Christmas Gifts

If you are struggling to decide what to do for your loved ones this Christmas, I'd like to propose that you do something for others in their honor in place of traditional gifting of things.  I have three organizations that I love that would truly make a difference in the world.  Each of these organizations has a Christmas Gift Catalog on their website:

1) Compassion International - http://www.compassion.com/catalog
Some of my favorite gifts that will go to needy families around the world:

**Safe Water for Life - for $79, give a water filtration system that can provide enough clean water for an entire village for over 60 years.  Yes, you read that right - for over 6 decades, with simple maintenance.

**Care for an infant for one year - for $55, provide medical care for a new child for the first year of life.

**Provide Shelter / Support - for $42, provide shelter, food, and clothing for an orphan or abused or exploited child for one month.

Or, of course, you could sponsor a child for $32 a month and help provide food, education, and love each month.


2) Gospel for Asia - http://www.gfa.org/gift
This was my Mom's favorite charity, and so I just donated in her memory for Christmas. Some of my favorites:

**A pair of Rabbits - for only $11, provide a pair of rabbits that will be a source of income and food for years.

**A pair of Pigs - for $65, provide a pair of pigs that can produce up to 20 piglets a year; each piglet will grow to be over 200 lbs within 5 months, and will be a source of long-term income and food for a family.

**Provide for widows and orphans - for $75, help missionaries provide for widows (who are often blamed for their husbands' deaths in SE Asia) and orphans

**Mosquito nets - for just $10, you can provide netting that will protect a family against mosquitos, helping to prevent malaria and even death.

Or you could sponsor a child for $35 a month, or sponsor a missionary for $30 a month.

3) World Vision - http://www.worldvisiongifts.org
I received their catalog this last week, and used to sponsor a child with Mom when I was a kid. Some of the more interesting gifts here:

**Drought-resistant seeds - for just $17, you can provide a family with hybrid or drought-resistant seeds to help stave off famine and starvation.

**Multiplying gifts: World Vision partners with companies that agree to multiply your donation by a certain amount.  A couple that I like a lot are:
*****Life-saving Medicines and supplies - you give $60, they multiply it by 10 to provide $600 worth of supplies.
*****Clothing - you give $50, they multiply it by 10 to provide $500 worth of clothes

**Help sexually exploited girls - for $35, help provide food, safe shelter, counseling, medical care, and vocational training to women and girls rescued from human trafficking.

Or you could sponsor a child for around $35 a month.

Mom felt strongly about the importance of blessing others when God has blessed us.  My pastor quoted someone a few weeks ago in his sermon: "Do for one person what you wish you could do for everyone." 

This Christmas, will you join me in doing for at least one family in need what I wish we could do for every family?

Grief is hard

Grief is hard. 

It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, overwhelming you and threatening to bring all else to a standstill.  The things that bring grief to the surface are not always what you'd expect, and some things that you'd think would spark an outpouring leave you nothing but numb.

In the past two months, things that have brought me to me knees with grief have been as varied as the stars, my cell phone, hearing a certain person singing, folding laundry, and discussing Christmas decorations and traditions.  Over Thanksgiving, I started sobbing while folding laundry because it reminded me of my mom laughing every year because her mother always sent her (and Mom's siblings) underwear.  Mom used to laugh and joke about it, because she was over 50 and still getting socks and underwear from her mother.  I was a wreck because I was folding underwear, but Mom wouldn't ever do that again. 

I never know when the grief will strike.

The holiday season is really difficult for me this year.  My in-laws were here for Thanksgiving, and I tried so hard to get into the spirit, since it was always my favorite holiday. But I think I wasn't that great of a host, between work, migraines, and grief.  It just wasn't the same.

I haven't got into the Christmas spirit at all. It just hurts.  Looking at everyone's decorations reminds me of Mom's decorations.  Looking at Christmas lights in the neighborhoods brings back memories of all the years driving around on Christmas Eve because Mom loved it so.

I'm going to be alone for a week right after Christmas, and I'm not looking forward to it. Time alone is time that I normally would have been on the phone talking to Mom. I don't do well alone these days.

I know Mom is perfect and happy. But it hurts so much to have lost my mother and my best friend.

As I said, grief is hard.

Musings

It's been exactly 6 weeks since my mom left this life to be with God.

I wish I could say that it's gotten easier, but it hasn't.  I routinely burst into uncontrollable sobs at the drop of a hat.  I couldn't handle sitting through a church service for pretty much the whole month of October. Today was our first day back in church since October 6th.  (Granted, we were out of town two weekends in row, but still missed church two other weeks.)

I managed to get through church without sobbing, which was excellent, especially considering I was singing in the choir and playing piano for all three services.

I feel like I go from being so wholly overwhelmed by grief to being so busy that I can't think of anything but the task at hand.  Two weeks after I got home from Mom's funeral, my co-worker at the school announced she was leaving for a new job.  I was offered the promotion into the administrative assistant/office manager position, and after talking it over with my husband, accepted it.  That left me with exactly 3.5 days to train before my coworker left.  I've been in the position for exactly two weeks and have been completely exhausted by it.  I hardly ever get to see my husband, since he doesn't get home until 6:30 most days, and I'm brain-dead by that point. We are definitely going through a rough adjustment period. The upside to all of this is that I'm too busy to spend the whole day sobbing.  But I am more than happy to have the day off tomorrow.

We're heading into what is usually my favorite time of year - Thanksgiving.  I confess that I'm having trouble getting excited about the holidays this year.  It just doesn't seem the same without Mom. I don't know what it will be like to not be able to call her and talk about dinner menus and cooking techniques and football and whatever else we'd end up discussing.

I am not looking forward to the holidays without Mom, but I definitely want to honor her this winter.  I just made my Wish List on Compassion International's website.  Every year, they have a gift catalog to help those who are in most need of help.  The last couple of years, my parents and I did not give each other gifts, but chose gifts through Compassion or Gospel for Asia in each other's honor instead.

I'm hoping that anyone who wants to honor my Mom's memory will choose to give instead of receive this year.  Think of all the good we can do, all those we could help if we'd be willing to give up our own gifts and help provide medical care, food, clean water, shelter, education, and disaster relief for the least of these!

If you are interested, please click here: http://wishlist.compassion.com/rja2013_list

And hug your loved ones, remember to tell them you love them.

Not really lost

My mom left this world and entered heaven at 8:48 p.m. on Sunday, September 29th.  It was both unbearably expected and yet completely sudden.

I still am struggling to realize that the phone call I made the day before was the last time Mom heard my voice before she left. I told her that we were okay, and that I loved her with all my heart. But I still wish I could have talked to her one more time.

My husband and I flew back East three days later, thanks in no small part to our church family here, which supported us by helping us obtain stand-by tickets for about 1/4 the regular price; one couple taking care of our kitties while we were gone, combining to give us around $300 in cash to help us with "incidentals," and the church offered to pay our mortgage for this month so we could use the money to get home. We were wholly overwhelmed by the generosity of all involved.

Being home was hard. It was hard staying in the house without Mom in it. It was hard seeing all of the things that Mom had bought me over the years - like the stuffed animals she would get me when we went on a trip together or for special occasions, books that we had read together, so many memories filling the entire house.  I tried to do what I could, cooking my best casserole for the entire family for lunch on Thursday.  It was nice to spend time with the extended family, but sad as well.

Thank goodness for baseball.  It served as our escape most days.

The service was on my birthday.  It was an oddly surreal experience.  My brother wasn't able to be there, so I called his conference number at work, put my phone on the podium where the minister would be, and he listened in for the entire service.  I tried not to sob, but I couldn't stop for most of the service.  I had to tell a few of Mom's closest friends things that I thought she would want them to know. I barely got through that.

The world isn't the same.  It's a bit skewed, suddenly. My beloved desert wasn't quite as beautiful. Food just doesn't taste quite as delicious. I find I look at the stars more often, but instead of thinking of the majesty of God's creative work, I wonder what Mom might be doing in heaven.  I find it hard to concentrate on, well, anything.

I know I'll see her again. I know that she is perfect. I know that she is in perfect joy with her Savior. I know where she is.  In that way, she's not truly "lost."  But she's far away.

But I'm selfish, and want to call her and hear her laugh and tell her how much I love her. I miss her every minute. And now I have to figure out how to move forward without her advice and humor and love to guide me.

Nearing the end

Last night, about 30 minutes after I got home, just after my husband and I finished our late dinner, my phone rang.  I knew immediately it wasn't good news, because it was my dad calling.  And considering that it was around 10:30 p.m. Eastern, my heart just sank. 

Dad told me that it looks like my mom's cancer fight is nearing its end. She is rarely awake for more than a few minutes, is barely eating or drinking, and gets very agitated when asleep, crying out for her mom often.  The hospice nurse doesn't expect that Mom will be with us for more than a few weeks.

I had thought that, seeing as how I have been bracing myself for this part of Mom's journey for four years (the four-year mark of hearing the word "cancer" is on Wednesday) that it would be easier, less painful.

I was wrong. The long, slow trudge toward the end is no less painful, no less devastating because I knew it was coming.

Please pray for us.

Wisdom

"If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you." ~James 1:5

Wisdom is one of those things that we desperately need right now.  Everything just seems so uncertain.  The biggest question in my mind right now is: when do I need to go be with Mom?  It's not an easy question to answer.  My brother, grandparents, uncle, as well as another aunt & cousin have all gone to see Mom since she went on hospice care. I'm one of the only ones to not be there at all. 

I live a good 3 days' drive or one long day of at least two flights away. I don't have any vacation time and don't really have any personal time to speak of for job #1/2, and we don't have the ability financially to go anyway.  So the question becomes: do I go now while Mom's still aware and still has time left, or do I have to wait until it's the very end to say goodbye? I have no idea what to do.

From what I have gathered from Dad, Mom is definitely in a decline.  The hospice nurse confirmed that Dad was seeing what he thinks he was seeing.  Obviously no one can say, "that means you have exactly 4 weeks left," but she did confirm that it looked like Mom was starting the stage where patients begin to withdraw and food becomes less important, and the weakness is bad enough that she can't get up and down or walk on her own any more.

This has sent me into a bit of an emotional tailspin.  I read a short booklet (really, a long pamphlet, as it was only about 16 pages long) that called what I'm experiencing "Anticipatory or Expected Grief."  Apparently, it's common for families living with a family member in hospice care.  It's exactly what it sounds like - grieving for the expected loss before it actually occurs.  The pamphlet described it well - rehearsing the death of your loved one in your mind, feeling intense guilt because society expects that you only grieve for a short time after the fact, experiencing all the physical symptoms of grief but feeling a need to hide the pain for fear of others thinking that you somehow want your loved one to be gone already, and questioning how you will move forward after the eventual loss.

The pamphlet didn't really give me any ways to cope with this grief - which I've been dealing with for just under four years now.  (It will be four years since we first heard the diagnosis of "cancer" on October 3rd; it will be four years since the diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer on October 16th.) But at least it made me feel like I'm not completely insane... says the woman who completely broke down within the first five minutes of our church service this morning and spent most of the sermon trying to recover her composure.

Anyway, wisdom is definitely needed these days. 

Update

So I haven't written in a long time, mainly because life has been really, really stressful, and I figured no one needed to hear about all of it. But since Jayne asked, here is the cliff's notes version.

Work: I'm working two jobs, and am beyond exhausted.  For three months I was an assistant teacher/floater at the preschool our church runs.  I worked 40 hours a week, but it was supposed to be a short-term gig. Ultimately, they asked me to stay on, and three weeks ago they promoted me to one of the two office staff.  So now I work 10-6:30 five days a week, plus I still have my part-time college teaching gig.  I was trying to pull back from my volunteer duties at church, but seem to be pulled back in each week. (And next Sunday begins VBS... which I'm in no way ready for...) My husband is still unemployed, and hasn't had a response in a long time, despite applying to more jobs than we can even count.  I keep praying that God provides something for him soon, because I am so ready to go back to only working one job, and really need my husband to feel good about himself again.  We trust that God is fully in control, but we are so ready to be done with this season in our life.

Family: My parents called in the middle of last week and told me that they have made the decision to place Mom in the care of Hospice.  Essentially, medically there is nothing more to be done.  The oncologist's only suggestion (actually, his only suggestion for at least the last six months) was aggressive chemotherapy.  But considering the progress of Mom's cancer, there wasn't any real promise that chemo would improve her quality of life, and wouldn't necessarily prolong her life much, either. So a hospice/home health nurse has been assigned and is beginning to help Dad with Mom's care at home.

I go back and forth between being at peace and being an emotional wreck. On the one hand, I've been expecting this ever since Mom's diagnosis 4 years ago.  I thought it was going to come that Christmas, when things were going so horribly.  Knowing that Mom's suffering might finally be coming to a close and she'll be able to go home to Jesus is not a scary thought. But on the other hand, I'm in emotional turmoil.

I told my husband the other day that I'm grieving, and have been for 4 years, in a sense.  When Mom first got her diagnosis, I grieved for Mom's pain.  I grieved for the loss of a potential future that I had expected to have with her. I grieved for the spiritual and emotional turmoil my parents were in.

But then things improved, Mom was doing fairly well, and was well enough to help me plan our wedding and was my de facto wedding coordinator.  When things started to get worse earlier this year, I feared that all the progress she had made might be slipping away. Once her leg broke and she needed surgery to repair it, I was sure of it. As things got worse, my grieving changed. It has been mainly about the loss of our relationship as it had been, the loss of my best friend as she was unable to talk with me the way we used to do, and as it got harder for her to be the person I have known for 30 years.

Now, with the decision to go to hospice, I'm grieving again, in a new way. Now, it's grieving the loss of hope - at least for this life.  It's grieving the suffering that I know is here - for Mom, for Dad, for my brother and me, my grandparents, and all those who love my parents.  It's grief for the suffering that I know is still to come as we approach the end. It's grief for knowing with certainty that Mom will never live to be a grandmother, that she won't be there if and when God allows us to become parents.  It's grief for the future that Dad won't have with Mom.

This new grief is more certain, less rooted in my natural pessimism and more in medical fact.  Perhaps that is what makes it so much more gut-wrenching. Before, there was always the hope that we could keep the cancer at bay for a few more years.  There was the hope that I was looking too much at the negative, in the hopes of sparing my heart the trauma of a sudden turn-around.  But now, we know that the medical options are done. It's now solely about trying to get ahead of the pain to help her have a better quality of life for however long she has left.

I don't fear for Mom in death - I have confidence that "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord," as Paul said so beautifully.  But I dread the slow walk to death, for her and for all of us.

So this is where we are. It's been a hard, hard year. But I will still rejoice in the LORD, will praise Him for providing for us.  I know that I know that I know that He is good, and that He loves us, and He is wholly in control, even of Mom's cancer.

I could never do this without Christ, or without the amazing man God gave me to two years ago.  He is my partner and my strength, always ready to hold me and pray for me.  I am so grateful for my husband, for his strength, and his encouragement.