Sacred Mundane: The Blog

I hadn’t typed in the URL for my own website since before Dad died. It’s so funny the things you avoid without even knowing it, because somewhere inside you know it’ll just make you miss them so much. Sure enough. Pulled up the site, and there is the Livesteam link for his memorial service. On the backside, comments waiting for approval: “…one of the best men I’ve ever met…”, “…how joyful it will be when we get reunited in heaven…”.

The screen blurs.

That lump. I hold my breath. Maybe just a tear-up and not a real cry? Nope, it’s a full cry. Dang it.

I just miss them so much.

And yet, in the bizarre juxtaposition that life often is, this is the sweetest season of life I’ve ever experienced. Hands down. Stepping into the Second Half.

When Dad died, two years after Mom, I remember distinctly thinking, “This will be a dividing line of my life.” Of course none of us know how long we have, but I sensed that there I’d have roughly halves.

Half of life with parents. Half without.

Half of life as a daughter. Half not a daughter.

Not a daughter.

It’s odd when part of your identity goes away. I can’t even imagine how life-shattering divorce must be (on so many levels, of course). I attended another memorial recently and the daughter of the deceased said it so perfectly: “You have a life before you have children, before you are married. But you have never had a life without a mom … until you no longer have a mom.”

My few dear friends whose moms passed away while they were young are in my mind’s eye…

I know this isn’t true for everyone, but for me, my entire adult life I’ve had a very clear, very strong sense that honoring and taking care of my parents was an integral part of my life calling. That was just what I was supposed to do. A race to run.

Getting Dad’s house up for sale felt like the last leg of that race. (Want to buy it?)

I had to catch my breath for a bit, as one does after a long run.

And now I’ve caught my breath and I am filled with gratitude that I was given the honor of running that race.

For the past few years, I remember having the thought that I wouldn’t really be able to write honestly until both my parents had died. That might sound weird. It’s not as if I have secrets about them to tell, there were the most transparent, what-you-see-is-what-you-get people I’ve ever known.

But they read everything I wrote. So I remember often holding back writing about hard things because I didn’t want to make Mom sad. After she passed, I didn’t want to write openly about how much I missed her, because I didn’t want to make Dad sad.

Nothing can make them sad now. *smile*

I have so many things I want to write about I don’t know where to begin. It feels like opening a closet filled with special things, stashed away. A special visiting guests asks to see a treasure or two. Where do I start?

I guess I’ll start with gratitude.

You don’t know how critical some habits are until you realize that without that habit, that training, you wouldn’t have made it through something hard. Like training to run a race but then one day you need that speed to outrun a bear. 🙂 Whoa, that 6-minute mile sure came in handy.

Honestly, gratitude is easy right now. We are in an exceedingly sweet season. Dutch & Heidi are flourishing and so fun to be around. The little boys are a load of work but so, so funny. All four kids are at home for this very short season. Jeff and I had a hard few years but are in a great place, truly enjoying each other more than we ever have. We love our home. We love our church family. We laugh a lot.

But I’ve also seen gratitude carry someone through the valley of the shadow of death. Incredibly, both Mom & Dad became more grateful with age.

It is well-known that as we age we become a caricature of ourselves. A slight tendency in our youth becomes an almost comically exaggerated trait as the years go by. I have seen this, so sadly, in a tendency to see oneself as a victim. This chosen perspective can take over one’s mind and become the only lens through which life is seen. All of life can become complaint.

Of all of life can become thanksgiving. In his final weeks, my sweet dad would quietly thank Kris every time he changed him. No mention of his discomfort, the difficulty of dying, the humiliation of the situation. Just, thank you.

As long as she had words my mom lips poured out broken phrases of gratitude.

The day we buried Dad I put the song Gratitude on repeat.

So I don’t know what my Second Half looks like, but my prayer is that it continues to become increasingly characterized by gratitude. And, I hope to write more. 😉 Thank you for reading.