Moving beyond shock

On pp. 69-70 of "Good-bye, Mitch," Rebecca Chepokas writes about how her mind began to clear a few weeks after her son Mitch died of cancer:

One chore I could no longer put off was unpacking Mitchell's suitcase from our recent cruise. I began removing new clothing he had never worn and treasures and toys he had not had the strength or time to enjoy. I was flooded with precious memories.

Suddenly, my anguish exploded. On the floor, surrounded by Mitchell's things, my heart shattered. I cried out, 'I want my Mitch back! Lord, I know You are in control of my life, please guide me and give me the strength I need to endure. You created me. Only You know what I am feeling. Tell me, how do I grieve? Please help me, Lord, to understand.'

After regaining my composure, I realized there was a pattern to my frequent emotional eruptions. I recognized the early stage of grieving that I had read about earlier. First was disbelief, followed by the numbing bandage of shock. But this soon ripped away exposing my emotional pain as an open sore, raw and tender.

While I wondered if God was trying to get my attention, an unexpected peace swept over me. God was answering my prayer. He had exposed my pain to grant me understanding. He was showing me, that to be healed, my pain must first be exposed. Only then can I deal with it. Then, how I grieve is my choice to make.

It was a choice He was urging me to make. If I chose to stay in a state of shock, its numbing effect would soon give way to dangerous, all-consuming self-pity and anger. I would be left emotionally crippled with a heartache I was unable to heal.

Rebecca learned that she needed to move beyond shock and go through each stage of grief in order to be healed.

Going home without Mitch

In December I wrote about Mitchell Chepokas, a boy who died in 2003 from cancer. On pp. 61-62 of "Good-bye, Mitch," a book written by Rebecca Chepokas (Mitch's mom) and Ronald M. Stanchfield (Mitch's grandfather), Rebecca writes about how God was with her when she had to leave the hospital without her beloved son:

Alone and in tears, I poured out my broken heart to God. I released my anger and my fears to Him. Gradually, I felt my strength return as God filled me with a new supernatural strength, empowering me to do what I could not do on my own -- continue on.

Then as I thanked God for His presence, for His grace and His sovereign love, my tears began to subside. The bedroom door slowly opened. It was Melissa [her daughter]. Stepping aside, she looked at me and questioned, 'Mom, why are you so sad?'

I moved to her. We sat on the edge of my bed and hugged. I explained how hard it was for me to come home without Mitch. She responded tenderly, 'Mom, Mitch is in Heaven, and he wants you to be happy!' Her simple but wise words filled me with peace and comfort.

'You are my angel sent by God,' I told her. God used my precious daughter's words to answer my prayers. Moments later, as I assured Steve [her husband] that I was feeling better, I found myself distracted by a reoccurring phrase rolling through my mind like words on a marquee. 'Well done my good and faithful servant!'

I marveled at how merciful God is! I realized God's Holy Spirit was speaking directly to me. God knew my troubled and broken heart, that I needed such words of encouragement. In faith I had turned to Him for strength. For this He was pleased. It was God telling me, 'Well done my good and faithful servant!'

I think that we all long for that approval and hope that at the end of our lives God says, "Well done."

Good-bye, Mitch

I'm currently reading a book called "Good-bye, Mitch." It's by Rebecca Chepokas and Ronald M. Stanchfield, and it's the story of Mitchell Chepokas (Rebecca's son). In April 2001, Mitchell learned he was a victim of a genetic disorder called Marfans Syndrome, and in June 2002, he learned that he had cancer, which would take his life.

On pp. 56-57, an interesting scene takes place in a hospital room:

While I (Rebecca) slept, my mother came to her grandson's bedside. Responding to God's urging, she held Mitch's hand and began to pray. She thanked God for the gift of Mitchell in all of our lives. She thanked God for His grace and mercy, for His sovereign love, for the many friendships that brought great comfort, and for meeting each and every need during such a time of crisis.

'Thank you, Lord, for your ministering angels...' she prayed. Then she heard it -- the melodic chorus of harps. She looked about the room for the source. The music expanded over Mitchell's bed and soon filled the room. 'Do you hear the music, Mitch?'

He responded, 'Uh-huh.'

'I do, too,' she said, and asked, 'Isn't it beautiful?'

Again he said, 'Uh-huh.'

'Thank You that Your angels are here,' she prayed. Then, as quickly as it began, the music was gone. People soon began to enter the room.

It's amazing how fleeting yet powerful God's presence can be. Perhaps that makes it all the more special when He touches us.