David Jeremiah wrote, "journalizing, memorializes the blessings of God" in his book, "When Your World Falls Apart, Seeing Past the Pain of the Present." My dear family and myself have recently experienced a terrible tragedy, resulting in the death of my precious daughter, Samantha. This is an unwanted journey, one of the most difficult walks that any parent can experience. It is riddled with extreme grief, profound disorientation, and beautiful graces from God. He holds me close. He has not forsaken me. Even though, my heart is shredded with sadness, I shed buckets of tears, I question my purpose now and I wander astray at times, I know I love God. He is real and present. I know what I know!!! And, I feel privileged to have the opportunity to share with you. I have learned that I am at my best when I walk with God, not against Him.


Sunday, December 15, 2013

A Thanksgiving Testament

"For today, we are going to keep the garage door closed." This is what I told Kelly, my sister in law on Thanksgiving morning. We were on our way to serve community dinner at church together and would return to my home to celebrate the day.  Holidays are tender days, having lost my mother years ago, but this being our first Thanksgiving without my father and our third without Samantha. Since Sam's death, we had reconfigured some of our family traditions to avoid lapses of loose time. Serving others on Thanksgiving morning, served us as well.  While Kelly and I drove to church together, my mind fixated on what was, what had happened and the best solution I could come up with to cope with the day. Samantha's disassembled bed and bedroom furnishings were piled up against the wall, waiting to hurt anyone that walked through our garage door. I needed to reroute my 14 guests, not allowing any more pain to punctuate this particular day. After telling her all, Kelly, quickly replied, "Okay, we will use the front door today." 

Brooke, had already unexpectedly experienced the drastic change to Samantha's room, returning home from work while I was deeply involved in the repainting process. As Brooke walked down the hallway, she couldn't help but pass by. The tension was tangible; she poked her head in and asked, "Are you okay?" Her faced was frozen in fear. To her, my actions seemed erratic and unpredictable. She didn't know that I was going to redo her sister's room. Neither did I.  David left early in the morning for an LSU football game. Immediately after he walked out the door, I turned up the dial on my emotions and let them emit.  It was anger and hostility that fueled my ability. Defiantly, I marched in my own madness, straight to Samantha's room and finished the process of packing up her things. There was still lots to do. In the years past, I had removed just a little at a time, giving away items where and when needed. If I saw a use for something Samantha had, it felt good to let it go. I saw it as, blessing someone, with her belongings. Not this time. I was not letting go; I needed to get it out of my house, all of it! The pain was piling on thick; I felt like I needed to close one painful chapter of life so, I could persevere through another.  Anyway, it was just "stuff." With the recent passing of my father and the tedious task of deciding what to do with all that he owned, I realized how much we have that gets left behind. All of this making it easier for me to reduce what I had left of Samantha's stuff into one medium size cardboard box. It was cathartic to close it with tape and seal it shut. It hurt to think it belonged in the attic but, it did. I didn't save much to remember her by but, because of past experience, I knew it would be enough.  I could tell by Brooke's body language that she wanted to leave as soon as she got home. Escaping the dread, she descended upon a friend's house instead.  Leaving me alone, to wrap up the redo. 

I thought David understood the extent of what I was doing. LSU vs Texas A & M was his escape. He checked in during halftime with a phone call, wanting to know "how" and "what" I was doing. With restrained emotions, I told him I was cleaning out Samantha's room. Trying to illustrate the extent of my current torment , I gritted my teeth and told him, " Her room is almost empty!" I don't know if I mentioned repainting but, he knows me and I thought he would have realized that I was as determined as I sounded. My dialogue with him was curt and cross. He knew I was suffering, didn't think it was warranted and was helpless to do anything about it.  Our conversation ended and I continued with my pity project. David returned home, which required the revealing walk through the garage. With a crunched face that only the onset of tears can cause, he stepped inside and exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see that!" As my own tears trickled down my cheeks, I replied, "It had to be done." I started with the realistic reasons why; Samantha's room was beginning to smell musty because we constantly kept the door closed, the room, a white elephant in the house; not many feeling comfortable enough to use the space as an extra place to sleep. Then, came the acknowledgement of anger, a strong emotion that serve me well to complete a sorrowful task.  With the recent loss of David's job, the week before Thanksgiving, I was raw and vulnerable. The only way I could figure out how to survive the next "thing" that the world threw at me was to fight back.  I dealt with Samantha's death in a different way but, this latest trauma had taken its toll and I was drowning in dread. Financially, it wasn't anything to fret over. David needs to work but, we had a nest egg. It was the next loss, pain upon pain, the constant change required of me that left me empty and inconsolable.  Just when you think life has reach a peaceful plateau, everything can be pulled away from you. Trauma tiring me out.  I was so stung that I couldn't even find my faith to try to cling to. David's employers explanation was one that caused me great confusion! I couldn't connect the dots between his performance and their decision. The senselessness of the situation added to the assault being waged within my inner self. Anger had an advantage over me and I was acting out. I even quit my Disciple class because I couldn't sit in front of others and act like everything was OK!  I was exhausted and spent the next few days stewing over our situation while trying to start the holiday season. My immediate family was completely aware that I was experiencing an emotional meltdown. It was evident by the way I was acting and I knew it! I was so stuck that my ability to pray had all but ceased.  I remember sarcastically saying to myself, "Lord, if I have to do this, too and so does David could you just reveal yourself to make it worth it?" If all this was unavoidable I needed to know there was something in it for me. It was as if I was saying to my Savior, "If I have to go through the struggle could you please show us a silver lining." Trust me, it was quick and without a lot of thought, not rooted in reverence at all. I'm now embarrassed at my own flesh. I was fragile and faltering in my faith! (But being real brings sincerity to a story and highlights my humanness.) 

David's intent was to have Samantha's bed and room furnishings loaded into a truck and donated before Thanksgiving Day.  An employment opportunity brought him to Houston, TX the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. He returned home late on Wednesday making it impossible to borrow a truck and bring Samantha's things to Habitat House. So, there all her stuff sat, stuffed in the garage ready to reveal to all who walked through, that I had taken the next step to separate myself from Samantha. Without an explanation, just the sight of the situation would cause concern. I know my family is affected and susceptible to the consequences of my actions. Who I am through all of this trickles down to them. David and I thought it best to hide my hurt, not explain my actions, keep the door closed and deal with everything else another day.

We arrived at church and fulfilled duties like ladling gravy, slicing turkey and preparing pies. The atmosphere was hectic and hurried as we worked to ensure that everything was in place before we served the people of the community. Public servants on duty that day, folks without large families and people who just needed a place to go were our guests. I remember looking out through the serving window from the chaotic kitchen scene and noticing how peaceful the people were. Strangers sitting together, sharing a free feast and conversing over coffee. I pondered the beautiful gift being given to them and I was grateful to be a part of the process.

David and Paul departed from church to do dinner deliveries. Hannah and I headed to my
house to put the finishing touches on our Thanksgiving traditions. While at church, we invited three more guests to our own dinner and needed to add place settings to our table.  I was performing and playing my part with a sincere attitude of gratitude. There was so much to be thankful for on this day but, I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit to the looming doom I knew I would feel when I walked into my own home. Truly, I couldn't shake what I thought were suppressing circumstances; Samantha's room was now empty, her bed disassembled and discarded in the garage, my husband unemployed because of a senseless decision, and two empty chairs at our Thanksgiving table.





Not having a car of his own and restricted from driving, Joey, one of our newest Thanksgiving guests rode home with us. During the drive, I checked in with David wanting to know how he was doing with deliveries and what time he expected to be home, wanting to have my dinner prepared at the correct time. Before I could even ask about the details I needed to know, David exclaimed to me, "Wait until I tell you this, you are never going to believe!". My ears went on alert, my eyes fixated on the the digital panel displaying David's phone number and I was ready to receive. He continued to tell me, " Elizabeth, the very first person I delivered to was a lady living in a trailer. I knocked on the door, she answered and we spoke for a second. I handed her the meals. I turned to leave and she spoke again, this time asking with an evident need expressed in her eyes, "Do you know anyone who has an extra bed?" David told me his heart ramped up and he immediately "knew."  David replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact I have an extra bed and I will have it to you today!" With renewed confidence that there are no coincidences with a life in Christ, David called Paul, explained the entire situation and made arrangements to have the bed and Samantha's other belongings brought to the trailer in none other than, Paul's truck. I know that is a poignant point because it was Paul I was trying to protect, by hiding my hurt. 

Earlier in the week, I had confided or maybe complained to Joey about how life was feeling like a lot of work lately. He was aware of my inner struggle and how the pressures of life were causing more pain. With that working knowledge and after hearing David's story, he just smiled and gently said, "God sure has a way of bringing good out of every situation."  

With ease, I acknowledged Romans 8:28 and knew my petty prayer had been answered. As requested, God had revealed himself as active and around at all times. We were given another gift that solidified our faith, increasing our eternal perspective and receiving our reward for being the hands and feet of Christ.

By the time we got home, we could walk through the garage. The bed and other belongings that once belonged to my little girl, Samantha, now on their way to a little boy who had been sleeping on the floor.  David and Paul unloaded the truck, while the woman wept. Before leaving, David turned to the lady and shared his story of the tragic death of our daughter, his current employment status and what my reaction had been, which is easily identified as a fit of rage that resulted in the complete stripping of Samantha's room. All of this, testifying to why we had an extra bed. Then, with tears in his own eye, he witnessed to the woman, when he quoted the old adage, "God works in mysterious way."  Giving God the glory for the divine encounter he had experienced while delivering Thanksgiving dinners. My thoughts sometimes wander to the woman who needed the bed. Of course, she was the receiver of something earthly (a bed).  I pray her gratitude is given to something much great than just a bed. Instead, to a Savior who says, ""Neither this man nor his parents sinnedbut this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him." John 9:3.

Before dinner, I bowed my head before the others, knowing I had been blessed beyond measure. Grateful for the gifts given to me, above and beyond what I had ever expected, pain turned into purpose, steps that led to spiritual growth and instead of two empty chairs, we had three unexpected guests at our Thanksgiving table. 



Thursday, June 27, 2013

Sharing Stories


Thursday, June 20, 2013


During my deep suffering, I remember entering into the local bookstore and realizing to arrive where I needed to be, the “spiritual section” required a walk to the rear end of the store. I mean really, in the far back left corner were shelved the words of strength that my soul required. Reading stories of survival and redemption was and is a saving grace for my soul.  I felt like to get to the pages of peace, I had to push past pages of mystery and murder, affairs and altercations, chaos and cruelty! It angered me that the books I needed, the ones that had an impact on my innermost self, the stories that could heal and help my hurting self, lined the last shelves of the store!!! Many times, upon entering the store, I wanted to turn all the tables over, (reminds me of another story? Matthew 21:12) make a mess, then rearrange and redo. Placing the peaceful stories, the ones with reality and redemption, grace and goodness, truth and tenderness, front and forward, moving all the others to a less important position. Even with the passage of time, and the mellowing of emotions, I get twisted when I think on the way things are and why such stories of chaos are positioned to attract readers more so than books that pave pathways to peace. (Just a pet peeve of mine!)

The trips to the bookstore and the income invested in these books hit such a high, that on one particular trip after our purchase was complete, David commented to me, “Remember, we have been instructed to track our expenditures relating to the accident. Looks like the book store will be one of the biggest!”  I shrugged; I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t even care; reading was necessary for me, somehow it served as a lifeline. To sit with a stranger, to create within me, their circumstances, to share their sorrow and their suffering, to experience the exact same emotions, to fortify myself with their faith, to acknowledge and accept the goodness of their God, to begin to recover from their redemption. This was where I could relate; real people, with real pain; warriors winning against worldly ways, hearts clinging to hope and souls surviving their crippling circumstances. Within the pages I shared so much with the characters. Often, underlining and highlighting lengthy sections. At times, sharing my mind in the margins; written comments that notated similar experiences and shared emotions. Some of the stories mimicked my situation. For instance I identified with, Mary Beth Chapman in her book, Choosing to See


Her story tells how their beloved son, Will ran over and killed one of their adored adopted daughters, Maria. How did this mother handle this? The loss of one child and the heartache for her son involved in the accident. I needed to know how she handled such extreme sorrow and sadness alongside her life long love and devotion towards her eldest son. The words of her dedication, to her son, delivered a strong stance of faith through love and loss:






Dedicated to Will Franklin

“You have been entrusted with an incredible pain! I’m so sorry. I wish as your mom I could take it away, but I know God has a plan for you to steward this story well and to minister to others through your suffering. You are my hero, as well as Maria’s … she loved you so much, as do I! 

Can you imagine, grieving the loss of your beloved "girl" and watching your oldest son wiggle and wind through gut-wrenching guilt and grief, and to adhere to and honor the parental commitment to sustain his soul with the promise of God's peace and presence. My situation was not the same but similar, Paul was not responsible but certainly carries some self-imposed guilt in not returning Samantha home. He has expressed this to me. Samantha left with him and he didn't bring her home! He was driving the boat, however not held responsible for the accident. He loved Sam and Sam loved him, I love Paul and he loves me!  I wish my brother didn't have to know that pain that he does and the restless sense of responsibility. Along with Mary Beth Chapman, I share a similar knowledge knowing God will work through Paul to bring comfort and consolation to others through this awful accident. 

And Mary Beth's loving tribute to her daughter, Maria

Mommy misses you so much. Your time with us was too short, but there is only One who holds all of time and eternity in His hands, and we trust Him. My prayer is that Mommy's tears will continue to water the seeds of your life and that all who read this story will be pointed to the One who holds you in His arms until I can. 

I share similar heartfelt thoughts and prayers as Mary Beth Chapman does. Samantha's absence in our lives is always evident. But, not overshadowed by the knowledge of the truth that she rules and reigns in God's eternal kingdom. Don't get me wrong, at times my emotions escape by way of tears, tenderness and temporary insanity but none of that, changes what I know! What a double blessing it would be to use my scarring scenario and sadness to boldly bring others to the Kingdom of God! I remember telling my friend, Robin, as she helped us with the search in Shell Beach, LA, "It is my prayer that others will be closer to Christ because of this." Right there in Shell Beach, before we ever returned home, somehow it was within me to see that this tragedy could be used to Glorify our God. And another such affirmation from an earthly angel who once proclaimed to me, "Elizabeth, don't you know, Samantha's life was all about saving souls!" It has taken me a while to wrap my head around that particular phrase. But, I am beginning to see the light! When she said it, I knew what she meant, but it has taken a fair amount of time for my flesh to surrender into submission to this.  At times, I find myself praying for supernatural qualities to be bestowed upon me to deal with Samantha's death; for me to be given the ability to let go of her life and and find serenity about what her Savior had planned for her and how her life would be used for His Honor and His Glory. So that, I can continue to "water the seeds of her life," pointing those that come in contact with my story towards my Healer, my Hope and my Heavenly Father. I am so human, it is a must for me to lean into the Holy Spirit that dwells within me to do this. 

Another such story was, The Color of Rain. Two couples, each losing a spouse. Two complete families; one losing a father and the other a mother; wading through the loss however, having to move forward with life. There was a page of this book that actually reiterated my religious experience the moment I knew Samantha entered heaven.  Our stories had such strong similarities;  Immediately, the husband recognized that his wife had entered heaven not that she had disappeared from this earth and died. His, the husband's peace came from knowing God's presence at this very moment, despite the despair his emotions emitted. It can be a very uncanny experience to read about something you experienced, where the words acknowledge your every emotion and actually reenact your inner thoughts. I was reading about myself in someone else's story! Michael recounts, this manifest moment:



When I read this , it was as if I had written it; change the words, "by her casket" , to "sitting on a back porch in Shell Beach, Louisiana." In my most grief stricken moment, My God was with me, where He said He would always be, at my side! When my mental clarity is at a crest, I can confess, "Sam did not die, she went to Heaven!"  There is a sense that this person Michael and I, we are strangers, but both hold memberships in the same heavenly club!!! 

My mind wonders to a movie I watched recently, The Great Gatsby. There was a buzz around town about this, so many folks traipsing to the theatre. I, one of them. I watched and when it was over , I could only shake my head with hollow thoughts. Oh, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it on a earthly level, I love clothes and enjoyed the costumery!  But, these people led chaotic lives! The show ended in sorrow and sadness, emptiness and agony, for everybody! Why did I come to watch this? I would equate the marketing of this movie to my experience in the bookstore.  A story of chaos, betrayal, lies and illegality promoted and placed in a position of importance. Presently, I find myself actively pushing away and safeguarding myself against chaos and confusion. This is something new for me, this inextinguishable desire for peace and harmony. Sometimes this sensation soars and prevents me from participating in social settings where there is a cacophony of conversations, unpredictable explosions of sound, and to many faces to figure out. My senses get overstimulated resulting in confusion and then I feel that "flee or fight syndrome." Small groups, one on one, and lots of alone time, is what presently promotes peace within me.  As I sit in the silence, a question captures me, "Why don't people pursue peace?" Why don't they relate to and read stories of peace? The world is chaotic enough without entertaining oneself with more stories of chaos! (Just my personal opinion, I record it knowing it matters not much!!) 
To begin to put a period on all of these thoughts, I realize, the books that I have read, the movies that I have watched, they are all stories. Good or bad, long or short, fiction or non-fiction, peaceful or chaotic, they are all stories. I have been taught by many how important stories are. My pastor, James Mitchell, once said in a sermon, "Stories are powerful!"  My dear cousin Louise, one of God's faithful, once expressed in a letter to me how important stories are. 

From: Louise Reinoehl 
Subject: RE: Checking on you guys
Date: March 1, 2012 4:22:37 PM CST
To: Elizabeth Vinturella <evinturella@charter.net>
Reply-To: LouiseReinoehl


Hi Elizabeth,
          I guess you might have participated in some Mardi Gras events. Your dad emails me often about what’s going on. Jim and I faithfully read your blog also so we feel we stay connected to your heart through your ever so honest words. I, too, am still amazed by how Granny’s influence is still prevalent. On a weekly basis, I am reminded of something she said or did and how I still want to emulate her and make my life count for eternity. Her words are prophetic and for all time because she based them on the scriptures. I am glad to know you rediscovered the letters and that her words bring consolation and hope. As I think over how you have a “story” and are trying to go forward by sharing all the events in light of God’s sovereignty, I was reminded of something someone told me once. And that is that we are a “storied people”. Stories resonate with us in that stories are the most powerful means of communication. For someone to tell us their story is a high honor. For you to tell others of your story is powerful. There is an implicit vulnerability in sharing our journey with all its smooth and rough places, joys and heartaches. Unfortunately, our natural tendency is to not share our story. But you have found courage in  your dependency on God and in knowing that He alone is your foundation, your rock, your comforter, your healer. He will do a mighty work through you because of your willingness to be His mouthpiece. And I predict, great healing will come for you in the process. I love  you and never cease to pray that God make Himself ever so real for you, David, Brooke, and Paul’s family on a daily, minute by minute basis. I know you are learning to look for Him in a variety of ways and to recognize His presence.
          My Spring Break is coming up the first full week of April. Jim and I were wondering if we could come for a short visit again with you and Paul’s family. We were thinking of arriving on Saturday March 31 and leaving on Monday or Tuesday. We love you so much.
Ease


Recently, I had the opportunity to walk once again in my former footsteps. Pre-family, my career orientated itself around my love of clothes. Having earned a degree in Fashion Merchandising, I once was employed as a buyer for a large department store and thereafter, a store manager as well.  After receiving the invitation to visit the Dallas Market with a friend, I was all in. Maybe this is what I am suppose to do with my life, I thought! Reenter the retail world?!? Off on the plane I went, only to fall on my face after spending several days of looking at so much "stuff." The company was incredible but I don't think I belong in that world? I had a major meltdown and returned home a bit dazed and somewhat defeated. The next few days were spent soaking in the stillness and silence, creating the environment where I am able to hear the small, sweet voice. I heard, "Why are you trying to go backwards, trying to relive what you have already done?" You have been there, you have done that! Move forward, I am creating something new in you." The lyrics of the song "Beautiful Things" by Gungor sprang forth in  my mind. (This song is so special; we played it at Samantha's memorial service.)

Beautiful Things" Lyrics
]
by Gungor | from the album Beautiful Things

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new
You are making me new

Again, Lord lets me know this is the way it He works as stated in Isaiah 43:18-19:
New Living Translation (NLT)
18 “But forget all that—
    it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
19 For I am about to do something new.
    See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
    I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.


So, if I take just today, tallying up what is inside of me, I see I have a story. People have told me the story needs to be shared. I know it's not my story, it's God's story and I am only to be the storyteller. I know that stories have sustained and strengthened me during my suffering. 

I know God creates beautiful things, out of dust. The song says so! Due to the circumstances, we had to cremate Samantha's body. How I remember burying what was left of her body; dust. We met in the memorial garden, just a small gathering of us. All that was left was in a little bag and we placed it in a hole in the ground and covered it up. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ..... So many have heard the saying. I have peace about returning Samantha's remains unto the earth but the best part will be the beautiful something that will delivered out of the dust!  

I know I am called to do something new! Going backwards is a bad thing! Isaiah instructs me to forget what once was and to walk in new way, on a path that God has already paved for me.  He tells me the journey has already begun, that I have already stepped past the "starting line." Then, He questions me, "Don't you see it?!" I interpret this as having to be hit on the head with a baseball bat, to recognize what He wants of me. The beautiful thing has already begun. Could that be me writing a blog? Being a speaker at A Women's Hope Conference along with responses, that offer rewards and a realization that maybe I have the ability to write? Never, have I thought, either of these, to possibly be a part of my life! This is all new and can be unnerving. Until, I read the last two lines of Isaiah 19! When I lean into and listen to what the Lord says, " I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland." I know I need not worry. All I need to do is write and He will do the rest!!!


I humbly know I will need prayers as I begin to write a book ....