My daughter informed me that yesterday, on social media, was #ThankfulThursday. So she asked me for a photo of what I am thankful for. For one thing, I am terribly grateful for my daughter—I would definitely post her picture in neon lights if possible because she is the one who handles the world of instagramming, tweeting, facebooking, and anything else social, for my book Mr. Zip and The Capital Z. Without her, I would be lost. I can barely make it through the maze of Facebook without spending hours of reading, laughing, and responding—hours I can hardly spare. But seriously, I asked her to post these pictures from Mother’s Day—for those were sweet moments with my children and grandchildren, and my husband, Jerry—he’s taking the photos.
This past Tuesday in my blog for Mr. Zip Books, not knowing that Thursday was “thankful day” on social media, I wrote about being grateful for the gift of going to the beach almost 40 years ago, a gift that to this day is still giving many blessings. What I didn’t tell you, though, is what transpired in my heart at that moment last Saturday morning. For you see, my late husband, Marty, is the one who gave me his love for the ocean. I had gone to the beach with my youth group when I was in high school, but not much before then. My dad, who enjoyed freshwater fishing, lakes, and ponds, didn’t have much use for the sand. But in October of 1982, Marty and I took our first trip to Emerald Isle, NC, and apart from the time that we lived in California, went almost every year—even when it meant a 19 hour car trip just to get there!
Marty with Laura as an infant at Emerald Isle
But in March of 2002, Marty passed away, and as a mom of three children, ages 10, 15, and 17, there was little time to do anything but parent and follow the direction of life Marty and I had discussed before he died. There was especially no time to grieve.
I think there are five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They are probably supposed to come in some certain order. I can’t say that I experienced all of the above, but I do know that I experienced some anger—anger that Marty had left, petty, selfish silliness of things done wrong or not right (even though he did so much right), but nonetheless, heartbreaking feelings that unbeknownst even to me, I wanted to hide, suppress, or make go away. And that’s what I did… until this past weekend.
But standing on the shore early Saturday morning, I started thanking God for the beauty of the ocean, for the times of coming to the beach, and then, for Marty and all he had brought to my life. Unexpectedly (and I’m still surprised by this joy), what I had hidden began to melt away and my heart that had kept a careful distance from life began to break open.
Thankfulness is a wonderful thing. No wonder our Lord tells us to give it in every situation. (See 1 Thessalonians 5:18.) It softens our hearts and when we least expect it, brings forgiveness, compassion, and unbelievable hope.
Delighted by His love,
Kimberly
