Miscellaneous
Embracing the Mystery
In the epigram for his (in)famously frightening novel, Pet Sematary, Stephen said: “Death is a mystery, and burial is a secret.” Yet in our age of hyper media saturation, this does not seem to be so. King wrote those words long before the Internet connected the darkest corners of the planet, before there was a YouTube showing us:
The hanging of Saddam Hussein.
The beating and humiliation of Mohammar Qaddafi.
Before someone paid $500,000 for a photo of Whitney Houston’s body lying in its casket. Before the Los Angeles County coroner released Ms. Houston’s autopsy report to the pubic.
It seems that death is no longer a mystery, nor is a burial a secret. If I’m honest, I’m part of the problem—because I want to know. Part of this is surely temperament, of taking a sort of perverse fascination in these sordid details, of my flesh wanting no mysteries.
Not even in death.
The other part is the zeitgeist—the spirit of the age—a prevailing scientific mindset that wants to dispense with mysteries altogether. We’ve seen the farthest flung reaches of the universe, so what’s a dead body? We can discuss in great clinical detail how a life is formed, so what’s the big deal of satiating ourselves on the gory details of a life’s end?
(Is it possible that this knowledge damages our interior lives? In some way deadens us to life’s sanctity?)
This curiosity is endemic to our species: we want to know. And this wanting is what got us into so much trouble in that long ago place called the Garden. Because our forebears wanted to know, they lost the most intimate fellowship with God any in our race have ever known.
I know in my heart that allowing some mystery in my life would be a balm for my soul, but it is hard to achieve: because I want to know. Yet even God says “For now we see as through a glass darkly…” The ready availability of even the basest of details means it requires the volitional on my part to turn from the knowing towards the unknown. I have to choose overlook, to willfully ignore some things for the good of my soul.
Yet my flesh wants no mysteries, but my soul longs for them. Even in this age of hyper-transparency, not everything should, nor need, be disclosed. As Adam and Eve learned there is such a thing as too much information.
I fear it is a dichotomy that won’t be resolved until I, too shuffle off this mortal coil.
What do you do to engender a sense of holy, hushed awe in your life? What turns are you making towards the unknowing?
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Chad is a Christ-follower, husband to his awesome wife, Lisa, and dad to two great kids.
He lives with his family in the Arizona desert.
The jury is still out on the effect the sun has had on his brain.
He blogs five days a week at Randomly Chad, and you can always follow him on Twitter @randomlychad.
The Video of Our Adoption Journey
Here’s our adoption journey video. You may recognize some of the clips from prior videos I’ve posted, but the majority of the footage is fresh footage, including the adoption ceremony itself.
I have a favor to ask you.
Even if you don’t know us personally, please advocate for both the adoption community and our personal adoption journey by sharing this video through facebook, twitter or your own website!
Adoption is such a beautiful experience and we’d love for you to be apart of the adoption community and of our own personal adoption experience by sharing this video with your family and friends.
Thank you!
If you’re interested in offsetting our $21,000 adoption expense, here’s a farther description of the fundraiser we’ll be doing through The Both Hands Project.
Caleb and Nicole Wilde have answered God’s call and stepped out in faith to adopt an infant boy from the US. The Wilde Family and a team of volunteers will be working on a widow’s home to help raise funds to cover the high cost of adopting their sweet boy. The Wildes were able to be at the hospital when their precious son, Jeremiah Michael, was born on March 16, 2012.
Jane is a kind and hardworking woman. Since the loss of her husband 14 months ago, it has become more difficult for her to keep up with the necessary improvements to her home. Jane said, “I am now on my own. My two sons live out of state so I rely on extended family and friends, who are busy with their own lives, to help out with the projects around my house that Rudy has planned to do after he retired.”
Each volunteer is raising sponsorship for their day of work. Since most of the supplies for the repairs on Jane’s home are being donated, 100% of the money raised will help cover the high cost of adopting this precious boy, Jeremiah, into his forever family – the Wilde Family. So on June 9, the Wildes and a team of volunteers are going to serve Jane by completing improvement and repair projects at her home.
If you are interested in helping us out financially in the adoption of Jeremiah, here’s the link to the organization that’s handling our fundraiser and finances. The link also provides a secure way to donate.
Close Friendship and Cyberloss
As more of our friendships become virtual via online communities, what happens when those virtual friends die in real life?
Today, I’m excited to host the creator of Navigating Cyberloss, a truly innovative and genuinely supportive website for an exponentially growing segment of people dealing with grief from the death of online friends. Casey is years ahead in recognizing the changing landscape of both grief and funeralization.
Here’s the story that prompted the creation of Navigating Cyberloss.
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There must be thousands of ways for a friendship to begin. My most cherished friendship began in one of the strangest. If somebody had asked me beforehand, I wouldn’t have thought it possible that two people could form such a strong bond based on five words…well, maybe if those five words weren’t “Banana and toffee, I think.”
Those were the first five words I wrote to Chris Thomas in February 2006. She was a devoted fan of George Harrison, as I am, and it was through the official George Harrison fan forum that we met. That day in February 2006 happened to be the twenty-fifth, which would have been George Harrison’s 63rd birthday. We fans were taking part in a virtual celebration for him, during which a moderator had offered some ‘banoffee pie’.
Chris wasn’t sure what banoffee was, and I wasn’t 100% certain, but I offered my best guess, and she appreciated it. We stayed in contact for a while through her forum thread, and then began to exchange emails and instant messages on a regular basis, communicating almost every night. Even though she lived in Argentina, she became one of my dearest friends.
Through reading Chris’ posts on the forum, I became aware of her battle with cancer. Although it was one of the most difficult experiences I had ever faced I remained supportive, offering what little assistance I could through our conversations and helping her get back into playing guitar, a skill that she passed on to her son.
At times when Chris’ health prevented her from updating the community on her condition, other users would keep in touch and pass any news on to us. There was an air of loving support which was present in all contact that the forum members had with Chris, and we all hoped against hope that somehow she’d beat it.
One instance raised all our hopes, in November 2006, when Chris posted on the board to say that she was in remission. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, and in January 2007, Chris and I had what would be our last conversation. She reported that she had moved across the country to receive stronger treatment, and spoke of surgery the following month. Although she expressed hope that she’d be with us all again ‘maybe next year’, I somehow knew that wouldn’t be the case. The penultimate words she wrote to me have stayed with me to this day: ‘I leave now.’ I somehow knew that phrase meant more than she was letting on…
The third of April brought confirmation of what the board community had dreaded, when one of our members wrote that he had heard from her brother that Chris only had a few days left.
Personally, I think knowing that bad news is coming sometimes makes it harder to bear.. That first night of knowing was spent wishing for sleep and praying that if it had to be that way, it would be painless. The next morning, I participated in a communal playing of ‘My Sweet Lord’ – Chris’ favourite George song, to show her, in spirit at least, that we were thinking of her as she made her way Home.
Easter Sunday, April 8 2007, was also the day that Chris passed away. Due to time differences, I didn’t hear until the ninth, the day I woke up and knew without a doubt what had happened. It was just before 7.15am when I logged onto the board, and read the news.
I was far from prepared but somehow knew what I had to do. I played George Harrison’s song ‘All Things Must Pass’ and thought lovingly of the person I’d had the privilege of knowing for an all too short period of time.
I grieved deeply for two years afterwards, and grieve to this day. Somewhere in the midst of my discomfort, I searched for assistance in dealing with the loss of online friends, and found nothing which discussed what I was trying to comprehend.
In November 2010, I started the blog Navigating Cyberloss to fill that gap, reasoning that I couldn’t possibly be the only person who had experienced meaningful online friendship, and devastating online loss. The blog is intended to provide community and support for people who have endured similar losses, offering them a place to share and remember with others who have suffered in this way. It is my hope that cyberloss will become a recognised issue which can be legitimately discussed alongside other types of loss, ensuring that those affected do not experience the same isolation I felt at first.
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Follow Casey on twitter and send your love via a “like” on facebook.
Painful Faith
Bio: Robert Martin spends his days as a computer software tester for a company in the suburbs of Philadelphia, PA. When he is not commuting back and forth, he spends time with his wife and kids and as the Christian Education Chairman for Bally Mennonite Church. As of right now, he is finishing a Master’s of Arts in Missional Ministry from Biblical Seminary. From there, when asked what he’s going to do with the degree, his standard answer is, “God hasn’t shown me that far yet.”
Mother’s Day, 2007, my world was turned upside down when my mother fell ill. Three months later, it wasn’t just turned upside down, it was shaken, rattled, and destroyed to utter rubble when her diagnosis turned terminal.
As we as a family grieved, there is one phrase that I’m so glad no one decided they needed to tell us.
“It’s all in God’s plan.”
That is not a statement that someone going through this kind of situation needs to hear, nor is it helpful, as true as it might be.
But we can’t say that for sure. We are not necessarily privy to all of God’s plans. For that matter, can we say that it is God’s plan for someone to experience the pain and grief of such a loss? To say so is too simplistic, I think.
I think the evil, pain, and loss that comes from living in this broken world is never part of God’s ultimate plan (if so, why would the final new Creation be a place of no tears?). The world is broken, so broken things happen. What IS in God’s plan is redemption, taking broken things and using them to bring about good, like the hope of a new life, or the ability to speak love, hope, and compassion into the lives of people who have experienced a similar kind of loss.
The good that happens after, that is certainly God’s plan, but the event that caused the pain? Not sure…
Now, Christ’s death…yes, God planned that. But in his ultimate plan, did he ever want to have to do that? From the beginning, his intention was for us to live in communion with him.
Christ’s sacrifice was a broken thing that had to happen as part of a broken world and the choices of broken people, but God used that brokenness for a wonderful thing to give us hope that such brokenness is only temporary. That’s the beauty of Easter. That the pain is only for a time as there is something more to come that will blow our socks off…
For me, my mother’s death was one that struck me to the core. We prayed…and prayed…and prayed FERVENTLY that she would be healed. In the midst of the ICU we prayed. On the road back and forth from Hershey and Chambersburg I prayed. Every night during that horrible 3 months I prayed, “God, heal my mother. I know you can. Don’t take her from me.”
And she died anyways.
Over a gall stone.
How absolutely stupid, non-sensical… Seriously?!?! A GALL STONE KILLED MY MOM!
God, how could you?
Was the sad thing that happened to me part of God’s plan? Or was it simply a matter of the fact that we live in a world that is cracked, broken, damaged by centuries of sin and that her death was just one in a whole litany of lives taken that should never have been lost?
God’s plan… we like to say that nice little “pat” answer “Oh, it’s all in God’s plan.”
What a load of crap.
The broken world around us was never part of God’s plan.
But God is bigger, stronger, better, and wiser than that. He takes even something as stupid and horrible as my mother’s slow fade into morphine-steeped oblivion and turned it around into a passion and a fire in my soul as I saw her life reflected in the lives of others and realized how significant one life lived passionately for God could be.
Her death was never part of God’s big plan. But my life is.
And this is what we must remember: what is important is not figuring out why the sad thing had to happen, but what is our reaction to it. Are we going to continue living in that brokenness? Or are we going to live a redeemed life?
For me, as Joshua said, and my house…we’ll serve God, even in the midst of brokenness.
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Robert blogs at Abnormal Anabaptist. You can follow him on twitter @tristaanogre.
Last Wishes of a Funeral Director’s Wife: Guest Post from Katy Prange
Several years ago, while Katy Prange was struggling to balance kids and a job with a husband who has no back seats in his vehicle 50% of the time, she discovered very few ways to connect with others who understand the unique life experiences of someone who shares Life With A Funeral Director.
As a result, she founded Life With A Funeral Director.com to create an online community and resource for others who share life with funeral industry professionals.
Katy has been married to a funeral director for almost 10 years and is mom to two little girls.
She is a Legislative Aide for her day job, writes a weekly blog at lifewithafuneraldirector.com and hosts a Life With A Funeral Director Facebook group. Katy’s vision is to offer others who share life with a funeral director some ideas, thoughts and resources to strengthen and maintain our relationships under extremely unique and challenging circumstances.
She is seeking to find a way to connect with future-spouses of funeral directors to help them think through some of the “stuff” that challenges us on a daily basis, before they have to react to it. By offering a little humor and perspective, Katy hopes to create a sanctuary for others who seek understanding, even if it’s after the third night that the pager has gone off at 3 a.m. In addition, Katy hates lilies.
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I attended a funeral this week that touched me unlike any other.
For anyone who knows me, you know that we’ve attended a record number in the past year, so I have some relatively recent experience to draw upon.
This funeral was for my sister-in-laws father, whom I knew, but not well. But I always enjoyed his company. I felt really lucky to have been able to spend Christmas Eve with her family at our church’s kid-service. Little did I know it would be the last time I would see his smile.
The funeral was very touching because it was a sincere celebration of a life that many people would probably call unremarkable. There weren’t lists of awards or accollades. There weren’t trophies and “things” that commemorated his life. His obituary didn’t look like a re-tooled resume.
But the room was full and the tears were plenty as a life of true love and an unwavering dedication to family was recalled through laughter and sadness. There was not a single mention of regret. It didn’t exist. But the stories, the “dad always saids…”, the strength that he held throughout his final battle and the little things of his everyday life, filled the space with a celebration.
As we often do, I started to contemplate my own demise and realized that there are some little things I need to start doing in my life now – to have the kind of life I want to be remembered when it is my turn. While I will be looking on from above, I still want my life to be worth celebrating. I want my children to know me and know unconditional love from me. I want to build traditions for them that they can pass down and live with their own families and maybe remember me when I am not there anymore. I want my husband to know how much I love and cherish him. I want to be remembered for the woman I was – not what I did.
I also realized I want everyone to hear my favorite songs at my funeral. I’m going to make them all eat Thai food at the after meal and then I want everyone to meet around a campfire after the service to have a beer and toast marshmallows.
And because I share a life with a funeral director, I know that if I write it down and plan it, it can happen that way. In death – as in life – I can be the complete control freak that I am and have things my way one last time. And if I live my life the way I should, no one will mind.
I attended a funeral this week that touched me unlike any other.
For anyone who knows me, you know that we’ve attended a record number in the past year, so I have some relatively recent experience to draw upon.
This funeral was for my sister-in-laws father, whom I knew, but not well. But I always enjoyed his company. I felt really lucky to have been able to spend Christmas Eve with her family at our church’s kid-service. Little did I know it would be the last time I would see his smile.
The funeral was very touching because it was a sincere celebration of a life that many people would probably call unremarkable. There weren’t lists of awards or accollades. There weren’t trophies and “things” that commemorated his life. His obituary didn’t look like a re-tooled resume.
But the room was full and the tears were plenty as a life of true love and an unwavering dedication to family was recalled through laughter and sadness. There was not a single mention of regret. It didn’t exist. But the stories, the “dad always saids…”, the strength that he held throughout his final battle and the little things of his everyday life, filled the space with a celebration.
As we often do, I started to contemplate my own demise and realized that there are some little things I need to start doing in my life now – to have the kind of life I want to be remembered when it is my turn. While I will be looking on from above, I still want my life to be worth celebrating. I want my children to know me and know unconditional love from me. I want to build traditions for them that they can pass down and live with their own families and maybe remember me when I am not there anymore. I want my husband to know how much I love and cherish him. I want to be remembered for the woman I was – not what I did.
I also realized I want everyone to hear my favorite songs at my funeral. I’m going to make them all eat Thai food at the after meal and then I want everyone to meet around a campfire after the service to have a beer and toast marshmallows.
And because I share a life with a funeral director, I know that if I write it down and plan it, it can happen that way. In death – as in life – I can be the complete control freak that I am and have things my way one last time. And if I live my life the way I should, no one will mind.
