My grandfather passed away unexpectedly yesterday.

I still don’t believe it. I’m writing this and it doesn’t feel real. My counselor training tells me this would be grief stage number one: denial.

I am thinking and feeling so many things right now that I don’t even know what to say. Except this: I am so glad I did my homework, and that I did it early.

One of my assignments for my family therapy class is to make a genogram of the past four generations and include key events and depictions of members’ relationships with one another. Being an observant (nosy) individual with an excellent memory, I already felt like I had all the information that I needed to complete the assignment and didn’t need any help from other relatives.

But for some reason I felt I should do it right and ask my Grandpa Mock about his heritage. I sent a quick email and didn’t expect much in way of a response. What I got was a ten-page, three chapter short story about my family through his eyes – much more than I needed for the assignment.

I thanked him and told him that I would save his words so that one day I could share them with my children if they wanted to know about their ancestry. Then I told him that I loved him.

Fast forward ten days. My genogram isn’t due for another eight days, and my grandpa isn’t here anymore.

Never in my life have I been more thankful that I am such an overprepared overachieving perfectionist. If I hadn’t, I would have so much regret right now.

Still, it’s so much more than that. God’s sovereignty is so real to me right now. His fingerprints are written all over the events of the past several weeks, and even during his final visit last spring.

I said it before and I will say it again. I did not want to talk to Grandpa about this project. Yet I couldn’t get it off my mind and felt compelled to do the assignment right. So I did. And while I didn’t understand everything he told me, I let him tell his story. I listened to what he had to say. And I did so with all love and no resentment.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for using the smallest things to make a difference.

I don’t know if Grandpa was a believer, so this is really hard. I don’t know if I will see him again. I want to hope. I want to think he will be. He was getting ready for church when he died. I want to talk myself into believing he is with the Lord right now.

I just don’t know.

But this is what I do know. I know that the same Spirit that pounded on my heart’s door a month ago and caused me to reach out to him is the same Spirit that was speaking to him in little ways even to the end. He didn’t come back east to see us much after he retired to Arizona, but he came last spring, and I was able to make it back from Williamsburg to see him for the first time since the summer after I finished high school. My sisters all got baptized that Sunday morning, and Grandpa asked them to send him their written testimonies that they read at church.

…Maybe that mattered….

Then there was this autobiography. He expressed regret over some of the decisions he’d made and their consequences. He made it clear that he loved us all deeply. Then he thanked me.

“This exercise has been a bit cathartic for me! I afraid that at least some of that is still too sensitive for me to get into – so excuse me for huge holes there.”

There are some things in his life that he didn’t need to explain to me. There are some questions that don’t need to be answered publicly, especially to his granddaughter. But maybe, just maybe, this “exercise” lasted longer than the time it took to write me an email. Maybe the questions lingered. Maybe he fought through the emotions that always made it easier to just not address it. Maybe he finally found the redemption, forgiveness, and peace he needed.

…Maybe my homework was part of God’s sovereign plan…

I don’t know. I may not ever know in this life.

But I know this: I listened to God’s voice. I did the right thing, and while I have the pain of loss tonight, I don’t have the pain of regret.

I did the right thing.

I loved the Lord.
I listened to His voice.
I love my Grandpa.
I listened to his story.

May I always be this responsive to His leading, even when the reason doesn’t become so clear.

I had another “A-Ha Moment” in church today. Thank you, Jon Ritner. I don’t know why I ever thought about things this way before.

This past week was one I don’t want repeated in the near future. So much pain. So much sorrow. So much fear. It was one of those weeks when I couldn’t let myself stop and think about everything going on around me because when I did, I felt physically ill. That hasn’t happened to me since April 2007.

And so I sat in church this morning trying not to think, trying to enjoy the fellowship and sing His praise without involving my heart because right now it just hurts too much.

Then came words of life and hope in the form of the eighth point of my church’s statement of faith. “We Believe in the bodily Second Coming of the Lord Jesus Christ to claim His own people and to set all things in order.”

1 Peter 4:7 “The end of all things is near…”

I’ve never considered the Day of the Lord to be one to look forward to. I guess I should have, knowing that when He comes, He will claim me as His own, but instead I’ve always simply focused on that Day as the Day of the Lord’s wrath. I looked to the End with fear and dread.

But that was never how the Lord intended for His children to face His coming, especially when we know we are His.

The End means the end of all the things that are wrong with this world. Only the good will remain. He will make ALL THINGS right.

That means no more pain. No more sorrow. No more grief. No more fear. No more inexplicable tragedy, loneliness, or betrayal.

All of it. Gone. Forever.

“Therefore encourage each other with these words.”

I really hate it when people lie to make other people look bad.

I hate it a lot.

————————————————————–

I deleted that last post. Should have done it sooner.

I need to get a filter and talk to God when I’m angry, not the whole world.

Will post a real update soon. My life is so hectic right now.

“The Lord will surely comfort Zion
and will look with compassion on all her ruins;
he will make her deserts like Eden,
her wastelands like the garden of the Lord.
Joy and gladness will be found in her,
thanksgiving and the sound of singing.” (Isaiah 51:3)

6:36am.

It really wasn’t that early. I get up an hour before that five days a week now. But during my senior year at Grove City I didn’t have a class before 11 any day of the week. I only had one difficult class each semester (Dr. Jones…hardest and best professor ever), and so I got to bed at a normal time…

Still, when that alarm went off at 6:36 every morning, I struggled to get out of bed. Some mornings, I hit the snooze button, and waited till 6:41. However, at 6:41, I always jumped out of bed, threw on my gym clothes that were waiting on my desk chair, and began the long uphill climb from the apartments on lower campus to the PLC (which took about 10 minutes booking it).

Some mornings it was pouring (okay – it was western PA…a LOT OF MORNINGS). Many times that winter it had snowed a foot the night below (or worse – negative temperatures with 40mph winds). But I got out of bed and made the walk. Why?

Because I knew that in the hallway outside the “girl Gym” there would be people waiting for me. Christie, Laura, Jenny, Lacey, KT – my amazing sorority sisters. They were there every morning at 7, waiting for the student employee to come open the doors. They would know. So I went.

As painful as it was getting up that early and heading to the gym, once I got there, I never felt the need to take it easy or skip out early. We had fun during those early mornings. Laura and I would sing along to “clumsy” every time it came on the radio, and when it got warmer, we sometimes ran through town instead. Other ABTs came more sporadically, and mentioned that they loved knowing that when they showed up, they would see familiar faces. We pushed each other.

I miss those mornings. I miss the accountability. I miss the leisurely post-workout walk back to my apartment. By then it was between 8 and 8:30, and I often got to hear the bells from Tower Pres playing a hymn or two. Even in subzero temperatures, I loved it. My roommates were both student teaching at the time, and so I had the apartment to myself. And so my morning ritual was extended to include two cups of coffee at the table, with my Bible and journal. I easily spent an hour there each morning…

I don’t say this to brag. It’s more of a confession. I miss those days. The time spent in communion with God. The relationship of accountability that I had with my dear friends.

It’s hard to be disciplined when there is no one to hold you accountable. Neither of my roommates this year are believers. They don’t care if I spent time with God or not today. They don’t really care if I ran or not this morning either. (LACEY, Kim, Laura, and Megan – I MISS YOU!!!!!)

This isn’t an excuse. It’s just the way it is in this season I guess.

Still, I really wish somebody was there to give me the kick in the pants I need on the days when I hit snooze seven times because I know that no one in Williamsburg will know if I sleep instead of going on a run or spending time in the word.

[Note to the readers I’m not sure actually exist: if you were hoping that my posts relating to Crazy Love would somehow make it so you didn’t have to read it for yourselves, you are going to be disappointed. This post is my response to bits and pieces of chapters 2-4.]

I get stressed out rather easily.

I try to prevent the stress from happening by planning everything way in advance and putting even the tiniest details on my “to do” list. I do this because that way I am less likely to forget and because it makes me very happy when I can cross something off in Sharpie.

*I am currently going through a Sharpie phase. I LOVE THEM, especially the Sharpie pens. They’re all I use. They make my handwriting look so cool :)*

Despite all the planning, preparation, and hard work, I feel like I can never get it all done…as well I think it should be done, anyway. Typical firstborn? Probably. But I refuse to let that determine everything.

It’s finals week at William and Mary. In addition to research papers, exams, and a gigantic portfolio (which was done a week early — go team productivity!!), I am in my church’s Christmas concerts this weekend. I don’t need any more reasons to feel stressed or worried.

Last night was particularly rough, for reasons that I don’t need to mention. As I sat at my desk trying to decide which assignment to work on next, I heard it. That gentle voice that causes me to let go of the tension that I’d been carrying around for days.

“My dear girl, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed.”

Just call me Martha.

I’ve failed to heed that voice many times before, but last night I listened. Instead, I got on my knees and gave Him the honor He deserves (well, probably not even close but I gave Him all I have). And I confessed the worry and the stress. Chan writes, ” Worry implies that we don’t quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what’s happening in our lives. Stress says that the things we are involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace toward others, or our tight grip of control. Basically, these two behaviors communicate that it’s okay to sin and not trust God because the stuff in my life is somehow exceptional. Both worry and stress reek of arrogance.”

So what is His will for me? He makes it pretty clear.

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

…and ransom captive Israel…

That song makes me cry. Every. Single. Time.

So if you are coming to the concerts this weekend, I apologize. I’ll be the one tearing up in the second row.

But if you happen to look up at me during our rendition of “We Three Kings” a little later in the program, you will witness a full-out sobfest during the last verse. Seriously.

One of my goals for this blog was to record those moments of wonder. This song, the last verse in particular, with the orchestration of our arrangement, makes me want to bow on my knees and raise my hands to heaven. It overwhelms me every time.

Glorious now behold Him arise
King and God and Sacrifice
Alleluia, Alleluia
Earth to heaven replies
Star of Wonder, Star of light
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to Thy perfect light.

[More from Crazy Love coming soon…]

Stop praying.

This is the title of Chan’s first chapter. Shocking? Yes, but the discussion that follows is noteworthy.

In Ecclesiastes, Solomon warns us, “Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God. God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few.”

How many times have I uttered careless words before the Creator of heaven and earth? How often do I sing in worship services without actually letting the words pass through my mind and heart before they leave my lips? When did I last have a time of “prayer” in which I rambled on about something similar to a Christmas wish list and failed to spend even a second thanking Him for who He is?

Only fools treat Him this way.

I am one.

And so, Chan says we must stop and gaze at God in reverent awe. In holy fear. In the words of R.C. Sproul, “Men are never duly touched and impressed with a conviction of their insignificance, until they have contrasted themselves with the majesty of God.”

Let’s think about His majesty for a minute. He is omniscient. Omnipotent. He is all-loving, and He is justice.

And He is holy.

There are moments when I glimpse His holiness and I am overwhelmed. Like Isaiah, I fall to the ground and proclaim my unworthiness. Who is He that He would be mindful of me?

Who am I that I am so rarely truly mindful of Him?

If you know me, you know that music speaks to me in ways that not much else can. Thus, it shouldn’t surprise you that my response to this chapter was to break into song. Several anthems came to mind, but I will share just one. It is an old Point of Grace song called “God Forbid”

The more I know Your power, Lord
The more I’m mindful
How casually we speak and sing Your name
How often we have come to You with no fear or wonder
And called upon You only for what we stand to gain

God forbid that I find You so familiar
That I think of You as less than who You are
God forbid that I should think of You at all
Without a humble reverence in my heart
God forbid…

Lord, I often talk about Your love and mercy
How it seems to me Your goodness has no end
It frightens me to think that I could take You for granted
Though You’re closer than a brother, You are more than just my friend

You are Father God Almighty
Lord of Lords, You’re King of Kings
Beyond my understanding, no less than everything
God forbid that I find You so familiar
That I think of You as less than who You are
God forbid that I should speak of You at all
Without a humble reverence in my heart
God forbid, God forbid, God forbid.