Pausing Instead of Picking Up the Pieces

 

Herbert Hayden "Bubba" Strozier, Jr.

12 July, 2022

It's been 11 days since my Dad passed away suddenly while helping a friend fix his car... in the gravel driveway, in front of the shop he built over 40 years ago... where he has spent thousands of hours, fixing countless vehicles for friends and family.

We spent over a week taking care of arrangements and all the details for two separate funeral services in Louisiana - one where I grew up, and one where both my Dad and I were born - and where he is now buried.

And now we're all back in our respective homes... we're back in Texas... my cousins are back in their various states... my aunts & uncles and more cousins have resumed work and activities... my sister and brother (in-law) and nephew are back in their home, trying to move forward with "normal" life... and my Mom is back in the house I grew up in - where it is quiet and full of memories.  

So many memories.

When I was there, I could still hear my Dad's voice saying my name in that laid-back, playful manner.  With that north Louisiana accent that never left him.  I could still hear him ask me if I wanted a cuppa coffee... still hear him clear his throat.  I still can even now, in fact.

It's a good thing we came home to a fully-stocked kitchen - with food still hot sitting on the stove (thanks to our amazing friends who took care of our house and animals while we were gone.).  Otherwise, I'm not sure what we would be eating.  

I'm familiar with grief.  I recognize its ebb and flow.  How it steals time and you blink yourself out of a fog you didn't realize you were in, and you find yourself confused that it's supper time, and you don't have a clue what you did all day.

When Olivia, my 10-year-old spoke at both services - well, first of all, I was floored at her poise.  And I recognized right away that God has given her a gift.  But what she spoke about came from our season of grief when I was carrying Rebecca and we knew that without a miracle, she wouldn't live.  During that season, it was like living in a nightmare I couldn't escape from.  I finally reached a turning point where God gave me a moment of clarity and I saw all the blessings that surrounded me and I realized that I could either drown myself in my grief - or I could Choose Joy.

I could choose - throughout the day - to look around and find a blessing that was right in front of me, and I could choose joy instead of despair.  If I could do this, then I could wake up and make it through each day without crumpling to the floor and never getting up again.

Olivia - who was so young at the time, I'm surprised she even remembers - talked in both services about choosing joy when Rebecca was born - and died.  Choosing joy every year when we visit Rebecca's grave. 

My Mom said yesterday - after returning home and realizing that the hardest days are ahead - that she will take Olivia's advice and choose joy.  

I remember well from walking this out with Rebecca that choosing joy is mostly not just one day at a time, but one part of the day at a time.  Sometimes that is the only pace we can handle as we move ... forward.  As we move.... on.

Everyone knew this "grin"

It's strange that life should go on,... meals need to be made... clothes need to be washed... little ones need attention and affection... bills need to be paid.  All the while, you feel stuck.  And you know the more you move forward, the farther you are from the last moment you were with that person who is now out of reach.

The more you move forward, the further away you are from the last conversation you had with them.  It feels... unfinished.

Because it is.

I know it's right to pause right now.  When we were driving in the procession from the funeral home to the cemetery - I was touched that almost every vehicle coming the opposite direction on the other side of the road slowed to a stop and pulled over on the shoulder - to pause.  To take a few seconds to show respect for someone they didn't even know - because a person - a life - has also come to a pause.

I wanted to meet eyes with every one of those drivers and show them I appreciated their sentiment. They had no idea the caliber of the man being laid to rest, and yet they paused in respect.  He deserved it.

It is unfinished.  I feel like his life was unfinished.

There were projects left undone... things left unsaid... plans left in limbo.  

But it isn't the end.  There is coming a day when our Messiah will return and fix the broken things, bind up the broken-hearted, rescue the captive, and raise the dead.  And we will have the joy of being in His Kingdom, where there will be no broken pieces left to pick up.

I'm writing these words mainly for myself - maybe only for myself,  I don't know. 

Who wants to read this, really?

I know life goes on.

I know there's grocery lists to be made and bathrooms to be cleaned and errands to run, and darn it if I didn't forget again to switch over the laundry - I've only reminded myself 4 times today.

But for now I will give myself - give all of us - time to pause.  There are pieces to be picked up, but it won't happen today.  Today I will just rest in the One who binds up the brokenhearted.  The One who sets the captive free.  The One who raises the dead to life in a Kingdom where nothing is broken anymore.

Today I will pause and rest in Him.  And let Him pick up the pieces along the way.