This morning the pastor asked a question. He asked, “When was the last time you cried, what was the reason?”. It was easy to answer the question because I had cried just a few minutes prior to him asking.

Yesterday some friends returned home from the mission field. I’ve not seen them in person in a little more than two years. It was so good to collect those hugs. Them being in town feels right. They are part of us. This morning they were back at church. The Pastor called them down to the front so they could give a brief update about what they have been up to.  I teared up. I found myself wanting to boo-hoo cry. Actual tears ran down my face. I was confused at first. I was unsure of what I was feeling. Then I remembered what I had heard last night that was confirmed this morning, they may not stay in this area. Even though we aren’t everyday friends, I felt loss.

On January 1, 2013, I lost my 20-year-old cousin. We lived together for a few months when he was just three. He was one of a kind. I still use “Codie-isms” and will likely always do so. It still breaks my heart that he isn’t here with us. Every single time I eat “Ogurt”, which is often, I remember Codie. Who he was will never be gone from me. I miss him. The world is a bit darker without his light.

On August 26, 2016, my uncle was killed by a distracted driver.  That someone else’s selfish behavior cost my Uncle Gary his life will never be OK with me. It’s been 26 months and I still feel shocked. I remembered a story the other day that my mother liked to tell about him. My mother had open-heart surgery at 19 years old. While she was in the hospital recovering, they needed her to not get excited or get her heart rate up. One day Uncle Gary went to visit her and her heart rate skyrocketed and they asked him kindly to leave so she could rest. After he left the nurse commented to her that her heart rate would go up too if someone as handsome as that came to visit her. Mother always giggled about that because he was her brother.  My uncle was handsome and kind. He had a way about him that made people feel at home. I wish I had a time machine. I would go to Highway 19 that night and I would stop her. I would prevent all the pain her actions have brought to our family.

September 27, 2016, on my Mother’s 70th birthday, my 98-year-old Grandmother left this world.  She was the Matriarch. Her loss was a big one. I could tell story after story about her. She lived a great long life. Her death, however, still hurts.

On February 24, 2017, my Mother followed her brother and mother into eternity. It was something I had prepared for my entire life, yet it still felt like a surprise. Hers is a death that will take the rest of my life to grieve.

Just when I thought I could take a breath, on August 21, 2017, my stepbrother lost his life at 43. I had never actually met him, but the impact that had on his Mother, my sweet little Stepmother, was painful to watch.

Five deaths in 5 years have left me loss seared. I don’t handle loss well anymore. I get upset at the very notion of it. I’m certain that is what brought on my tears this morning.

In my Mother’s last couple of months of life, she didn’t feel good. We watched LOTS of TV together. Two of her favorite shows are on the Food Network. I still watch both of them. I’ve seen almost every episode of Chopped. It is now in its 9th year. I don’t even know why I watch it. I am not a foodie. My favorite Chef is Chef Boyardee. I’ve learned a lot though. 

This morning while I was trying to pull myself together the words loss seared came to mind. I started thinking about all the episodes of Chopped I’ve ever seen where they talk about grill marks. They are the dark marks left on the food by the hot grill. Apparently, those marks are a really good thing. I don’t understand why because I’m not a cook. I will just believe the experts. But, as is customary in my mind, a great analogy came bubbling to the surface.

I thought about the losses in my last five years. I started seeing them as life’s grill marks. They are the places in my life where the fire of loss has left its mark. As much as the losses hurt, they have not ruined my life. They have accented it. As much as each loss changed me, they didn’t change my purpose. They have further equipped me for it. As much as it’s a weird analogy, it works.

As I started writing this post a song came to mind. It is called “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us” by Stuart Townend.  Two stanzas stick out to me:
How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

I was reminded of Jesus’ wounds for me. He endured MUCH for my sake. I will endure much for His sake. As much as I don’t care for the pain of loss, I do care to make sure those losses aren’t in vain.  I want those new marks on me to somehow bring glory to His kingdom. I do not want to sit with the brokenness and let it hold me captive. I want that fresh vulnerability to allow connection with others.  I also want to remember His ultimate loss that brings me freedom.