Forty-nine years ago today we had our first date. A safe, casual one, I was to believe, as we were only attending a friend’s church basketball game on a school night. Yes, we were high-schoolers. 
However, during that sweet night, I knew something  wonderful was going to happen in days to come...but I never could have imagined this. 

How fitting that I attended church basketball games for two of my grandsons today on this precious anniversary. I’m now stepping in as Granddad as well as their Gigi;  I knew these would be the days Rob would miss the most.  I can’t fill his shoes, but I’m sure trying. 

I studied Kubler-Ross’s anecdotal study on the stages of grief in college back in the 70’s.  It was fresh theory on the then rarely explored topic of dying. Modern hospice was a new concept and medical professionals welcomed her insight.  To my knowledge, her research was based on the observation of the patient. I don’t know how much scientific study went into those left to grieve after a death. I’ve never been completely comfortable with the way her model has been interpreted, especially as assigned to bereavement. I don’t think her stages are linear (later in life she confirmed that same observation) or prescriptive. 
Now regarding her quote-I honestly don’t remember ever reading it until now, but find it her finest declaration. It’s the “whole again” with which I personally wrestle. Yesterday, I shared that I still felt like half of a union because I cannot figure out how to loosen the spiritual glue of “two becoming one.” Will I need that freedom to regain wholeness or am I truly richer with the imprint of this sacred past?  
At least, I’m naming my quandary. 

I’m just rambling today...fair warning.
My dear friend, Sandy, called yesterday from Arkansas. We met in Tuesday Bible Study years ago and it was “sister love” at first meeting.  Our conversations are honest and deep ( I don’t have a lot of patience with light talk these days.)  She encourages me  and holds me in the grip of prayer. Sister love.
Funny how one phrase will grab your soul. She mentioned the thought of feeling “half” and it framed my current thoughts as I stare down a new year without Rob.
I hate the word “widow” and I strive for “healthy whole being.”  But I’m still half.
Mark 10 describes the joining of husband and wife as “ the two shall become one.”  One.  And then death rips One apart. How can that be? There’s still oneness all over me, but death has divided us in two again; Rob’s solely staring at Jesus and I’m left over as a “one-spotted half,”  trying to fix my eyes on Him as well.
I told you I was rambling and now dreadfully overusing quotation marks . But honestly, how does one completely erase four decades of spiritual union to become singularly whole again?
So I wrestle...

During the recent holidays, I filled social media with pictures of my family enjoying our first Christmas together since our Rob died six years ago. The young adults and cousins enjoyed one another’s company and our many activities. My posts painted a perfect  time. 
What my friends did not see was my total relapse into deep grief. My chest hurt the entire time. I was paralyzed by the happy noise and chaos; the pressure of “making Christmas” was almost too much for me. I’m used to juggling a classroom of kindergartners. How could this be happening? I had put an emotional damper on everyone’s reunion. I’ve been weepy sad, mentally and physically fatigued and guilt-ridden ever since. 
Today marked the beginning of two of my grandkids’ inaugural season of basketball. I had waited for this day for so long. They were excited and looked absolutely adorable in their jerseys. A perfect morning and suddenly, my chest hurt again.  Oh, no, not again!  But this time, I moved...30 minutes of scrimmage with my littles in between their games. Honestly, I never felt better...alive!
So what gives? We are a basketball family. A great part of our family identity and our “coach” was in-absentia. This would have been his perfect day: his family and basketball. God, it hurts! Six more Saturdays without him. I’ll have to do a lot of moving. 
This afternoon, my grief mentor, left the most amazing and timely email . Click on it; you too may find it’s exactly what you need. 

Somehow yesterday’s post didn’t publish so you’ll need to read it so you’ll understand today’s thoughts. 
I know what Grace means; I can spout both a simple and a theological definition,  but in 2020, I want to KNOW grace. I want to absorb it in such a depth that my pores sweat it. 
This month I’m reconsidering his Incarnation. Just the thought that Jesus would leave his rich position to become poor so I could become rich, blows me away.

Grace

2020

In 2019,  I set my focus on casting off all that hindered me from running a victorious race. Early on last year, I discovered I had a lot to dump: fears, trauma, selfishness. I couldn’t wrap up that goal with a pretty bow by year’s end. Instead I realized I’ll be casting until I find myself wrapped in the arms of Jesus!  So why even add a 2020 focus? Honestly, I didn’t plan to but when a God-size bomb drops on your heart, you ADD!  

GRACE: I  need it, I need to exercise it, I need to explore how it collides with obedience. 

I’ll first immerse myself in God’s true and faithful Word and then, explore what fellow travelers have learned. 

Perhaps, you would like to join me in finding Amazing Grace.

*When I stood under this beautiful chandelier this past December, I immediately imagined joy raining down on me in the new decade. Joy in the form of Grace. This I know: God sheds His Grace on us each and every day. Taste and See!

I’m ushering in the new decade with my glass raised half empty. Actually, I’m barely able to raise it at all. Six years of living life alone has depleted me. I hear from other “spouseless” individuals that January is the worst month ever. The thought of another year of juggling bills, taxes, house maintenance is overwhelming; add another 12 months of trudging through aloneness, health concerns and the like and life can look pretty daunting. 
Before you run away, I do want to fill this glass with joy. I actually want it to spill over. Like many revving up their fitness routines, I resolve to recharge my emotional engine. It just takes a lot of determination and energy I currently lack. 
The holiday season was a wake up call. I discovered that a houseful of noise and chaos unearthed some unresolved trauma. For six years, there has been little noise in this house; everything is new and in place “ post-Harvey.” Silence and order is the new normal...and it’s safe! Stir the pot and fears bubble over. What if I have to pay for professional painters again? Will I be able to sell the house with nicks and bruises? I did not react to the sensory overload in a healthy manner: my chest hurt, I was bossy and I could not stop trying to put my quiet back together. Now I grieve for what I might have lost over Christmas. 
As much as I adore my children and grands, I’ve discovered I also need my own peer group for healthy balance...friends with similar journeys.  It’s just unproductive to share the ups and downs of unwanted single-hood with adult children. I think it terrifies them.
My eldest granddaughter shared with me her mother’s description of me: She’s awfully independent.” Interesting. Is that what it looks like? I accurately describe it as “in charge with no other option.” If they only knew...I’m often robotic, unsure, sometimes desperate. Six years full. 
Yet, I would like to raise my final 2020 glass with some of that newly found independence, dear granddaughter,  and throw in some new people. Adults please!

We reached toward the price scanner at the same moment,  both of us yielding to the other. She finally limped back. I could not help but see her poorly developed limb.  What are the chances that two female strangers with the same rare orthopedic anomaly would stumble into one another on New Years Day? She had not received the same advantage of numerous corrective surgeries. I didn’t explore our strange connection,  but I so wanted to ask if her life had been marred by cruel remarks, whispers, embarrassment.  Had she mastered the art of masking the obvious and hidden the pain in the depth of her soul? Or had she triumphed, using her own flaw to touch others? Considering the humility in her eyes, I knew. 
Scars...we can hide them or we can use them to transform the world.