by Donya Dunlap | May 16, 2016 | The Spiritual Life, Write Hard Things
Days after accepting a new job, I learned that my mom had cancer. A few weeks after that, I realized it was progressing incredibly fast. A few weeks later, she was gone.
When her 70th birthday came in December, we had no idea it would be her last. It wasn’t part of the plan for 2016 to bury one of the kindest, most loving, straight-shooting, self-sacrificing mothers this world has known.
It is inconvenient to find yourself crying on the way to meet friends…and your makeup is on the counter at home. It’s difficult to turn in a resignation letter for a job you held for five weeks. It’s awkward to leave the room at a birthday dinner because your brother just opened a card that his mom purchased before her passing.
The natural reactions that well up within are resistance and questioning. It’s not supposed to be this way. This shouldn’t be happening. She doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t fair. This isn’t right. Why her? Why now? What happens next?
I understand why people question God. When grief hits your life and throws you off balance and off schedule, you feel helpless and desperate to gain back some feeling of control.
It’s easier to blame God than to accept truth.
Sickness and death are consequences of man’s fall from God’s perfection to our current state of sin and wickedness. Does God have control over every aspect of our lives? Absolutely. But much of the time, our lives follow the natural laws of existence. We are born. We live healthy or sickly lives based on our genetic lineage and our lifestyle choices. Either by accidental or natural causes, we die at the time God has appointed for our lives on earth to end. Then based on whether or not we accepted or rejected the redemptive work of Jesus Christ on our behalf, our souls live on in eternal joy with Christ or eternal torment apart from Him.
Intellectually, we understand that everyone goes through this same process, but when someone you love is in pain, you are in pain. And pain trumps logic and reason. When you feel like an unseen force has a vice grip on your soul, you can’t breath, can’t eat, can’t sleep, and can’t think straight. You instinctively want someone to pay for the pain. The drunk driver, the doctor, God.
The thing we so often fail to see is that Someone already paid for our pain. Someone that has experienced the same emotions and disappointment and loss that we have, chose to give His sinless life to pay for the horrible grief we experience as a result of sin. Jesus’ sacrifice doesn’t eliminate our pain, but He gives our pain purpose and hope. Through our sorrow, we can rejoice in a God that sees our tears and is walking with us in our grief. His sacrifice makes it possible for us to see our loved ones again in eternity and for us to help others in their pain while here on earth. We can pray for each other in understanding because we have been where they are.
My dear friend, Heather, lost her dad three months ago. When she tells me she is praying for me I am encouraged, because I know that she really is praying and that she knows exactly how I feel and what I need. Another dear friend, Paul, is sitting with his mother in the hospital as she fights to recover from bypass surgery. I know how he feels helpless to care for her as he wants and how he would take her pain on himself in an instant if he could. I know that he fears losing her, and how he prays for her healing in addition to surrendering to God’s will if He should choose to take her home. I know this because I was in the same place several weeks ago, holding my own mom’s bruised, IV laden hand. This understanding helps me pray for Paul, and his dad, sister, wife, and kids as they all walk through this scary time together.
Grief and Loss are Inconvenient Gifts
Grief and loss are inconvenient, but they are also refining. They help us see the true state of our relationship with Christ and with others. They help us realize what truly mattters in this life. They give us the gift of reorganized priorities. They enable us to have greater empathy for the lost and hurting in this sin-sick world.
Grief and loss are inconvenient, but they give us a chance to reconnect, to forgive, to love, to honor memories and a life well lived. Choosing to hold on to pain, anger, and resistance to God is to hinder the growth, comfort, and freedom God longs to give us in our trial. Acknowledge the hurt, but accept the healing as well.
What if blessings come through rain drops?
What if healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if my greatest disappointments, or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy?
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights,
Are Your mercies in disguise?
-Blessings by Laura Story
by Donya Dunlap | May 5, 2016 | The Spiritual Life, Write Hard Things
I woke up this morning and didn’t know what to do.
One month ago, I woke up and went to work. That weekend I drove up to visit my parents. It was then that I realized just how sick my mom was. She had been diagnosed with cancer in late February, but still looked good in early March. By early April, her appearance had completely changed and she was having trouble breathing from the fluid her body was no longer processing. Suddenly, I knew frequent visits over the next few months was not enough. I needed a new plan. I decided to quit my job and move home to love on my mom and care for my dad for as long as God left them with me.
Eight days later, my mom met Jesus.
Her final days were filled with hospital rooms and hospice beds, nurses, and pain relievers. There were tears, memories, and even a little laughter. But all too quickly came funeral arrangements, flowers, and well wishes from family and friends.
Today marks one week of Mom’s graduation to heaven and our attempts at moving through life without her smile, her wisdom, and her love. This morning, for the first time, there weren’t any services to attend or ceremonies to honor her memory. There was only a beautiful, blue skied Michigan morning returning my gaze out the window. I listened to the silence of the house, knowing the sound of her slippers padding down the hall would not come on this morning. I knew that today I had to begin my new life without her, and I didn’t know what to do.
I had plenty to do of course…errands to run, boxes to unpack, dishes to wash, bathrooms to clean, research papers to write, tests to take…but how does one simply pick up the pieces of a shattered heart and do laundry?
Just before she passed, my mom could barely speak. It took a great deal of energy to pull together words through the fog the morphine had spread through her mind. I was sitting beside her and through my tears, I told her that I wished I could go with her to heaven. She looked at me with eyes that had yellowed from her disease and said, “no.” She didn’t need to say anymore. I knew exactly what she meant. It was her time, not mine. I still need to care for my daddy and continue reaching out to hurting women. I still have words to write and Scripture lessons to teach. As much as I desperately wish I could hug my momma in heaven, it’s not my time to go.
So despite my tears, I find myself running to the store, washing my bedding, and writing…because I know that’s what my mom would want me to do. She believed I could be a great writer if I could dedicate the time to the work, and in asking me to care for my dad in her absence, she has also given me the gift of time. More than anything, I want to use her gift to make her proud.
I don’t know how much time I have left. Mom had only 70 days after her diagnosis to spend with us. None of us expected her life to be cut so short. But God’s plans are higher than our plans (Isaiah 55:9). He knows the moment He will call me home to see His face and hug my mom again. I don’t. But I do know that spending each day in service to others is something both Jesus and my mom can smile about.
Make the most of the time you have.
You don’t know the day or the hour that Jesus will call you or a loved one home. It can be easy to get wrapped up in a job or a routine and forget to relish the time you have with family. It’s so easy to take people for granted and assume that you have time to say the things you need to say, or make memories to cherish for a life time. Regardless of the time you have, it’s never enough. Don’t waste it. Hug your family a little tighter tonight and thank Jesus for another day, another funny story, another mess in the kitchen, another kiss goodnight.
Psalm 90:1-12
Lord, you have been our dwelling place
in all generations.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
3 You return man to dust
and say, “Return, O children of man!”
4 For a thousand years in your sight
are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night.
5 You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
like grass that is renewed in the morning:
6 in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;
in the evening it fades and withers.
7 For we are brought to an end by your anger;
by your wrath we are dismayed.
8 You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 For all our days pass away under your wrath;
we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
10 The years of our life are seventy,
or even by reason of strength eighty;
yet their span is but toil and trouble,
they are soon gone, and we fly away.
11 Who considers the power of your anger,
and your wrath according to the fear of you?
12 So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.
by Donya Dunlap | Apr 9, 2015 | Random, Write Hard Things
Yesterday I watched a video of a commercial in which the two entrance doors of a building were labeled “beautiful” and “average.” It records how the women felt after choosing one label over another. As soon as I saw the purpose of the doors I thought, “there should be a third door labeled fat for me.” I realized in that moment that this labeling had been increasing in my thoughts and language.
I thought of three times I jokingly referred to #FatGirlProblems in the past week. I wondered if I was the only one? No, Twitter reveals #FatGirlProblems to be a popular hashtag used by many beautiful women, thin and heavy alike. Common among them was not their dress size, but the way they talked to themselves and about themselves.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been the fat girl. In fourth grade, a classmate asked me if I was big boned or just fat. In sixth grade I weighed 160 pounds. I remember thinking many adults weighed close to that. If I could maintain that weight until adulthood I would be normal.
High school brought Spirit Week which meant costume contests. One year I dressed up as Miss America. I still remember the laughter of the popular girls. “Like she could ever be in a beauty pageant.”
College came and I found myself orchestrating a banquet. One of the guys carrying in a wicker bench stated it was on loan with a weight restriction of 200 pounds. After relaying the news, he looked a bit startled, turned to me, and said, “no offence.” I was too stunned to reply that I weighed 170 at the time.
After a tumultuous senior year and a move into my first full-time job my weight rose to 230 pounds. I joined a popular weight loss program, bought their pre-packaged food items, and went to the meetings. Ten weeks and four pounds later, I quit the program.
A few years later, my job became increasingly stressful and I found myself eating half of what I was accustomed to taking in. I fairly quickly dropped ten pounds. But as quickly as I lost the weight, I stopped losing the weight. I decided once again to try professional help.
I joined a gym and met with a personal trainer. I encouraged several other friends to come to the gym with me. I was having fun, getting stronger, and fitting into smaller clothes. I felt great, and for the first time in my life, I felt that I looked great too. After a year of hard work I had finally managed to dip beneath the 200 mark.
I was proud of my accomplishment, but a friend let me know that I was pretty and smart, but if I ever wanted to get married, I would have to lose more weight. Men are visual creatures after all. I argued on the outside, but inside I accepted that he was right.
Shortly after that I took a new job in a new state and decided to go back to school as well. Gone was my disposable income and time. I quickly gained back the 30 pounds I had struggled so hard to lose. I was discouraged and tired of trying. If all the weight returned the second I quit spending hours in the gym every week, how could I possibly live like that?
Since then I have tried new diets, and purchased my share of exercise DVD’s while begging God for answers and watching the numbers on the scale go up. In my research, I have discovered that there is a condition that explains my symptoms, but with very little hope for a positive resolution.
In some ways, having a label has helped. At least I know what I’m up against. But in the knowing I have realized that I have an even greater battle to face than the weight.
It’s a battle of the mind.
The hardest hurdle I face is my own opinion of myself. It colors everything I do. I question how someone like me can lead a ministry when I imagine others criticizing my obvious lack of self-control, laziness, and gluttony. I think of others passing by Forgetting the Fairy Tale as being irrelevant…the author obviously isn’t married because of weight issues so why should I listen to what she has to say?
I think often of the apostle Paul and his thorn in the flesh. He begged God for a reprieve to no avail. But in his weakness, God’s strength was put on display. Maybe my thorn in the flesh is just that…my ample flesh. I might never be the thin girl I hope to become. But maybe, just maybe, God wants to use me anyway. Maybe my willingness to teach and lead others regardless of how they receive me is a way to glorify God in my weakness. Maybe God can use my honest struggle to help someone else that feels they have no hope? Maybe God can take the five loaves and two fishes that is my body and and my desire to serve Him and use them to do the impossible?
And maybe He can use that thing that you hate about yourself to do the same.
Photo credit: chrisphoto / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND
by Donya Dunlap | May 10, 2013 | The Single Life, Write Hard Things
Holidays are traditionally full of emotional mine-fields, and none is quite so treacherous as Mother’s Day. I absolutely adore my mother. I respect her. I cherish every moment I get to spend with her in person. I talk to her almost every day and I will celebrate her and the memory of my grandmothers this weekend as they well deserve.
But I am also keenly aware that for many women, this coming Sunday will bring many tears of loss, regret, and unfulfilled desires. I know dozens of women who have lost children to death or distanced relationships, suffered miscarriages, or struggle with infertility…and my heart is pained for them. I have no desire to detract from their sorrow. But there is another group of women that also mourn an empty nest on Mother’s Day that many never consider. It is for these women, for single women, that I write today.
Will it ever be my turn?
This Mother’s Day I will be 33 years old…the same age my mother was when she gave birth to me, her fourth child. Friends that I roamed the hallways with as a child now have children entering middle school. Young women that I ministered to as teens are getting married and starting families. My nephew and his wife have a beautiful, two year old bundle of sweetness that I love to death. Other friends that have struggled with fertility have recently been able to adopt. I’m thrilled for them all. And yet, on days like Mother’s Day, I wonder if that happiness is something I will ever personally experience.
It isn’t something that I talk about often, but it is a prayer and dream of mine that I will be able to adopt at least one child by the time I turn 40. This past year I even dared dream long enough to post several baby boards on Pinterest. But in my heart I know that unless God chooses to answer my dream through His supernatural favor, my empty nest will be a lifetime reality.
While it is an area of my heart that is completely in the Lord’s hands, every once in a while it throbs a bit to remind me that it’s still there. And I know I’m not the only one. In fact, I know of several single women that actually have a greater desire to be a mother than they do to be a wife. I believe it to be a God-given instinct—a part of our DNA as women. And just like any other unmet desire, it can be used for good or evil.
Nurturing others as a single person
If this is an area of struggle for you as well, I encourage you to use the upcoming weekend to motivate you to good works rather than wishful introspection. You don’t have to bear a child to use your motherly heart for God. Ask Him to bring across your path a young woman to mentor. Invest in her life. Take her out to eat. Listen to her.
Another way to use that nurturing instinct is to be a blessing to an elderly woman. Many nursing home patients never receive a single visit from a family member. Sunday will come and go and hundreds of elderly mothers will feel lucky if they get a phone call or a card. They would love for someone to listen to their stories or sing to them songs from their childhood.
I don’t always do a good job of remembering this, but the Holy Spirit reminds me often there is always someone with a bigger hurt than mine and that everyone has something that they are struggling with at any given moment. Many times the hurts are too deep to ever express. Focusing on your own heartaches does nothing but magnify them. But when you seek to be a blessing to someone else, you end up receiving the bigger blessing yourself.
His ways are higher
If God has given you an empty nest, He has done it for a reason. It may be for a season or forever…only time will tell. What you do with it is up to you. You can view it as a a hole in your heart, or a basket to fill with blessings. The choice is yours. Choose well dear ones.
