Pasta
I messaged my sweet friend Ms. Wesley and asked how she was doing. She knew exactly what I meant. I wasn’t looking for platitudes or “I’m fine”. She knew I truly wanted to know how she was handling the days, the minutes, the silence, the loss. See, she lost someone she loves very much and has been walking though her own complicated grief.
Her response resonated with me….
When you hear the word Italian food what comes to mind?
For me, it is pasta. Pasta heaped up on a plate with delicious sauce poured over the top and running down the “legs” of the pasta noodles. Heaps of cheese on top and the art of winding the noodles around the fork using a spoon to get just the right bite. Oh…and good wine. Preferably red.
When I was raising my kids on a very small budget, it meant comfort food, quick, easy, inexpensive and messy but delicious.
If I asked you what comes to mind when you hear the word Italian food, I wonder what the answer would be?
In the Italian culture pasta doesn’t just mean food. It means family time together. Older generations spend hours mixing, kneading, rolling and cutting out pasta dough. They pass on family traditions and spend quality time with each other making the pasta, then take their time to eat together.
A week or so ago, I messaged my sweet friend Ms. Weslie and asked how she was doing. She knew exactly what I meant. I wasn’t looking for platitudes or “I’m fine”. She knew I truly wanted to know how she was handling the days, the minutes, the silence, the loss. See, she lost someone she loves very much and has been walking though her own complicated grief.
Her reply was “I feel like a bowl of spaghetti with the noodles all going in different directions. I seek a path to follow.” I could feel and see her journey intimately.
Grief…like a bowl of spaghetti? I love it! I immediately could relate to her!
Spaghetti…It’s original form is linear, orderly, packaged neatly and the broken pieces in the box do not necessarily change the outcome of the dish. You cannot taste the pasta uncooked, it is not in it’s fully edible state or ready for consumption until it is dropped in boiling water.
Like pasta, we are not fully prepared for grief and then we are dropped in the boiling water of loss. How did we get here? The finished product a sticky, jumbled mess of emotion waiting in the strainer at the bottom of the sink.
Our grief spaghetti bowl looks like so many emotions entwined with all the other emotions. Some days we wind the spoon and joy is what holds the noodles together. Other times sadness, anger, numbness. We can cover it with fancy sauce, but the reality is, it is still there.
Sticky. Sometime stuck to other noodles, no clear path to take to get through the plate of healing.
Never forgetting, but leaning on the healing touch of Jesus and each other as we work through the tangled mess of spaghetti noodles that threaten to leave us stuck in a tangled emotion of grief.
Much love,
Chrissy
This post was inspired by my beautiful friend Ms. Weslie! Her vulnerability and light have helped all of us work toward healing.
Sprinkles of Tiny Miracles
We headed into the new year like most, with great anticipation of new beginnings, do overs, start overs. 2021 unfolded with a bang and then the wave threw us back into the desert of loss and heartache.
We had walked through this desert frequently over the past ten years. We knew the heat would feel intense and life would feel parched for a while. Then, all of a sudden…
We headed into the new year like most, with great anticipation of new beginnings, do overs, start overs. 2021 unfolded with a bang and then the wave threw us back into the desert of loss and heartache.
We had walked through this desert frequently over the past ten years. We knew the heat would feel intense and life would feel parched for a while. Then, all of a sudden, the stars twinkled in the sky and cleansing rain poured down our face?
It was one of those moments where God reminds us that even in our brokenness, He is good. That even in the desert, He is present and hears our prayers. That regardless of our what our circumstance look or feel like, He desires to give us good gifts.
Since losing Ron and Chris, God has shown me over and over again, that there are always tiny miracles sprinkled in with the pain. The confusing, overwhelming, beautiful place where great joy and great grief collide.
In 2020, just as the world was shutting down from Covid, we lost a grandbaby. Our tiny human we never got to touch and hold was held first by Jesus, Udi, Grandma B, Papa, Uncle Chris and so many others who have gone on before us.
Grief consumed our kids and overwhelmed all of our hearts. A baby that will never be forgotten nor can it ever be replaced;
but then God…
Saw fit to sprinkle us with another tiny miracle. He gifted our family with life once more. A gift that was an answer to prayer.
The excitement of the call that we were expecting a new little miracle grand baby in 2022.
A baby we now know is a little boy and will carry the name Weston Blake Cogdell through his life.
We recently celebrated this sweet miracle with family and friends. Standing off to one side, I couldn’t help but feel God’s overwhelming grace and love. Not only have we been gifted with a new grandbaby, but we inherited a beautiful daughter-in-love and her gracious, big, fun, loving family.
We have had many other sprinkles of tiny miracles along the journey of grief and healing. This one happens to be one of my favorites. This one and another sweet miracle baby that made me a great-aunt. Kennedy Grace. I will tell you more about her soon! In the meantime, enjoy all this cuteness.
Are you walking in the desert? Can you find the tiny sprinkles of miracles along the way?
I would love to hear your story…share in the comments.
Much love,
Chrissy
Inhale and Rest Until You Can Fly
THE CALL…THE LOSS…of a child, of relationships, of a church, of a hope.
This journey, for me, has looked much like a tree that lost all of its blooms, leaves and branches when the first blast of a cold winter arrives and hangs around for a while. A broken tree trunk that has to be scraped in multiple places to find any green growth under the peeling bark.
Anguish that quietened the memories, dulled his scent and his touch, muted his laugh. I was so fearful I had lost it all, even the memories.
THE CALL…
THE LOSS…
of a child, of relationships, of a church, of a hope, of a dream.
Papers served, the endless hours on the phone with attorney’s, depositions and deception. Feelings of betrayal and loneliness that stole my breath and hammered on my already shattered heart. The desperate cling to hope. So much of it, energy that has slowed my healing journey from the loss of my precious son, Christopher. As if his loss wasn’t enough, my world as I knew it, and any semblance of the landscape, would lay pulverized at my feet shortly thereafter. A journey through loss that has reshaped almost everything I knew to be true at that time in my life. A healing journey that will not end until I join him for eternity at the feet of Jesus.
This journey, for me, has looked much like a tree that lost all of its blooms, leaves and branches when the first blast of a cold winter arrived and hung around for a while. A broken tree trunk that has to be scraped in multiple places to find any green growth under the peeling bark.
The truth is, there was a time I would have preferred death.
It seemed so much easier than living with the pain.
As I was reaching for the light, about six months into my journey, I felt as if a sheet was pulled from the cedar closet, tattered, musty and stale and thrown over my seemingly broken, dead, lonely tree trunk. I cried out to God in anguish. “Why God!!!” “As if Chris’ death is not enough to bear, how could you allow this?” “If you are loving and good, where are you now?” I can still see me broken and sobbing on the floor of my bathroom. A floor that has borne the weight of my anguish for almost five years now.
Anguish that quietened the memories, dulled his scent and his touch, muted his laugh.
I was so fearful I had lost it all, even the memories.
What I could not see in my anguish, as I laid in that floor and hid under that musty, smelly, stale sheet, gasping for breath, was that God was pruning those people and things from my life that would prevent my growth and His plans for me (notice I did not say my plans for me) and adding life giving water and nutrients to my heart, soul and foundation.
What I could not see in my anguish was that musty, smelly, stale sheet from the cedar closet was immediately replaced by a fresh scented, crisply ironed sheet, that was dried in the wind and softened by The Master’s hands. He laid it ever so gently over my broken heart, body and soul, allowing me to sit in my anguish as I needed, yet covering me and protecting me so my roots could grow deeper and wider and stronger in the foundation of the soil (Jesus).
He hid me in the shelter of his wings.
He was making me less so I could be more.
This has been part of my healing journey through the loss of so much I cherished. Not just loss of my first-born baby, but loss of relationships, loss of a church family that I loved, loss of hope for the future to: see my son continue to grow and thrive in Jesus, marry and do life with his girl, raise his son, enjoy his brothers and many nieces and nephews, listen as he and his friends and wife find joy and mischief in adulthood together, care for me in my old age.
Friend, maybe you can relate. Maybe the landscape of your world has drastically changed around you from great loss or deep hurts. Maybe you feel like I have, the stub of a tree trunk that has to be scraped in multiple places to find any signs of life, covered by a dirty sheet.
I want you to know that a cold, hard, long winter season may have taken you to the brink of despair and death in your grief and wherever you are in that journey, it is OK. God has thrown a protective covering over you. Your heart may be so broken it may seem to smell and feel like that sour, stale sheet of hurt that was tossed your way, and I get that, but it really isn't.
It is a fresh scented, crisply ironed sheet, that was dried in the wind and softened by The Master’s hands. He has gently laid it as a protective covering over you to allow you the space to work through your anguish and grief. He is using it to prune out those things that no longer serve your life or His purpose for you and grow your roots deeper, stronger, wider in his love and foundation. He is turning those losses into gain. Remember that God is a master of bringing life out of death and loss. He sent his only son to die on the cross and then raised him from the dead. For our broken, our anguish, our sin. To give us life.
Remember my anguish?
Remember my fear of losing even the memories of Christopher from the stress of it all?
As I write this and pray that it is healing balm for your broken heart, I can feel Christopher’s touch, I can smell his scent, I can hear his big hearty laugh, his words of love and encouragement. I can see precious memories of a relationship between a mother and a son that was never broken, even in death.
Can you imagine the blooms and fragrance that are to come with your new growth?
Inhale the scent of the magnificent blooms God created just for you and your life. Uniquely and beautiful hand crafted. The branches that will spring forth. The seeds that will be carried on the wind and planted in fertile soil.
He has covered you with eagles’ wings and you will rise up to soar the skies again when God sends the healing winds that scatter the seeds from the blooms he has created for you and in you.
This bitter cold winter was not a surprise to him. Inhale the healing balm of Jesus and rest. Rest until you can fly.
Much love,
Chrissy
Those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on wings like Eagles. They will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:31
He will cover you with his feathers and under his wings you will find refuge. Psalm 91:4
Blessed are those who find wisdom, those who gain understanding, for SHE (that is you friend) is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. Proverbs 3:13-14