I Was Blind, But Now I See

I have not been able to remember my dreams for some time now. I'm not sure when it started, because I have vivid, colourful dreams from years ago that I can recall in detail. I guess this must have been a gradual deterioration because there is no clear point of transition. 

Since Jessica died, I have had two dreams in which I recall seeing her, and both dreams happened in the early weeks following her death. They both had to do with her illness. One, she was in a hospital with a nurse whom I recall she had when she was a patient. 

In the second dream, she was again in the hospital, and I was running around trying to get her pain medications straightened out. The staff had concerns that she was becoming addicted to the opioids she was taking, and I was trying to tell them that that didn't matter at this point.

In neither dream did Jessica say a word to me, that much I remember. I guess in some ways they were disturbing dreams, because she was sick, in the hospital, and I was unable to help her. Here I was, the nurse, unable to help my own child. That is obviously how I felt about the trajectory of her illness, so it came out in my dream.

Almost every night, I prayed to God to let me dream about her, to talk to her, to hug her, to tell her I love and miss her. I would awaken some mornings with a fuzzy recollection that her presence had been in my dreams, but the more I tried to remember what happened, the faster my dream state faded away, never to return. The "feeling" was all I had.

These "almost" nightly prayers continued for some time, until I read in one of my devotions something along the lines of "chasing" the experience rather than seeking our Saviour. While I can't remember the devotion itself, I remember the conviction I felt. Psalm 37:4 says, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart."  God knows my heart, and I believe I need to wait on Him. 

While I may not have had the dream I desire, God has shown up in so many other ways through nature with butterflies, birds, deer, and the like to carry my heart, especially because every day seems to begin with that "lack of joy." 

Lately, I felt like I was in a spiritual wasteland. While my spiritual life and my relationship with the Lord are improving, I haven't had the eyes to see God's blessings as clearly as I should. Perhaps the dead of winter and lack of sunshine have played a part, but even if there was something in front of me, I wasn't seeing it. My eyes were closed.

So, I prayed to see a blessing. I didn't feel I was chasing an experience, but a genuine connection with the Lord. This was just on Saturday night, and to be honest, by Sunday, I had forgotten the prayer. That is, until we dropped in to visit friends after church. They live in the city but have a lovely nature trail beyond their property line. 

As we were visiting, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, out of the patio door. There it was, one, then two, then three young deer walking casually through their backyard on the side of the trail. Their tails were down, so they were not afraid. 

I knew, because I knew that that sighting was sent by the God who loves me, who knows my heart, who carries every tear I've cried. The delight in my heart warmed my soul. I thought afterwards that the three deer could even represent my three grandchildren that God cares for and loves far beyond what I can imagine. This gave me peace. 

Even though I still haven't had that "dream," God is providing the signs of peace and love that He knows I need to carry this heavy heart, especially over the Christmas season. God's signs of love are all around us; we just need to look for them. My eyes were closed, but as the blind man that Jesus healed said in John 9:25b, "But I know this, I was blind, but now I see."

Photos courtesy of Pexels

Seeds of Compassion

 

As a grandmother, I find joy in everything related to my grandchildren. Now that I live closer, I can be more involved in their day-to-day lives, at home and at school. I have become a (grand) parent volunteer, so I get to know the staff and other parents, which makes me feel more connected. It's something Jessica would certainly do, so I sense her stamp of approval. 

Last week, the school held a Christmas Market where the children either sold some of their toys and books from home or their crafts they had made for the event. All the money raised goes to the parent council, who provide much-needed projects that are not fully covered by the school board. It's a great cause, and I have even attended some of the parent meetings, so I have a handle on what is going on. 

Families were encouraged to attend the event, so my son-in-law, his mother, and I arrived when our children would be out "shopping."  Children were hurriedly running from vendor to vendor in the market, both indoors and out. Our (grand)children were given some money to spend on whatever they wanted. When my grandson was given two five-dollar bills, he immediately gave one five-dollar bill to his friend, D. It warmed my heart to witness this selfless act of caring. 

D is a young boy whose family moved here from Africa. My grandson has told me that D's family does not have a car. When I replied to him that when you live in the city, you don't always need a car, my grandson said, "That's not it. They can't afford a car." He also prefaced his comments with, "Please, Grandma, don't laugh when I tell you this."

My grandson has also shared that D often goes to the office at lunchtime to pick up his lunch, as he does not bring one. He again would preface with "Don't laugh." He is very protective of D, and it is evident that he is a good friend. 

It is beautiful to see my grandson's compassionate heart, and it reminds me so much of Jessica. As a young child, she would often give away the coins she found in the car or one of her toys to a friend. I even remember one time she came out of her bedroom crying when she saw one of those World Vision commercials showing the children from third-world countries, who lack basic needs. 

Even as a teenager, she brought home a young, troubled girl into our home to live with us for a few weeks. She felt such compassion for this girl who didn't have parents to live with, and the relative she was living with was moving and wouldn't take her with her. 

Jessica's heart of compassion was in her DNA, and, obviously, she has passed it on to her own children. I see it in my granddaughter as well and even in my youngest grandson, in toddler ways, of course. Now it's up to us to foster the giving spirit in all of the children as they grow and mature. 

Invisible

 I made a note this week after watching a rerun of "Call the Midwife." In the episode, Sister Julienne is challenged by a patient who is clearly depressed. Of course, Sister Julienne is trying to encourage this woman, as only she would do. This woman, likely in her late 50s, tells Sister Julianne that she has no idea what she is going through. How, as a middle-aged woman, she is invisible to the world, and that the sister would have no idea what that feels like, because she is recognized and respected. This woman felt neither.

Sister Julienne returns to Nonnatus and changes her Habit to the dress of a 1960s Poplar woman. She walked the streets and went to a movie theatre to watch the new movie, "The Sound of Music."  She was not "noticed," and indeed, you could see that she blended into the crowd. Certainly, having the freedom to go to the movies unnoticed may have been a perk of the Habit-less nun, but nevertheless, she now had a slight idea what this woman meant. 

When I thought about this later, it's sometimes how I feel in my grief. It's been almost two years now, and while getting "through" a day is "easier" than it was a year ago, I do feel unnoticed in that grief. It's not that I want attention or pity, but it's the avoidance of even talking about Jessica or our family. 

Sometimes my insides are screaming about the pain, the loneliness and unfairness of it all that I feel, but when I open my mouth, platitudes come out. People will ask how the kids are doing, but sometimes I feel like maybe they really aren't ready or willing to really hear. I often respond with "they are doing, okay,' to which they reply, "Oh, that's good." It almost seems like they breathe a sigh of relief that they didn't get further "woes" in the response. But it's not "good." It's anything but good.

If they really understood that "ok" doesn't mean "good, great, or bad," it's just "okay." It means I know you really don't want to get into the nitty-gritty, because I'm not sure you want to hear. Hearing means responding, and the responding may be too difficult for you.

Anyone who truly knows me knows that I don't relish in idle "chit chat" about the weather or how the Blue Jays did last night. I like to "share from the heart," as an old friend used to say. I don't get much of that these days. Having moved away from "my people," it takes time to develop those kinds of relationships in a new community. 

In another post, I shared the story in Genesis 16: "The God who sees me." When Hagar felt all alone in the desert, banished by the cruel Sarah. Hagar felt invisible, like Sister Julienne, like me, like anyone walking the grief journey. But our God is the one who sees us. He sits with us in our grief; we are not invisible to Him and never will be.