Braver Than You Think

I have always been fond of watching movies and reading books that make me cry. Some of my favorites, like Steel Magnolias and The Shack, I have watched and read on repeat, for I seem to find joy through the tears. There is just something about the raw emotion that draws me in. How is it possible to find beauty in tears, sadness and grief? I can't explain it. It is definitely not something my husband understands. But, it's the way I am wired. Tell me something is going to make me cry and I'll watch it or read it, usually multiple times.

It is this part of my personality that first drew me to Anna's blog, An Inch of Gray, early in my blogging career. It was shortly after she lost her son, Jack, that I began reading her words.

Something about her story hit me hard. Maybe it was because I have a son of my own that I felt so compelled to read her story and respond in any way I could to encourage, support and uplift this woman I didn't even know, who had lost her son. Or, maybe it's because Anna and I ended up chatting via email or through blog comments about the similarities between our boys - their love of trains and Legos, the desire for order and symmetry, and their generally cautious nature.

"The upside of parenting a kid who sometimes struggled was that it pointed me 

toward God and away from my focus on worldly success...

Toward the issues of the heart. To loving well the child you've been given, 
not the child you thought you would have." (p. 108-109)

Things have been tense in our home the past couple of weeks. I can only explain it by blaming it on the stress of school starting. No one, except O, has been outwardly stressed. But, the rest of us, especially Matt and I, have been handling our stress and anxiety by retreating and taking it out on each other. 

This is one of the reasons I needed to read Anna's book, Rare Bird, now. Because it was written from one mother to another. Because it seemed to make more sense to shed tears over someone else's grief than to cry over the impending struggle I would endure when it was time to help O with his writing homework or the fact that he is still afraid to use the bathroom at school, even to the point of having an accident. 

"Because despite my attempts to...relax and trust God with my kids,

I'd clung to the belief that I could somehow control our futures if I just tried hard enough." (p. 81)

These are my losses. The loss of normalcy and control...even though I have truly never held either of these.

While I hesitate to compare the life we live to the tragedy that Anna writes about - because they are not even remotely similar and because it seems selfish - I do so because there are many different types of loss and grief. Some with death and others within the boundaries of this life. And, I think that one of the reasons to read a book like this is to know that it's okay to feel your loss, in your way.

What reading this book reminded me about my own life, is that it's better to ask than to retreat, better to love than to withdraw. Some times, in life, there are no major changes that can be made that may fix a situation, there may be no exit strategy. But, in those times, there can still be love. We can give and we can receive.

Rare Bird is a book about grief and loss and life not turning out how you expected. It's about empty rooms and unused passports, life cut short and things that don't make sense.

"...while I'm speaking, it feels as if God is using the words in a way that reaches beyond the simple little stories of home and life I share. I hope those listening get a glimpse of Jack, and God, and will somehow be changed." (p. 75)

But, it's also a story of how God moves. How he prepares, sustains, and propels us forward. How he speaks, comforts, and inspires. How he gives and takes away, loving us through it all. Helping us to be braver than we ever thought we could be.