Life has a way of showing us that we are not in control

Life has a way of showing us that we are NOT in control. Not even close. Just when we think we are climbing our way out of dark places, something happens that reminds us to not get too comfortable with life as we think it should go. You know, John Lennon said it best in the song Beautiful Boy, "Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans." a phrase he borrowed from Allen Saunders in a Reader's Digest article penned in January 1957. Life has a way of showing us that we are NOT in control. Yesterday, I randomly wrote the word GRIEF on a blank piece of notebook paper. Just one word. That word. Grief.

It seems as though this grief I've been experiencing is not going anywhere anytime soon. I've been doing a lot of reading on the topic of grief. One thing I've come to understand is that where there was the loss of someone significant, as long as that person remains significant in our lives, though no longer here, that grief remains. I attribute that to the reason I've never really 'gotten over' the loss of my grandmother. Losing Billy kicked my grief into hyperdrive. I'm almost absolutely certain that I will live with my grief for the rest of my life. 

Life has a way of showing us that we are NOT in control. Not even close. Just when we think we are climbing our way out of dark places, something happens that reminds us to not get too comfortable with life as we think it should go. Yesterday, I received word that a 22 year old young lady, one I've known for the better part of 10 plus years - as a friend of my youngest daughter AND as a player on the basketball team I was the assistant coach for - was in the midst of a major medical situation, one that has her fighting for her life. Receiving that news sent my emotions into a tailspin. The grief I've been feeling found it's way right back to the forefront of my head and heart. Grief, I've found, is a lot like waves in an ocean. Sometimes that grief comes in little skipper waves, the ones that just ripple up on the shore, unassumingly. Sometimes that grief comes in crashing waves, the ones that hit you hard, knocking you down and tossing you around the surf like a ragdoll. I'm learning how to manage each wave that comes my way.

Today, I'm feeling a different grief. It's a grief for the family of my dear sweet Mady. My heart truly aches for them right now, and in a weird way, it is taking all the focus off of my own, personal heartache and grief. For the past 24+ hours, I've not focused on the fact that yesterday was Tuesday and my grief surfaces hard on Tuesdays. Yesterday, my grief wasn't my own. It was a grief focused on Mady and the entire Bush family. I know my own grief is there. I remember my loss(es) all too well. It will NEVER go away, but in this instance, I have been able to channel it a bit.

I've rallied my Prayer Warriors, my friends on Facebook who always answer my rally cry for prayers without hesitation. There is an army of people praying hard for Mady Bush right now. If ever there was a need for a miracle, now is it.

I believe in miracles....and I am praying hard for one right now. If you feel so inclined, please pray for one, too.