Category: Grief and Loss

  • The Hill of Slane

    The Hill of Slane

    I like quiet places. That’s why I said “yes” to a faith pilgrimage and crossed a threshold into the back countryside of Ireland. Celtic readings, reflection questions, and Scripture reminded us we were more than tourists; we were pilgrims.1

    Saint Patrick knew about crossing thresholds. Irish raiders had kidnapped the sixteen-year-old from Britain and sold him as a slave-shepherd. Seven years later he escaped, returned home, studied for his ordination, and returned to Ireland as their first missionary. On a place called Slane Hill, Patrick made a powerful and dangerous declaration that freed many to worship God.2

    Patrick’s courage on Slane Hill can inspire us to take treasures from the impossible parts of our stories, put words to them, and speak freedom into the lives of others.

    Our pilgrimage took us to Slane Hill. Sitting on the ruins of the Franciscan church and monastery (above photo) reminded me of the brevity of life and opened my heart to a world of opportunity. I felt joy on the Irish side of my threshold—great joy. But, as you know, joy and sorrow can be. close companions. They are for me, as I mark Steve’s departure from this life three years ago.

    Solitude in Irish beauty reminded me that the “ruins” of sorrow can be sacred if we honor them. We need not fear our tears. In time they can add vibrancy to our next burst of joy. Feel the winds of Ireland (in video) as you ponder your next threshold.

    1. Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press), 2000, 22.
    2. https://www.discoverboynevalley.ie/boyne-valley-drive/heritage-sites/hill-slane-coming-christianity

    The Treasure: When our strength is in God and our hearts are set on pilgrimage, valleys of weeping can become springs of replenishment for us and others (Psalm 84:5).

    If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:

    In some ways I have stepped beyond a threshold. I’ve stepped beyond the fence, left Pilgrim at home. She has waved good-bye. I’m still a big part of her and she’s a part of me. But she’s not where I get my security; she’s not the main story. God has helped me move through a threshold, to step into a new season beyond deep sorrow and into new life and new joy. Sorrow will be a part of it.

    I am on the outskirts of Dublin at a place called, Slane Hill, where St. Patrick came to be missionary to the country where he was once a slave. I am really intrigued by his courage and by the power of God that happened as a result of his courage in the lives of many people. So thresholds are something we step over—step through a door—step into a new season of life. And the thing about thresholds is that sometimes you can never go back because you’ve changed; you’re different from the person you were once before. These are beautiful countryside places—quiet—to come away from the contamination of thoughts that can be so distracting. We’ll be talking more about thresholds in the future.

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  • We Need Each Other

    We Need Each Other

    Pilgrim, the teardrop camper rests within the fence during most hot summer days, but last week was a great time to take her to the dealer for some repair. The Road Trip Camping parking lot, loaded with campers, reminded me that, although we are not made in the form of a teardrop camper, our personal teardrops help form us with wisdom and understanding to comfort and encourage one another. Where would we be without supportive people in our lives? Bio families, growing families of faith, and even strangers (angels unaware?) can help ease our journey. They:

    • Celebrate with us in good times
    • Companion us in times of loss
    • Offer wisdom for complex moments
    • Warn us of blind spots
    • Pray with us for supernatural vision
    • Laugh with us in times of play
    • Support us in times of tragedy
    • Worship with us and point to God

    When we companion pilgrims “beyond the fence” after fear and loss, we are able to comfort them “with the comfort we ourselves receive from God (2 Corinthians 1:4).”

    Pilgrim the camper has provided a sense of comfort for me. But today, even Pilgrim is learning the value of relationship with others (see video).

    The Treasure: Teardrops shared with “brothers and sisters” can ease the journey along our pilgrimage in this world.

    If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:

    Pilgrim and I have come out from behind the fence. We are actually in Orange, Virginia at the dealer. We’ve come here, two and a half hours away; we’re at the dealer because… actually, Pilgrim is broken. She needs a new air conditioner, so she’s come here to get some help. Actually she’s kind of happy; she’s been alone for a long time behind the fence and sometimes we go out to campgrounds. But she’s found that she has brothers and sisters here—other campers.

    A lot them are different. Some of them are smaller; some of them are larger. They all do something kind of similar but their different. This one’s really small. You can probably only sleep in this one. And then there are some that are a little bigger. This one is similar size, but then there’s a 400 right here that’s a little bit bigger and is capable of holding more people and more things.

    But what occurs to me is that, as pilgrims in this life we all need brothers and sisters. We need people different from us—people who are sometimes more capable and some areas and sometimes they need our capabilities and our gifts to minister to them. But it’s so important to uh, just be so open to relationship and not stay behind the fence and isolate and be alone all the time. So, I’m going to leave Pilgrim here for a week or so and she can have some good socialization and some repair, and uh when I need repair, I’m glad that I can call on you and we can call on each other. It’s nice to be in relationship with all of you.

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  • Surround Sound

    Surround Sound

    There are testimonies of God giving us grace after we lose someone we love. This is mine.

    Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

    Worship for me had become stagnant in the outdoor chapel service—measured, rote, eyes cast to the ground. Looking at the sky opened up a chasm of awareness of the distance between Steve and me. It was as vast as the distance between the heavens where he was and earth where he left me. Even a quick glance upward choked my dry words of praise and silenced their vibrancy within my aching heart. Week after week, unexpressed grief mounted with the power of an approaching tsunami that unleashed on the Sunday morning we sang Steve’s favorite song.


    “Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty.”


    I raised my face to the heavens and stood in silence as the words, music, and sun warmed me. Unstoppable tears flowed from under my sunglasses unchecked, and God gave me a glimpse of Steve in heaven, worshiping God to the same song, at the same tempo, and in the same key.


    “Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty.”


    Surround sound of earth and heaven joined in vibrant praise and Steve turned, his compassionate eyes locking with mine in earth-life familiarity.

    “Dawn!” he called. “It’s worth it!” And then he was gone.

    His proclamation inspires me. There will be many valleys in this life. But Steve’s message was undeniable. “It’s worth it to walk with God through every one of them.

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