A Story That Changed Us

My (I still want to say "our") granddaughters spent the night with me last night. It's so nice that we are in the same town and can do that occasionally. They both chose a book for me to read to them just before they went to sleep.

Jenna, the oldest (9), chose a children's picture book we got from the Alzheimer's Association a few years ago. It was about a grandpa who began to show symptoms of dementia. Both the girls and I were sadly reminded of the many challenges their own grandpa had, and how hard it is not having him around any more. He and his quirky behavior was all they knew. It touched me that she wanted to read again how someone else coped with having a grandpa who was quite different from other adults in their life.

I saw a quotation the other day that said, "It's funny, because we ask God to change our situation, not knowing that He put us in that situation to change us." I wonder how having a grandpa like theirs will change them, and how it has changed all of us.

It certainly will have an impact on how the girls view the difficulties of others. They will not only have abounding sympathy for those who struggle, but a sterling empathy for others that will enable them even more to help those less fortunate.

So, sometimes God's goal isn't just to change us, but to ultimately change those around us. Like He multiplied the loaves and fishes to feed a multitude, He can use our experiences to shape several generations that come after us. We will never know this side of heaven how many people we have fed, whose lives are better because of how we lived, even though it meant almost unbearable trials and sacrifice.

Here's a video of Dean reading a book to Julia a few years ago...

Expressions of Grief

Just celebrated my birthday yesterday. It felt odd making plans that only included me, and me only. To celebrate I therefore made it a solitary affair. After thinking about inviting people over, as I used to do just to get some visitors in the house for Dean, I nixed the idea and opted for spending the day alone. It just felt so good to stay home, relax my always-tired bones (or maybe I should say lungs), and ignore my "to-do" list.

People have regularly been asking how I'm doing since Dean's passing. That is a really difficult thing to answer. If I say great, am I being callous? If I say not so great, am I being weak? I understand the question is posed by friends who are truly concerned about me and want to convey that they really do care, and I do my best to acknowledge their inquiries and answer the best I can at the time. In truth though, my emotions are rather sketchy these days. Perhaps it's good that they ask, so I can take a little self inventory and make sure I am on the path of mental good health, and not headed for a sinkhole of depression.

Today and a few other times though I was confronted by a different kind of response to Dean's passing. It wasn't in the form of a question, which relieved me of the task of an impromptu self-inspection. This neighbor of mine simply stated how much she missed seeing Dean sitting out on the swing in our front yard, greeting all the passersby with a wave or an invitation to chat. This simple acknowledgement of someone else missing my man really warmed my heart. It validated the many times I have felt a sudden gush of emotion when I remember something about Dean that I miss.

Without realizing it, my neighbor had turned a sympathetic, caring comment into an empathetic, supportive acknowledgment. I must remember her approach when confronted with others in the throes of grief. It was simple enough in practice, but the concept was pure genius.

From now on, I'll not be afraid to address someone's ugly emotions directly. But will let it be known that I feel their pain as well--never exactly, but at least to some extent. As a fellow human, we can only carry someone's load with them, not for them. Only God can lift that burden from their shoulders. But we can reduce its weight by lifting it together.