Sudden
Sacred Spaces
The
driver of the large dump truck saw the small car heading
straight for him. “Oh God!” he screamed, “let them see
me.” Within seconds the two
vehicles collided. Shaking, the
truck driver climbed down from his rig and rushed to the small Ford
Taurus. He reached his hand in and
saw a glimmer of life in the young driver. “Oh, Jesus.”
The young man responded with a moan. “Do you want me to pray for you?” The boy squeezed his hand.
“Oh,
Jesus,” Was all he could say.
Within seconds he was gone.
The truck driver looked over and saw that the young woman was dead.
It
was 6:30 in the morning and the heat of that July day had not yet
awakened. Highway 43 in rural
Colorado was leading this young, newly engaged couple home from a week of
visiting relatives. But they never
made it. Anthony, 24, fell asleep
at the wheel an hour from home. Elisa, 22, was instantly killed.
The
hours that followed were dark as we prepared to fly back to Colorado – a
place from where we had just moved.
We were prepared to travel back but totally unprepared for the place of
grief our parents had found themselves.
This sudden death catapulted us in sudden space between adult children
and older parents. If grief has a
sound, I heard it as I walked into my in-laws home. It was late afternoon and all I heard was a moan coming from
upstairs: “Anthony, Anthony,
Anthony.” It was my
father-in-law. It was a father
spirit longing for his son. I knew
it was a sacred space. Brad went
to see him first, then his mom, then his younger sister; as I worked up the
courage to face my family I wondered how we could ever fly back to our new home
state, settle in, live life, desire.
One question tortured me while we wept together: Who would take care of our family when
we left? But as I turned to face
my husband of only three years, my spirit was silenced as I watched grief cloak
this once joy-filled and gregarious man.
For the next several months, I experienced how the Father’s compassion
for the broken-hearted is expressed to one human being: It was in my turning
toward Brad, day after day, no matter his response when Jesus penetrated my
natural desire to run and hide. I
was not created to face or feel grief to its fullest capacity and neither was
Brad. But together, in this Sacred
Space, God turned his face toward us and filled our space with compassion.
Created Sacred
Spaces
The
jogging path wrapped itself around the community of townhouses where we lived
and eventually unwrapped itself to several small ponds of water. No matter what path I chose, I always
knew it would lead me back to a familiar site. I think I ran hard hoping that when I returned home, Brad would be back to himself. But everyday, for months, the scene,
the sounds, the sights did not change.
In
grief, hearts break open. And with or without mercy, hearts close up again;
that’s how spaces are created. In
writing about grief, C.S. Lewis remembers the inability to hear what others
were saying, his desire for other people to be about but not opening up. The tragic deaths of my brother in law
and his fiancé brought a “sudden sacred space” into our family. I say “sacred space” because it was a
space God allowed, brought us into – yes, us – we entered the space
together. Like many modern and
mobile families, my husband and I live thousands of miles away from both
families of origin. Distance served as our teacher in the skill of opening up.
Sitting
at our small kitchen table with his head hung low, my husband would cry softly
to himself. Conversation between
us was forced. I fixed his
favorite foods, called his buddies around the country, I even walked
unannounced into the academic dean’s office where we worked and asked if
someone at the college could please do something!
Brad was not capable of initiating much
of anything. Although I was
tempted to protect myself, I quickly saw that I needed to initiate and it’s in this learning to initiate
conversation, to ask the right questions, to make real, unhurried time for my
grieving and lonely husband that God wanted to bring healing. And this was
the beginning of understanding of what my spiritual act of worship was all
about. The Apostle Paul writes
that caring for our own families is pleasing to God (I Timothy 5:4). It’s God’s desire that we take care of
our own family first. he original word for “care for”
is the same word for “worship” in Acts 17:23.
But
how could I “care for” someone who wouldn’t let me in?
How
could I keep initiating relationship when Brad could not respond?
We
were each grieving on our own.
Six
months of silent grieving is a long time.
One
day on the unwrapping of the running path, I literally fell to my knees out of
hopelessness and sadness for Brad, for his parents, for our marriage. Like the water around me, my heart
poured out not caring how murky it looked. I begged God to do something – to rescue Brad from
this Space.
All
I heard were two words: “Love him.
Pam, love him. Love him,
Pam.”
In
our sudden space of grief, we relearned how to stay close emotionally to one
another. I was to be Jesus to Brad, a sister in Christ, a persistent presence
who would not be denied. All
strivings for a solution ceased as I settled down next to him to just be. As my Holy Reminder, the Spirit filled
my mind with individuals who once walked alongside me during painful times as a
teenager. Their presence was what
I remembered most; they didn’t leave me.
They didn’t attempt to oppress my grief.
One
night we were playing cards with friends.
A song, quietly playing in the background, awakened Brad’s feelings of
grief and he could not hide his tears.
Rather than let him suffer, I knew it was best to end the evening
without drawing too much attention to Brad. He thanked me later for giving him the space and the place
to cry; I learned how Jesus’ compassion is so very present. He doesn’t put us on hold. He walks with us into the mysterious
emotional places that feel out of his Sovereign rule. As I turned the last light out that night, I realized that I
was learning how to turn toward my husband in our Sacred Space. As Jesus turned toward those who cried
out to him, he asked “What do you want?” I was beginning to listen to what Brad
wanted.
Creating Unhurried
Listening Time
It’s
been thirteen years now that our family has lived in that sacred space of
losing someone we loved. Over the
years, this space of grief created unhurried
listening time as we learned to work hard at staying close. When someone reminds Brad of Anthony,
he talks about his brother’s memory with glistening eyes and crystal clear
pictures in his head. But this newly acquired listening skill
also brought a discipline that changed the daily fabric of our relationship and
how we made decisions. Unhurried
listening time keeps us close so we can pay attention to what we want and what
the Spirit of God is saying to us.
Paying attention at that
level makes us stronger.
Staying
close is a reminder that losses do come and we are not in control. Even in the midst of his busy work days
and family responsibilities, I encourage Brad to pay attention to his parents’
phone calls and nurture a relationship with them without me as the mediator.
When he creates unhurried listening time for them, it keeps the fullness of
life by taking him back to his roots. In paying attention to them, he pays
attention to himself.
I
was a newly married woman when Anthony and Elisa were killed. At times I felt
helpless and useless because I couldn’t control Brad’s pain. I was still healing from a fractured
past with my own parents and siblings and feeling like I wasn’t whole enough to
help them! When I let go of my own
self-centeredness and acknowledged that Anthony’s death was what it was, God’s
unconditional love was released in our marriage.
Creating
Connection
Mother
Teresa once remarked that America was one of the poorest cultures in the
world. She noticed a spiritual
poverty here, a lack of connection and meaning. Connecting with my own husband
at the deeper level was a spiritual act of worship. I needed him to open up as
much he needed me to initiate. Although I didn’t lose a
brother, I still had loss and we were both hungry to talk about it with someone
who really cared. What I
see now but couldn’t see then is how the Spirit of God taught me to care for my
own family by initiating conversation that led to good questions. Since when has conversation about the
darker side of life been maligned to stay within the walls of the human
heart? Let’s stir up our boldness,
accept that those spaces are sacred and connect with those closest to us.
We
have spaces that come in a variety of sizes, shapes and seasons in which God
places us. If we open ourselves up, God will teach
us how to pay attention to people in those spaces and how to let others give us
that attention for which we are hungry.
The prophet Isaiah was passionate about feeding hungry people, which I
take literally, but I also see it figuratively in his 58th
chapter. “Do not turn away from
your own flesh and blood,” he writes; that’s the kind of worship, lifestyle,
and days God is calling us to. Not
to turn away . . . . in those Sacred Spaces of grief,
loss and loneliness . . .Not to turn away. The comforting, compassion of Jesus protects our loved ones
in their inner person as we turn toward them, feed their hunger for attention,
listen to what they want, and see ourselves bringing in the kingdom of
God. No, God has not left us or our loved ones in our grief; He only bids us to turn.
