\ May | 2018 | Dorina Lazo Gilmore

Chasing God's glory through tragedy and triumph

2018 May

Facing transitions: How to grow resilient kids in a changing world

Posted by | brave, courage, death, end-of-school year, family life, finishing well, flourishing, friendship, kids, parenting, Stories, transitions | 2 Comments

One summer I planted a backyard garden with tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini and eggplant. A friend helped me construct a raised wooden box for our plants. The kids and I watched the baby plants push through the soil and stretch toward the sky.

We enlisted my dad to help us water the garden while we were gone on a trip. After two weeks away, we came home to find hearty plants climbing over the edge of the planter box. I was so excited about taking in the harvest and getting creative in the kitchen.

I gathered a basketful of huge cucumbers and eggplants. Much to my disappointment, the tomatoes were tiny, and there were only a few on the large plants.

After a little investigation, I discovered tomato plants are particular. They need space to grow. They love heat. They like their stems buried deep in the soil so they can become more rooted. They need water, but too much water is too much of a good thing. In his eagerness to tend to our garden in the blazing summer sun, my dad had overwatered the tomatoes.

That summer I learned tomatoes need resistance to create resilience.

As we are closing out the school year, we face a new season of transition. My kids are transferring to a new school in the fall on the other side of town. That means we will be saying goodbye to dear friends and families who have become our community. We have planted ourselves in this school for the last four years, and it’s difficult to step away even though we are excited about the next chapter.

Are you facing transition today? Are you staring down a change in a job or church? Have you just buried a spouse or had to say goodbye to a good friend? Is your child changing schools or watching his dear friend move to a new place?

The reality is we spend a lot of time in our lives transitioning from one thing to the next. Seasons change. Kids grow up. Tragedy strikes. Friendships wane. Leaders we love move on to new callings. As a mama, I have a deep-rooted desire to protect my kids from the hard stuff, to shield them from the pain and heartache, but I’ve learned this does not always serve them well.

Like the tomato plants, kids grow resilient when they learn to navigate transitions. Rather than trying to shield my girls from challenges, I believe my job is to help them learn to embrace each new season. I’m learning to be attentive and intentional about their needs and my own during transition.

Here are a few things we do to traverse transitions:

Make space for the grief. When we are in transition, it hurts. It’s tempting to march on to the next thing or gloss over this season in an effort to avoid the pain. After my husband died in 2014, I knew I had to help my three daughters walk through their grief. The pain was unavoidable. I learned to make space for them to grieve. I asked questions like “What do you miss the most?” I listened. We shared memories of Daddy. This opened space for us to process what we were all feeling.

Be present together. It’s important to carve out extra time to be together, especially when we are in a time of transition. We have to be intentional to slow things down so our hearts can catch up. We take family walks in our neighborhood. We linger around the dinner table. We snuggle extra before bed. We plan road trips, which afford us time together to digest and talk through the transitions.

Bathe yourself in scripture. I learned that I am most vulnerable during transitions. It’s easy to feel insecure and doubt my decisions during these times. One thing that helps me navigate those feelings is to dig deeper into God’s Word. I create a little notebook with scriptures to speak truth over my soul. I make a practice of returning to these scriptures in the cracks of time when I am tempted to believe the lies of shame, guilt and doubt.

I love the reminder in James 1:19-20: “In simple humility, let our gardener, God, landscape you with the Word, making a salvation-garden of your life” (The Message).

Talk about what’s to come. We have discovered there is joy in talking about what we are looking forward to in the next season. After taking time to grieve, anticipation of the future can be a hopeful and healing thing. For us, that means talking about seeing Daddy again in Heaven one day or what we are looking forward to at our new school. This lifts our attitudes when we are in the trenches of transition.

Growth always requires hard work and sacrifice. Growth requires trusting God and moving forward through transition. Sometimes this means pushing through the hard earth of suffering, disappointment, fear, rejection, and even loneliness. This journey is where faith and character are cultivated. I want these things for my children and for myself.

Summer is my favorite time to eat tomatoes. When they ripen to that deep red hue, they possess such a robust flavor. At other times of year, tomatoes can taste bland even mealy in texture. Summer is their season, and their flavor is brightest after they have endured the heat and transition.

*Learn more about the themes of flourishing and cultivating in my new Bible study, Flourishing Together. Details here.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

 


Mothers of All Kinds: A spoken word for Mother’s Day

Posted by | courage, creativity, grief, hope, kids, Stories, video | No Comments

The following is a spoken word piece I wrote for The Bridge Church to share on Mother’s Day 2018. You can watch the piece here. The transcript of the piece is below.

 

I am Eve, the mother of mankind, the first to walk with God in the garden

the one to sink her teeth into that forbidden fruit that would change history.

 

I am Sarah, who left my people and my comfort zone

to link arms with my husband in a new land, to raise up nations.

 

I am Hagar escaping the heat of my mistress by running to the desert with my Ishmael

and discovering a God who sees His daughters in the wilderness.

 

I am Esther, an orphan-turned-queen, called into the palace

to pray, persuade and leverage my privileges for my people.

 

I am Rahab, who extended a rope of hope to strangers because I believed

in the power of God and became the mother to Boaz, the great great grandmother to King David.

 

I am Ruth, a widow-turned-warrior, who worked and gleaned and gained

the attention of one Boaz, who stands a story of how God turns ashes into beauty.

 

I am Hannah, weeping in the synagogue for God to open my womb

and experiencing the miracle of my sweet boy Samuel, my gift back to the Giver.

 

I am Elizabeth, who became a mother even with wrinkled face and tired shoulders,

who birthed John, the friend and forerunner of Jesus Christ himself.

 

I am Mary, the mother of God’s own Son, who watched her son die a horrible death on the cross and stands witness today to the power of resurrection.

 

You are the new mother, cradling your cherub in your arms, wondering if you were cut out for this constant work of changing diapers, wiping noses, buckling into car seats and grocery carts.

 

You are the grandmother serving up spaghetti and meatballs along with Bible stories and songs to help your little saplings grow in strength and faith.

 

You are the wife who stood at her husband’s graveside, burying him too soon and bearing up his grown children to help them navigate their grief.

 

You are the single woman watching other women’s children, waiting, wondering when it will be your turn.

 

You are the working mom, packing lunches and slipping into heels, whisking them off to school before the bell rings, before you start your day at the office.

 

You are the adoptive mom, crossing cultures to mother, to raise up, to stand in the gap for this child who carries the blood of another.

 

You are the barren mother, who weeps when she sees another negative pregnancy test, when she hears the treatment didn’t work. Again.

 

You are the mother whose babies have already flown to heaven, who endures the sting each Mother’s day that reminds you of this deep and hidden loss.

 

Your tears glisten like stars – tiny holes of light pricking through the night sky.

And He sees you there.

He does care.

He walks with you every step of the way.

He comforts you in your sorrow.

He waits patiently for you to come home.

 

You are the missionary to the outcast;

You are the sister to the prodigal;

You are the friend to the friendless;

You are the coach to the child;

You are the mentor to the young mother…

 

We are the women of Haiti, rolling beads from recycled cardboard, dreaming of days to come when we might pay for our children to go to school, when we might build that house on the hill.

 

We are the women of Japan, taking vintage kimonos and refashioning them into scarves and purses and jewelry. Our hearts are mended as we push needles through soft cloth.

 

We are the women of Germany, reaching out to refugees, crossing cultural barriers to lift up the foreigner, the other mother without a place to rest her head.

 

We are the women of the Bridge, reaching out to the neighborhood, investing in schools, non-profits, serving on Sundays, greeting new friends at the door

 

We are the women who prepared His body for burial, who washed His feet with our hair, who stood by when others denied Him.

 

We are the women, who were first to the tomb, who were surprised by angled light and the curve of miracle

 

We are the women sent out to preach the Good News, to tell the story of our Risen King.

 

We are the women bending knees in our war rooms on behalf of our children, husbands, city, valley, country, neighbors, and friends.

 

Mothers of all kinds,

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all. (Ephesians 1:16-23, ESV)

 

**I would love to connect with you in a more personal way. Please join my Glory Chaser tribe. I send out a weekly email with words of encouragement, recommendations for books and podcasts and my publishing news. 

Book Review: Grace Like Scarlett: Grieving with Hope After Miscarriage and Loss

Posted by | book reviews, brave, compassion, death, family life, grief, hope, struggle | One Comment

The texts were pecked out late into the night. I could read the desperation and grief between the short lines she wrote. My dear friend had endured another miscarriage. Her body had betrayed her again. I cried out to God on her behalf. Honestly, I didn’t know exactly how or what to pray, but I wanted to support. I learned to listen and groan alongside her in that season. I learned about the power of the ministry of presence.

Statistics show 15 to 20 percent of pregnant women in the U.S. experience miscarriage. I remember when I was a young girl my mama shared with me that she, too, endured miscarriage. I have often thought about what it might be like to meet my older sister in Heaven one day.

Experiences like these solidify for me the profound need for Adriel Booker’s new book, Grace Like Scarlett. The book is a moving, personal narrative about how one family endured pregnancy loss and navigated grief. Adriel invites readers to wrestle, to wonder and discover redemption in the wild waves of grief with her.  Her passion is to walk alongside women who endure the “secret grief” of miscarriage.

You know a book has touched your soul deeply when you simply can’t put it down. I am not a fast reader. I underline and highlight and journal in the margins of books. I like to savor the pages over weeks and months. I make books my companions for seasons.

This week I’ve carried this book everywhere with me. I’ve holed up in my bedroom, curled up on a couch in a coffee shop, read while waiting at small claims court and in the pickup line at school. I gobbled up Adriel’s words because she seemed to be writing my heart. At moments, I wondered if she had somehow read my own journals. It felt that personal and resonated that strongly.

Adriel writes, “We had to resist the impulse to deflect our grief or fight our brokenness. We had to reject the compulsion to figure out how this could be rewritten into a success story. We had to enter in as is.”

Although I have never had a miscarriage, I felt like she was mentoring and affirming me on my own grief journey. After my husband died from cancer in 2014, I have grieved and mothered three young daughters through grief.

What I appreciate most is Adriel’s honesty and authenticity. She doesn’t gloss over the pain. She doesn’t skip over her own ugly feelings of jealousy and anger. She doesn’t shy away from the theological conversations about suffering and God’s sovereignty. To use her words, she takes a deep dive into the hard stuff.

I love the metaphor she uses of the duck dive. “Surfers learn early on that unless they want to get swept back to shore, they have to learn to duck dive – take the whole surfboard and duck underneath the coming wave. Instead of trying to get over it or around it, they know the best way through is to go under.”

This metaphor rings true in my own grief journey too. In these last four years, I have learned the way through grief is to dive under with Jesus. The waves swirl and smack. They are powerful and unpredictable, but we must lean in or drown.

I also resonate with these poignant words Adriel writes in “And Then She Laughs”:

“Grief expands the soul and exposes our need, but it also expands our heart to receive love and be changed by it. This becoming can make us more whole if we are open to receive (and by changed by) God’s astonishing love.”

This book is an important read for anyone grieving, and particularly for families navigating pregnancy loss. I was especially touched by the letter to grieving dads written by her husband and ideas for helping kids process grief in miscarriage included in the appendix.

 

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