Is it impossible to be grateful and angry simultaneously?

Have you ever thought of this?  As human beings, as emotional beings, as beings capable of feeling, anger and gratitude cannot coexist.

You may think, what does this have to do with anything, and you could be right, but if you have an issue with anger, you might be interested in the antidote.  Or it could be the case that there’s something not quite right in your emotional world at the moment, and you’re searching for a solution, and you sense that there’s something about the quality of gratitude that could help.

Gratitude does help.  Gratitude is the key thing that feeds into kindness, patience, gentleness, and other fruit of the Spirit.  Gratitude fortifies the propensities we all have, the limitations of our humanity, that bear themselves over others and damage our relationships.

Think about the negative role of anger in all our lives because we’re devoid of the gratitude we should otherwise have.  Think of the judgements we make about others, the love we withdraw because we feel entitled to a piece of someone else, or the resentment we carry that we cannot control some finite part of our lives or another’s life.

Whenever we talk about mental health, and inevitably we talk about mental ill health, we are always cognisant of the blow-up point, that point where we lose control, where we react without thinking, as if on automatic pilot, but driven by despairing emotions.

The way to prepare ourselves for good mental health outcomes is via gratitude, as really the only investment we can make that will feed in positively and engorge our circumstances with hope, a sense of joy, even peace.

Gratitude may feel impossible when we’re angry, confused, overwhelmed, afraid, but as soon as we ponder it seriously, our mood is challenged to shift.

That’s not to say that certain so-called negative emotions are invalid.

There’s a time for anger, just as there’s a time for joy, but anger is best justified, channelled, and purpose driven.  It’s when it responds to injustice by actions that right the status quo.  And the best anger is not seen as anger at all, it simply motivates right action.

The build-up to the blow-up point is interesting.  We don’t typically track it well.  This is why gratitude is important as a crucial defence system to invest in daily.

Years ago I had a mantra—no complaints, no compromises, no comparisons—and it worked, for a time.  A better mantra adds something to the “no complaints” piece.  A focus on adding gratitude to our mindset daily is far better than to focus on NOT doing something, in this situation to not complain.

If we agree that anger cannot coexist gratitude, we might agree it will be powerful when deployed as a daily and moment-by-moment strategy in each of our lives.  Imagine being in a state of utter grateful bliss—not a dreamworld paradigm, but a real mindset and state of heart to nurture.

If we fill our lives with the presence of thankfulness for the breath of life, for our senses, for our capacities and capabilities (focused on what we truly have, not what we don’t have), for the concept of life itself, and for a thousand more identifiable gratuities, we add more truth to our lives than we presently do.

Things to be grateful for are truths of goodness that we can be rightly thankful for.

It’s good to be grateful, especially to ward against those times when we might inevitably despair enough that we would assault people or harm ourselves.

To be grateful is not being overly optimistic.  It’s simply the choice to look up and around, and to see what we ordinarily miss, to mitigate the risks of acting entitled and of not being downcast due to the inevitable injustices that rise up against us.  Why do we allow frustrations to overcome us?

Gratitude is the wisdom of choosing what eternity gives us to see every given moment.

I can tell you what I’ve been doing for a while now.  I deal differently with anger in my life or in the lives of others I relate with.  If I’m angry I deal with it.  I pour contempt on the spirit of much of my own anger, and I tell myself to promptly deal with the truth of what’s causing the anger.  When I find that I’m the source of anger in others I ask if there’s anything I can do about it.  Oftentimes I can, so I do.  But beyond that, if a person is angry with me beyond what I’m responsible for, I must leave that as a matter for them to conclude.

We’re all responsible for our own emotions.  Gratitude mitigates the anger that rises up as a complaint of the heart, of resentment, of feeling entitled, of demanding things be different.

By engaging in gratitude, we take responsibility for our emotional world, and we fortify ourselves against losing emotional control.  

When irritability may signal depression

“Irritable!  That’s how I often feel!”  And upon checking with my wife, ten years ago I might add, she agreed.  Strange as it might seem we both realised something was not right, separately, on the same day, after 18 months of struggle.

Such was the realisation that the consuming anger that would rise up without warning was actually a sign that I was reaching my end—I was depressed.  What a revelation that was; to know there was a way out, but that that way out meant admitting my weakness.  And then an irony appeared; the moment I admitted my need for help, in that moment—that very moment—hope drew near.  Hope, ironic hope, amid despair.

Irritability is a tell-tale sign of depression, especially in males.

Toward the end, or when I was having a vulnerable day, something would go ‘wrong’ and I would flip into a moment’s rage, even if I was alone or nobody else noticed; within me I was beside myself with fury.  And at the very same time part of me was asking, in a desperate state of confusion, “What’s going on here, Steve?!”  If I was cognisant enough, I’d be conscious of feeling bewildered.

Such fits of anger were tiring, and though fortunately there was usually no visible harm created, there was much spiritual torment that needed to be reconciled.  I was out of control and didn’t know how to restore that control.

But the word irritability—or irritable—got me wondering.  It hit me in a moment of openness of heart and mind.  God used that word to reveal his truth.  My irritability was the sign I was depressed.  It was a sign that I lacked agency, that I felt out of control in my life, or perhaps I felt controlled.  I had fought the best I could, in my own strength, for 18 months.  Now was the time to truly admit my weakness and seek help.  And the irony, of course, was I was ripe for hope to return.

At the end is the beginning.  When life runs all the way to despair, all that remains is hope when you realise you must change.

WHY ANGER IS OFTEN THE SIGN OF DEPRESSION

Why would we get unreasonably angry otherwise—unless our inner world was in turmoil?

Sometimes anger is all we have left to rail against a world we can neither understand nor work with.  That world, for whatever reason or reasons, has given us cause to feel rejected in some way.  All we have left is anger.  And self-righteousness is the driver because justice has not been served—according to the depressed mindset.

Anger reveals sadness for the issues of contempt in our lives we have no control over.  And it doesn’t take much to feel out of control.

When we admit our sadness, however, because we have realised the role anger is playing, the path to recovery opens up—despite the despair within our circumstance.

If we don’t feel hope emergent from a breakthrough of consciousness like this, perhaps it’s about seeing that we’re part way through hell and we simply need to keep going.  Irritability that is unacknowledged is a sign of confusion, and discovering we’re depressed is the clarity we need if we can accept we’re now on the right track.

~

Uncharacteristic irritability can be a sign of the sadness of depression.  Sometimes all we have left is anger; but upon realising our need for help, to admit that, opens a path to recovery.  If we are honest about anger, we may see the sadness beneath.  Such sadness is an invitation to be explored, to be validated, and to be wrestled with.  As soon as we do these things the door to hope swings ajar and then wide open.

NOTE: this article is updated from the article of the same name published on 18 February 2013, https://inspiringbetterlife.blogspot.com/2013/02/when-anger-may-mean-depression.html

The purpose beyond grief, depression, anxiety, etc

Without bypassing any of the pain inherent in mental health concerns, there is a purpose beyond them, a purpose that can be seen even in the midst of them.  And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?  That there would be some purpose in the pain, or purpose that would come from the pain.

I would certainly entertain arguments to the contrary, given that seeing a purpose in our pain is a bridge too far for many people.  Part of my purpose here, therefore, is to sow forward some ideas for a purpose beyond grief, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, trauma responses, etc.

First, it bears repeating that many mental health advocates have been spurred on to help others because of their own struggles, and because of the help they themselves received.

I know many of them personally, and I myself am one of them, and in just about every case mental health advocates were so gobsmacked by the sheer immensity and intensity of their mental health challenges that once they recovered, they devoted their lives to helping others.  They found their purpose beyond their mental health struggle, just as they came to understand how pervasive these struggles are.

What was unearthed in these times was both passion and compassion, which unearthed a great deal of capacity for empathy.  Their eyes were opened just as much as the eyes of their hearts were opened, and something that was designed to crush them, didn’t crush them, and it indeed unearthed a great deal of strength emergent out of weakness.

If you are battling right now, amid the whirlwind of calamity, unable to make head nor tail of your situation, take a short moment to imbibe a hope that you need right now.

If you’re in that place where you are betwixt and between and your heart has grown sick, please take heart in knowing that your faith hasn’t gone unacknowledged or unrecognised.

The broader purpose of having gone to hell and back is you are able to attest to the temerity of the journey and the authenticity ingrained in recovering from such a journey, perhaps morphing into a lifestyle of recovery.

You are a herald for the suffering possible in life.  In the opening of your eyes, you have been granted the blessing of spiritual sight, even though you may not see that as a blessing at all now.

Those who descend into a chasm of anxiety and distress from burnout are learning more about the limits on themselves, and this was a learning they were always bound to encounter.  It all makes so much sense from hindsight even if these are uncomfortable truths.

There is a purpose beyond the tests and trials and tumults of life when it’s these very things that are putting us in touch with the very resources we’ve always needed to develop or be aware of.  As a counsellor, I’m most consciously aware that it’s putting people in touch with their own resources which is my most important role, other than simply listening and empathising with people.

None of us gets better or grows much at all without being presented with challenges that overwhelm us.  We would all prefer to live a comfortable and easy existence, but that’s not life in this world—never was, never will be.

There are so many purposes beyond grief, depression, anxiety, etc, and there is no limit of them, given that we all experience life slightly differently.

If the challenges of life propel us to be curious to find solutions, then those challenges have done their job.  There is a purpose in overcoming.

If we look at Helen Keller’s take on “life being a daring adventure or nothing at all” then we can agree that mental health concerns are part and parcel of the adventure.

My hope is that this article has something in it that encourages or challenges you.

The encouragement of Jesus in a life of suffering

Having watched the premiere of The Chosen Season 3, the closing scene where Little James and Jesus interact about James’ desire to be healed of his physical impairment is powerful and touching.

It’s a massive encouragement to so many of us who do not have our prayers answered the way we’d like them to be.

When quizzed by Little James as to why he hasn’t already been healed, The Chosen’s Jesus (Jonathan Roumie) responds by saying, “because I trust you . . . So many people need healing in order to believe in me, or they need healing because their hearts are so sick . . .” implying that Little James already has a strong, trusting heart.  He continues to say that Little James’ faith is such that he will be an even more powerful witness to the masses in not being healed the way he would prefer.  Of course, James is a predecessor to the Apostle Paul, who describes this very situation in 2 Corinthians 12.

To recap a little on what Paul says, he contends with the Corinthians that he boasts only in Christ.  That, “I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,” given that, like for Little James, he had pleaded with the Lord to take the “messenger of Satan” away from him, the “thorn in the flesh” that tormented him.  But he had heard clearly from the Lord, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Paul had learned to “delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties [for Christ’s sake].”

~

The most glorious thing about the Christian faith, apart from the grace of God that forgives our sin, is the upside-down reality of God’s strength in our weakness.  It truly is the answer to suffering and every other struggle we will ever have.

What this scene between Jesus and Little James shows us is sometimes we are a greater witness for the power and glory of God in not being healed, in not having our prayers answered, in not getting our way.  Because as we continue to look to the heavens, acknowledging God has all power, but that God has also chosen not to relieve us, our faith radiates as great.  AND we connect with the vast majority of humanity who are in the same boat.

Yes, we are a testament to all of those like us, and that’s the majority of the world!

We trample a faith that says you can “name it and claim it.”  The only thing in the Christian faith that can be “named and claimed” is the only thing of true importance, and that is salvation.

But in our weakness, in that place of humility we have been placed, our living and breathing and walking and talking is a testament to the glory of God.  We are ordinary souls.  God in the heavens is reaching down into the earth to speak to ordinary souls, not to extraordinary ones.  There is only ONE extraordinary one.  All the rest of us are equals.

When our weaknesses are on display, and people know who we stand for, and that is Christ, we give them permission to display their weaknesses too.  And what happens when we display our weaknesses with one another, not trying to pretend to be greater than we are?

We are an encouragement to each other, and we allow each other to be ourselves.

We can be home with one another whilst we are away from home on this earth.

The premium really is about safety and about identity.  Being able to be safe in our own skin, not to be judged nor condemned, but accepted, valued, recognised, and appreciated for who we are, without needing to be any different than we already are; that’s what we all need.

Little James in The Chosen is a more compelling witness than Simon is, even if Simon is more impressive to look at.  The Chosen’s Jesus says to Little James, “you are going to do more for me than most people ever dream . . .”

God uses the more ordinary people to do the more extraordinary things.

We need to embrace those things we do not like about our own lives and our own journey.

Accepting the things in life that we cannot change.

There are greater things to focus on, and when we get to that place of praise for what we have, for the gifts we’ve been given, for the blessings that have already been bestowed, then we will radiate a quality that will attract people to God’s name.

When we get to a place where God is all that matters, we find we have transcended even ourselves.

It’s so easy to judge, not so natural to empathise

It’s happened more than once where I’ve been in a conversation with another man, and he trusts me enough to open up.  “Please don’t judge me when I tell you something about me.”  Then there is a characteristic pause, perhaps a big deep breath, and then the liminal space of trust in operation.

So many people feel judged before they even open their mouths.  Before they even contemplate sharing with another person, many people get incredibly anxious that they’re about to be misunderstood, criticised, judged.

Whenever we are vulnerable to another person’s acceptance, maybe it’s a part of ourselves that we are not proud of, or it could even be something nobody’s ever enquired about, the biggest barrier to sharing can be our own reticence.

Many victims of abuse suffer this way because they have never experienced anyone say to them, “I believe you.”  They’ve never had anyone simply sit with them and say, “Please trust me... allow me to hold this space for you.”  They’re more accustomed to being judged and condemned for not stopping what was out of their control than they are of experiencing the justice anybody should be able to see and empathise with.

~

There are times in all our lives where we judge without having all the information at hand.  It’s called dualistic thinking, where we default to right or wrong and good or bad.  It’s because we are a mess with unconscious biases.

So we’re all capable of getting it wrong and being harsh about someone else’s experience—especially when their experience runs cross grain against ours.  The last person we empathise with is the person who’s hurt us, but perhaps we’ve also hurt them, so forgiving each other can seem a bridge too far for both.  But this isn’t about abuse, because forgiveness is not centrally important in terms of abuse; justice is.

~

There’s so much fear and even dread experienced when we’re conditioned by others’ judgement.  That conditioning leaves us in a state of expectation for the worst.  Little wonder people vacillate between the extremes of rallying against the abuse done to them and self-condemnation.  And that whole process is exhausting mentally and emotionally.

One thing you don’t realise until you’re there in it is just how insidious the cycle is when you’re caught in an injustice.  Truly, you can live your whole life thinking things about “victims” and then through the twist of events, and cruel irony, you become one.  Suddenly, you’re in a place where you’re consumed by injustice when not long ago you wouldn’t be caught in “victimhood” for anything.

~

The opportunity we all have if we want to grow in life is to engage our senses in the curiosity of empathy for others.  We cannot grow if we cannot give.  It’s in the giving that we receive, and only by giving without seeking to receive anything.  The more we live like this, the less we judge, and the more our own lives open up and blossom.

Empathy expands our humanity, but judgement reveals entitlement.

There’s a time to stop apologising

I can recall a time in my life, a long while ago now, when a couple of wise advisors told me point blank to stop apologising in a particular situation.  I’d been operating on the concept that if I owned my contribution to the conflict, the other person would reciprocate, but of course, that doesn’t always happen.

There are times when people reciprocate our contrition and they answer to the effect, “Well, it wasn’t ALL your fault, I could have done better, too.”  These times, trust increases as reconciliation is achieved in tears and hugs.

But what about those times when the other person doesn’t reciprocate?

Do we keep apologising?  Do we continue being the first person to apologise and continue to experience their lack of apology where it’s warranted?

When we continue apologising in the hope our apologies might create reflection in the other person, the reverse can easily occur.  We may send the message that, “Well, it’s good they can see they’re wrong, it means I’m clear.”  We don’t ‘love the other person well’ when we take all the responsibility for the fault lines in the conflict.

Somehow, we need to have the poise to resist fawning, and I say this as someone as a serial fawner.  I’ve learned a lot though in recent years, and it really is about having the poise and conviction to know when you’ve done enough.

You’ve done enough when you’ve reflected and been honest about your shortcomings.

You’ve done enough when you’ve considered the impact on the other person.

You’ve done enough when you’ve made your apology and you stay sorry.  It doesn’t mean you need to keep saying sorry.  And that shouldn’t be expected of you.  BUT staying sorry does mean we don’t rescind our sincerity for the original apology.

Too many people are in lopsided relationships where they take the majority or all the responsibility for conflicts had.  Too many patterns are formed where one ‘weakens’ and the other stubbornly waits long enough for the weakening to occur, again, and again.  Too many principles are surrendered in the wish that harmony would enter a relationship where another person has no such desire.  Too many profit from the ‘grace’ a gentle person is prepared to give — over and again.  Too many prisoners to pride exist because one person folds a moment or a month too soon.

But this isn’t about blaming the one who has a good heart.  Good hearts are exploited routinely by those who have entitlement complexes.  Empathetic people naturally wear a lot of the brunt of responsibility — why?  Because they can.  Because they have great emotional and relational strength.  Because they WANT their relationships to heal.  Because they’re always willing to do their bit to repair the brokenness in a strained relationship.  Because they’re gracious individuals.  And because they want the best.

There’s a time to stop apologising.  It’s a thing to consider if we identify with this.  If you experience regret for initiating a gracious encounter yet it’s unrequited.  If you regret being the first person to fold, again and again.  If you see little reflection and accountability in the other person.  If you can see a pattern develop in the conflicts that occur that reveal unequal yoking in the taking of responsibility. 

Are you ready, for such times as these...

It’s a most urgent message in a day where life is more fragile than ever, the threat of world war including the use of nuclear weapons, worsening climate disaster, impending global famine, economies imploding and regional recessions.  And realistically, that’s only a few of the biggest issues.  What can be done, personally?

Get equipped, stay equipped.  It’s as simple as that.  Get ready.  Stay ready.

I’m led to deliver something of the prophetic in this offering.  In our heart of hearts we’ve probably all felt that there was something of the “end times” in these most recent of decades.

So what if it happened tomorrow, that the unprecedented thing occurred?  Well, it shouldn’t surprise us if it did.  Think of how the pandemic response was “unprecedented,” and just think of how “unprecedented” the frequency and intensity of many of the recent natural disasters have been.

At the very least, are we ready for our lives to be upended?  The least we should be prepared for is what should happen if life changes overnight.  Are we holding this life lightly and are we thankful for what we have today? — however little or hard that is.

This is about getting ourselves mentally ready for whatever may occur.

Are our houses in order?  Are we ready to die?  It only dawns on us when we lose someone dear to us that once we’re gone it’s too late to make requests known, to set in motion our will regarding unsaid things, to make amends, to reconcile matters or relationships, to ensure people we leave behind are set at ease with our passing.  Now is the time to think of these things.  It’s too late when it’s too late.

Getting ourselves physically prepared in terms of tidying up paperwork, sorting our lives out, carrying out important tasks, is also key in getting and staying equipped.  Are we ready to be found ‘as we presently are’?

Should the world descend into more chaos than any of us are today prepared for, will we be ready physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually?  We do need to be ready and therefore equipped for anything to happen tomorrow.  In some terms, it’s about being ready to face that which resembles the end of life itself.

What if we’re impacted by disaster?  It puts all our contexts today into the finer points of perspective.  We need to make the most of the time we have with those we love and care about.  This is a key opportunity to break past the addictive bonds we have that mean we miss our purpose.

Our purpose is to carpe diem or seize the moment.  There is no other time than now.

To get equipped and stay equipped means we see our lives as a mission.  It means we’re “on deployment” here, and where we truly don’t consider “here” home.  It seems like home, but earth is not where we stay.

We’re more foreigners here than we readily imagine, especially in the context of any form of sudden death any of us could suffer.  We all need to be woken up about these things.

More is the hope now than ever that we will at least think about the things that could occur.

Before it’s too late, at least we can prepare ourselves for the regret we will feel knowing we didn’t prepare well enough.  And without wanting to make you into a “prepper” I do pray that you at least consider how finite you are — prepare at the very least for eternity.  It comes down to Pascal’s Wager, “what if there IS a God?”

Have you made peace with everything and everyone you could make peace with?  At least have you don’t your best?  There are many people and situations we must leave with God, but of those that are in your control, are you redeeming these as much as it depends on you?

... or all this said, we are satisfied to leave it all behind as it is now.  That’s faith. 

What only grief and grieving can teach about time and tears

“Time is a season of the heart.
Only heaven knows how to measure it.
The tears of this season are precious and saved by our Saviour until you are reunited again.”
—Deb Hudson

There is a thing coming back into view in the context of recent loss.

The thing is the value of tears and the process of time in grief and grieving.  Now, these are two things, grief and grieving, for grief is what all who face loss experience, but grieving is a choice to enter in upon that grief, to transact with it, to be transformed by it.  That said, let’s now imagine the value in grieving our grief — of going there in faith knowing it is not only right to remember but that it is healing to do so.  Healing one entry at a time — as each entrance to the truth of grief is made, to allow ourselves to be swept up in the sorrow of it.  I understand.  That takes a lot of trust.

First, let’s take heed of the eternal wisdom nested in Deb Hudson’s quote.

Read that quote and embellish it on the soul for a moment.  Ruminate.  Crystallise it.  Ponder its meaning.  Ask the Lord to take you deeper into it.

Certainly, the Lord keeps our tears in a bottle (Psalm 56:8).  Our God wastes not one drop.

One of the enigmas about grief is the myth of closure.  I say it’s a myth because time doesn’t heal all wounds.  Time might lead to acceptance, but time doesn’t reconcile the matter of the missingness in loss.  We might get used to living without a person we’ve lost, but we will never stop missing them.  Even when something happens to make their loss a little or a lot more palatable.  I think that’s why time is a season of the heart, and that only heaven knows how to measure it.  Concepts of time within grief are an unsolvable conundrum to us.

The mysteries of time are only unpacked and more fully understood in the eternal realm.

There is a paradox to be known in the dimension of time in juxtaposing it between it being a reality here, yet a concept only unpacked in heaven.  That paradox is we only experience healing for what can heal us here, and we cannot escape the tyranny of that dimension of time that exhausts us — our missing them.  In heaven, all is resolved in the time conundrum.  Instantly.  As if time can even measure it there.

The paradox continues, however, as we dig deeply into that which threatens to tear us apart.  Those tears threaten to undo us to such a degree that we’d enter a sharply descending depression, inviting anxiety and panic attacks.  But tears also invite us into a truth-telling exercise that we, by faith alone, enter trusting that with each entering we advance upon the journey of healing just that little more.  Even though we do it hundreds of times and still feel we’re back at square one.

Healing is an intransigent thing.  It’s both a present-tense and a future-tense concept.  As we shed tears for the honouring of the truth in our missing and remembering, those tears of the lacrimal system provide the means to healing.  Tears heal our pain for that moment they’re shed, and ultimately tears are the way we traverse our grief each and every time pain rises up.

And for those who struggle to close the flood gates, my encouragement is to create space for a philosophy for sadness that allows curious exploration of the redemptive.  It’s about a core belief that healing is a possibility.  And I’ve never met a person who wants to give up on their belief for healing when they see hope.  Hope is the fuel for life and the motivator of faith.

~

Time and tears.  The initial quote heralds an eternal truth.  There are some tears that will never go away.  For us, they’re still there eight years later at times.  We’ll always miss Nathanael.  And for me, it’s Mum, too.  For 55 years and 24 days she was in my life.  But until it’s my time, I must journey without her.  But I journey with the sure knowledge that the best is still yet to come — my being there with them at the right time.

Some of those times of deep missing come back in a flash, as in a tsunami tide that washes over you no matter where you are.  Sorrow is no respecter of situation.

It doesn’t matter how much time has passed.  That sense of loss remains the same.  There, for the most part, is a sense of adjusting, of getting on with life, because you must.  But one moment is all it takes to be back there, missing that loved one, that former life, that way that life was and is no more.

On Nathanael’s eighth heaven day, we reflect with gratitude

This is not going to be as long as previous years, but it seems just as important this year to share something of our hearts at this time given that we have in previous years.

Have a look in the gorgeous eyes of my wife as she holds Nathanael.  I see a mix of grief with bravery — the capacity to endure whatever “is” of the present circumstance, and that was pretty much how Sarah was throughout the entire season we had of losing Nathanael.  Mothers know this, but not everyone does.  Mothers do what needs to be done.

Sarah as a mother has always had the correct poise throughout the last 10 years of our journey.  There were times early on where she struggled, but as soon as real church ministry opened up for me — 10 years ago tomorrow — she was the best asset any pastor could ask for.  Sarah’s wisdom has been absolutely fundamental to the sustainability of my service for God.

But these matters are an aside.

Eight years on tomorrow marks the occasion of the stillbirth of our cherished son, Nathanael.  Our remembering him is all we have left when there are other parents with eight-year-olds who watch them grow throughout their lifespan.  Anyone who has lost a child knows; once they’re gone, they’re that age forever.  There is no more growth to watch.

The eyes hold a lot of interest, and even though I’d selfishly like to keep the peering into my wife’s eyes to myself, there’s so much that can be pondered in simply wondering about what was going through Sarah’s mind and heart that early morning after Nathanael had been stillborn.

Heartfelt had previously agreed to send one of their pro-bono photographers to us because we knew that Nathanael would not survive.  She took a whole bunch of candids and posed shots for us.  They’re treasured possessions.  All we have to remember Nathanael’s whole life is a large shoe box of things.

We remember taking Nathanael with us everywhere we could before he arrived, though the most common place we found ourselves was in hospital on the regular weekly appointments that would often last all day — especially the eight amnioreductions, but the amniocentesis, the appointments with geneticists, the palliative care team, the chaplain, additional scans, etc.  It was never ending.  The entire season was a breakneck pace.  Even though we had the support of both sets of our parents, other family and close friends, we still had barely enough time to do everything we needed to do, and add to this, by about 22 weeks, Sarah didn’t have the energy or ability otherwise to do the physical things, so I had to become a house husband AND work as a pastor.  It was easily the most stressful time of our lives.  BUT we were unequivocally united throughout.

Having been a school chaplain for nearly five years subsequently, I was there when the kindergartners arrived in February 2019.  Every time I went into one of those Kindergarten classes to read a book to students, or spend time one-on-one with a student, or simply engage in play with students, I was sombrely mindful that THIS was where Nathanael would be had circumstances been different.

One thing you never miss as a parent of a child who has died is you track those who continue on with their lives; those and their parents who would have no idea what they can only take for granted.  Until you suffer loss you don’t understand what you’ve truly got.  It’s the same for us all.  There are losses we’ve not had that we can only endeavour to empathise with.

This year, we approach Nathanael’s heaven day knowing Mum is with him.  We’re comforted that they’re both in Glory, with Debbie, Mum and Dad’s daughter and my sister who was stillborn on September 21, 1973.  

We acknowledge that we’re humbled knowing that our God has us, and that from the vantage point of having been healed about as much as we can, that God is using what we’ve learned for his Kingdom purpose.

All this would not be if Nathanael had not come, if he had not existed.  Thank you, son.

Spiritual victory out of the clutches of material defeat

I’ve written on this a lot, but I have a feeling there will be something new to emerge out of the piece, purely because what I speak of is an incarnational phenomenon — as we LIVE this concept of material defeat in our own lives, welcoming loss as the apostle Paul did, we find but a glimpse of the eternal life that is eternally on offer to anyone experiencing such loss.

An important caveat: I’m not talking about the loss of a human being.  That loss is often different.  Unless the loss of that person has given us additional purpose and power.

The losses I discuss here are the material losses we experience, whether we caused them or not.  The idea is that if loss cannot crush our hope, nothing can.  And realistically, we don’t possess anything in the pure sense in this life anyway.  Like with Monopoly, all the pieces — the cards, the cash, the credit cards, the houses, the hotels — they all go back in the box at the end of the game.  Add to this, we, our lives I mean, are blades of grass.

Paul’s boast wasn’t in anything this world values.  His boast was in something the world can never impact.  It was beyond “messengers of Satan,” and every temptation to pride and foolish self-sufficiency, to all manner of spiritual attack, knowing we wage war beyond physical realms.

Everything the world and our pride entices us with are all puffs of smoke.

The Christian life is the victorious life precisely because it isn’t.
Not the worldly kind of victory, that is.  Worldly victory is self-defeating.

When we lay no claim on anything that can be taken from us, life is ALL upside.  Suddenly from this position we’re owned by nothing and nobody and WE become an enticing proposition.

Think about possessing a spirituality that covets nothing, that lives for the simplest ideals, that endures hardship just the same as experiencing triumph — Rudyard Kipling was right in his poem, If.  Triumph and disaster are both imposters.

Is this life an easy life to claim?  Not for one moment would I ever say that, but what I can say is that’s the life that we’re invited by God into.  It’s the Jesus life.  It’s the way he lived.  He could be bought with no price — he was sold out to God alone in a humility of praise and gratitude.  HE is our ideal to follow.

Suffering anything is a blessing to the degree that we experience loss that opens the door to spiritual possessions available only as material possessions are foregone.

The Bible talks about suffering incessantly, yet it’s not a ‘popular gospel’ in our privileged age.  We henceforth have foregone acquisition of the hidden spiritual blessings that could be ours if only we embraced life humbly, accepting loss as opportunity.

Imagine the audacity of Paul saying he “delighted in weaknesses,” speaking to a clueless church at Corinth who undermined him.  The value of such theology was lost on the majority of them, just like the majority in our day are more interested in the trinkets of current affairs and issues to be lobbied for.

The Christian life is nothing when it’s operationalised in worldly ways, as if we can argue a sensible logos.  What compels the world to sit up and pay attention is when they see the Incarnation working in and through us.  That is, to live like Paul stated he did.

Our motive?  “... for Christ’s sake” Paul delighted in weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, difficulties.  That’s a challenge to each of us in 2022, isn’t it?

What is it that our lives are saying to us in living more of this truth?  How much more joy is accessible to us when we demand nothing of our lives be changed right now?  What premium for peace that can come no other way?  A peace that always accepts everything as good.  What about hope?  In these environs, hope thrives, and despair is history.

This ‘gospel’ is superior to any other ‘gospel’ because it’s the true gospel of him who “made himself nothing.”  It’s a gospel that’s a safe gospel wherever there is power, and just think of how prevalent power in the church is in this world and throughout history.

Power has corrupted the church because the church hasn’t lived its own gospel.

But the prize of faith is simple if only we can reject everything that presents itself as a counterfeit joy, peace, and hope.

We must come down to the power of the gospel to transform our OWN lives or we simply carry a false gospel into the world.  Too many winsome speakers swoon people with words and hype and glitz but none of it is transferrable for anything other than a feeling that promises much yet delivers little.

The beauty of the real and true gospel is embodied in the disciple, living incarnationally, which is Christ through them, who can live as Paul lived, “content in any and every situation.”  That’s a state of living that is not cajoled with or by power, a state of life that demands nothing, a personhood that is threatened by nobody, and no threat to anyone.

“You never get over the loss of a child”

I was re-reading some of my old emails from Mum the other day when one comment she made struck me.  The email is from November 8, 2012.

“I was playing some songs on my iPad, and one was Frankie Valli singing Rag Doll and Dad cried.

“Rag Doll was on the album we got in the mail the day of Debbie’s funeral, and it struck a chord with us both.  Whenever we hear it, it has that effect on us.  I hugged him and he sobbed for a while.  You never get over the loss of a child.  Debbie turned 39 this year and we both recall her stillbirth like it was yesterday.”

I re-read the email with a fresh significance given our loss of Nathanael — who was stillborn eight years ago next Sunday (October 30).

Having read the email, I quickly played Rag Doll on YouTube and it immediately struck a chord for me, too.  Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons takes me back to my earliest years.  Mum and Dad would play the LPs on the stereogram and my brothers and I would play. I was only 6 when Mum and Dad lost Debbie and my little brother was 4 and a half.  Our youngest brother arrived 15 months after Debbie was stillborn.

Music such as this, with the loss of Mum, with the loss of Nathanael, with the loss of Debbie farther back in the background, elicits such paradoxically tangible but unreachable emotion.

As I type these words, I have Rag Doll playing on a YouTube loop.

I know that Mum and Dad struggled a lot with our loss of Nathanael.  Like most parents and grandparents, their sadness was always a little hidden from us, and this was because Mum especially sought to support us.  But Mum was always up for truth talk in terms of loss.  And these days, with Mum gone, Dad is too.

Note the words of my dearly departed mother: “You never get over the loss of a child... we recall her stillbirth like it was yesterday.”  Nearly 40 years after.  Sadly for Mum and Dad, less than two years into the future at the point of her saying this in the email (2012) they had to endure another stillbirth; Nathanael.  A true vicarious grief of a son losing a child.  I’m so thankful for my mother’s faithfulness during this period of our lives, a faithfulness we enjoyed from all four parents, mine and Sarah’s.

I’m not sure everyone understands the grief we speak of.  Many try to make comparisons between losses and what grief is harder and easier to bear.  Many also imagine that grief should ebb away over the years.  In some ways it might.  But what is lost is lost and what is lost ought to be remembered and honoured.

Debbie would have been 50 next September, and at least one solace we have is that Mum’s with both Debbie and Nathanael now.

Thank you, Mum, again, for bearing your losses so authentically well, that is in tears and in support of Dad and all of us, during your life.

IMAGE: Mum holding Nathanael, October 31, 2014, which would have taken much strength, but her and Dad did it for us.