Tuesday September 25, 2012

For the first time in years I have found myself in a season of financial comfort. My family is not unbelievably wealthy or anything of that matter; but we can pay our bills and live comfortably and even go on the occasional shopping spree. Before I left for school I worked my tail off at my job saving for things I wanted and my family couldn't afford to replace (such as: my laptop and other useful electronics). I worked because I felt I was helping myself climb out of the financial rut my family had found ourselves in. Then, the unthinkable happened and March 15th 2012 my father was killed in a car crash. I could not fathom how my family would make it. We would have to move out of the house we have lived in for 15 years, we had no car, my little brother's high school years were growing comsumingly busy and my mom would be gone to work. I would have to give up my newfound freedom and move back home with my family. My worries felt insurmountable.

The next part of my story will raise some suspicion for some of you reading this but at the darkest most fear stricken months of my life, God provided for us. Now, I am not trying to sound uber religious and make this entire blog about christian cliches, because quite frankly, I hate to read hollow words nor would I take the time to write them here. So, with that being said I will continue with my story. After my father died, people began coming out of the woodwork to hold my family. Flight attendants from my mother's airline calling weekly to check on her and see how she was doing. My fathers friends flooding my house fixing and taking care of everything they could: our broken down fence, our uninsulated walls, the hole in the ceiling from the time my mom fell through the attic (funny story actually!). My father's trusted work friends came over and faithfully took care of our finances where my father left off. We were a puzzle that had been shattered apart. We were paralyzed, but people stopped there lives to come and bless us. To hold us while we cried, to listen while we told stories. They were the hands of love that helped nurse us until we could stand on our own again.

Quite frankly, I never got to thank those people. I was so overwhelmed at all that was happening, so used to being the family that gave and not the family that desperately needed help...that I was numb to the world. I was in shock, broken and bleeding for months and months. My mind was elsewhere...somewhere between unbearable loss and vulnerability. Somewhere, I was alive but could feel nothing at all.

My point in telling this story isn't for reminiscing purposes but a few others. First off, if you are reading this and took any part in holding us after my father died...I am indebted to you. You will never know how much the love you showed meant to us. Never. And we still...6 months later feel your love. I wish words were enough to express that. Second: For the first time in years I can finally sleep knowing the burden of finances do not lay so heavy on my mother. I have been enjoying life on this side of the world so much I have forgotten that every thing we have in our lives is a blessing. The things I have been blessed with are not for me to hoard from the world. Rather, I have been shown grace to show grace to others. There should never be a point in my life where my fear of life going black again overshadows my purpose and duty to the world. That's what I am working on right now. Hopefully, my story helps you today in some way. Weather you have experienced a similar situation or not. Walk away with this at least: regardless of where you are in your life, you have a purpose and a duty to the world around you. Our lives are too short to hoard.