Heavens of Brass

I don’t know how or when it started, but I grew up feeling God was with me, protecting me, that somehow I was favored. It’s not as if I had a wonderful or remarkable childhood or was anyone special. I can’t even explain why I felt like that. It wasn’t really a conscious thought, but I just knew God really, truly cared about me, that he heard my prayers and that they “availed much.” I had a real assurance that I mattered to Him.

As a parent, I truly believed that my prayers for my kids and their friends and for our family really made a difference in this world. Even when our baby died, my faith that God cared and heard my prayers wasn’t shaken. I woke up nearly every night at 3:30 a.m., went downstairs to kneel in front of the couch and pray for our kids, for their friends, for our family. I believed God would protect our kids, that he heard my prayers for them and that he had a plan for them. One year, I gave Jason a beautiful framed scripture that he kept by his bed –  “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11” From the time Jason was born, both Joe and I felt like God’s hand was on him and he had a special purpose in this world. Even as a little boy, he just radiated love and kindness and joy and empathy.

But, I felt like all of that changed when Jason died. For a while, I felt like God was close to me right after Jason died and I could really tell people were praying for us. But, as I wrote in my journal a a couple months later, I could tell that people were moving on and had quit praying for us. I also felt like God had removed his hand of protection, that He no longer heard my prayers. My world came crashing down. I was free falling down a bottomless black hole with nothing and no one to stop me or hear my cries.

I felt God’s presence incredibly close after Jason died. I felt the prayers of people who knew us, lifting us up before the Most High. Somewhere along the line, it seemed as though God wasn’t paying attention any more, that He really didn’t care about the anguish we were going through. Somewhere along the line, I felt like God had abandoned us. I felt like the heavens were brass and my prayers weren’t even reaching the ceiling. I felt that people were no longer praying for us. Somewhere along the line, it seemed as though God’s people didn’t care so much any more. God’s people abandoned us.

https://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/a-crisis-of-faith/

I have struggled with my faith since then, and it seems as nothing has been right or gone right since Jason died. We have truly walked a hard and rocky path since March 3, 2002. Nearly everyone we knew abandoned us. We have wandered and wandered, trying to find a place to be “at home.” We have few I would consider true friends. People we have cared about and trusted have hurt us and proven themselves uncaring and untrustworthy. We have walked through so many difficult things since then, only a fraction of which I have talked about here. The God of grace and mercy I thought I knew seems to have turned his back, and I feel like my prayers go no higher than hitting a heaven of brass. I feel like, as it says in Deuteronomy 28:23, “The skies above will be as unyielding as bronze, and the earth beneath will be as hard as iron.”

I wrote earlier about what it is like to have a crisis of faith.

One of the things I miss most since Jason died (besides Jason and my life as I knew it before my world was shattered) is my unquestioning faith in God. I remember times when my heart was so full with love for God that I thought it would burst. I don’t feel that way any more, at least for now. I remember standing by the cassette player (yes, cassette player) with my eyes closed, singing my pledge of devotion to God along with Andrea Crouch or Clay Crosse. I remember being so moved by a song as I sang in the choir that I could hardly get the words out. “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15) was my anthem. I would have died for my faith, for God.

But what happens when it’s not you who are “slayed” and it’s your child who dies? What happens when you have to face life without your child, when you have to figure out how to go on living without your child? Then it’s not quite so easy to say, is it? I doubt that there isn’t one parent whose child died that gladly wouldn’t have taken his or her child’s place. I would much rather take the brunt of something awful FOR my children than it happen TO any of them. I would gladly have died in Jason’s place.

I keep on trying and trying, praying and hoping for things to turn around for us, but nothing has changed and we are so weary. I feel like I am losing hope. They say hope springs eternal, but I’m not so sure about that any more. The Bible encourages us to “build yourself up in your most holy faith.” What happens when you run out of energy to keep on trying to do that? Where is the “rest for the weary” that is promised?

I have had a crisis of faith. Does that mean I don’t believe in God? No. It just means it seems that what I thought I knew about God wasn’t accurate. It means that what I thought God would “do” for me, He wouldn’t or didn’t do. I thought that if I prayed for my kids that they would be protected. I thought that if I served God with all my heart and tried to do the right things God would make things right for me. I believed that God heard my fervent prayers, that my prayers “availed much” (James 5:16) in the kingdom of heaven and on earth, and that God answered my prayers. I believed God protected my family. I guess I sort of saw God like my own personal genie who could grant me whatever wish I wished for if I wished hard enough for it. That’s not faith; that’s wishful thinking.

Right after Jason died, I remember praying and praying that God would make something good come out of Jason’s death. I didn’t want Jason’s life and death to be for nothing. Both my husband and I felt, from the moment Jason was born, that God had great plans for his life. We felt that he was to do something great for God. And then God didn’t protect Jason and he died. After he died, I prayed that Jason’s life would be like a pebble dropped in a pond, that the ripples of his precious life would be like concentric rings and reach far and wide. Surely, there had to be more to Jason’s life and his living than he would die at the age of 19 before he barely was into adulthood. Surely, “all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28),” don’t they? I guess I’m still looking for the “good” to come out of Jason’s death, as I can’t say that I’ve seen it yet.

https://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/a-crisis-of-faith/

I’ve been a Christian for a long time. I picture my faith like a large tree with roots that go deep. But that tree has been nearly cut off at ground level. I’m questioning everything I took for granted – the sayings, the teachings, the cliches, the formulas, the things I thought I knew and understood to be true. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. I think God is big enough and has enough grace to handle my questioning.

I feel like my faith will grow again from the roots up, but it may not look the same as it did. I don’t want some pie-in-the-sky cliche. It’s got to apply to the tough stuff, to daily life. I want a faith and a hope that is real, practical, strong. I want a “rubber meets the road” faith in God that will carry me until I see my boy again.

https://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com/2011/09/28/the-question-of-faith/

Easter is seen as a time of hope, of renewal, of celebrating the risen Christ. I am very thankful that Jesus died for my sins and that he rose again so that I might have eternal life. Because of that, I know that I will see Jason again.  As I said on Easter last year, “I am thankful for the hope that Easter represents: the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ as a way for us to reconcile our sinful, human natures with the holiness of God, Jesus Christ’s victory over death when he rose from the grave, and the promise of eternal life after death. Without the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus, I would have no hope of seeing Jason again. And I am so incredibly thankful for that hope.” But, I will admit that I still struggle.

My goal in writing this on Easter morning is not to be a downer. If you are one of those people whose Easter is full of joy and hope, if you are celebrating with family, kids, grandkids or friends, if you feel the joy and happiness that Easter might bring, I am so happy for you!

I would ask, however, that you not forget those who might be struggling on this Easter. Those who are alone. Those who are estranged from their kids or family. Those who don’t have the picture-perfect, Easter egg hunting relationship with their grandkids. Those who are missing dearly loved ones. Those whose children have died. Those who are struggling with their faith. Those who feel like the heavens are brass and that God has forsaken them. I’m positive I am not the only one who feels this way. As with all holidays, I believe it’s good to have a reminder to think of and pray for those who may not be as fortunate.

I Corinthians 13

If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIV

~Becky

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

[I wrote this on Easter morning, but didn’t get a chance to post it before we left the house for the day.]

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Missing Pieces

As I mentioned before, I have been working on a memory quilt. I have been using pieces of fabric from clothes my grandmother, mother, daughter, sister and I have sewn over the years, supplementing  with pieces of new fabric depicting something that creates a memory for me. I still haven’t gotten up the courage to cut the shirts I saved that belonged to Jason.

 

 

To supplement the fabric I had, I have bought pieces of fabric that remind me of playing Yahtzee and other games with Jason, fabric that reminds me of making fresh strawberry jam and Jason using a piece of bread to get the last bit off the bottom of the pan. Fabric with a teddy bear hugging a blanket that reminded me so strongly of Jason when he was a baby that it made me cry. He loved his blanket – his “EE,” he called it. I have bought pieces of fabric that remind me of family vacations and other things we used to do. Memories.

 

 

 

The local fabric shops haven’t had much of what I have been looking for, so I have had to resort to ordering online – etsy, fabric.com, eBay, etc. Of course, it ends up being much more expensive than walking into a local fabric store to make a purchase because shipping costs really add up on top of the cost of the fabric. Also, I take the chance of the item not being the quality I would want or the size I need to fit into my quilt pieces or whatever.

I ordered several pieces from a few vendors on etsy, after spending a great deal of time looking and looking. Each package comes with tracking, so I can see when they are delivered. Two packages showed they were delivered to our mailbox on Saturday, March 17th, at 1:09 p.m., but they simply weren’t there. They never showed up. I asked our neighbor if he got them by accident, and he had not.

My husband went to the post office with the tracking numbers on Monday, and the postmistress (after looking up the tracking numbers in their GPS system) said they were delivered to and left in the mailbox of an entirely different address nowhere near us!!! They flat out gave them to the wrong people.

She asked the driver and, of course, he didn’t remember anything about them and they weren’t in his truck. She drove out the the address and couldn’t find them in any mailbox or locate anyone to ask if they had received them. When I called to ask her on Tuesday about the packages, she said that people usually realize they have something that doesn’t belong to them and bring them back in. She suggested we just wait a couple weeks to see if they show up.

I called her again on Friday to find out the status of my packages. She said that on Thursday they had put notices in the mailboxes of any address that was similar enough to ours that could have received the package, asking them to return them to the post office if they had them. So far, they still haven’t shown up.

This is just so frustrating to me. Besides the absolute incompetence of the post office delivering my items to someone else and some person having the audacity to keep what doesn’t belong to them, I feel like I have such an emotional investment into making this quilt that it’s hard not to react emotionally. It just makes me want to cry or yell at someone or something. Don’t they know how important this is to me? No, of course they don’t, and they really couldn’t care less.

The vendors did not ship the packages with insurance, so I have no recourse for them to replace the items. They shouldn’t have to replace something and be out of pocket because the post office lost their shipments. I shouldn’t have to put out more money to replace them because of the incompetence of the post office. If they don’t show up this week, I’m going to contact the U.S. Postal Inspector and file a report with them.

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

UPDATE: 3/27/18

Still no lost packages found and delivered by the post office. I stopped by today to talk to the postmistress. She said she has done everything she could do. I asked if I could file a claim with the post office to get the money back I had spent for the items they had lost. She said that, unfortunately, if the shipping vendor didn’t think the contents were worth insuring (which neither of them had sent with insurance), then the post office doesn’t consider them of any value and will not pay for the lost items.

Perhaps it’s time to switch gears for a while and start collecting fabric for the butterfly quilt I’ve been thinking about. I’m open to suggestions on where to get some fabric that won’t cost me an arm and a leg!!

 

March 3

My precious boy. Jason David Carney. Life is not the same without you.

7-29-82 – 3-3-02

 

Oh, my boy, how I miss you.

~Mom

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

Restless Winds

Nor’easter winds have been blowing through Western North Carolina, with downed trees and power lines predicted. They started yesterday evening and are not supposed to diminish until sometime tomorrow.

It feels as if they reflect the restlessness in my soul on this day, March 2nd, the day before the anniversary of Jason’s death. I feel like I want to take off and run somewhere far away, as if I could ever get away from the pain and what this time of year represents.

Oh, how this mama’s heart hurts.

Missing you, my precious boy.

~Mom

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

Music

Some days I need to turn up the music loud, concentrate and breathe…just to turn down the sadness in my heart so I don’t fall apart. Today is one of those days.

Jason loved to brighten his family’s and friend’s day by surprising them with flowers, and his last Valentine’s Day was no exception. I had the privilege of going with Jason as he picked out the biggest and best bouquet of roses for the girl he took out on that last Valentine’s Day. His sister was going through a rough time, so he also picked out the biggest and best bouquet of roses for her to encourage her and let her know she was loved and valued. He was just so thoughtful like that.

Oh, my boy, how I miss you.

~Becky

Memory Quilt

When we lived in Oklahoma, I started making a memory quilt. I pulled it out last week to start working on it again. Even though I have lost so many things that meant something to me in our many moves, I somehow managed to keep pieces of leftover fabric from my family of sewers – from my grandma, my mom, my own sewing from jr. high on, my sister’s sewing (my wedding dress, Easter outfits for Jenna, etc.), Jenna’s sewing, etc.

I have pieces of fabric from one of the first dresses I ever sewed for myself, pajamas I made when the kids were little, shirts I made for the boys and dresses I made for Jenna. I have a piece of fabric from a robe I made and wore in the hospital when Eric was born. I have scrap pieces from shirts my grandma made for herself and from dresses and shirts my mom made for herself. In my mind, I can picture each and every article of clothing and the person who wore it. I am supplementing with fabric I’ve purchased that triggers a memory for me – a piece of fabric with pictures of chocolate chip cookies (because Jason loved to make chocolate chip cookies), video games the kids used to love, chess pieces (Jason’s favorite game), math quotes, etc.

One thing I terribly regret is not keeping more of Jason’s clothing. I’ve talked before about feeling pushed to go through his room before I was ready and how I would do things differently if I knew then what I know now. I kept a couple of shirts, his letterman jacket, a sweater and a sweatshirt he wore all the time. I have a Halloween costume I made when Jason was little, a white tee shirt and one with the Pillsbury dough boy that he loved. I’m not sure I actually have the courage to cut them up to put into my quilt. I also have a couple of Jason’s hats that he loved as a little boy.

Jason didn’t have a lot of clothes and, even though he was a tee shirt kind of guy, he always looked classy. He loved dressing up in three piece suits, white shirt and tie, dress slacks and a vest, a tux and his top hat, white gloves and cane for extra-special occasions. I have his hats and gloves, although the cane was lost somewhere along the way.

This week I sat hugging his letterman jacket and crying. It’s a tough time of year for me, this approach to March 3rd. Hugging a coat is a poor substitute for hugging my boy.

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Jason David Carney – 7/29/82 – 3/3/02

Missing you, Jason. I love you.

~Mom

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney