Halloween

Character parade at school (only 1st grade and under participate, so Isaac wasn't in this one)

They had to be a book character, so Abby was Kaya, the American Girl.

Isaac hard at work on his Minecraft costume.

Ready to go.  Native American Princess and Steve, from Minecraft.

Our sweet next door neighbor had special treats for our kids.  

We are blessed to have such sweet neighbors.  Spoiled kids!

We went to a friend's house for a party and trick or treating.  It was a great night to get to know our new bible study friends. 

Back home after a full night.

He was quite proud of his catch.

Sorting her loot. 

Faith in Regret

My friend Amy, who has been counseling me through the hospice and the grieving process, advised me to process my regret.  So, although I didn't want to go there, I made myself sit down today and write a letter to my dad, expressing the dark sadness on my heart.  I wrote pages, retelling and reliving the past two weeks, and the moments I feared to remember, the moments that have already begun to keep me from sleeping peacefully.  I cried ugly tears as I wrote, wearing my grief and regret like sackcloth and ashes.

I wasn't sure what the writing was supposed to accomplish.  Logically, I know there's no point to regret.  I can't go back, can't change anything.  Even if I could, it doesn't mean I could save my dad.  I know that.  But regret isn't logical.  Once I'm done writing down my regrets, what is the answer to them?

Before I was finished writing, I forced myself to take a break and went on a walk with my friend Shannon.  She expressed that she wished she had that magic answer to free me from those feelings.  In truth, there is none.  Regret is not something that has a one-time, quick fix.  We both know that.  But what Shannon didn't realize, nor did I until I had time to reflect on our conversation, is that she did help me come to the answer to regret.  In fact, it's the only answer to everything that holds us captive.  It's such an all-encompasing answer that it sounds trite and powerless unless you really understand by experience what it means.

The thing that the conversation with Shannon helped me reflect on was how regret can ruin a person.  We both shared about people we had known who lived and died under regret from the loss of a loved one.  We both know of people who have worn regret, like sackcloth and ashes, throughout the rest of their lives.  When confronted or encouraged to let it go, they actually expressed that they didn't want to.  Regret is comfortable in a twisted way.  It helps us feel that in some way we are, with our suffering, making up for what we missed or can never undo.  I was reflecting on this part of our conversation, talking in my mind to God about how I didn't want my regret to own me like that. That's when God brought to mind the word: Surrender. What is the one thing that those people we knew were unwilling to do?  Surrender their regret.

God is a gentleman.  He won't take from us something within ourselves that we are unwilling to give.  I can't tell you how many times in my walk of faith I have had to learn the word Surrender, so many times that it should be obvious, but it probably never will be.  To keep regret from owning me, I must surrender it to God, open palms.  The writing of it, the speaking of it, the processing it, is one thing, but if I write, speak, process, yet don't surrender, I still own it.  Once again, my heart lets go of something unhealthy, and God takes my surrender and gives me a new word: Freedom.

With that word, God brings to mind the cross, where Jesus died, not just for my sin, but to set me free.  Through the cross, through my surrender at the foot of the cross, I am free from sin, free from guilt, free from slavery, free from regret, free from despair.  And that is the simple, obvious, amazingly complex and profound truth that is the answer to my regret: it must be nailed to the cross.  Like everything else that I have ever had to surrender to God, my regret must be surrendered, nailed to the cross, to die to me that I might receive the freedom that is mine in that same cross.  And in that surrender, I make the bold claim that my God is more powerful than my regret, just as He is more powerful than my sin.  He has the power to free me from my sin, from my sackcloth and ashes, to live a life full of joy and peace in Him, a life full of joy and peace even in the midst of loss and suffering.

This is real.  This is bare-bones, faith-in-action, rubber-meets-the-road Truth and there is nothing trite about it.  Surrendered at the cross, there is nothing that God can't redeem.  There is not a one-time fix to regret, in the sense that I will have to surrender my regret as often as it occurs in my heart.  But there is a one-time fix for everything in the cross.  All it takes to reach the freedom found there, is surrender.  He makes all things new.

This song spoke to me a few days ago, and I believe it applies perfectly here:

Beautiful Things by Gungor

All this pain

I wonder if I'll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new

You make me new, You are making me new

You are making me new

A Little Help from our Friends

These last two weeks have been the hardest of my life.  It may seem like a little thing, but the help from my friends has been one of the many ways that God has shown me love and compassion during this time.

Gift cards from my friends at work:

A cookie cake delivered to Mom's house by friends of the family.

An assortment of goodies that arrived by mail, giving Dad a joyful snack in the few days before his last visit to the hospital.  Isaac did such a good job of preparing them all on a tray for Boppa.

There were meals that arrived at Mom's house after Dad passed away.  BBQ brisket; gumbo; salad and fruit trays; cakes, pies, and cookies.  And one sweet neighbor who came almost daily to walk the dogs when we had no time to do so.

Then there were flowers.  This arrangement came from my own beautiful friends.  

A day before I headed back to Mom and Dad's to say goodbye to Dad, my friends came over to encourage me.  They gave me some sweet gifts to help my sadness...

And this weekend, while I was gone grieving with family, planning the family memorial service, my sweet friends were busy caring for me in my absence.

Some of them came over to my house and clean it, washing towels, and putting clean sheets on the beds.  

I have been so busy the last two months at Mom and Dad's house, that I have completely neglected my own.  This way, when I arrived home today, I could just walk right in and relax, instead of feeling stressed about the chores I haven't been keeping up with.

They even went above and beyond (on what was already above and beyond), and tackled our office, which you couldn't see the floor, or any surface because we have just been literally throwing stuff in there to keep the rest of the house presentable.  When we came home, it looked like this (actually, it looked even better than this, since this was taken after the kids had pulled out a few things):

Another friend stocked my fridge and pantry with goodies and groceries so that we wouldn't have to go to the store right away. 

Then, there were the sweet little crafts and notes left on our countertop...

And these little critters we were delighted to find about the house: 

And a gift basket filled with sweet, thoughtful gifts.  The card says, "Megan's 'I Wanna Get Away' (and that's okay!) Basket. A Keep Up Your Strength gift from your girls.  We love you."  My friends are truly amazing.

Then another friend stopped by with some packs of tissue and a gift card.  I am beyond blessed by my friends.  They are amazing, and the love of Christ overflows.  You see why we never want to move again?!?  This kind of love and support doesn't happen in the real world!

Family Service

The day after Dad passed away, Adel woke up early, went to the store, and cooked the whole family Boppa's traditional pancake breakfast.  All the kids said grace.  Isaac prayed for us not to forget Boppa. I felt like it was such a tribute to my dad, and I am fully confident that Adel will assume the role of servant-leader for the family, at least as far as breakfasts are concerned.  

This is the chapel where we had Dad's family memorial service.

The roses were special to DD, dad's mom.  Papa, her husband, brought her yellow roses at the birth of each of her four sons.  We had the kids pass them out to all the family members and then enjoyed the sweet family chaos that ensued as each family member placed a rose (or more than one) in the vase by Dad's portraits.

This was the centerpiece, also with pictures of Dad and family.

Dad's brothers (he was the second oldest brother). 

Lindsay and I with Dad's portrait. 

Here is what I shared at the service about my Dad:

When I was little, my dad was invincible, stronger than the Incredible Hulk.  He was fun, battling in the hallway with wrapping paper tubes, playing baseball in the street with all the neighborhood kids and our dog Clyde as the outfielder. He was gentle, letting Lindsay and I put barrettes in his hair and romp all around him while he napped on the carpet.  My dad could do no wrong in my eyes, which I know drove my mom crazy.

As a teenager, I started realizing I didn't like some of the traits I got from my dad: big feet, big hands, and the propensity to sweat profusely. But as I have grown up, I have learned even those physical traits are not all bad (except for the sweat). I can't borrow mom's shoes like Lindsay can, but I can reach the top shelf because Dad gave me height. My body was built for running, like Dad's.  And my hands are a living memorial to Dad's strength.

Far more important than physical traits, my dad has passed down a legacy of character.  Everyone knows my Dad was a man of few words. It was by his actions that he impacted the lives of others.

 One morning as a high school student, I was facing a very hard day at school. Passing Dad in the hallway, I began to cry and told him I didn't think I had the strength to go to school that day. My dad didn't lecture me, or give me advice. He didn't promise to pray for me. He put his hand gently on my shoulder and prayed strength over me right there. It wasn't long or dramatic, but it impacted my life, teaching me that God is my strength when life is hard.

My dad quietly stood for principles higher than himself, and he did not back down in the face of opposition. He passed down the character of hard work and strength, and the fruit of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.  Dad wasn't perfect, but he grew in these, his daughters will grow in them, and his grandchildren will continue to grow in them, as we all grow to be more like Dad, more like Jesus.

Halfway through the service, the pastor specifically addressed the grandchildren, which was lovely, and then dismissed them to go outside with one of Lindsay's friends, Tami, who had offered to lead them in a time of crafting, singing, and learning about heaven.

We were so happy with the way the whole family service went.  It was perfect for us.  

After the memorial, Uncle Tom treated us to lunch at Papadeaux.  It was the first time I had really been able to relax and enjoy the company of my family, and I really appreciated it and thought it was the perfect end to the service.  

  

And I wanted to take photos of the flowers that were sent...

Thank you, friends, for the beautiful support you have sent.