Plenty of Grace

Preface: I wrote this whole thing while watching a million episodes of Duck Dynasty and thought in a southern accent the whole time. Keep that in mind while you're reading.

1. Self pity.
2. Anger.
3. Anxiety.
4. Doubt.
5. Jealously.

These are the five things I struggle with the most. They may or may not be in that particular order.

There's a very fine line between recognizing the trial(s) God is walking you through and playing a victim. No doubt, I've fallen into self pity; I've crossed that line. It's so easy to justify feeling sorry for myself. So, I lost my dad. I don't want to devalue this trial. Like I've said before: because of this, I've never walked with the Lord this intimately or understood His love greater. It's a hard thing. So many changes have come from this. Changes I didn't ask for. Changes beyond my control. And now, I get the opportunity to trust the Lord to use my dad's death and these crappy changes for really great things. I apologize that I've given into self pity. It's not a pretty thing.

I do not handle change gracefully. Good thing God has plenty of grace.

Anger has been a struggle of mine for a long time. Long before my dad died. Last night at church, Pastor Dan shared something about anger: people either freak out or leak out. And I'm a leaker. I will become bitter.

Thankfully, a woman I greatly admire from Walnut Creek shared this doozy with me: "When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward you. Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand." (Psalm 73:21-23) This is a great example of taking your anger to our Heavenly Father. We can be "beasts" toward him and He is continually with us. God doesn't mind our anger. I would even venture to say He loves and desires to hear from His children, to hear how we're feeling.

You better believe I've taken my anger to the Lord and was a "beast" toward Him. He's not scared of it. He's not taken aback and surprised by my reactions. At the same time, I'm not perfect. Oh boy, would I love to tell you I've only ever gone before the Lord with my anger. The people I'm closest to can attest to me showing my anger toward them. Again, I'm not perfect. There is sanctification (the process of being made holy), which is a life-long thing. Definitely not over night (or a few months).

Anxiety is something I'm no stranger to. I used to have this thing about washing my hands twice because I couldn't accept that once was enough. Maybe that's obsessive compulsive. But that can be a part of an anxiety disorder (which I used to have). When I became a Christian, that anxiety went away. However, lately I've been having trouble accepting that washing my hands once is enough. I wash them two times, every time now. My hands are very dry.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God." Philippians 4:6 The cure for anxiety? Prayer. This is something that God is growing me in. And as I grow in my prayer life, I can rest assured that God will calm my restless heart.

I really wanted to be that woman who went through a trial and never doubted the goodness of the Lord. "Boy, that Alex, she went through something difficult, and she never wavered in her faith." This has not been the case. Why would God allow this to happen? A good God. Because He really does work all things together for good (Romans 8:28). The good things may not happen right away. Good things have happened as a result of this. I know my aunt and uncle far better than I did before, and I feel like we have a better relationship. I've grown up.

"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5

For a while, I would get irritated if someone with a dad would talk to me. Which is everyone. When they would talk, all I could think of was this: "Why do you get to keep your dad?" I remember a month or two ago listening to a sermon in my car. Good old Mark Darling was talking about his father-in-law dying at the age of 67. My first thought: "Why the heck did you have 14 years longer with him than I did?! My dad died at 53!"

Then, I'm kindly reminded by God of what I do have. I have a wonderful mother, who is stronger than she knows and is always there for me. I have a crazy loving church family that is such an honor to be a part of. I have a roof over my head and food for every meal.

More than that, I have a relationship with Jesus Christ, which makes me eternally rich. This doesn't mean my life is a walk in the park (obviously). But I can rest assured that when I die, I will go to Heaven. This isn't because of the amazing things I do. It's not because I go to church, pray, read the Bible, etc. It's because of the amazing thing God did when He sent His only Son to live a perfect, sinless life and die a brutal death on the cross. He took my sins (and yours) upon His shoulders. Because I've sinned, I should have a fine to pay. But Jesus stepped in and paid that fine. "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord," (Romans 6:23). A gift. When someone hands you a gift, for it to be yours, what do you need to do? Accept it. Have you accepted Jesus' gift of salvation? "because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved," (Romans 10:9-10). If you were to die tonight, how certain are you that you'd go to Heaven and why? Something to think about. Questions? Ask me.

Really?

You all know what it's like to miss someone, right?
So what do you do?
You call/text/email/snail mail them. "Hey, friend, I miss you!" Really, I just did it to a friend today. Or, for instance, my friend Eliska lives in Iowa City and I can call her up and tell her that I was thinking about her.

I miss my dad. And it hurts, physically hurts, that I can't tell him that. I can't just call him and say, "Hey dad, I miss you!"

I want nothing more than to tell him I miss him. That I think about him every day. I hate that I can't tell my dad what I've been through the last few months. I hate that I get the urge to call him after I get off work, and I'm reminded, yet again, that my dad is no longer here. I'm reminded every day that I no longer have a father.

It breaks my heart. Physically hurts.

My friends and I are going through life changes. We're in that stage now. Most of the changes consist of grand ceremonies proclaiming love till death to they part. Some are past that and are now having a baby (or three).

I hate that my "life change" is nothing sweet. It's not being united in marriage with a man who loves me. Instead, it's losing the man who's loved me my entire life. It's knowing that someday (if ever), I get married, my dad will not be walking me down the aisle. My dad will never give a man his approval for marrying me.

(I hope this doesn't sound like a pity party. In all honesty, this is something I think about every day. Every. Single. Day.)

So why? Why did God find this an opportune time for my dad to die?
Here it is. Probably my one big, amazing thought I'll share with you:

I HAVE NO IDEA.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8

Really, God? That's the best you can come up with? This is what I have to trust? That your ways and thoughts are higher than mine? Hmm. If I'm really honest, that doesn't cut it. God thought it was a good idea for my dad to die at this time, and now I have to trust Him? Now I have to believe that "He works all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purposes,"?  (Romans 8:28)

This is part of the daily struggle. Trust. Will I trust God to work things together for good? Will I trust that He's still a good Father? That is the day-by-day, hour-by-hour decision.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent?  If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:7-11

So, hey, God. You give good things, right? Let's see the good that will come of this. I'm waiting in expectation for you to follow through on your promise.

PS: Do you have a dad? Call him and tell him you love him. One day, it's the only thing you'll want to do.

let's start at the very beginning

I'm going to start off by writing down everything that happened between December 3 and December 9, 2012. I've been wanting to write down everything that took place that week. I don't want to remember it or think about it, but I don't want to forget. Because God's goodness is in and through the whole ordeal.

My phone rang. 5:32am on December 3, 2012.

In tears, my mom said, "something's wrong with your dad."

I shot out of bed, grabbed my purse, jacket, bra, and keys and ran out of my apartment. I don't think I locked the door behind me. Frost covered my car windows, I scrapped as quick as I could. While scrapping, I called Kristen to tell her what I knew. Then on the way to their house, I called my boss telling her I wouldn't be in. It takes 10 minutes to drive from my apartment to my parents house. That whole drive is a blur, but I do remember not speeding and thinking that my dad is going to be fine. Because he's invincible and nothing would ever happen to him. He was always getting hurt in one way or another, and this would just be another thing we'd joke about with him.

Then I pulled onto my street, and though I couldn't see the house from the corner, I could see bright blue and red lights. I pulled into a neighbor's driveway and ran to the house. My mom and her brother were in the kitchen and I remember not wanting to stand there with them. I tried to walk away from them but my uncle wouldn't let me.

My mom and dad had woken up, were watching the news, my dad sat up, took a big, wheezing breath, and fell over. My mom called 911, the operator talked her through CPR, and the paramedics came. I got there soon after.

The paramedics finally came down after maybe 10-30 minutes. I didn't have any kind of grasp on time. They had to use the defibrillator on him 10 times for him to come to. Then they took him to Mercy Hospital.

After we got to the ER, we were taken into a room where my dad was, doctors and nurses all over. I tried to talk to him but couldn't find words and couldn't stop tears. I was so nervous. My mom, uncle, aunt, and I waited in a small room for a long time (or so it seemed). Finally, we were able to go to his room. He was taken to room 912 in Mercy's Intensive Care Unit. He was unconscious and had breathing tubes shoved into his mouth and nose.

The plan was this: the doctors would put him in a medically induced coma and bring down his body temperature to 91*. This was done to protect any brain damage since he had gone a while without oxygen to his brain. Then they would warm him up to a normal temp, and it was my dad's job to come back out of the coma. The doctors said some patients come out and are fine. Some don't. They told us not to lose hope; my dad was young and healthy with a great heart.

Two days later, his body temp was brought back up to normal and we waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. He was breathing on his own, but not waking up. That Wednesday, many tests were done and we were to know more the next day.

Thursday, the neurologist came to talk with us about the test results. You know how in shows like House, the big doctors travel around with an entourage? That is no exaggeration. They really do. Nurses, residents, doctors, students, and the neurologist himself all came to talk with us.

My dad's brain had only enough activity to keep him breathing. And even then, it wouldn't last long. We needed to take him off his breathing equipment.
"How long do we wait to take him off his ventilator without questioning if we did it too soon."
"Tomorrow morning would be a good time." He said.
His team was crying.

The next morning, around 10:30, we shut off his equipment, and waited for the inevitable. Later that evening, my dad was moved to a new room. Between a cardiologist our family knows at Mercy and the nurses that worked with us, we were able to be moved to a really nice room on the 7th floor. It was a room my mom and I could stay in with my dad overnight. Essentially, it's a suite for a patient to go to when they're dying.

All day Saturday, everything was still the same, and my strength was dwindling quickly. I was mad. I was sad. I was scared. I didn't want things to change this way. I was mad. I was exhausted. That night, I went a little crazy. I couldn't sit still and I couldn't stop crying. My mom made me sleep.

The next morning, Sunday December 9, I woke up around 6:30. My mom said, "we're going to go home, take showers, walk the dog, get out of the hospital, and do something normal." Later that day, we were going to move my dad to a hospice near our house.

When we walked out of the hospital, it was spitting rain, and not very nice. We got home, and I didn't know what to do. I stared out of the front door window for a few minutes. The rain turned to snow. My favorite thing. Big, fluffy, feathery, snow. I felt this peace come on me. For the first time, I understood what Paul meant in Philippians 4 by "the peace of God that surpasses all understanding."

The phone rang.

I answered it. They asked for my mom. I took the phone to her. "Jay did?" she said. I couldn't catch my breath. I called Kristen to tell her, but I couldn't speak.

I wrote my dad's obituary.

My mom, aunt, and uncle went to the hospital to say goodbye to my dad. Kristen met us there and walked into his room with me. It was the most peaceful I had ever seen my dad.

The goodness, you ask? I got to walk so intimately with my God that whole week. I got to spend the last week of my dad's life holding his hand. God taught me so much about Him and about who I am in Him. The whole way, He reminded me of who He is and His love for me.

A couple of things:
-I never could have survived that week without my aunt and uncle and the body of Christ. My Bible study went above and beyond the call of duty in helping me and supporting me and my family.

-Mercy Hospital has the most amazing nurses. Really. Their care for my dad and their empathy toward my mom and I made us so comfortable in the midst of a scary time.
 
Verses the Lord gave me that week:
"Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us." Psalm 62:8

"Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer, from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead to the rock that is higher than I." Psalm 61:1-2

"Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge. I say to the Lord, 'You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you. As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones, in whom is all my delight." Psalm 16:1-2

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever." Psalm 136:1
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Reasons why this blog has been started:

1. People don't talk to me about my dad often. There are a few people who are comfortable letting me talk about it, which I'm so thankful for. This is not a diss or a complaint to those who don't ask me how the grieving process is going. I understand full well that it can be an uncomfortable thing to talk about, people may not want to make me cry, and a lot of people my age haven't lost a parent. And maybe there are people thinking, "jeez, Alex, it's been 4 months... it's time to get over this." Which is a great fear of mine: Should I be "over" this? Also, they may not know if I want/need to talk about it. Do I want to? No. I do not want to talk about my dad's death. That makes it real. But I need to talk about it. Because it is real.

2. I love to write. It's a release. My medium of choice is usually a pen and paper, my shelf of used journals are witnesses of this. However, a blog requires typing, and it's something I've only done a couple times, so it could be worth a try.

3. At some point, those around me will lose a parent someday. I know this is a morbid thing to think about, but it's true. This blog will be available for me to look back on to see all of my organized thoughts. It will be available to those who do lose a parent, maybe they'll find a verse or a thought that could be helpful.

4. To those who don't know how to talk about it with me, but want to, this is a way for you to know how I'm doing. You don't have to worry about how to ask me about it. You can just read this and know.