It started well enough. I got up on time, was ready early, remembered everything I needed to take to church with me. And then things just started going wrong. I couldn’t get my harmony right on some of the songs during practice. I gave someone something that I thought would please her, and my timing was just all wrong, and I think I hurt her instead. I was thinking I looked particularly nice, and someone told me I looked tired. And in our sermon, about finding hope in despair, we were encouraged to "think of our darkest moment." Yikes. Not really my favorite place to go. I can hardly bear to look at it, even ten years later. And now I’m feeling particularly fragile, and probably not up to the emotional task of decorating the tree, which challenges me even when I’m feeling strong.
I’m going to share that darkest moment. Maybe it will make it easier. Maybe it can be a beautiful testimony of God’s faithfulness, that I can tell it ten years later and say, "Through his grace, I have gotten this far." I was sitting in the chapel of the Cleveland Clinic with Heidi and Meredith, clutching their hands, and I was hysterical. My mom was going to die. She hadn’t died yet, but the doctors had pretty much told us that there was nothing else to be done. And for the first time, I looked into that black abyss looming in front of me, and it frightened me more than anything I had ever seen. And that was where I was going to have to go. What I wished for, ironically enough, was to be ten years into the future, when I imagined it wouldn’t hurt so much or be so scary. I was afraid of grief. I knew I was going to lose my mind, and I did, for a while. I knew I was going to lose ALL that I had, and I did. But I can sit here, ten years later, when it still hurts so much, and say, God is good. And he has stripped the fear away from death. The sermon’s title was "Finding Hope in Despair." I have hope, much hope, overwhelming hope.
From the text: "Let him sit alone in silence, for the Lord has laid it on him. Let him bury his face in the dust–there may yet be hope. . .For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love." Lamentations 3: 28–29, 31–32
Oh, Allyson… if only I could take some of that hurt that still lingers away from you… you are in my prayers, as always. Know that she smiles down on you from above. Sending big hugs your way and hope, more hope, that you find some peace this year.
I love you. I hurt for you and with you. I thought of your mom the other day, anticipating what she might say about somthing I was doing, and it was so much in the present tense, I was surprised again, but then it took me to anticipating our future together in heaven.
I don’t know this, but maybe your courage in looking into the darkest place again and examining it, and bravely calling it what it is and then publishing it here will bring new blessings. I hope so. I agree: God is good.
Your darkest moment and memory is also one of mine. The thing about the dark is that we always feel so all alone, even when we’re holding someone elses hand. And, ten years later we are still lonely,the phone can ring all day long and it will never be Robin on the other end. Ten years later it hurts because we’ve already been without her for ten years.
But then again, for ten years we have been looking as the Father has answered our prayers in His Godly way that makes no sense until we enter into His plan. And for ten years we have been watching as we slowly begin to look more and more like Jesus. Ten years ago, you were a very sweet and lovely girl…today you are a breathtakingly beautiful woman! I’m praying for another ten years so that I can keep participating in the Ally/God production(not to mention working on the Heidi/God thing). Grandma and Robin always told us that practice makes perfect-I guess we just need some more practice.
oh, i really hope i wasn’t the one who said you looked tired?
yeah, going to and through darkest place is NOT fun, but God does use those times and the times afterwards to show us our frailty and dependence on Him, and He does grow us. I so wish I knew your mom, but I know that God has used her life and death to make you a more beautiful, joyous and Christ-like person. love you lots 🙂
Aunt Heidi gave me a vase of dried roses from your mom’s garden ten years ago as part of my wedding gift. It has held a place of honor in my dining room this entire time because it was my last connection with your mom. Every glance at them would cause me to hear her laughter, throwing her head back for a real and infectious laugh! I miss her, too.