Easter was a lot different this year. For one thing, it was Saturday night before I realized I had not once thought of coloring eggs. Also, I have rarely been one for Easter baskets or candy, but this year I even surpassed my own lackluster gift giving by tossing my kids a Speedway gift card across the bar while they were eating breakfast (for slushee purchases, of course).
I have spent a lot of time remembering over recent days. Last year on Easter morning, Chad and I were swapping out shifts at the hospital. Katie’s cancer had relapsed very suddenly during the week prior, and she had steadily deteriorated for several days. Easter appeared to be a better day for her physically, but the seeming improvement was a farce. On Monday afternoon, she was moved to the ICU; on Tuesday she was mostly unresponsive, using all her energy to breathe; on Wednesday, she was in a helicopter to Cincinnati as we hoped for a miracle. So Easter will likely always be marked for us. Yet we can’t go back, so we stumble forward. River Ridge’s Good Friday service is truly one of my favorite services of the year. Although I knew it may be difficult, I was glad we would be able to attend this year. As Andy began to speak, he had each person take a small river rock in our hand and begin to identify something, anything, to be represented by that rock. A struggle, a sin, a commitment, a blessing. Whatever God impressed upon our hearts as we sat there. I closed my eyes and held that small, black, irregularly shaped rock. “What is it, God? What does this rock represent to me?" “Katie.” “No, not Katie. Maybe a sin or something I have been struggling with. How about pride?” “Katie. Katie.” “No, something else.” “Katie.” “Ugh, God. Really? I know Andy is going to make us do something with these rocks like lay them down or get rid of them in some way. I don’t want to do that again. I already did that. Remember? I held her in my hand, my arms, and you took her. I don’t want to relive that in some stupid way with some stupid rock. Something else.” “It’s Katie. The rock is Katie to you.” And so it was. The rock represented Katie. My Katie. My first daughter. The one I named. The one I loved. The one I did everything for. Katie. The band sang, and I clutched that rock. My eyes stung. I carry tissues with me, but I rarely use them. I find that the tears rolling down my cheeks are too refreshing to wipe away. Aaron must have dropped his rock beside me a dozen times, but I clutched mine, not willing to let it go. Again. And then he said it. We were to walk to the front and drop our rock in the wooden tray, proceeding then to take communion. God and I got into it again. “See, God, I knew he was going to do that. Now I have to go up there and lay this rock down. Maybe I can just keep it. You know, a memento.” “Don’t you trust me?” (This was a repeat conversation. We have had this one before). “Don’t you trust her with me?” Crickets. Then sighing, I said, “Yes, Lord. Yes, I trust you.” “Then you can lay down the rock.” Once you have had something taken right out of your hand, the natural tendency is to grasp more tightly. I held that rock, squeezing, clutching, caressing, preparing to let it go, yet not wanting to. Dropping “Katie” into that wooden tray at the front of the church was not easy, even as it was just a rock. I proceeded to take communion and God reminded me: It is the broken body of the Son which allows Katie to dance before the throne of the Father today. Gratefulness for the Cross flooded me that evening as I imagined that girl with that smile enjoying life to the full. I miss her immeasurably, but I would not take that from her. Symbols can present a very powerful experience. I have a hunch that I am going to have to repeat this again - likely many times - until I can hold that stupid rock without sweating. Until I can let go of Katie with tears but without as much hesitation. Until I can hold this world more loosely. Until I can put my kids back into an open hand and hold that hand up to God and say, “I do trust you.” I’m not there yet. But, with God's grace, I will be. One day.
19 Comments
Tim n Bev
4/4/2018 11:27:40 pm
About all the rest of us can do is love you and pray for you and so we do 🙏🙏🙏❤️❤️❤️
Reply
Tracie
4/4/2018 11:50:15 pm
You, my dear, my one time mentor, someone I look up to, who my heart goes out to, someone I think sooo highly of, and someone who has endured what a mother never should, is the epitome of grandiosity and normalcy all in this poignant post. Remember dabda from your psychology nursing. Your pain will ease in time. Through you, your children and family will heal. Patience, strength and faith are my wishes for you. And the extra oomph when your days seem too terribly difficult. Hugs and kisses to you, my friend. 😊
Reply
4/6/2018 03:10:41 pm
This was absolutely one of the most heart touching words over ever read. Your writing and the ability to portray your heart through words is beautiful and cleansing to my soul. I’m so proud to know you and your family. This year my rock was the question WHY? The question itself I laid down to quit asking. I laid down the thoughts of Why did I lose my leg and what good will God make of it. I gave up that rock and laid it down knowing that God will show me the path He wants me to take. I know hit really is that simple to slow down and let’s Him have control.
Reply
wilma stanley
4/18/2018 11:42:02 am
Absoluutely,The most heart touching words.Tears rolling down my cheeks as i read it.Can't imagine the pain you go through on a daily basis.May God continue to touch and bless each one you.Prayers.
Whitney Cox
4/5/2018 12:25:27 am
This took so much bravery. I love your heart! ❤️
Reply
Staci
4/5/2018 07:23:32 am
We continue to pray for you and the rest of the Cobb7. You are such a warrior and your faith encourages us to stumble on, too.
Reply
SamAntha Craig
4/5/2018 09:18:10 am
prayers; I appreciate you sharing
Reply
Amanda
4/5/2018 10:01:08 am
Continued prayers for you and your whole family. I admire your strength, faith, and honesty.
Reply
Robin gatens
4/5/2018 10:06:28 am
Hugs prayers an love I think of you An pray for you. God bless an wrAp his arms around u
Reply
Alicia
4/5/2018 10:53:14 am
You're strong. You're faithful. God light shines so brightly through you. I will keep praying.
Reply
Diane Lett
4/5/2018 11:26:16 am
Sending my love.
Reply
Sam & Amy
4/5/2018 12:23:10 pm
Oh my!! Wow!! The love you have for Katie is the same love he has for his children. One day soon!!!!!! Well said. Prayers for healing....
Reply
Gina
4/5/2018 01:50:58 pm
Even at this stage of your grief, God continues to use you to touch the heart of others. I, too, have a "rock" that I must entrust to the Lord and your words help me to know that He understands my hesitation, but expects my obedience just the same. May God continue to speak to and through you.
Reply
Terry Brogan
4/5/2018 05:17:17 pm
"Yet we can’t go back, so we stumble forward." That statement means a lot to me. Your words are fragile but strong. These words are how I have felt during difficult times, but I was never able to put it the way you have. By sharing your heart, I feel your strength as well as your brokenness.
Reply
Vanessa
4/5/2018 05:54:55 pm
God Bless You! You are still in the healing process. Everybodys time of grief and healing is different. Do not rush yourself or expect too much of yourself. You are doing great! Just the fact that you can put your feelings into such beautiful words shows that you are healing. Hugs and prayers.
Reply
Shannon Louk
4/6/2018 09:23:02 am
“I miss her immeasurably, but I would not take that from her.” Your entire post and every post of yours bless me, but those words I dwell on and they are the result of love, trust and faith. Thank you for your honestly and your willingness to share your journey with others. You are always in my prayers.
Reply
Patty Tabor
4/6/2018 03:28:46 pm
Thank you for sharing your human experience so eloquently in spite of your hurting heart. My prayers continue for your family.
Reply
Tanya gilbert
4/7/2018 09:50:47 am
You amaze me and Your words are so powerful and compelling. I admire your honesty with this process and your vulnerability in putting it out there for all to see. It’s the most personal and difficult of a journey and yet you allow god to use you. I barely know you but I have so much love for you and your family. Thank you Sarah.
Reply
Mark Hopkins
4/12/2018 09:46:04 pm
Your words touched me tonight. I felt as though I was there witnessing your struggle to follow Gods voice. I have little to give to help you and your family continue moving forward, but my heart cries out for Gods’ comfort and Grace for each of you.
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
March 2020
Categories |