Giggle Quota
Haddy had stinky feet. We played a game where I would smell his feet with dramatic disgust and he would belly laugh, repeating, “A’den!” He loved to laugh so much. He also loved a good, rough tickle. He would belly laugh until he was out of breath and still ask for more. His laughter was always music to my ears. He and Knox both require laughter. We call it a 'giggle quota' around here. It was woven into them by an immensely majestic Creator. Haddy's laughter could tear down anxious toil in the hearts of those who loved him in a way that left you feeling bound to him. How could a person so small know how much you needed the release of uninhibited laughter? He was used by God fiercely in a season of uncertainty and change. We all rejoiced over that boy. He knew the delight of our entire brood from the moment he was born. The baby we didn’t expect. The biggest surprise of our lives.
Three months have passed since Haddy’s musical laughter has filled our home. Our world is so much quieter without his laughter. He simply squealed with delight on the regular. As a mother of five, I have often yearned for quiet, but even my worst nightmares don’t compare to this deafening reality. The pain of losing my son has literally changed every aspect of my life. The music in my heart holds hope but so much sorrow. I want to be a bearer of good news. I want to inspire people to place their hope in God. I can only do that with authenticity. What I have in front of me is a life full of severe pain, anguish that feels as if it will only be quenched in glory. I am weary. I am afraid all of my songs from this point forward will be sung with sorrow.
I have been reminded by many that weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. A while back, one of our counselors gave us that picture of working through this grief. He described this season of grief as the dark of night. We don’t know how long the night will last, but there is a promise that morning will come. We know that the truths we have clung to in the daylight are just as true in the dark, but sometimes the night feels scary and lonely.
In the waiting, we are seeking Jesus, seeking comfort in His Word, and tending to our physical health with hope that it will help us to move through this grief. We are seeking counsel for PTSD and grief, as a couple and individually. We are also currently mapping out a plan for our children. We want to live, to breathe, to give again. We want our kids to have a voice in their grief too. We desire for all of our story to point to our good God.
The truth is, we feel our nearness to despair. The death of our Haddy has impacted us in ways that we can’t fully grasp just yet. We have a long journey ahead. In therapy, we are beginning to untangle the tangling that trauma does on your person. For me, this now means that grief is sinking into every corner where trauma is losing it’s grip. There is relief and deeper sorrow still. There are moments that the anguish is so severe, I feel that I could simply die. That isn’t intended for dramatic flare and it also isn’t all of the time. It is simply a depth of pain that reaches through me in a way that surpasses my own understanding of it.
However, we also feel the grip of our Mighty God in our feeble, weak state. His power rests upon us and we see a glimpse of restored certainty in our hearts as we navigate life without our son. We are also humbled enough to fight in any way we can put our minds and bodies to work. Jason and I are different, but we are with one another in this grief. For all of this, I am so thankful. We aren’t despairing, but there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that we could both move there very easily.
So, these days we find ourselves focusing on very simple things. First, we want to know God in this waiting. We want to taste of His goodness, be saturated with His love. Intimacy with Christ does dispel fear (1 John 4:18). Second, we want to take care of each other as we do the next thing (Galatians 6:2). This requires patience and we don’t always have that to give. This grief has given birth to anxiety that we would love to toss into the depth of the ocean. So, we are talking things out when things get messy (Luke 5:32). My kids may already be ‘bored of this’ as Selah says, but I am convinced they will see the value in the years to come. Third, we are taking care of our bodies, knowing that the physical symptoms of grief, depression, and anxiety have an outlet through hard physical exertion, and through replenishing our bodies with healthy foods (1 Timothy 4:8). Lastly, we are not forsaking the gathering of the saints (Hebrews 10:25). God intends for His church to care for one another. I couldn’t even begin to write the countless ways that God has met big needs and small needs through His people. This isn’t just because Jason is a pastor. I attend our church gatherings with the hope to be present in my heart with hopeful expectation that God’s Spirit will stir me and heal my broken heart with His love. He has done it before and I trust that He’ll do it again.
Friends, are you in a dark night of the soul? Do you feel afraid and alone? Do you question the truths you were once convinced of? You are not alone. Will you doubt your doubts with me? Will you press into this dependence Jesus is calling us too? When I look ahead, all I see is an ocean of grief. I do see a Savior though that can walk on water. Will you journey with me to know Him more deeply? I am scared. My heart is shattered, but I am convinced that He isn’t done with me yet. Despite my suffering, I am clinging to His goodness. I believe that morning will come, that the song in my heart will one day hold more joy than pain. I am hoping, even praying for uninhibited laughter again. That will be music to my soul and joy to my bones. For now, will you go and laugh with those you love? Smell your kid’s feet and make a huge fuss. Create your own 'giggle quota' and be faithful to meet it. Remember, that God gave us laughter as medicine, a reminder to our souls that He is coming for His children.
Job 8:21
He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.
Three months have passed since Haddy’s musical laughter has filled our home. Our world is so much quieter without his laughter. He simply squealed with delight on the regular. As a mother of five, I have often yearned for quiet, but even my worst nightmares don’t compare to this deafening reality. The pain of losing my son has literally changed every aspect of my life. The music in my heart holds hope but so much sorrow. I want to be a bearer of good news. I want to inspire people to place their hope in God. I can only do that with authenticity. What I have in front of me is a life full of severe pain, anguish that feels as if it will only be quenched in glory. I am weary. I am afraid all of my songs from this point forward will be sung with sorrow.
I have been reminded by many that weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. A while back, one of our counselors gave us that picture of working through this grief. He described this season of grief as the dark of night. We don’t know how long the night will last, but there is a promise that morning will come. We know that the truths we have clung to in the daylight are just as true in the dark, but sometimes the night feels scary and lonely.
In the waiting, we are seeking Jesus, seeking comfort in His Word, and tending to our physical health with hope that it will help us to move through this grief. We are seeking counsel for PTSD and grief, as a couple and individually. We are also currently mapping out a plan for our children. We want to live, to breathe, to give again. We want our kids to have a voice in their grief too. We desire for all of our story to point to our good God.
The truth is, we feel our nearness to despair. The death of our Haddy has impacted us in ways that we can’t fully grasp just yet. We have a long journey ahead. In therapy, we are beginning to untangle the tangling that trauma does on your person. For me, this now means that grief is sinking into every corner where trauma is losing it’s grip. There is relief and deeper sorrow still. There are moments that the anguish is so severe, I feel that I could simply die. That isn’t intended for dramatic flare and it also isn’t all of the time. It is simply a depth of pain that reaches through me in a way that surpasses my own understanding of it.
However, we also feel the grip of our Mighty God in our feeble, weak state. His power rests upon us and we see a glimpse of restored certainty in our hearts as we navigate life without our son. We are also humbled enough to fight in any way we can put our minds and bodies to work. Jason and I are different, but we are with one another in this grief. For all of this, I am so thankful. We aren’t despairing, but there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that we could both move there very easily.
So, these days we find ourselves focusing on very simple things. First, we want to know God in this waiting. We want to taste of His goodness, be saturated with His love. Intimacy with Christ does dispel fear (1 John 4:18). Second, we want to take care of each other as we do the next thing (Galatians 6:2). This requires patience and we don’t always have that to give. This grief has given birth to anxiety that we would love to toss into the depth of the ocean. So, we are talking things out when things get messy (Luke 5:32). My kids may already be ‘bored of this’ as Selah says, but I am convinced they will see the value in the years to come. Third, we are taking care of our bodies, knowing that the physical symptoms of grief, depression, and anxiety have an outlet through hard physical exertion, and through replenishing our bodies with healthy foods (1 Timothy 4:8). Lastly, we are not forsaking the gathering of the saints (Hebrews 10:25). God intends for His church to care for one another. I couldn’t even begin to write the countless ways that God has met big needs and small needs through His people. This isn’t just because Jason is a pastor. I attend our church gatherings with the hope to be present in my heart with hopeful expectation that God’s Spirit will stir me and heal my broken heart with His love. He has done it before and I trust that He’ll do it again.
Friends, are you in a dark night of the soul? Do you feel afraid and alone? Do you question the truths you were once convinced of? You are not alone. Will you doubt your doubts with me? Will you press into this dependence Jesus is calling us too? When I look ahead, all I see is an ocean of grief. I do see a Savior though that can walk on water. Will you journey with me to know Him more deeply? I am scared. My heart is shattered, but I am convinced that He isn’t done with me yet. Despite my suffering, I am clinging to His goodness. I believe that morning will come, that the song in my heart will one day hold more joy than pain. I am hoping, even praying for uninhibited laughter again. That will be music to my soul and joy to my bones. For now, will you go and laugh with those you love? Smell your kid’s feet and make a huge fuss. Create your own 'giggle quota' and be faithful to meet it. Remember, that God gave us laughter as medicine, a reminder to our souls that He is coming for His children.
Job 8:21
He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.
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