Guest Post: Confessions of a Bottom Feeder

Today I have guest Sallie McDaniel here to share. Welcome, Sallie!

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Psalm 77:1 says, “I cried out to God with my voice–To God with my voice; And He gave ear to me.” Have you ever cried out to God? Crying out is more than uttering perfunctory phrases in prayer for a better job, more income, or material things. To cry out is to lay one’s soul bare before God, to petition God with all of your heart, mind, and strength. It’s the humbling, tearful prayer that summons your last ounce of energy when you have reached rock bottom.

I married at the tender age of 19. After 8 tumultuous years, I relocated to Rock Bottom when I became a single parent. I felt like a trailblazer on a forbidden path, as the first person in my Christian family to become divorced.

In my book, Jesus is My Thesis, I compare the stages of divorce to the “5 Stages of Death” identified by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in On Death and Dying. Stage 1 is isolation. When you become divorced or widowed, you unwittingly change life categories. If most of your friends are couples, you may still be invited to dinner, but you feel like a third wheel tagging along. Some stop inviting you because they feel pressured to choose between you and your ex-spouse.

Stage 2 is anger. At age 19, I was deceived into thinking a premature marriage between two unequally yoked people could morph into happily ever after. I was angry when I learned God had been right all along. The most important thing a husband and wife can do is to invite a Third Person, Jesus Christ, to be the center of their marriage.

The anger stage ran concurrent with Kubler-Ross’ third stage, bargaining. There were space compromises when my son, a toddler, and I moved into my parents’ empty nest. There were scheduling conflicts between cooking, laundry, and custody arrangements. There were budgeting bargains, as we struggled to adjust to a new standard of living which covered little more than Ramen noodles and a bar of soap.

All of this led me headlong into stage 4, depression. I had to come to the end of myself, my fantasies, my compromises, and my will. At the bottom of that pit, with nowhere to look but up, I cried out to God. I admitted how my wrong decisions affected everyone in my family, and I repented of my youthful folly and willful disobedience.

The following Sunday, "It is Well with My Soul" was the invitation hymn. As I sang along, emotionally moved by the powerful words, God held my hand and carried me over the threshold of stage 5, acceptance. I started a new habit of meeting Him daily for prayer and devotion, and He began to replace loneliness, sadness, and fear with His peace, security, and joy. Life’s most difficult moments can work on our hearts like a spiky meat tenderizer, driving us to our knees in soulful prayer. But, the painful surrender from the bottom of the pit is where God begins to lift burdens and heals heartaches.

~ By Sallie Hite McDaniel

Sallie Hite McDaniel is a Bible study teacher and writer. She earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology with a concentration in biblical studies in 2008. McDaniel and her husband live in the southeastern United States. They have three grown children. These days, Sallie spends her time working on her second book, her first attempt at fiction, when she’s not proofreading for others. Check out her book, Jesus is my Thesis, on Amazon.

Is it a cheap shot? "You'll see him in Heaven"

It was not the first time someone told me this and I suspect it won't be the last.

Talk about bittersweet.

I suppose I should explain. I'm talking about when people hear that your child died and immediately----I mean without even pausing to take in a breath----say, "You will see him again in Heaven."

Is that supposed to make it all okay?

Tell me, what exactly do these kind folks mean when they toss out that line?

If I were to watch a mother or father crying over the loss of an infant that only breathed for a few moments or a son or daughter who lived to be forty, I would never say that line.

It's a cheap shot. My opinion. To me, it makes it seem as though there is no reason for tears. Or makes it seem that if I had real faith, I wouldn't be sad.

Don't get all ruffled up now. It's not that I don't believe. You see, I do believe in Heaven. I wish more was written about it in The Bible. On many days I wish for just a glimpse. When I'm at the ocean and the breeze blows and the waves dance against the shore, I feel I'm closer to Heaven. Or when I go for a walk and the scents and sights of spring fill my vision, I think, "Ah, this is heavenly."

I believe when people die they go to Heaven. The criminal on the cross next to Jesus was promised he would be with Jesus in paradise. Love is perfect there because the Creator of love, God the Father, lives in Heaven. There is no sin, no sorrow, no tears and no human frailty in this place of eternity.

Yet sometimes I wonder if those who tell me not to worry, that I'll be with my son again in Heaven, are not using their God-given mind to think, to ponder.

Do you really think I am going to be serving animal crackers and reading bedtime stories to my Daniel in Heaven?

There will be reunions, yes. But I will never be Daniel's mama on earth again. Gone is the dream every mother holds and that is to watch her little baby grow up. That ended for me with Daniel's death at age four. When he died, so did my need to buy Cocoa Puffs for him.

I was thirty-six then. I'm fifty-two now. That's been a lot of time for me to wonder and pray and think, and oh, yes, bite my tongue. Especially when well-meaning folk try to cast off my pain by quipping, "We'll just think, you'll see him again in Heaven."

"If Heaven is going to be just like earth where I have to take out the trash, worry about paying bills, and discipline my kids, I don't want it," a mother said to me.

Some seem to think Heaven is an extension of earth. That Heaven to many will be a repeat, only without mosquitoes and a place where consuming a pound of milk chocolate won't make one fat. Many act like it's going to be where I can see my Daniel again as he was on earth. Folks, that little body that took a beating to cancer is gone. It is no more. The Bible promises we'll get new bodies, and I imagine that they won't age. In fact we probably will all look the same age----young and flawless, like the women in all those Oil of Olay commercials.

So before you tell a mother who is sorrowful over the death of her dreams, who is questioning who she is now without her son or daughter, who dreads Christmas because it means one less stocking to fill, who has seen her family diminish in size, and who has a hard time putting one foot in front of the other on most days---even years later----THINK!

There are so many healthy and nurturing ways in which we can comfort each other. Consider them. Instead of giving a pat, "Well, you'll see your child in Heaven," why not sit down, hold a grieving mother's hand, and listen?

You just might cry when you hear her aching heart. Don't you think Jesus would be weeping if He were seated next to her, too?

She knows she'll see her child again in Heaven. Right now she needs more than that reassurance. She has to learn how to live the rest of her life without him. She has to conquer sleepless nights and inappropriate comments, criticism, and push herself to believe that she will get a day free of tears.

Let her know that she is going through the hardest journey a mother ever goes through.

Let love coupled with understanding be how you bring comfort.

~ Alice is the author of five inspirational novels and the new devotional on grief and loss, Getting Out of Bed in the Morning: Reflections of Comfort in Heartache. Read the reviews and order a copy here.

[This post was first posted at Alice's Patchwork Quilt Blog]