I think God is doing something in me; I’m just unsure what it is. It’s kind of exciting. I’m open to something good happening, but I’m just sketchy about the details.
I miss Deb—like, a lot. She was the light of my life for 32 years, but she’s gone. Today, despite this terrible situation, I think I’m a little happy. She died 24 weeks ago. I’m not happy she’s dead; I’m just kind of happy. Is that wrong? And if it isn’t wrong, then why do I feel guilty?
Sometimes, I think about those cool black armbands people would wear on their right or left arm (not sure which arm) in World War I and II movies. Besides having a black circle thingy around your arm, it lets everyone know, “Hey, my wife died, so give me some space, eh.” The other cool thing is that people would wear it for a certain number of months (again, sketchy on the details), but when I stopped wearing it, it would either mean I got it dirty or my “mourning period was over.” And everyone would know I was done, including me. Then I could confidently state, in a firm 1920 tone of authority, “My time of mourning has subsided,” at which point grief would only be a conversation piece. It would be convenient to be “done” with grief,” like a “Mourning on” and “Mourning off” switch. But our culture doesn’t do that, so I’ll left to decide by myself, “Am I done yet?”
My happiness gauge is in the “warning, restricted area, turn back and be miserable about something” area. I feel I need to apologize when I get silly. Others aren’t pressing me; I am. And I wish I could stop worrying if I’m mourning enough or doing it correctly.
I don’t enjoy misery, but it’s where I should be. When am I allowed out of my misery in prison? I feel guilty when I joke about too many things. My “guilt monster” is like a computer virus that corrupted my happiness gauge, which is currently pointing at the “feel bad about something” section. Guilt restricts my restricted mood, so I’m left feeling, “Is it OK for me to be silly? Shouldn’t I be doing something now?” Guilt wants me to be quiet and sullen as if somehow being miserable honors God. Or is it other people’s perception I’m afraid of? Why do I feel guilty for experiencing God’s blessing? Is it wrong to be perky? Is it disrespectful to giggle too much, especially on Friday mornings before a long weekend?
Should I apologize for being happy? And if I do, who exactly should I apologize to?
Since Deb’s death, I’ve felt freer than at any other time in my life. Sometimes, I feel like a kid (Note: I define a kid as anyone from 25-30 years of age). I have everything I need and everything I want. I have a nice house, a kind-of-nice job, and two good vehicles (one is with my daughter, but that’s OK because I can only drive one vehicle at a time). I have good friends, great kids, a wonderful church, and two weeks of underwear in case my washing machine breaks down again. What more could I possibly want?
Should widows and widowers stay sad? When do we get to giggle again? I don’t want to be defined by grief, but I’d like to take my black armband off, even though I never put one on. Grief is as intensely personal as underwear is. We all grieve differently. I think I fear rejection from others who assume grief should be defined as “years of misery.” Sometimes, I fear others would accuse me (something Satan likes to do) and suggest, “Well, I guess that guy didn’t really love his wife if he has excessive perkiness on Friday mornings like that.”
Deb was my soulmate, my best friend, and my lover. But she was not my God. God is my God; he didn’t go anywhere. The Newsboys came out with the hit single, “God’s Not Dead,” but I knew he wasn’t dead long before that song came out.
Deb and I would argue about many things. Now, we don’t argue (her death being the primary contributor to this). What used to occupy my schedule no longer does. I suddenly have free nights and lots of them. What’s surprising to me is that I sometimes look forward to them. With all this free time, I sometimes get excited about the unknown future. I have a good God, so I assume the unknown future will be good. Isn’t faith assuming something good from God?
“What is faith? It is the confident assurance that
something we want is going to happen. It is the
certainty that what we hope for is waiting for us, even
though we cannot see it up ahead.”
Hebrews 11:1 (TLB)
I can be anxious, fearing something bad will happen, OR I can be at peace, believing something good will happen. My view of the future impacts me today. Paul commanded us to rejoice, whether in prison or on the west side of Michigan. Philippians 4:4 (NIV) says, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again, rejoice.” The Message puts it in a slightly different light, “Celebrate God all day, every day.” Wasn’t Paul in prison when he wrote this? Wasn’t he about to die? He didn’t have a 401k, a house, a functional washing machine, or (as far as we know) two weeks of clean underwear.
Why was Paul encouraging us to be happy in our Savior? Perhaps Paul wanted to remind us that our circumstances should not dictate our perspective; our hope in Christ should. Could the next world’s joy outweigh the pain of this world? Paul was very much in love with Jesus, which dictated his perspective and mood.
For whatever reason, God has made me different. I don’t care much about money, so paying a tithe is more like paying taxes—I don’t think about it at all. But sacrificing my time is a different story. Giving time changes my priorities and passions. I think, “How could I use my time for his kingdom?” To me, that’s the real sacrifice. And I think this is where the adventure begins.
The Unknown
I don’t often agree with God when he speaks to me. I want to explain my side of the matter before he elects me to do something. Pretending not to hear God is like a three-year-old boy who plays hide-and-seek by covering his eyes while standing in the middle of the room. Cute, but stupid. When I pretend not to hear God, I fall into the “not so cute, but still stupid” category. Sometimes, I would pretend not to hear Deb, but it rarely worked in my favor.
SIDE POINT TO WIVES:
Telling your husband something important while walking out of the house is legally impermissible in a court of law. After the outside door moves toward the closed position, you can’t apply the marriage contract’s “you don’t listen to me” clause. The movement of the door toward the door jamb cancels the husband’s responsibility for hearing what was barked out at the last second. At this point, the husband is legally free to use the “You never told me…” clause, which may seem weak because he uses it often. The jury is out on whether he’s responsible if you yell something at him two rooms away, and it is subject to interpretation on a case-by-case basis.
I try to listen when God speaks to me. Sometimes, he talks during my morning prayers, sometimes through people in my life (both Christian and non-Christian). And sometimes he sends six people from different walks of life to tell me the same thing. The first four times random people said this sentence, I thought, “Gee, that’s odd, four different people told me the same thing,” and quickly dismissed it. But when two other people say this same sentence, I think, “Gee, that’s odd, I wonder if God is trying to tell me something?”
They all said, word for word, the same thing: “Andy, I think God is going to use you for something really good in the future.” What are the odds that six different people would say this to me? I assume God’s trying to break through my thick skull.
Only One Kid?
I’ve been arguing with God about watching a kid at church. We have two services at Church on Sundays; I attend the first one, and then I go home and do nothing. But there was a need for kids in the kid kingdom to help watch the wee ones. But there was a rub (always a rub): it turns out only one kid needs to be watched, a seven-year-old boy. He struggles with autism and can’t handle being in the “big service.” When I watched the boy, I saw his parents could go to the second service and worship as a family.
I watched him for a few weeks before I began wondering, “Lord, I’m a Master-Level Clinician with 26 years in mental health. (Like he had somehow forgotten this.) Is this a really good use of my time?”
God’s response was immediate and clear; “Yes.”
I waffled for a few minutes, deciding if I could use the “I didn’t hear you” clause, but I didn’t think that would fly. He knows what I’m thinking as I’m thinking it. I’d be a 59-year-old “not so cute but stupid” guy in the middle of the room “hiding.”
God doesn’t change his answers, even when I pout (which didn’t work on Deb either). I slumped my shoulders and said, “OK… I guess I’ll do it,” much as a 13-year-old boy would when he believes washing dishes infringes his “constitutional rights.”
Life is an adventure. I’m working off the assumption that God is for me. I find I enjoy hanging out with this kid…. cool. Hanging out with murderers and rapists at work has made me jaded, so being with a completely innocent young man is surprisingly refreshing. I’m learning to be playful again, something I’ve forgotten to do (think Peter Pan). I’m being blessed because of my obedience. I think Jesus does that a lot.
My church showed a few pictures of a short-term mission trip to Guatemala a few weeks ago. God tapped me on the shoulder, and I got excited about a mission trip. I don’t think he wants me to go to Guatemala, but I want to be in the “ready position” in case that tap for a mission trip does occur again.
Of course, I need a passport to travel outside the US. In a step of faith, I applied for one. I went to the Post Office, where a man who never actually made eye contact with me spent nine minutes completing the paperwork for my passport. He even took my picture, a form of punishment by the State Department to discourage anyone from traveling to different countries.
I believe the philosophy behind these god-awful pictures is the assumption that I may turn out to be a terrorist, and then later, if it’s true when my photo is released on CNN, people will say, “Oh yeah, look at that guy’s eyes, he’s a terrorist alright.” Or, if I turn out to be a mass murderer, it would be the same, “Yeah, I bet that guy’s guilty. Look at his eyes. I’m sure he’s killed dozens. And his hair; what’s up with that? Are those plugs or something? Who’s he trying to impress?” If I’m an honest citizen, then I will only experience shame when I leave the country and show strangers this humbling picture of myself.
I’m not sure if the Department of Motor Vehicles and the Post Office share the same photo training course, “Effective but Crappy Picture-Taking Training,” but it seems like it is from where I am. I also noticed no “How was your post office experience?” questionnaires after I saw my photo. I assume this was strategic.
God has me on an adventure. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m kind of excited. Instead of dreading life without Deb, I’m living life without Deb. It’s a good thing I have a great God.