sometimes, it seems like a lifetime ago, and other days the grief creeps up on me as if it were yesterday.

Memories aren't fading, and we are working to keep a legacy alive of grandpa in our home. I desire my kids to have reflection on their grandpa for more than how he died... but unfortunately, that is legacy he left on our family... and was has been burned into our hearts and our minds.

It's impossible for anyone to talk or reminisce about him without having his suicide come into the mind and the conversation- got to love kid's unedited words!

There's a new movie out, and I'm not going to lie, it's a little bit of a B film but the message it proclaims loud and clear is that we DO leave a legacy on our children and our children's children- for generations, be it good or bad.
Recently, because of the film and study, I've had to reflect on the legacy that was left to me. It's something that I can't ignore, or pretend it hasn't impacted us. Clearly, it has.

My dad left a legacy much like that of his father before him. My grandpa was grumpy. He had a hard time showing his love. He often allowed his mouth to say thins that would cut to the heart.

My dad never liked those attributes in his own father, and he worked as hard as he could to be a better dad to me than what his dad was to him. However, much of that unflattering legacy was still imparted in his parenting. My grandpa and father also left some positive legacy's. My dad was passionate. Whatever he did he did with gusto. He was stubborn. Coming out in me that can be both good and bad :)  He was a hard worker. And he loved what he did.

I'm thankful that God has started anew with me, and although I am not a perfect parent by any means, I know God has broken several unhealthy cycles in my family. (And I'm a work still in progress- He's busily wiping away, gently polishing me like a piece of old brass.)

His suicide left a dent. That's true. In all of us. My kids know the pain it has caused, and like to use that to hurt. The phrase "Maybe I'll just kill myself" slips from tiny tongues in an effort to cut to the bone... and it works. I'd lie if I said I wasn't afraid of my dad's life (and therein his death) to influence our lives without allowing it to dictate.

I know that if I allow God to, He will leave a legacy bigger and better than anything I can imagine on my children, and my grandchildren.


 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers,  nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:37-39