Hi Denise and others that have written during Mother's Day,

Greetings in the Lord.

 

Of course, I was heart-broken reading this post from Denise. With each word I want to restore Denise's mom to her. I wonder why God would allow this type of a world where such depth of hurt and dispair is so prevelent. I want to do something.

 

But I can't; you can't--no one can.

 

No one except God.

 

I thought about sharing my Mother's Day with you, and the heart-break associated with it, but then God led me to a devotional that I needed. I receive a daily devotional--which I highly recommend, but I've been too busy to read it of late (spending my devotional time elsewhere). Normally I just delete these emails, but something compelled me to read today. Thank you Lord!

 

I would like to share it with you. We all need God's miracles in our life. I don't care who it is or the place of faith you're in (or not in); we need a special touch from God.

This sister was like so many here. The grief had gone on for many years and she was starting to wonder why.

 

God never leaves us, dear saints.

 

Please read her story, and may the God of all healing, love and faithfulness be with you this day.

 

John

 

 

By Bonnie Ricks,  Dogwood Ministries, Inc. 

 

Sunday, May 14 

HOW GOD HEALED MY HEART – A MOTHER’S DAY DEVOTIONAL – Matthew 5:4 NIV 

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

In 1985, my mother was dying of cancer.  She had discovered a lump in her breast in June of 1982, and by the time the mastectomy was done, the lump had grown so large that it was wrapped around two of her ribs.  There was little hope, but she fought the cancer valiantly for three years.  The Monday before Mother’s Day, 1985, I had an overwhelming urge to go home to see her.  She was in the hospital in Little Rock, and I lived and worked in Houston – over 500 miles away.  I was in the middle of producing the first telethon for the Houston chapter of the March of Dimes, scheduled for the end of June, so taking off from work for a few days to drive home wasn’t in the books.  I had to fly.  And I was broke.  

After arguing with myself for 24 hours over charging something I couldn’t afford to pay for, I gave in and put the round trip ticket on my credit card.  I would be flying out on Saturday morning, and my former brother-in-law would pick me up at the airport and take me to the hospital so I could surprise both of my parents.  When I walked into Mama’s room Saturday afternoon, I had a big red bow pinned to the top of my head, and said, “Happy Mother’s Day!  Here’s your present!” 

Mama was thrilled, and we spent all day and into the night talking.  I spent the night at my parents’ home Saturday night, went back to the hospital and spent a few more hours with Mama, then my father took me to the airport for my flight back to Houston.  As I flew home, I thought about what a great visit it had been.  I did not know that it would be the last.   

On June 1, 1985, my mother died.  My sons and I had flown home the day before, but she was so far gone, she was barely aware of anyone’s presence.  The doctors had been asked to keep her as comfortable as possible and to “take no heroic measures” to keep her alive.  My father and I wanted to allow her to be free of all that pain, no matter how hard it was for us to let her go.  Saturday morning, she was gone.   

One interesting aside is that I never received a bill for that airline ticket!  I can only assume that the Lord sent the bill to “data heaven”, because it never came to me! 

For the next ten years, every Mother’s Day, no matter how hard I tried not to, I would end up in tears for several hours, unable to get past my grief that was so closely associated with that final Mother’s Day visit with my mother.  Every year, I’d tell myself I was past all that, and every year, something would happen to knock me off that tightrope of recovery from grief and slam dunk me back into mourning once again for my mother. 

In 1995, my son and daughter-in-law were expecting their second child.  The pregnancy was extremely difficult, and Trish was in and out of the hospital again and again.  We were all living in southwest Missouri, near Branson.  On Friday afternoon, May 12^th, I had been into Branson to take something to my husband who was working on the Showboat Branson Belle, as was my son, Guy.  When I got home, Trish was at my house, sitting at the dining room table with my next door neighbor.  Both of them looked very shaken up.  I said, “What’s going on?”  And in a very shaky voice, Trish said, “My water broke.”  My first words were, “It’s too soon!”  The baby was not due for another 8½ weeks!   

I grabbed the phone and called the Showboat office, telling the woman who answered to get Guy off the showboat and send him to Springfield, and that I’d meet him at the hospital with Trish.  I knew the boat was out on a cruise, so I didn’t know how they would accomplish that feat.  I later learned that they cut the cruise short to get Guy back to the dock – otherwise, I have no doubt he would have jumped ship and swam all the way back to shore!   

I took the long route to the hospital, because the shortcut would have put me through far too many isolated areas, where I would be too far from help if I needed it.  The long route would take me past two other hospitals and three small emergency clinics, so I’d be near help if Trish got into trouble.  It took us over an hour to get to the hospital – I must say that it was the longest hour of my life! 

Guy was pacing the sidewalk in front of the hospital when we drove up, and he quickly put Trish into a wheelchair and took her inside.  After we got her settled into a labor room, I called the showboat again and told them to get my husband off the boat when it landed.  His boss was the person who answered the phone, and she very nastily told me that J.R. “has another cruise to do today”.  I don’t recall exactly what my next words were, but J.R. said I apparently scared the wits out of his boss, because she had nearly yanked him off the boat, telling him to wait at the gate for “that wife of yours” to pick him up! 

We drove straight back to Springfield, and went straight to the labor room – which was empty!  Confused, we started looking around, and finally found Guy talking with a doctor.  Trish had been rushed to surgery for an emergency c-section.  The baby had the cord around her neck, and was going to die if they didn’t get her out.  The problem was, it appeared she might die anyway. 

Christian Kate was a very sick little girl when she was born.  In fact, the doctor wasn’t giving us a lot of hope, and asked if we’d like to come into the NICU and hold her, with the implication that it might be our only chance.  J.R. and I said no, that we could do her more good elsewhere.  The doctor looked at us like we’d grown three heads, and went back into the NICU shaking her own head in confusion.  We turned on our heels and headed for a bank of pay phones down the hall, where we began calling everyone whose phone number we could remember, asking them to pray for our little Christian Kate.   

Two hours later, we were back at the NICU, and could see the doctor standing over Christian’s crib looking confused.  She glanced up and saw us, and came outside immediately.  She said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but that baby is getting stronger by the moment!”  We both grinned and I said, “We know what’s going on.  God’s answering a thousand prayers and healing our baby girl.” 

Seven hours later, they took Christian off the ventilator because she was breathing on her own!  And two weeks later, we took her home – six and a half weeks before her due date!   

Two days after Christian was born, we were invited to scrub, don surgical gowns and go into the NICU where they would allow us to hold her.  A little nervous because she was so tiny and there were so many wires and tubes attached to her tiny body, I sat in the rocking chair they’d placed next to her crib, and two nurses very carefully laid Christian in my arms for the very first time.  It was Mother’s Day, 1995, and as I sat there holding that precious little life in my arms, I could feel God healing my heart that had been broken ten years earlier.  In many more ways than one, Christian Kate is my miracle baby, the one that God brought into the world early so she could heal my heart.   

Christian is a very special child who lights up every room she enters, and touches the heart of every person she meets.  She’s a straight “A” student, and on the honor roll.  She plays basketball, and is not only the tallest girl on the team, but one of the best.  And two summers ago, she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior and was baptized.  Today, Mother’s Day, 2005, it is once again two days after her birthday, just like it was in 1995.  She’s eleven years old.  She still fills my heart to overflowing every time I see her, because she is one of God’s special miracles in so many ways. 

If your heart is hurting with a wound that just won’t seem to heal, be comforted with the knowledge that Jesus knows right where you are, and He weeps with you, matching you tear for tear.  Tell him about your pain, even though He knows already, and ask Him to heal your heart in a special way, one that will bless you far beyond the loss that brought you pain.  And as you wait for that healing, know that because you mourn you are blessed, and you will be comforted.

The LORD is gracious and righteous;
       our God is full of compassion.

The LORD protects the simplehearted;
       when I was in great need, he saved me.

Be at rest once more, O my soul,
       for the LORD has been good to you.

For you, O LORD, have delivered my soul from death,
       my eyes from tears,
       my feet from stumbling,

that I may walk before the LORD
       in the land of the living.

Psalm 116:5-9 NIV 

From Bonnie Ricks, Dogwood Ministries, Inc.

sdenisew <sdenisew@...> wrote:

Well here in Texas it's 1:00 am, so its officially  Mother's Day. 
The day I've been dreading for the last two weeks.  I know its been a
long time since I wrote, I keep thinking things will get better, but
I just can't seem to go on.

I'm still talking with a chaplain with Hospice and she's wonderful, i
don't know how I would have survivied without her, because it seems
everyone else is gone and my dad and I just don't talk much anymore
and I'm alone.  I don't know maybe that's the way God planned
it...for me to learn to find my strength from Him..not other people.

My pain now is more terrible than when my mom died July 31st - I
think Mandi and I lost our moms within a few days of each other.  I
never knew your heart could hurt so much.  I never knew pain could go
so deep into your soul.    I can't even think of today as Mother's
Day and her not here - the first one.  I remember last year, I knew
she would not be here this year, so I wanted to pick the perfect card
and special gift, she didn't even realize some of it, but I wanted to
do it for her and now I've never not had my mom and it's so hard.  I
will go to the cemetary tomorrow and put flowers on her grave.  It's
still unimaginable to me that I'm buying flowers to put on my
mother's grave.

My mom died on Sunday at 1:20 pm.  Her birthday fell on Sunday,
Christmas was on a weekend, Mother's Day is Sunday and my birthday
falls on Sunday....and as busy as I try to stay every Sunday at 1:20
I look at that clock and fall apart.

I can't seem to get a hold on this...I can tell you everything
logically, because I know it, my mom is gone, she's in heaven, she's
not coming back, she's happy and smiling and not sick anymore, I know
she's in a better place, I know my life has to go on...But emotinally
I just want to hold her, talk to her, oh my how I miss talking to
her...or just holding her precious hand even at the end, I can't let
her go.  I feel guily over things I did and didn't do.  But what
mostly seems to be holding me back is I can't let her go.  I hold her
so close to my heart that sometimes I can't breath.  I won't throw
anything away.  I still have her med, clothes, everything.  I can't
even throw the applesause out that I use to mash her medicine up in. 
I come all to pieces if someone even mentions it.  I can't.  It's
like I feel if I let one thing go, I'll lose her.  The funny thing is
I've already lost her.  But if I let her go in my heart I think, I
don't know what I think, I guess I think I will lose her..memories,
her smell, her touch, her words...I know that's not true because
those will be with me forever, but I can't.  I'm fighting the
counselor, God and myself every step of the way on this and the only
one I'm hurting is myself.  I know if I could let go and hand it over
to Him - then He could start to heal my heart, but I can't, I
cannot.  And if I told God I was, it would be a lie and I can't do
that either.

So here I sit crying my eyes out, broken hearted, and missing my mom.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to get out of bed and go to
work in the am and I'm exhausted when I come home and fall into bed,
her bed, I just want to lay where she did.  By then end of the week I
can't function.  I've developed two bad habits - I eat constantly and
I'm buying things that I don't even need, just to buy - I'm trying to
feel this empty hole - so that's two ways I'm trying to fill it.  I
know what I'm doing and why yet I can't stop.  I just want everything
to stop just for awhile, but it doesn't.  I'm so tired an exhausted.

How do you learn to go on with your life and be happy when part of
that life is gone forever.  I don't want to, I just want to be with
my mom.  I want this life to be over with...I'm tired.   I'm tired of
working, I'm tired of trying to live day to day, I'm tired of trying
to solve problems and bills...I just want to go home and be with the
Lord and my mom.  I know that sounds awful.  But that's all I want.

There is no joy in my life.  I can't even feel God anymore.  I cry
and pray to Him to let me feel Him to know He's here and I'm going to
get thru this, but I can't feel Him now.  I know He's here I just
can't feel Him and that's almost just as hard.  The only thing I feel
now is pain and grief and depression.  I try so hard, and I can lie
to people and they think I'm fine, but inside I'm dying.  I've
reached a point that there is no happiness or joy and I dont know how
to find it again.

God has to intervene and help me, but so far I don't know.  I'm just
lost.  I don't know how to go on.

I'm sorry for all of you grieving for you moms today...I know how you
feel...and you will be in my prayers. 

Denie

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