I have been wanting to write this blog post but I also have been dreading it.  Life can be a crazy and difficult crush of emotions.  The older I get, the more I am realizing how intertwined our feelings are.  Things are not simply "happy" or "sad".  And a single day can hold a whole gamut of emotion.

This past week has been a difficult one.

Many of you know Liz Custer and her story.

Liz is the beautiful girl in the middle 

(photo used with permission)

For those of you who don't, Liz has been battling cancer for the past three years.  On Friday night Liz went to meet Jesus.

My link to Liz is this: we grew up going to church together, her older sisters babysat me and my siblings, and she's been my neighbor since 2011.  While we were never really close, Liz was one of those people who always had a smile and a kind word.  And our boys have spent countless hours together.

Last Monday morning I had to tell my 11 year old son that his friend's mom went to Hospice and that she would likely pass away soon.  I'll never forget how he silently walked away, blinking back tears.  And it made me angry.  Angry at the disease that steals life from the young.  Angry at the thought of motherless children.  And angry at the God who didn't seem to be doing anything about it.

I soul screamed it at God.  IT'S NOT FAIR.  DEATH IS NOT FOR THE YOUNG.  BABIES SHOULD NOT HAVE TO GROW UP WITHOUT THEIR MOTHER.  PARENTS SHOULD NOT HAVE TO WATCH THEIR CHILD DIE.  IT'S.NOT.FAIR.

During the course of the day and my wrestling with God it became apparent to me that there was another emotion that the anger was masking.  A deeper emotion.

Fear.

There is absolutely no reason why it couldn't have been me.

The thought of it makes my breathing faster, my throat close up, my heart pound.  What if it was me?  What kind of legacy would I leave?  How would people remember me?  How would my babies and my husband remember me?

I've been thinking about that as I've read people's tributes to Liz on Facebook.  How in a time of loss people tell stories about their loved one.  They share the memories, the pictures.  The desire is to honor the life of their loved one and it is precious.  Grieving people need each other.

This morning on my walk I was thinking about how pain either makes us tender or makes us tough.  How we either face the pain head on and wrestle with God or we stuff it and let our hearts turn to stone.  The reality is this, anger is easier.

Anger lets us say "I don't need nothin' from nobody."  Anger lets us push people away and anger lets us believe the lie that if we don't let anyone close our hearts will never break again.

But facing the pain?  That takes bravery.  The brave hold out their broken hearts to God and say 'This is a mess.  I don't know how to fix it.  But I trust you.'  The brave say with the Psalmist "Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him."  The brave tell their broken stories and let their words bring healing to someone else's brokenness.

I think one of the greatest ways we can honor someone's life is to stay tender.  

To do the silly thing.  

To laugh.  To play.

  

To share stories.  To cry.  To feel.

To say 'yes' to people, to relationships. 

So, throw that party.

Let your "too big" baby sit on your lap.

Give that simple gift.

Make a mess.

Find joy in the small things.

Celebrate any chance you get.

And share your story so someone can say "me too".

We say it again and again and it can feel dry and cliche but it's true.

You just don't know how much time you have.

Make each day count.