Last week a friend of mine suffered a tremendous loss when her 47-year old husband passed away suddenly. It was the kind of searing loss that leaves one speechless, and a little more unsure of all we think is certain. It reminded me of losing my own dad eight years ago without any opportunity to say goodbye. It reminded me of the loss my mom experienced in losing her life partner without warning. It reminded me of a friend who lost both of her parents this past summer in the span of less than three months. And, it made me think about how difficult it is to experience huge loss and then immediately see the rest of the world move on with life when yours will never be the same.
And, so Suburban Shalom took a sabbatical. Ninety percent of the content on this blog is silly. And, there is a time for silly. But, there’s also a time for silence. And, so it was.
The funeral service for my friend’s husband was beautiful, but it was also profound. The theme of the message centered around a poem that was written about the dash between the dates of our births and deaths. And, the significance, of course, is not on those dates at beginning or end, but rather in how we live our “dash.” And, after hearing many people {including his courageous wife} share about how this man loved life, loved God, loved his family, and influenced others with his friendship, I can’t imagine anyone left the service without being inspired to be more intentional about making his or her “dash” count for something.
In this season I am guilty of often thinking my life is “on hold” while I raise young children. As if I should be doing something more important or more service-oriented or more far-reaching. But, I think the truth is… this is an integral part of my calling. It’s certainly the most challenging part to date. And, the way I handle this season, the way I love and discipline and relate to my children while they are young, will affect the rest of my “dash”… and theirs. And, so, I am reminded by something dramatic and unexpected that I want to do this — something that often seems ordinary and mundane — well. I really want to do it well. Even when no one over the age of seven is watching.
I’m going to carry something of the “dash” message with me for awhile, a long while. And, I’m going to try to think about it even in the seemingly insignificant areas of life… because there really aren’t any.
So, on afternoons spent at quiet playgrounds when the girls want me to join them upside down on the bars…
Maybe I’ll worry less about passing out from a head rush and join them anyway.
And, on afternoons at home when this trio needs more energy than I think I can give… when they’re determined to push me aside to play their own song…
Maybe I’ll get over myself and enjoy them, knowing they won’t always be small enough to so easily share that bench.
I want my “dash” to mean something. But, like the dash of the one we celebrated this weekend, I also want it to be seasoned with grace and kindness, love and laughter. And, that’s going to take some work.
Whether grieving or growing, great is His faithfulness.
It is because of the Lord’s mercy and loving-kindness that we are not consumed, because His {tender} compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great and abundant is Your stability and faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23, Amplified)
Beautifully written. Hollie, you are doing the most important job you can do by loving and guiding your three precious doll babies 🙂