Funny, how my perspective on Mother's Day has changed with passing years. I must be honest; it used to be about me! I cherished the crafted love of little hands, a day off from kitchen duty (oh, those glorious trips to the Blackeyed Pea and Wyatt's cafeteria,) and even the orchid corsage from Randall's floral cooler. 
But life has changed...no more hand prints to liven up refrigerator doors, no more reminding little boys that one dessert from the cafeteria line will do...no more husband!
 Instead of dining out, I cooked a BBQ feast for two, spicy St. Louis style pulled pork with all of the fixings to share with my oldest son. I held vigil over the roast throughout the wee hours of the morning; I wanted it just perfect! 
Bobby arrives with flowers and dessert, just like his father.  We lunch over small talk laced with a few pinches of advice. A chance to mother again; that's what I really wanted on this Sunday in May, an opportunity to make my son's day filled with love...love served on Grandmother Moore's "fish dishes"!

Two adults, who shared the darkest moment of our lives, sit at a table built for eight, but not large enough to hide the elephant in the room. Our best friend is missing; he's always missing. 

Two hours later, I sit alone. I look to see if my elderly neighbor is by herself; no, her daughter's car is still parked in her driveway. I suppose daughters find more stories to retell. 

I reach for a vintage baby doll perched in the corner, a present from my grandmother decades ago. I hold on to it much too long; cloth and stuffing make empty arms survive in some quirky way. 
I hold on to love sent from far away...

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I just wanted to say "I love you and I'm sorry we are apart. I hope you have a fantastic day. Thank you for always thinking of me and always coming up with fun ideas for the kiddos to keep in touch with them. They appreciate it and we appreciate it and we all love you very much.  Alex via WhatsApp

To my mom this Mother's Day:

Thank you. Thank you for showing me kindness and compassion for others in action. Thank you for teaching me acceptance for all people.

Thank you for making me finish that forever-long term paper on our typewriter. Thank you for the balloons on the mailbox when I made the dance team in high school. Thank you for introducing me to strong coffee and sharing many a Saturday shopping marathon.

Thank you for sending me into the world with confidence, and letting me cry on your shoulder the night I before moved to New York as you stroked my hair and said "You're gonna be great. You're supposed to do this."

As a mother myself now I truly get how hard it is to raise three young children. You sacrificed so much to make sure we were well take care of. You gave it your all in ways I'm not sure I know how to.

And now you are both Mom and Dad. Thank you for keeping Dad alive for all of us. He would have loved this picture.

Wish I could give you a big hug today. So much love, even if virtual.

Lindsay via FaceBook

Mondays are usually study day, but today God took me on a bit of a detour. I went to look up a verse on my phone and just had to peek at an email from Revive Our Hearts ministry.
Diagnosis of pancreatic cancer...the interviewer's hook (at least for me.) The guest author, Margaret Nyman, recounts her and her husband's short journey with this terminal cancer.  Listen, I could have written it; this was my story! Do you know how rare it is for someone to write the ugly details of pancreatic cancer and wrap it in faith? 
And then the dam broke!  I haven't sobbed over Rob's cancer journey in months, but Margaret spoke of things I didn't even know weren't completely healed in me.  The comparisons were so uncanny that I reached out to her in an email. The interview, her book, her blog are GIFTS to me on this lonely Monday.  
But here's the coolest God thing: her blog, Getting Through This, is centered on "encouragement to keep moving forward," no matter what life tosses at us...cancer, divorce, financial setbacks, teenagers!  And that is exactly what I began studying when I sat down at my desk today: Hebrews 10, encouragement to keep moving forward!
God's winding roads are always the best, even when we have to pack a tissue or two.  

Oh happy day

my debt is paid

so great a love

how can it be

an empty tomb

my heart set free

When I stare at the Cross

crossbeam tearing wounded flesh

hammer striking iron

shrieks of unfathomable pain

drops of redemption blood

wincing with each agonizing breath

trembling limbs stretched

startled eyes searching the heavens

haunting thoughts of abandonment and betrayal

uncontrollable sobs from a grieving mother

jeers from a lost crowd

repentant cries from a thief

merciful eyes forgiving humanity 

pierced for our rebellion

crushed for our sins 

 man of sorrows 

acquainted with deepest grief

He was beaten so we could be whole.

He was whipped so we could be healed.

Isaiah 53:4-5

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree,

so that we might die to sin and live for righteousness;

by his wounds you have been healed. I Peter 2:24

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV

God's timing is always perfect; I gently tiptoe into another woman's heartbreak. We belong to a club we never wanted to join.  I know He rules over the calendar of ministry because my wound is no longer ripped apart, only rubbed as I reach out.

It's a prickly walk...how do I offer comfort without shining the light on my own darkness? How do I offer love, not my own fix?  We each walk this arduous path of grief on our own timetable, in our own fashion. 

Today, I added handwritten love to a simple card of sympathy.  It cost me something valuable; each stroke of my pen bled painful memories of the early days of paralysis when I could barely navigate my own loss.

Perhaps my most profound gift was simply inscribed on a powder blue envelope.  

How do we address half a couple?

I remember...

These three words still bring joy, but even more so amidst the rubble of Rob's death.

They were my history.

They were my God-ordained position.

They still shout much of 

my ripped-apart identity.

Within a few weeks of his death, I ordered return labels so I could make known my preference or at least hold on to the only life I knew.

(Most people don't ask Emily Post anymore.)

Occasionally, I still receive an invitation or a greeting card addressed with Mrs. Rob Moore and I know my dear Rob is still written on the sender's heart and they deeply understand our lengthy love affair.

So today, I carefully penned the same beloved title on my friend's envelope, hoping she, too, would be reminded that her love of a lifetime matters.

Three powerful words...don't be afraid 

to use them.

*This is my personal preference, and is a good place to begin with a woman experiencing fresh loss. But as time passes, she might prefer her name or professional title.  You will not offend us by asking.

Rob loved candles!

Most every evening he'd fire up a couple while we watched sports.  I always thought it was a juxtaposition, which pretty much described my husband.  Each December, I would reach in my Christmas stocking to find a new fragrance; I remember chuckling at the tiny tin named Hippie Chick. And for the record, Rob never asked permission when lighting my Christmas gifts!

During this third year without him, I've been seeking ways to keep his memory alive in healthy ways.  Since I'm a bit further down this rocky path, I hope my ideas will encourage some of you walking in fresh grief and loss.  I must admit I am concerned that some of you might wonder if I'm stuck or even
"worshiping" my husband, but I know I need to commemorate, not forget...my way of continuing this healing.

   So I often light beautiful candles throughout the house. As I walk through a room, catching a whiff of sweet fragrance, I find myself smiling at this funny little thing that Rob found important and usually offer up a quick whisper of gratitude for my gift of life with this wonderful man. It just seems to soothe the loneliness of long nights and weekends...and I know he would be pleased.  Now it's even fun to surprise his female friends with one of his favorites, my way of keeping him alive in all of our hearts.

Last Christmas, I purchased Lake Candles Fairway Fir.  Fairway is a small neighborhood in Kansas City where we met in high school. Memories of Christmas lightings on the Plaza, drives down Ward Parkway, Sunday night worship dates at our nearby Nall Avenue Baptist Church flood my heart when I light this beautiful candle. Rob would have loved its smell of Christmas pine and more so, that his young entrepreneurial friend shared one of his simple joys.

I've learned to love Rob's candles almost as much as he did.

But even more, I cherish how God illumines my dark times. I'm reminded as I extinguish a flame, that it is only a temporary source of light.  We have an everlasting source who lights our paths...the God of hope!  One day there will be no darkness, no need for lamps or candles; the Lord God will be the only light we will need.

Post op day five

This fairly routine surgery has unleashed something terribly unsettling inside me:

raging 

fear and anxiety!

I've bravely walked through many past surgeries, some quite complicated and risky, but this one is teaching me what I hate most about myself:

raging

fear and anxiety!

Every sensation paralyzes me; there is no peace. 

Am I scared of losing my sight or am I really scared of losing my way?

I miss Rob and his unwavering support.

He would know just how to calm the "medical ocd" that runs through my brain, he'd gently rinse the shampoo so I could protect my eye, he'd walk through surgery #2, the one I dread now.

Bottom line...I grieve, I grieve deep, knowing there will most likely never be family at my side as I grow old and collect more health issues.

Why can't I trust God alone?

Where is my faith?

Look at the friends who patiently travel with me! Is that not enough proof of His provision?

Why can't I let go of

raging 

fear and anxiety?