I Shall Again Praise Him

"Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God." ~Psalms 42: 5-6

Yesterday was a very difficult day for me, as it marked the one week anniversary of Ginger's death.  Ginger's death - I hate seeing those words side by side.  My mood plummeted Wednesday evening & remained in a pit of black numbness that was shot through with piercing anguish all the way through last night.  I had a faint hope that things would be better this morning after a good night's rest, & truthfully I do feel better today.  I had to give myself a sobering pep talk when I woke up, though.  I told myself that it's okay to grieve; it's only been one week, after all.  I'm going to cry, I'm going to be sad, I'm going to miss her terribly.  But, knowing myself as I do, if I continue to wallow in my melancholy, I will fall into a depression & it will take a very long time to claw my way back out.  I can grieve, yes, but I have to fight against the temptation to bathe in it or I'll drown.

I've struggled with clinical depression off & on since my early teens.  Perhaps that's the reason that I have little patience for prolonged lamenting; I know what it can lead to.  It's been a few years since I've been plagued by this foe, & I'd like to keep it that way.  Thankfully, I now know how.  When Michael & I first met, I was on Prozac.  It kept my moods pretty level, & since anger is how depression expresses itself in me, my dad cautioned Michael in his desire to have me off of the medication.  "Trust me, you don't want her off of that!", he warned.  Mama & I echoed his admonition.  Michael heedlessly rejected this counsel & gently pushed for me to do away with the Prozac.  Against my better judgment - because I love him & want to honor him - I stopped taking it.  And do you know what I found?  Much to my amazement, I discovered that Michael was right, & I didn't need it.  Oh, my mood fluctuated & I felt anger more than I would have liked, but in my reading & instruction from Michael, I realized that my problem wasn't depression, my problem was sin.  I had come to view my anger as acceptable & justified; it was just a part of who I was &, furthermore, people shouldn't do things to make me angry!  Besides, "the experts" say that it's healthy to vent your anger.  But, in reading God's Word, I found that my anger was not normal, healthy, or acceptable.  It's sin, pure & simple, & no pill can cure me of that.  I had to acknowledge my sin for what it was, repent of it, & rely on God to rid me of it.

My sorrow is no different.  Sorrow is expected in my loss; I'm not denying that.  But to wallow in it & despair is sin.  I have no reason to despair in my grief because I have God.  If I do so, then I have shown that God has not been my highest love, & Ginger is an idol.  I don't want that.  I want to love God supremely, so I have to willingly let Ginger go if He bids me to.  He has, so I must.  And I proclaim with Job, "though He slay me, I will hope in Him"!

God's Grace & Mercy

Hope has dawned clear & bright today along with the sun that is streaming gloriously golden through our windows.  The whole house is awash in sparkling sunshine, & I feel a stirring of happiness & hope in my breast for the first time in several days.  Jake must feel it, too.  Since my last post, he has slipped into a sort of melancholy, which he's shown by not chasing squirrels, laying around pretty much constantly, & not chewing his beloved bones.  If you knew him, you'd know that's like Winnie the Pooh turning up his nose at honey.  But this morning, he ran out into the yard & promptly sprawled out in the grass to sun himself, & just this evening he finally indulged in a rawhide chew fest.  We're all going to be just fine.

I've wanted to share with y'all how God has been gracious & merciful to us in the midst of this trial.  Today, I finally feel as if I can.

Going back to the beginning, the first thing that comes to mind is finding our vet.  He's an absolute Godsend!  Our initial advice had been to take Ginger to Auburn, but their treatment was going to set us back several thousand dollars, a large chunk of which was due up front.  I was beside myself because our inability to afford this would mean no treatment & certain death for her in a matter of weeks.  Michael remembered reading an editorial about Dr. H, so we called him & he immediately set up a treatment protocol.  He consulted with oncology specialists the entire way & kept down his prices as much as possible so we could treat her.  Without treatment, Ginger would have died in 6 weeks.  The average life-span with treatment is 1 year.  She lived one day shy of 2 years from diagnosis.  How gracious God has been to give me so much more time with my darling!  Her passing has cut me to the heart, but I rejoice over how long God allowed me to keep her.  Especially without suffering.  Michael's previous experience with lymphoma sarcoma in his beloved dog, Vicky, was traumatic because of her intense suffering.  I begged God not to let Ginger suffer, & He didn't.  Until the last hour - where she struggled to live, something I have not the heart to recount - she did not suffer.  The grief is still too near for me to describe my last hours with Ginger; I don't know if I'll ever be able to put that in writing.  However, He answered another prayer of mine - as He did all along the way - an almost constant prayer that I not have to put her down.  I would have given anything for something to ease her pain at the end, but I did not want her to die by my hand on a cold table in a clinical setting.  I wanted her at home in my arms, with me whispering my love in her ear.  God graciously, mercifully, granted me this.  Even though it was almost unbearably difficult, I saw her through to the end, & I hope that she felt comfort from my presence & knew that I love her.  I believe she did.

For me personally, God has surrounded me with love.  Michael is . . . words fail me.  He's loving, godly, comforting, amazing, supportive, phenomenal.  He's staying right by my side, grieving with me & being my strong shoulder to cry on.  He's a rock of love, solace, & comfort.  He speaks of God & His sovereignty, love, & mercy.  He gives me ice cream (hehehe!).  My family (both LA & AL), my church family, my friends, even Jake - all are gifts from God to me.  They've given me love, comfort, & pointed me toward God.  If any of y'all are reading this, know that I am so very thankful for you & I love you beyond measure.

Finally - or, rather, firstly in reality - God has given me Himself.  I've said before that I can't fathom how people endure this life without God.  Without Him, it's all pointless.  Losing Ginger would be pointless.  There'd be no reason behind it, & I would easily allow my grief to become anger & bitterness.  But, because I know Him - & I know that He is good - I know that He has allowed this suffering for a reason.  I don't know what that reason is, but I don't have to.  I know that He loves me, & I trust Him.  I know that He doesn't orchestrate events in order to harm me, for I know that "God works all things together for good for those who love Him & are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28).  I may not know His purpose behind this, but I can say that one thing that has been accomplished is that I long even more ardently for Home.  Michael read to me a chapter regarding pets in Randy Alcorn's book Heaven that was extremely comforting.  I believe that I will one day see Ginger again - whole, healthy, & happy.  I look forward to that day.  I look forward to the day when there will be no more sorrow, no more weeping, no more sin.  But even more so, I look forward to the day when I will see Jesus face to face, when I will never have to be parted from Him.  That will be a most glorious day!  So, my heart cries out, "Come quickly, Lord Jesus!"

Until that day, I will praise Him & worship Him, even in the midst of my pain & suffering.  For He is worthy.

Thank You, Lord God, for the gift that Ginger has been in my life.  Thank You for allowing me to be her mommy.  Thank You for Your grace & mercy throughout this trial, & especially now in my grief.  I know that You see my pain, that You grieve with me, that You keep all of my tears in a bottle, & that one day, all of my pain will find its end in unceasing joy.  Thank You for my loved ones' comfort, support, & love.  They are a blessing to me.  And thank You for You, for being my God, my Father, my Savior.  I love You; help me love You more.  In Christ's holy name I pray, Amen.

Pain & Hope

I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but not much of that is happening for me lately.  Honestly, it's odd; sleep is usually my escape during times like these.  Last night excluded, the sleep that I have been able to snatch has been plagued by dreams of Ginger, & thus far less than restful.

I attempted to write last night, but just one look at the pictures of Ginger & I was wracked with sobs.  I've likened my constantly fluctuating emotions to weather, & let me tell you, the weather over here is stranger than any I've ever experienced.  One moment, there's a fierce summer thunderstorm.  It usually begins slowly, then builds til it consumes all of me.  My tears are the rain, my audible cries are the thunder, & I suppose my searing pain is the lightning.  Next moment there's icy cold numbness, where I'm so emotionally spent that I can't feel a thing.  No emotions & nothing matters.  It's not that I'm hopeless, I'm just . . . nothing.  Finally, like a tiny shaft of sunlight that breaks through the clouds for a time, there's hope.  I can't begin to express what a comfort Reformed theology has been to me.  Not in & of itself, mind you, but in how it points me back to God's sovereignty & love.  And of course, Michael is constantly by my side.  I told him many months ago, when we knew this moment would come, that it would probably be better for me to be able to grieve alone.  I thought that I wouldn't be able to fully release my emotions in his presence, that I would hold back to protect him from my pain.  I was so wrong.  There's absolutely no way that I could make it through this without him.

Reading back through, it all sounds . . . poetic, almost.  Actually living through it is not.  The last time I felt pain this severe was when my grandfather died nearly 17 years ago.  You want the unvarnished truth?  My heart has been ripped out & dashed into millions upon millions of pieces on the floor.  Sometimes I can't breathe.  My eyes are often swollen, red, & oh so exhausted from the tears that keep welling up & overflowing of their own accord.  Sometimes I curl up into a fetal position while I wail out my longing for my baby to come back to me.  "Please, God, PLEASE let me wake up from this nightmare!  I don't want it to be like this!  I don't want her to be gone!"  I've almost vomited several times when I've given in to the need to cry long & violently from deep within my body, so I have to be careful to calm myself down when I feel like I'm reaching that threshhold.  Which is often.  I keep seeing things that remind me of her, that bring back memories of her, & I burst into tears all over.  You'd think I'd have run dry already.  I fled Beth & Chris' house yesterday when Michael received a phone call from the pet cemetery informing us that they had just finished burying her.  I have to protect others from seeing my pain; I know they love me & want to be there for me, but it's too raw & violent to expose them to.  Michael soon came out & held me while I poured out my grief.  Dear sweet man.  He's an exemplary husband.  Words fail to express how much comfort he brings me, how much I feel his love, & how much I love him.  Jake's always here, too.  He honestly hasn't seemed to grieve like I expected him to, but he's sticking by my side, often giving me sugar or looking at me with his big doe eyes seeming to convey his love to me.  I couldn't bear it if the house were completely empty.  Having him to love on & play with is another comfort.

It's ironic to me that Ginger died one day short of the two year anniversary of her diagnosis.  Time has become a funny animal, seeming to move as slow as molasses in winter while rushing along at the same time.  It seems like ages ago when Mama & Dad left, yet that was just hours before my baby's last breath.  However, could 54 hours really have already flown by since that awful hour?  It's hard to fathom.  We came home last night, & I dissolved into tears when I realized that she wasn't waiting by the door.  She's been there every single day for the past 8 years, expecting me to drop everything & lean over to envelop her in my love.  How do I go on without her?  How do I live without her sweet face, adorable personality, & unconditional love?  These are my feelings, but God's truth grounds me.  My life & faith are built upon Him, & He's the solid rock.  This storm that is now crashing against me will not fell me.  I will lean on Him, & He will see me through this.  How people get through the trials that inevitably plague us in this life without God is beyond me.

I've received several emails from people that I dearly love, & I know y'all want to know how I'm doing.  This is the truth:  I'm hurting.  I'm grieving.  I'm in fairly constant pain that overshadows even happy moments.  But I'm going to be okay.  God is with me, & He will carry me through.  I don't grieve as one without hope.  Thank you for your prayers, for your words of love to me, for your support & encouragement.  They mean - you mean - far more than words can ever express.  At some point in the future, I'd like to tell you of how God has shown us His love & mercy throughout this entire trial.  For now, know that I'm leaning on God & receiving comfort from Him through all of my loved ones.  He is good, He is merciful, He's the Love of my life.

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.  (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)