Daddy's girl

I have always been a daddy’s girl. From the beginning, the relationship between my father and I has been special. For starters, we are basically the same person. We don’t stress about the little things. We have to be taken from any crowd, if you allow us to stand there and socialize we will be there for hours. We love to laugh. We love a good story, especially something inspirational. We love politics and history. We love family. We love God. But more than that some of our strongest convictions have come from what we have learned from each other. My father has learned to be more open minded and I have learned that a compassionate heart is never weary. I have learned that your home is a blessing from God and you are to use it to glorify Him, and he has learned words can be more powerful than he ever imagined. And above all of this, we understand that at the end of the day, we are there for each other, and our relationship can withstand any trials because it is founded on our love for the Lord, our original Father, who makes these earthly dads possible. The Father that allows us to connect and have these human interactions and imbedded love into our souls.  My definition of Father has changed many times throughout my life. As a child, my father was a man who protected me. A man who taught me right from wrong. A man who held my fingers as I started to walk on wobbly legs. A man who determined when I would eat or sleep. And as a child I depended on him completely. But as I have grown my father has taken on a different role. He no longer protects me, but stands beside me when times are tough and watches me take things on myself, whether it pains him or not. He allows me to be an adult and understands that he can no longer shelter me, so he stands in the wings and watches with pride. He no longer teaches me right from wrong, he has taught me everything I need to know. He is always willing to talk or give advice, but he is also wise enough to understand that he does not have all the answers and he often points me to the word of God so that I can seek my own understanding. He no longer holds my fingers or schedules my sleeping. I have grown from dependent to independent, which is the goal of a Godly father.  My father is an amazing man. In this year alone he lost his daughter and his best friend and yet he somehow manages to get up every morning, put a smile on his face, and lead what’s left of our family towards Heaven. When Mr. Chet passed, my dad was selected to be a Paul Bearer. Wanting to go in as a team, I asked if there was anything I could do to help and was told I could usher. We arrived that morning dressed in black. The same black dress I had fashioned for all of Beltline’s funerals, including my sister’s. For anyone that has lost a loved one, funerals are tough. It’s not a selfish thing, your body just naturally reacts. It’s like remembering a meal you ate before you had a stomach flu. No one means to make another’s funeral about themselves, but they create instant flashbacks, and Mr. Chet’s funeral was the first we had attended since our sweet Bailey’s. I walked in nervous and found my dad. I wanted to take care of him so badly. I wanted to take away his hurt and squeeze him to death. But I had to allow him to do this his way. So I watched him. All day. I walked up to the doors of the auditorium and peeked in the small glass window. I saw the coffin and my airway closed. I completely lost the ability to breathe. I walked swiftly to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. And I made a promise. I made a promise to make it through that day for the Humphries. To make it through that day for my dad. And to prove to everyone in that congregation that I was strong enough to handle this. That God hadn’t messed up giving me a challenge, he had chosen the right girl. I said a quick prayer, put on my game face, and I walked out of the bathroom ready to serve. I was instructed to stand about fifteen feet away from the family and weave the line of guests towards them. Talk to the people, greet them, and put them at as much ease as possible. My father stood at the back of the auditorium for a majority of the time. We would catch each other watching one another. But I was far too focused to be emotional. I thought very little of our own experience as I spoke to numerous people. I would flick my eyes towards the Humphries and then realize that was a poor decision. I focused on the crowd. The many many people that had been touched by that amazing man. And as the time for the funeral approached Mrs. Donna came to tell me it was time to lead the family back. We cut off the line and I stood to make a path for them, trying to stay out of the way. I assumed my work was done until I looked and saw Cara Paige veering away from the family. She came up to me, wrapped her arms around my hips, and laid her head on my chest. I felt my heart crumble and I laid my head on top of hers and held her close. I had wanted so badly to be helpful and for the first time that day I felt as though I was doing something right. And every emotion I could have possibly had at that moment whizzed through my head. I was taken back to Bailey’s funeral. I remembered walking up that aisle to leave and wanting to hold her so badly. To wrap arms around her one more time and feel her breathe against me. And with my eyes closed and Cara’s petite warm body near, she became my Bailey. She fulfilled what I had longed for since December 2^nd. And two people that were hurting, two people that were broken, were able to hold one another and fill that empty space with a little love. I put my arm around her waist and walked her up the aisle and to the foyer where I kissed her forehead. And I watched her walk down that hall that we had walked down. The hall that sealed the passageway and forever kept us from seeing our Bailey again. And after an entire day of swallowing tears and playing strong, I collapsed into weeping. I walked towards the wall and buried my faced and allowed by body to give into my break down. And as I cry I feel someone under me. I feel arms embrace me and I grab onto a man’s jacket that is against me. I don’t know who this person is, but I was too exhausted to care. And when I summoned the courage to look up, I saw my dad. And at the moment, I wouldn’t had wanted anyone else. And we cried. I am so thankful to have a father that isn’t afraid of emotion. One that understands that this life hurts and we need each other to lean on, and to cry into. My dad has taught me how to be strong. And being strong doesn’t mean you don’t weep. You take care of your responsibilities, and you don’t allow your emotions to get in the way when you are needed, but you take time to give yourself a break and understand that you can’t be strong around the clock. And you find people that understand this journey is a rugged road. I am glad to have my dad this Father’s day. I am glad we are given a day just to show him how important he is in our lives. I am glad that Bailey got to experience a dad as great as ours and I know that he and my mother are responsible for the beginnings of her faith and for her pathway to Heaven. I hope that as I age, I never grow weary in searching for my husband, and that I don’t allow myself to stop until I find someone as wonderful as my own father. Thank you for all that you do, all that you will do, and all that you didn’t have to do. I love you daddy.

Six blessings, for six months.

Six months sounds like a long time when you say it out loud. Six months is when a fetus develops their optic nerve. Six months is how long it takes for a fig tree to sprout. Six months is a full semester of school. Six months is half of an entire year. Time is an odd thing. During trauma it seems to slow down. You feel as if your life is a movie and everything is going on around you. But the scary part is when you sense your life change from slow motion to fast paced, and you realize the terrible, awful, no good thing about life is… It goes on. Whether you are prepared for it or not. And everyday the clock ticks. The seconds, minutes, and hours pass. Nights turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and we slip farther and farther away from the time of Bailey on this earth. Memories become muddled. Sounds are hard to recall and her smell is impossible to find. I make an active decision to think about Bailey when I decide because otherwise, I am terrified to waste my memories of her. Scared that if I over use them, details will change or the memory itself will pass away forever. I carefully select which thoughts I wish to use. However, there is no measure of what I have lost, to how much I have gained. So here are a few things I have learned in this half of a year without Bay.

1. My God is my Father. He loves me immensely and He would never do anything to hurt me. He allows things to happen that benefit my faith. That cause me growth or cause others to grow through me. He hurts when I hurt, but He allows pain when it is what’s best for me. He gave me this trial because He knew I was strong enough to handle it, and my entire life up until now He has been training me to prepare me for this task. And much like a Father, I feel His pride when I surrender to His will.
2. Your church family, IS your family. Christ came to this earth to establish a church, to make a home for His followers in this imperfect world. Our Lord understands that this life makes us weary. He sees our burdens and pains. So He blesses us with relationships that carry us through the hard times. He gives us a place to rest, a safe haven from the reality of life. A place free of judgment and malice. And He fills this place with individuals from all walks of life that essentially have nothing in common besides the fact that they are all bound together by the blood of Christ. And because of His sacrifice He has created a way for them to become our family. In times of sorrow, they lend a shoulder. In times of heartache, they surround you with love. In times of happiness, they rejoice alongside you. In times of anger, they find ways to calm you. And in times of loss, they remind you who your family is.
3. Satan is a tricky fella. He uses tactics that we are blind to. He exerts his own powers to tempt us in every possible way. He causes confusion to create chaos. He slithers into your thoughts to muddle your knowledge in Christ. He prompts you to ask the wrong questions and he entices you with his fruit of lies. Do not be deceived by the world around you. Do not allow Satan to infect your heart.
4. You are not a freak. This grieving thing, everyone does it differently. There is no right or wrong way. As long as the way you choose to grieve does not hinder another Christian’s healing, you’re good. If you are not a crier, don’t cry. If you are emotional, weep when you see fit. If you feel the need to comfort others, do it. If you need to be alone, find a quiet place. Your process will be completely different from the person’s next to you. Pray on it, and God will show you what is best for you. Do not hesitate to do what your body is telling you, even if you feel it is unconventional. It might be just what someone needs to see or it could be a huge step on your highway to healing.
5. You can use it, or abuse it. I can allow Bailey’s death to change me for the better or the worse. It is solely my decision. I could turn to drugs and alcohol to drown out the world and destroy my life while blaming it on the death of my sister, or I can allow it to transform me into the person I am meant to be. Events such as these are not coincidences. They are not meant to be thrown away as a small stepping stone in your life. It is a monumental boulder that if you are strong enough to push aside, carry it on your back to make you stronger.
6. My sister wouldn’t change it. There are days that if given the choice, I would run to Heaven, grab her, and bring her home. But I had a dream once that changed my perspective. I was running through a long black hall and I saw the light of Heaven in front. I stopped at The Gates panting and looked up into the face of Peter. He looked at me, confused, and asked me what I was doing at the Gates of Heaven. I stood up boldly and announced, “I’m here to get my sister!” He smiled at me sympathetically, opened the Gates and said, “If she will go, you may have her.” I paid little attention to this remark as I was already sprinting through the streets of Heaven searching the faces for my baby sister. And I found her. I raced to her and embraced her, tears flowing down as I kissed her cheeks. We held each other for minutes but finally she pulled back and looked at me with a frown, “What are you doing here Elise?” she asked with a worried expression. “I’m here to get you Bailey!! I’m here to rescue you! Come home with me!!” I tugged at her hand anxiously and beamed at her with such pride. She gripped my hand, stared into my eyes and said, “But Elise, HE rescued me. And THIS is my home.” She walked towards me and kissed my forehead and after a bright flash, I woke up in bed. And I sobbed. As much as I breaks my heart to live here without my sister, I know that she is where she worked her entire life to be.

There are many other things God has taught me over the course of this time. But here are six things for six months that have been particular blessings. I hope they benefit you as well.