Back to Where It All Began
On June 25-29 Bell Shoals Baptist Church will make its annual visit to Camp Kulaqua in High Springs, Florida. Wednesday of that week, June 27, will be the one-year anniversary of Jake's journey home to Heaven. And LORD-willing, I will be there, at camp, on that day that has seemed so long in coming. It's a decision I have toiled over and prayed about for many months now, and I feel confident that despite the emotional weight which that place is likely to carry, it is right where the LORD wants me to be on the anniversary. In preparation for the week of camp, I was advised to make a trip in advance, to see whether I could really stomach it or not. So for a couple of months, I've tried to make it work, and wasn't able to until last Tuesday. But, not surprisingly, I think that was exactly as the LORD in His sovereignty would have it.
Camp Kulaqua has always held a special place in my heart, even before the events of last year. It's not only where my grief journey began, but it's where Jake and I's love story had begun five years prior, and where GOD has spoken to me in both quiet and loud moments so many times over the years. I did not want it to become a place that was forever blocked off in my mind as somewhere that I couldn't go back to. And so I went.
I had expected to be on emotional overload from the moment we pulled onto the long dirt road leading up to camp. After all, that is where I first heard the disconcerting voicemails stating that something was wrong and I needed to hurry back to camp. But I wasn't a wreck, I wasn't even crying. In fact, the most commonly occurring thoughts I had on that drive had to do with how pretty God's Creation is. After signing in and getting a visitor sticker, my two traveling companions and I walked the whole campus and reminisced as we did. God blessed us with a beautiful morning: sunny skies and a surprisingly cool breeze. After our walk, I ventured off on my own and sat on a dock near the spring where Jake drowned.
I just sat and stared at the water for quite some time, which is lower now and considerably less clear than last year due to drought. As I stared at the spring, I tried to fix my mind on Jake, on our life together, on what I felt June 27, 2011. I tried to hate the water, to fear it, something. But I didn't. I couldn't. My thoughts were wandering, and I couldn't shed a single tear. In an effort to focus my thoughts, I journaled a prayer to the LORD and asked Him to speak. Then, as an act of listening to His voice I began to read His Word. I read John 15-17, the same passage I had been memorizing on that dock the day that Jake died. This day I read it with a new perspective. (It's amazing how God can speak to us through the same scripture over and over again)
15 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
As I read these words I was reminded, just as I was a year ago, that apart from Christ I can do nothing. I cannot take my next breath apart from Him, let alone bear any good fruit without Him. Last year I needed that reminder to be in His Word daily, because without Him I knew I would not make it on this journey of grief. Today, I still need to remind myself of the necessity of abiding Him day by day, even when the days seem to be getting bright again. When we are in a place of ease and convenience it is easy to become self-reliant, and to stop drawing our nourishment from the true vine, but that is folly. Self is never enough. A branch cannot survive and thrive without drawing nutrients from another source. In dark days and bright days, in plenty and in want, in valleys or mountaintops, in streams or deserts, I must abide in Christ. Without Him I can do nothing.
After exulting in the encouragement I had just received from God's Word, I decided to go down to a lower level of the zig-zagging dock. I wanted to put my feet in the water, to physically make peace with it, to see that it was not going to eat me or suck me in. I realized that I would have to walk into the water from the shore at the lower end of the spring, where it spills into a river, since the the water level and the docks had sunk so low. As I drew nearer to the shore I realized that what I had thought was some sort of black algae in the water was in fact MILLIONS of tiny tadpoles. I almost cried at the sight. I just stood there staring for a minute, marveling at the sheer number of them and called Rachel over to see it. I stepped of the shore, soon shin-deep in the very water where my husband had drowned, and yet I was not surrounded by death, but new life. I marveled at the timing, that God had prevented me from visiting the camp until this day. I felt certain it was for this little gift. In a place that could have reminded me of death and sorrow, God was reminding me through a little amphibian of new life! I felt such peace and comfort as I was reminded that Jake is not dead but alive in the presence of Jesus. I was also reminded of the new life that I myself have experienced this year. I did not die last June. A part of me perhaps did, but I am still here, and God has beautiful things in store for me.
I think those tadpoles had another lesson for me too. The whole day that I was at camp, one of the things that struck me was that the landscape looked pretty much the same as it always had. It did not look dreary, or harsh, or ugly. It was the same peaceful place where God had spoken to me many times before. As I stood in the spring, I reached down and let some tadpoles swim around in my hands and wondered at how they would one day become frogs. And then the Holy Spirit reminded me of the transforming work he had done in me. I looked up, and the trees were the same, the grass, and the plants; the thing that was startlingly different in that place was me, and the state of my own heart. I immediately thought of an article I had read by John Piper, about the painful and sometimes painfully slow process of sanctification. He states:
Camp Kulaqua has always held a special place in my heart, even before the events of last year. It's not only where my grief journey began, but it's where Jake and I's love story had begun five years prior, and where GOD has spoken to me in both quiet and loud moments so many times over the years. I did not want it to become a place that was forever blocked off in my mind as somewhere that I couldn't go back to. And so I went.
I had expected to be on emotional overload from the moment we pulled onto the long dirt road leading up to camp. After all, that is where I first heard the disconcerting voicemails stating that something was wrong and I needed to hurry back to camp. But I wasn't a wreck, I wasn't even crying. In fact, the most commonly occurring thoughts I had on that drive had to do with how pretty God's Creation is. After signing in and getting a visitor sticker, my two traveling companions and I walked the whole campus and reminisced as we did. God blessed us with a beautiful morning: sunny skies and a surprisingly cool breeze. After our walk, I ventured off on my own and sat on a dock near the spring where Jake drowned.
I just sat and stared at the water for quite some time, which is lower now and considerably less clear than last year due to drought. As I stared at the spring, I tried to fix my mind on Jake, on our life together, on what I felt June 27, 2011. I tried to hate the water, to fear it, something. But I didn't. I couldn't. My thoughts were wandering, and I couldn't shed a single tear. In an effort to focus my thoughts, I journaled a prayer to the LORD and asked Him to speak. Then, as an act of listening to His voice I began to read His Word. I read John 15-17, the same passage I had been memorizing on that dock the day that Jake died. This day I read it with a new perspective. (It's amazing how God can speak to us through the same scripture over and over again)
15 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
As I read these words I was reminded, just as I was a year ago, that apart from Christ I can do nothing. I cannot take my next breath apart from Him, let alone bear any good fruit without Him. Last year I needed that reminder to be in His Word daily, because without Him I knew I would not make it on this journey of grief. Today, I still need to remind myself of the necessity of abiding Him day by day, even when the days seem to be getting bright again. When we are in a place of ease and convenience it is easy to become self-reliant, and to stop drawing our nourishment from the true vine, but that is folly. Self is never enough. A branch cannot survive and thrive without drawing nutrients from another source. In dark days and bright days, in plenty and in want, in valleys or mountaintops, in streams or deserts, I must abide in Christ. Without Him I can do nothing.
After exulting in the encouragement I had just received from God's Word, I decided to go down to a lower level of the zig-zagging dock. I wanted to put my feet in the water, to physically make peace with it, to see that it was not going to eat me or suck me in. I realized that I would have to walk into the water from the shore at the lower end of the spring, where it spills into a river, since the the water level and the docks had sunk so low. As I drew nearer to the shore I realized that what I had thought was some sort of black algae in the water was in fact MILLIONS of tiny tadpoles. I almost cried at the sight. I just stood there staring for a minute, marveling at the sheer number of them and called Rachel over to see it. I stepped of the shore, soon shin-deep in the very water where my husband had drowned, and yet I was not surrounded by death, but new life. I marveled at the timing, that God had prevented me from visiting the camp until this day. I felt certain it was for this little gift. In a place that could have reminded me of death and sorrow, God was reminding me through a little amphibian of new life! I felt such peace and comfort as I was reminded that Jake is not dead but alive in the presence of Jesus. I was also reminded of the new life that I myself have experienced this year. I did not die last June. A part of me perhaps did, but I am still here, and God has beautiful things in store for me.
I think those tadpoles had another lesson for me too. The whole day that I was at camp, one of the things that struck me was that the landscape looked pretty much the same as it always had. It did not look dreary, or harsh, or ugly. It was the same peaceful place where God had spoken to me many times before. As I stood in the spring, I reached down and let some tadpoles swim around in my hands and wondered at how they would one day become frogs. And then the Holy Spirit reminded me of the transforming work he had done in me. I looked up, and the trees were the same, the grass, and the plants; the thing that was startlingly different in that place was me, and the state of my own heart. I immediately thought of an article I had read by John Piper, about the painful and sometimes painfully slow process of sanctification. He states:
A half-developed frog fits nowhere. But God is good. He has his plan and it is not to make this metamorphosis easy. Just certain. There are a thousand lessons to be learned in the process. Nothing is wasted. Life is not on hold waiting for the great coming-out. That's what larvae do in the cocoon. But frogs are public all the way though the foolishness of change.
Just as those tadpoles have a lot of metamorphosis yet to go in the journey to becoming a frog, I have much more growing to do too. But praise God, although being conformed to the image of Christ is sometimes slow and often painful, it is sure. My transformation is sure because I have been redeemed by the blood of Jesus and sealed by the Holy Spirit.
In spite of all the pain, I'm thankful for the journey, and looking back, I am very glad that I am closer to being a frog, despite the loss it took to get here. God is good. At all times. In all places. I am looking forward to what the next phase of my metamorphosis holds.
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| My faithful friend, and fellow grief sojourner, Rachel (http://ourlifeunabridged.blogspot.com/) |
Thank you for sharing this deeply personal experience, and being an instrument of the Holy Spirit. I am setting a reminder in my phone to pray for you specifically on June 27. You have so encouraged me through your words.
ReplyDeleteHow precious you are!
ReplyDeleteCheers to metamorphosis! I find when I am not willing to change in my ways or thinking, I begin to stink! What a fun,simple analogy, Diana! Thank you for this! I love the idea of setting the cell phone alarm to pray for you on June 27 and I will be doing it as well! I like to remind people on my home phone greeting to 'notice their blessings today'. You have certainly reached UP to notice yours this past year and that has been such a blessing to all who are watching. I know we don't know each other well, but I've always admired your mama who was a super 1st grade teacher to MaryBeth and honey I'm sure she's been a super teacher to you. I've grown to admire you too! Thank you for sharing your lessons with us all!
ReplyDeleteThank you for your exposed heart. It is truly beautiful to see what the Lord is doing in your life. Thank you for reminding me that life is short and that I am nothing without abiding in Him. Love ya sis.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing such a sacred and personal testimony to God's faithfulness in your life. His ability to meet us where we are, at the exact right place and moment affirms His sovereignty. Thank You Jesus for granting sweet Diana such peace and healing in that place...for taking her full circle to give her hope for the future. Thank You Lord for her strength and the beautiful ways she has allowed her friends to walk beside her through grief as she pens her words. Oh how they help others to experience You! I will continue to lift you to our Father dear friend. I love you much!
ReplyDeleteAs I think back over the last year, I can remember how much your experience affected me. All I could think was, "Dear God, not another one." I wanted so badly to reach out to you, but had no idea how. Then one day, God brought us together in the most unusual of places. Another one of the demonstrations of God's sovereignty! I am so thankful for you and your willingness to share your heart with me personally. You are my sister in more ways than one, and I am privileged to walk this journey with you. I will be praying for you all next week, especially the anniversary. Love you!!
ReplyDelete