I'm surprised at how quickly it happens. For those who may not
have read my earlier description of my new life, I'll quickly recap
it.
I am like a blue sphere, which represents peace, happiness, contentment. But in one part of my blue sphere, a 'scoop' was taken out of me that left a deep, gaping, jagged hole all the way to my core. My core is white and solid. It is my Savior who I rely on every minute of my existence. The perimeter of this scoop is red and throbbing, because obviously, that hurts! Spreading outward from this hole is a network of lines that encompass and surround my blue, kind of like a network of blood vessels, but I call them pain vessels. They aren't always red, but when my scoop overflows with pain, it runs off into the pain vessels and makes my entire sphere hurt.
My scoop always hurts. Always. But it doesn't always overflow, and so often, my pain vessels aren't obvious and the majority of my sphere appears blue. Oftentimes, my pain isn't visible to others because you may be looking on the other side where you can't see the scoop. That's good! It's good it's not always visible, and it's good that a lot of blue still exists.
Slowly, with time and faith in Jesus Christ, He will weave healing around the perimeter of my scoop. It is only through Him that pain turns to joy. But He won't fill up the wound, because that is only a place for Abigail, and she will always be a part of me. Through the pain of her absence, I learn to become more like Him. I call the pain a horrible blessing. Haha. The first word is from my mortal perspective, the second, of course, from an eternal perspective. Many of you will understand the phrase, and if you don't, that's okay.
And so I'm surprised at how quickly it happens. I'm surprised at how quickly my red overflows and every part of me hurts, but within a day, or sometimes hours, even minutes, it recedes. The pain is calmed. "He lives, to calm my troubled heart" is so very true. He indeed lives to soothe our aches and help us carry our burdens. I am so grateful for His goodness and kindness.
This week has been one of those off and on weeks. Great hours, hard hours. A year ago, this was a really bad week. I was gone from Abigail for a few days to a Neuroblastoma symposium in Florida. On the trip home I spoke briefly with Aaron and he told me Abigail had stopped walking, again, because of too much pain. That meant too much cancer. My heart broke. It was one more sign that she was nearing the end of her mortality.
Also during this past week I put in a DVD of home video that I haven't watched yet, but need to label and organize. It was from Mother's Day last year. The children all sang a "12 Days of Mother's Day" song to me. Abigail had a special line to sing, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't sing at all, but she did stand there next to her siblings. Stood there to be a part of them, but with pain in her face and body.
So as Mother's Day has approached this year, I have been interested to see what would happen to me (because sometimes it seems out of my control! I know they are 'my' emotions, but man oh man!). Overall, the feelings that permeate my blue sphere are ones of gratitude for my sweet, precious children. Those are the feelings I work toward and strive to keep near. But I was surprised where the pain came from. From missionaries, of all things! Who would have guessed? Not me. So I wrote a poem. I love missionaries, don't misunderstand! We pray for them daily. ALL of them ;).
Mother's Day Missionary
By Annabeth Goss
On Mother's Day
There will be no phone call
No 2-hour skype to see her pretty face.
She has no address
That I can mail to her
Care packages with things she might need.
There is no "hump-day"
that I can count on
Marking the 1/2 way mark till I see her again.
No instant messaging
No email chat
No return home date to my arms.
It's hard to hear
About these missionary joys
Because they are so glaringly absent.
I don't begrudge
The parents who have missionaries;
I just miss mine.
It hurts
It hurts so bad.
My missionary is gone.
But during and after
The tears that I cry,
I try to remember my joys.
From sorrow deep within
I look up and out
And remember the "goblet of gratitude."
I remember this separation
is something we both have to do
And that we grow because of it.
Gratefully, my missionary
Serves, learns and grows;
She teaches, helps, and loves.
She lives!
Just not with me;
Just not with a body.
She's healed--
No more cancer and
mortal pain can't touch her.
She's happy
Doing His will
And I hope eager to see us again.
My missionary,
On Mother's Day,
Is still mine.
In the movie "Princess Bride," Wesley's friends are trying to revive him. The scene in Miracle Max's hut is quite funny:
Miracle Max: Hey! Hello in there! Hey! What's so important? What you got here that's worth living for? (Pushes on Westley's abdomen.)
Westley: t-r-u-e l-o-v-e.
Inigo: "True Love", you heard him? You could not ask for a more noble cause than that.
Miracle Max: Sonny, True Love is the greatest thing in the world, except for a nice MLT--- mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe.
True love. It is the greatest thing in the world. Jesus Christ is our ultimate example of love, and because He wants us to become like Him, He gave us families and friends and put us all here on earth. "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die." (D&C 42:45). You can't say it any better than Jesus said it.
Thank you for loving Abigail and remembering her. Thank you for loving our family. We are so blessed. Life is wonderful. And hard. Wonderfully hard. A new phrase. :)
Faith.
I am like a blue sphere, which represents peace, happiness, contentment. But in one part of my blue sphere, a 'scoop' was taken out of me that left a deep, gaping, jagged hole all the way to my core. My core is white and solid. It is my Savior who I rely on every minute of my existence. The perimeter of this scoop is red and throbbing, because obviously, that hurts! Spreading outward from this hole is a network of lines that encompass and surround my blue, kind of like a network of blood vessels, but I call them pain vessels. They aren't always red, but when my scoop overflows with pain, it runs off into the pain vessels and makes my entire sphere hurt.
 |
| June 2013. The day after we started hospice. Day and night in the rocking chair. We both are asleep here. |
My scoop always hurts. Always. But it doesn't always overflow, and so often, my pain vessels aren't obvious and the majority of my sphere appears blue. Oftentimes, my pain isn't visible to others because you may be looking on the other side where you can't see the scoop. That's good! It's good it's not always visible, and it's good that a lot of blue still exists.
Slowly, with time and faith in Jesus Christ, He will weave healing around the perimeter of my scoop. It is only through Him that pain turns to joy. But He won't fill up the wound, because that is only a place for Abigail, and she will always be a part of me. Through the pain of her absence, I learn to become more like Him. I call the pain a horrible blessing. Haha. The first word is from my mortal perspective, the second, of course, from an eternal perspective. Many of you will understand the phrase, and if you don't, that's okay.
And so I'm surprised at how quickly it happens. I'm surprised at how quickly my red overflows and every part of me hurts, but within a day, or sometimes hours, even minutes, it recedes. The pain is calmed. "He lives, to calm my troubled heart" is so very true. He indeed lives to soothe our aches and help us carry our burdens. I am so grateful for His goodness and kindness.
This week has been one of those off and on weeks. Great hours, hard hours. A year ago, this was a really bad week. I was gone from Abigail for a few days to a Neuroblastoma symposium in Florida. On the trip home I spoke briefly with Aaron and he told me Abigail had stopped walking, again, because of too much pain. That meant too much cancer. My heart broke. It was one more sign that she was nearing the end of her mortality.
Also during this past week I put in a DVD of home video that I haven't watched yet, but need to label and organize. It was from Mother's Day last year. The children all sang a "12 Days of Mother's Day" song to me. Abigail had a special line to sing, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't sing at all, but she did stand there next to her siblings. Stood there to be a part of them, but with pain in her face and body.
So as Mother's Day has approached this year, I have been interested to see what would happen to me (because sometimes it seems out of my control! I know they are 'my' emotions, but man oh man!). Overall, the feelings that permeate my blue sphere are ones of gratitude for my sweet, precious children. Those are the feelings I work toward and strive to keep near. But I was surprised where the pain came from. From missionaries, of all things! Who would have guessed? Not me. So I wrote a poem. I love missionaries, don't misunderstand! We pray for them daily. ALL of them ;).
Mother's Day Missionary
By Annabeth Goss
On Mother's Day
There will be no phone call
No 2-hour skype to see her pretty face.
She has no address
That I can mail to her
Care packages with things she might need.
There is no "hump-day"
that I can count on
Marking the 1/2 way mark till I see her again.
No instant messaging
No email chat
No return home date to my arms.
It's hard to hear
About these missionary joys
Because they are so glaringly absent.
I don't begrudge
The parents who have missionaries;
I just miss mine.
It hurts
It hurts so bad.
My missionary is gone.
But during and after
The tears that I cry,
I try to remember my joys.
From sorrow deep within
I look up and out
And remember the "goblet of gratitude."
I remember this separation
is something we both have to do
And that we grow because of it.
Gratefully, my missionary
Serves, learns and grows;
She teaches, helps, and loves.
She lives!
Just not with me;
Just not with a body.
She's healed--
No more cancer and
mortal pain can't touch her.
She's happy
Doing His will
And I hope eager to see us again.
My missionary,
On Mother's Day,
Is still mine.
In the movie "Princess Bride," Wesley's friends are trying to revive him. The scene in Miracle Max's hut is quite funny:
Miracle Max: Hey! Hello in there! Hey! What's so important? What you got here that's worth living for? (Pushes on Westley's abdomen.)
Westley: t-r-u-e l-o-v-e.
Inigo: "True Love", you heard him? You could not ask for a more noble cause than that.
Miracle Max: Sonny, True Love is the greatest thing in the world, except for a nice MLT--- mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe.
True love. It is the greatest thing in the world. Jesus Christ is our ultimate example of love, and because He wants us to become like Him, He gave us families and friends and put us all here on earth. "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die." (D&C 42:45). You can't say it any better than Jesus said it.
Thank you for loving Abigail and remembering her. Thank you for loving our family. We are so blessed. Life is wonderful. And hard. Wonderfully hard. A new phrase. :)
Faith.
No comments:
Post a Comment