Party Of Three by Jessica Perlman McGuire

In March, of 2013, our family was at Chuck E. Cheese celebrating my niece's seventh birthday. Over the years, I have come to realize that there are three groups of people who go to this establishment: In the first group, there's the kids (and some adults) who tirelessly run around, enthusiastically playing all of the games, wining tickets for prizes, eating lots of pizza, and generally having the time of their lives. In the second group, you have the parents and caregivers; chasing their kids around, replenishing their token cups, purchasing food, wiping away tears, talking their children out of selecting the caffeinated soda, and attempting to get five minutes of uninterrupted adult conversation before being summoned to replenish the token cup once again.

And there is the third group --my group-- the people without children, who are simply there to celebrate family members or children of friends. In my group we play a few games of Skee Ball or Basketball. We eat a couple of slices of pizza, sing "Happy Birthday," and enjoy some cake. We smile at the birthday boys and girls excitedly opening their presents. We love our family and friends and we are so thankful to celebrate with them; however, we also feel as though we stick out like sore thumbs.

My husband Shane and I were looking forward to seeing our family that day, and of course, giving the birthday girl a big hug! We were also prepared to take our rightful place in the third group. Upon entering the building, we immediately saw Shannon, Chris, Christiano, Gabriella, Brian and Nate. We greeted one another with warm hugs, (there really is nothing like getting together with family!) purchased some food, and took our places in our booth.

Our niece arrived shortly after, and the event officially began. It was a lovely party and all of the kids seemed to be having a great time. The parents were busy keeping those token cups and bellies filled, and Shane and I sat back, visited the family, and observed our surroundings. I soon realized that Christiano had not left our booth the entire time. The three of us had been continuously chatting about movies, music, television programs, books, school, and our upcoming wedding. We decided to play a game of Skee Ball, and yet the conversation and laughter didn't stop. We were seriously having a blast at Chuck E. Cheese! Shortly after, the three of us and continued to chat and laugh for the remainder of the party. The three of us. It suddenly hit me that we had just formed a fourth group - Our Group. 

Shane and I will soon be entering into the '"second group," as we are expecting our first child in July. I can already see myself chasing our child around Chuck E. Cheese, and probably with lots of hand sanitizer! However, nothing will ever compare to that day that Shane, Christiano, and I formed Our Group. My Chuck E. Cheese memories go back well over twenty years, but that day will forever hold a very special place in my heart. 

Christiano was an unbelievable person. He was funny, empathetic, smart, and so incredibly loving. His heart exuded kindness, and he believed in people. He truly saw beauty in every single person. I miss Christiano every single day. It pains me that he won't be able to meet his cousin here on Earth, but this child will KNOW him. We will share our stories, smile at the photographs, and laugh until we cry as we watch the videos. Our child will share Christiano's middle name. We will keep his memory alive, and continue to be inspired by him, because that's what he is - a truly beautiful inspiration.

I Grieve

So, I usually write a blog on the 24th of each month. It's a method for me to express my heart the only way I know; through writing. Today, I woke up thinking I had no words. Every time I think that Christiano will have been gone a year next month, I can't help but cry. I can't help but feel like it's not fair. Our family is still so broken. And, behind closed doors we are all fighting our own individual battles. 

There is nothing worse than losing a child, but one thing comes close. And, that is watching my surviving children try to live through it. Innocent children, who've been nurtured and protected; children who have known nothing but complete peace and security in The Lord, have now been robbed of their big brother, and traveled through hell and back. At the tender ages of 14, 13, and 11, they experienced something that is unnatural, unfair, and unfathomable, and they will experience it every day for the rest of their lives. They don't understand the things they were once so certain of, and they wrestle with the why question. Why was their brother was taken? Why didn't he survive? Why our family? Why are we going through this? 

To have to look them in their tear filled eyes and say, 'I don't know,' has been one of the most difficult things for this mother. See, some kids have this concept that their parents know everything. They look to us for guidance, and we are called to be their protectors. Instead, I offer no answers and I still feel like somehow I didn't protect my kids. I feel completely inadequate in all areas of life, these days. I've truly come to the end of me. I'm tired, confused, and broken. But, I'm broken before The Lord. I'm knowing His strength because it's present when I have none. There's just so much I grieve for. I grieve mostly for my son. I want him back so badly, and the desire NEVER leaves. I grieve for my husband who is going through the fire in more ways than I can count. I grieve for my children who just want their big brother back and who miss their mom and dad. I grieve for myself because I'm missing. I don't know where the carefree, bible reading, fun-loving, happy, and praying woman is. I don't even know HOW to pray anymore. I grieve for my family - the way we once were. I grieve for my hopes and my dreams. I grieve. Eleven months, and that's still what I'm doing... I'm grieving. And, it's hard, hard, work. 

God is rearranging me. I'm being put back together. I'm being made new. But, it's a painful process. And, my flesh doesn't like any of it. My flesh feels like being stuck would be better than being pruned. But, the Spirit in me is strong. For, it's not by my strength, nor by my own might, but by His Power - working in and through me to will and to do. So, I keep trucking along. And, when I faint, I just wait for the rescue. And, I grieve, and I wait. And, I wait, and I grieve... 

When Did I See Morning?

As I sit here, sipping my coffee, on this early, crisp, and Fall-ish morning, I can't help but be grateful. You see, there was a time - not too long ago - that I couldn't get out of bed without a fight. Mornings were spent replaying the last eighteen years of a life that is no longer mine. Very rarely did the mornings come without a wish that they hadn't come at all.

When did my pillow stop being soaked from my tears? When did I stop sleeping past the sunrise?When did I stop having to take a sleep-aid? When did I stop having night terrors, and when did the replay in my mind stop reeling? The truth is - I'm not exactly sure. But, this morning I'm thanking God for it. The God that I sometimes feel distant from - the God that I often wonder silently, 'where are you?' Then I ponder this - could it be that He's been here all along? That He's never left me - not even for a minuscule moment?

You may be thinking, 'Shannon, you know what the Word of God says. You know He is never ever going to leave you. You've said yourself that He is with you in this darkness.' And, you're right; about all of it. But, sometimes I forget to remember. Sometimes I struggle to know that He is near to my broken heart. Sometimes, I feel lonely and afraid; like I'm hanging on by a thread. And, sometimes... I even doubt God.

But, this morning, I'm thankful. Thankful that God's faithfulness doesn't depend on me; thankful that He doesn't love me the way I love Him; and thankful that He is constant - even in in my wandering. And, I am oh so thankful that, although I don't feel Him in each moment, I can look back and know that He has carried me; that He never grows weary or tired of me. For, I am His and He is mine. Forever.

Brotherly Love

Little things continue to be the big things. This picture may not look like much at first glance, but for me it speaks volumes. This here is Natey-Boy, our youngest son, walking to the bus stop for the very first time. He is sporting his big brother, Christiano's, back-pack. He asked us if he could have it, so he could keep a part of Christiano wherever he goes. 

Last October, when Christiano passed away, Nate was never able to fully return to school. Eventually, his overwhelming grief caused him to have to finish 6th grade at home. So, you see, this picture means more than anything seen; it means that the healing has begun. #itsthelittlethings #littlebig #morethananythingseen

Ten Months

It's so much more than losing our son - as if that isn't enough.

It's the living without him every day and the knowing that he won't ever be back here with us. It's the replaying of October 24th that never stops

It's watching a baby brother retreat in the areas he used to thrive and a middle brother carry the weight of playing a role he was never created for.

It's seeing a sister doubt all the things she once knew; trying to make sense of the fact that her brother won't be here when she graduates high school or walks done the aisle.

It's hearing the moans and groans of a father in the night and knowing he will awake to the same mental, emotional and physical pain he fell asleep with.

It's my heart longing just to touch my son once more; to stroke his face, to place my hand on his shoulder, to stand on my tippy toes to kiss his cheek, to hug him and never let go.

It's pain and heartache every day.  It's an unwanted knowing that life can be gone in an instant. It's worrying about my children every time they aren't with me. It's the piling up of bills and the trying to play catch up for the time we just couldn't function. It's the floods that came, one forcing my husband to switch the location of his business, and the other still plaguing our basement with mold. It's our family unit all handling our grief in different ways - and it's me trying to be there for everyone. It's doubts and questions from my children that leave me speechless and without answers. It's crying out to God, pleading for him to reveal Himself to our children. It's watching the strongest man I've ever known take on a whole different disposition; limping from the recent rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis and walking with a hunch - both because he misses his boy. It's the two of us trying so hard to hold it together but, at times, find ourselves drifting apart. It's working when I want to home with my family because I know they need me now more than ever. It's life on hold - unfinished projects, shattered dreams, and a blurry picture of a future once so clear. It's trusting in God when I just want to crawl in a hole. It's a daily hope that our suffering will cease and God will fix our family. It's a constant struggle and battle in which we have a choice - do we surrender to the enemy or do we surrender to The Lord? Do we cave under the pressure, or do we let it refine us? It's a persistent faith that our battle has been won and we will see the other side, someway; somehow.

I will not sugar coat it. The last ten months have been complete and utter hell for our family, and this only scratches the surface of it. All I can say with confidence is that Jesus knows our suffering - He paid the price for all of it. God knows what it's like to lose a son, and He sacrificed His son just for me. Is that enough? Is it enough that God made a way for me to have eternal life? I can truly say, it's everything to me. It gives me hope and provides me with a future. Someone recently asked me, 'how can you still say that God is good?' My answer, minus the tears, cries, and blubbering, was simply this, 'He saved me, and I've seen His hand upon my life.'

As awful as this past ten months have been, I am trying to maintain a grateful heart through this season. I'm beyond thankful for the love of my family and the friends who have prayed for us. I'm thankful that I've gained an access to God that not everyone gets. I know what Paul meant when He said 'I've been crucified with Christ,' and I'm slowly learning the second part that it's no longer I that lives, but Christ in me.'

One day our suffering will end, and we will come face to face with the One who took our place in hell and made our place in Heaven. Ten months is a long time. But, eternity is forever.

Sometimes, It's More Like A Crawl

Sometimes, it's more like a crawl.

It's more like a crawl than a walk these days. My zeal and passion for life hidden so high on the mountain I'm on. Or, maybe it's back at the bottom somewhere. I'm really not sure. When crawling is the method in getting from A to B or from bottom to top, you're not quite sure you're getting anywhere, or if you ever will. The top of that mountain seems endless to me most of the time; almost unattainable. Some of my dreams are up there, but too many more of my dreams lay shattered at the bottom. I'm tempted to go back and lay in the rubble - to become one with the dead dreams that have fallen so deep within the soil. Sometimes, I feel like I've died already because such a big part of me has. Not just someone I once held and laughed with and dreamed for, but a very piece of my heart is in that soil - dead and buried. The dreams at the top just don't seem as attainable anymore, nor do they appeal to me the way they once did. Will I ever return to me? Will I ever reach the top? Will it matter if I do? These are the things I'm not sure of. These things, along with so many others.

Psalm 73:25 says, 'Whom have I in heaven but you? and there is none on earth that I desire beside you.'  But, I'm here IN this earth right now. So how do I keep going? How do I stop crawling and begin walking again? I want God to move in me. I want to experience Him in ways unimaginable - to feel him holding me and guiding me. Jesus felt forsaken, and we see the beautiful outcome of him pushing through. Even unto death, he didn't quit. I feel forsaken, but, if I'm honest, I don't feel as strong as Jesus. I don't know how to push through right now.
Maybe, I will look back and see that God has been carrying me all along and pulling me through these dark times. That's what I want - for God to be glorified. But, God doesn't crawl and God doesn't faint. Why am I crawling? Why aren't I soaring? Something is holding me back with every step. A part of me is stuck in October 2013, and none of me is ready to face October 2014. I don't want this. I often say out loud, 'This cannot be real. This cannot really be my life.' I guess I'm still waiting to wake up from this nightmare.

I want to be the carefree woman with child-like faith again. I want to be able to answer my kids questions and offer my friends hope. I want to be everything I was and everything I'm not anymore. I miss me, and I don't like crawling. It hurts, and it's exhausting. It doesn't get me where I want to go fast enough, and it's easier to fall flat on my face. I'm shaky and unstable in the places that were once so firm and founded.

But, in this moment it's all I can do. And, I have to remind myself that it is better than sitting stationary and it's better than laying down dead. It's better than quitting, and it's better than going backwards.

Sometimes it's more like a crawl.

It Is Well

'It is well with my soul.'

True words, but so difficult to speak.  Missing my son more and more with each passing moment; even with the knowing that there will be a day that I will meet  him face to face, and all my pain will disappear. How we all long for a day with no more suffering; no more struggle. So, how can we speak those challenging words? How can we say that it is well?

 All of us have been through something to make us question. This earth life is rocky. We fall and get hurt, and we get pushed down more times than we can count. Life can knock the wind right out of us and strip us of every material covering we've ever known.

But, we do have a hope and we do have a future. Somewhere, deep within we sense the outcome - in the very roots of our heart and the complex strands of our DNA. We were made to believe in the God who loves, heals, delivers, and saves us. So, our heart cannot help but go back to Him. Those of us who are running can only run for so long, until we become captured. He won't ever give up on His pursuit of us. He won't relent. His capture is more like a rescue that frees us from the bondage of death. One day, death will die and it will lose its grip on God's children forever. And, it is for that reason alone that I can say, 'it is well with my soul.' Because as real as our pain is, it will all end one day. But, His love won't end - His love never will. This is how the weak can say, 'I am strong,' the blind can say, 'Now, I see,' and the poor can say, 'I am rich.' This is how I can say, 'it is well.'