c.s. lewis has a way with words

i recently finished reading "the voyage of the dawn treader" with my kids. 

even before mason's death, i have been known to shed some tears at the symbolisms, the beauty captured in the character of aslan. a lion... a powerful, allegorical depiction of a sovereign, strong God who stops and cares and saves and takes time to reveal himself to children.

this time was no exception. 

in the last chapter (spoiler alert!), i'm reading about reepicheep, my most favorite talking mouse ever. he's brave and adventuresome, and with sword always in hand, never shirks from fighting for what is right, even though he is mere inches in height. 

someone is needed to be left behind at the worlds end, in order to save others.

"go into the utter east and never return into this world?" reepicheep responds. "that is my heart's desire."

what is so powerful to me is reepicheep's eagerness to reach the end of the world and not return. he knows aslan's country awaits him. he isn't doing this out of bravery or even sacrifice. he is excited! he knows that a world with aslan is better than anything else.

as they near the very end, reepicheep says, "'this is where i go on alone.'... then he took off his sword, 'i shall need this no more,' he said, and flung it far away across the lilied sea."

a brave warrior mouse leaving behind a sword he is never without? this means only one thing...

there is nothing to fear!

nothing to fear because he knows aslan.

"then he bade them good-bye, trying to be sad for their sakes, but he was quivering with happiness."

quivering with happiness!!!

this is how we can leave with this world when we truly know what awaits us in the next. when we truly understand the love and power of salvation of our aslan.

"safe? course he isn’t safe. but he’s good. he’s the King, i tell you.” 

truth

my inbox is filling up again. with texts and emails... from amazing people who love me and hurt with me and want to hold me up when i feel myself falling apart.

and i hardly have the energy to read them, let alone respond. (so if you are one of my friends i'm neglecting, don't take it personally.) (i haven't even called my own mother)

a dear, dear friend, who has experienced grief no person should bear, recently said to me, "i wish there was something... anything... i could say or do to make it better. but the truth of the matter is, this is not what we were created for. our hearts weren't meant to grieve this kind of loss. it wasn't a part of His design."

this is one of the most comforting things that someone has said to me. comforting in the sense that it's ok to recognize that there really isn't anything comforting anyone can say. its just painful. it just is. and no one can fix it.

the emotions are overwhelming. and exhausting. sometimes i feel like my brain shuts itself off from thinking and processing and just maintains. its moments like this that i am incapable of making a decision. or sweeping my kitchen floor. or completing a math lesson. (its moments like these my kids pounce on the chance to have halloween candy for breakfast or watch tv instead of complete schoolwork.) (i actually admire my savvy little opportunists. this quality will get them far in life.)

its moments like these that thoughts of responding to friends asking for coffee dates or offering to clean my house or watch my kids or thanking people for amazingly thoughtful gifts are not remotely close to the forefront of my mind. my thoughts consist of, "Jesus, help me."

every day i have a choice. the only decision i'm able to make some days is the choice between emotion and truth. i can dwell on the pain. its everywhere. it rushes into my reality the second i open my eyes in the morning. i feel it in my heart. it's deep in my bones. i can crumble and cry and just hurt. 

or i can focus on truth. 

every day, every morning, i open my bible. every day i soak in God's truth. he will never leave me. he will never forsake me. he will give peace. he is compassionate. he will wipe every tear from my eye. he is sovereign. he is good. he is God.

it doesn't always make the pain go away, but it takes my focus off of it.

God is good. regardless of my emotions, this truth will never change. God is good. 

one month ago...

one month ago today, i lost my son.

that was actually quite a hard sentence to type. i've been sitting at the computer many times over the last few weeks, wanting to blog but not knowing how to make the transition...

my last entry, a couple years ago, was all about mason. how does one go from a frazzled, sarcastic, sleep deprived, overwhelmed mother of 4 who laments the woes of homeschooling and laughs about the naughtiness of her children... to a mother of 3 who can't quite seem to function with that missing number?

the world stopped in many ways one month ago today. i was overwhelmed (in a wonderful way) at how many people shut down their lives to grieve with us. we were flooded with love... meals, groceries, cards, flowers... essentials for life like chocolate and toilet paper. we would just start to think about something we needed, and it would show up at our doorstep (not kidding). God met us so completely in the midst of our heartbreak. it was beautiful and our friends and church family along with our own extended grieving family, loved us and responded immediately to us.

and in many ways, it feels now like the world around me, and many people around me, have kept moving on. this is a good thing. this is a natural thing. (it was weird those first weeks to look at news for the first time and be genuinely surprised that there were headlines. like, surely everything had stopped. i mean, my child is dead. how can we still have crises like ebola and ISIS?) 

and while i know that the lives of people close to me have been profoundly changed forever along with ours, i still feel like life keeps moving and i'm stuck.

lost somewhere between what was once wonderful and beautiful and carefree (though at the time i thought i was overwhelmed and exhausted) and...

well, between that and not knowing how to find a new normal. 

and truthfully, not really wanting to.

i miss you, mason.