So sorry I took so long getting up the strength & courage to come up here to see you. It's just still unbelievable to me I can't just pick up the phone and call you. I just really need to start talking because I know you're still watching out for me. (I feel like a goober, I went to the wrong plot so I ended up talking to a complete stranger!)... I still can't trust anyone the way I could trust you. And there are still things only you know about me. I completely understand why God would not want to wait for you any longer! Always C. (a friend)
We read dozens of journal entries like this one. There is something very comforting about being "known" so completely by someone. And when that person accepts you just the way you are , we seem to find more courage for life & living. God certainly knows us and his grace seems to cover so much. But who on this earth knows you - really knows you?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Journal #1 - September 29, 1998
Jeremy,
At times like this I miss you so much. I miss your words. I know you are watching us, Jeremy. I feel you. I hear you say, "It's going to be fine, trust in God." I'm trusting as much as I can right now. Jeremy thank you for your loving heart. Even through your face is not here, I can still hear those comforting words from your heart. I miss you... C (a friend)
Sometimes when it's hard to see, we cling to the words we've heard and the beliefs we have, and the things that are lasting - straining to listen to sounds that encourage and reminds us of things that matter, things that last. But most of all, to know we're not alone. What sounds are you hearing today?
At times like this I miss you so much. I miss your words. I know you are watching us, Jeremy. I feel you. I hear you say, "It's going to be fine, trust in God." I'm trusting as much as I can right now. Jeremy thank you for your loving heart. Even through your face is not here, I can still hear those comforting words from your heart. I miss you... C (a friend)
Sometimes when it's hard to see, we cling to the words we've heard and the beliefs we have, and the things that are lasting - straining to listen to sounds that encourage and reminds us of things that matter, things that last. But most of all, to know we're not alone. What sounds are you hearing today?
Friday, August 7, 2009
Explorations of life, loss & legacy
This blog is not really another chronicle of how a family survived heart-wrenching loss. Our family’s journey, although certainly unique for us, is not new to humankind. A sea of weather-worn hundred year-old headstones in our son’s small hilltop cemetery serve as a constant reminder of far too many lives cut painfully short.
But as we pushed through this horrible time in our lives, something very unexpectedly rose from the ashes of our grief as if to say Jeremy’s influence had not yet come to an end. In the quiet of his resting place, God chose his impact to be revealed in hundreds of “conversations” captured in small, wire-bound journals protected from the elements by a handmade oak box. Year after year, journal after journal, the conversations continued.
For the longest time I struggled putting a father's feelings into words, yet mercifully chapter after chapter of Jeremy’s legacy was already being handwritten by others. Visitors would stop by to pay their respects, read previous entries and join in the “conversation” with our son, just as if he’d never left us. Sometimes they were incredibly funny like when Corrine lamented to Jeremy about a rather long conversation she had at the wrong gravesite with a “total stranger”. And at other times could reflect the innocence of two small grade school children who lived next door, "It's too bad we didn't know you Jeremy. It seems like a lot of people love you!" (Present tense) As diverse as the conversations were, however, they all had one thing in common; they revealed how the ripples of influence of our lives continue to impact others long after we’re gone.
His journals become a unique chronicle of the journeys of hundreds of people and how one young life made a difference to so many. Expressions of loss, legacy and hope converged in that place to create a backdrop for each visitor’s personal exploration. As you share in these conversations, perhaps you will find yourself asking …
If a journal was placed alongside my headstone some day, what would those conversations with me look like?
Would friends and family remember warm and uplifting interactions with you or express regret for time that can’t be recaptured? Relationships that were taken for granted or recollections of your encouraging words and acts of kindness and compassion? You see, we never know when our own legacies will be written. Jeremy didn’t. He left that Sunday afternoon in 1998 for a swim with friends not knowing he would never return to his earthly home again. Please visit often and join in the conversation as we post other entries from The Journals.
Hi Jeremy,
“Yep, it does seem harder lately. I’m remembering last summer and trying to relive every moment of your last days here. My soul is tired, Jer. Yet even as I sit here and write this I can imagine you saying, ‘But Mom, it’s worth it! Hang in there. So I will my dear son, I will. In Jesus strength and help and in his love, I will.
Love Mom.”
But as we pushed through this horrible time in our lives, something very unexpectedly rose from the ashes of our grief as if to say Jeremy’s influence had not yet come to an end. In the quiet of his resting place, God chose his impact to be revealed in hundreds of “conversations” captured in small, wire-bound journals protected from the elements by a handmade oak box. Year after year, journal after journal, the conversations continued.
For the longest time I struggled putting a father's feelings into words, yet mercifully chapter after chapter of Jeremy’s legacy was already being handwritten by others. Visitors would stop by to pay their respects, read previous entries and join in the “conversation” with our son, just as if he’d never left us. Sometimes they were incredibly funny like when Corrine lamented to Jeremy about a rather long conversation she had at the wrong gravesite with a “total stranger”. And at other times could reflect the innocence of two small grade school children who lived next door, "It's too bad we didn't know you Jeremy. It seems like a lot of people love you!" (Present tense) As diverse as the conversations were, however, they all had one thing in common; they revealed how the ripples of influence of our lives continue to impact others long after we’re gone.
His journals become a unique chronicle of the journeys of hundreds of people and how one young life made a difference to so many. Expressions of loss, legacy and hope converged in that place to create a backdrop for each visitor’s personal exploration. As you share in these conversations, perhaps you will find yourself asking …
If a journal was placed alongside my headstone some day, what would those conversations with me look like?
Would friends and family remember warm and uplifting interactions with you or express regret for time that can’t be recaptured? Relationships that were taken for granted or recollections of your encouraging words and acts of kindness and compassion? You see, we never know when our own legacies will be written. Jeremy didn’t. He left that Sunday afternoon in 1998 for a swim with friends not knowing he would never return to his earthly home again. Please visit often and join in the conversation as we post other entries from The Journals.
Hi Jeremy,
“Yep, it does seem harder lately. I’m remembering last summer and trying to relive every moment of your last days here. My soul is tired, Jer. Yet even as I sit here and write this I can imagine you saying, ‘But Mom, it’s worth it! Hang in there. So I will my dear son, I will. In Jesus strength and help and in his love, I will.
Love Mom.”
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