Breathing through the Journey of Grief #3
Since Jim's passing, Lois has been continuing to write excellent reflections on this journey along with breath prayers. She has consented to allow us to share some with you.
Lois Hoogeveen
June 17, 2012
Get in line and jump off the board.
These were my instructions many years ago when I took adult scaredy-cat
swimming lessons. I panicked just putting my head under water and now
my swim instructor told me to get on the diving board and jump into the
deep end of the swimming pool. My legs shook and my heart pounded as I
climbed the ladder and walked to the edge of the board. A line of
swimmers were waiting for me to jump. Going back down the ladder wasn’t
an option. So, I jumped in. I must add that I did not jump in alone. No.
I had an empty, capped gallon milk jug in each hand. I am a survivor
who can testify that a plastic milk jug full of air does, in fact, help a
person pop out of the water.
Jumping
off the high dive with a milk jug of air in each hand was certainly a
leap of faith for me. I was not sure I would ever surface, but I chose
to trust my instructor’s assurance that I would survive. The descent
into the pool of widowhood has also been frightening. Many days I
panicked just because my head was under water and I felt like I was
drowning in the reality of this cold, deep pool. Numerous times when I
thought I had made it to the shallow end, another wave of sorrow swelled
and threw me back into what felt like a bottomless pit. I have had to
dive into the deep end more than once as I learn how to be a solo
homeowner, how to worship alone, how to fellowship without my life
partner. I know that God is by my side. But, it is much easier to walk
in faith when you have someone doing that with you, someone to talk to
and someone with whom you can process the potential peaks and pitfalls.
Many times in our marriage we moved, by faith, into the zone of the
unknown. But we did it in tandem. Now I have to do this alone.
In the late 70’s, a few years after my one and only lifetime leap into the swimming pool, I learned a song (sung by the Imperials) that has always been imbedded in my mind.
He didn't bring us this far to leave us. He didn't teach us to swim to let us drown.
He didn't build His home in us to move away. He didn't lift us up to let us down.
He didn't build His home in us to move away. He didn't lift us up to let us down.
I
have faith that God has been teaching me how to swim through the
channels of life for a long time and He is not going to let me down now.
My learning curve has intensified beyond my comfort zone. I have often
felt like my head was under water and I could only come up for an
occasional breath. However, as I look back I am surprised that I am
becoming more comfortable in the middle of the pool. I have actually
found myself floating occasionally and even resting on the side of the
pool.
I
had two incredible faith instructors whom I want to recognize today –
my father and the father of my children. Both of these men did more than
talk about faith, they lived by faith. No matter what was going on in
life, both my dad and my husband demonstrated deep trust that God is
always present to protect and provide. As I think about the way they
lived their lives, I am keenly aware of the fact that faith and hope go
hand in hand. You cannot have one without the other. Reflecting on what I
learned from these two important men in my life, I know that God has
put a jug in each of my hands, one filled with faith and one with hope,
as I have been forced to dive into the deep waters of broken dreams.
My breath prayer is to live each day with FAITH.
What does it mean to have faith when the canvas of my future seems
blank? What does it mean to have hope when I know the course of my life
is forever changed? I am pondering these questions. As a scaredy-cat
swimmer in the pool of grief, I can only say that this week I feel a
little less like I am drowning and a little more like I am learning how
to swim.
