Grieving Something That Didn't Die

Some of you have heard me or seen me use the word grief or grieving over the last couple of weeks and wondered what that was all about. It was on my heart this morning to share a little bit more about the journey that I'm on right now and why grief is a part of that. 

Here's something that I read this morning that I want to use to help explain some things I've been experiencing.
     Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation. Often, people endure pervasive and intense distress without having faced the death of a loved one at all. Further, in these cases of unrecognized losses, our grief is often not recognized by others, either. But you can grieve the loss of anything, anywhere or anyone to whom you had become attached—no list could name all the possibilities. To deal with the sorrow, you may need to find confidants, counselors and support groups that can assist you. Above all, you need to have your grief acknowledged. Allowing yourself to understand the validity of your emotions is the only way to begin feeling better. You are not the only one to have mourned in these situations—and you are not alone. *adapted excerpt was taken from Grief Is a Journey, byKenneth J. Doka, PhD. 

 This definitely resonated with me and put words to what I'm feeling. You see, when you get accepted to the World Race, you begin forming relationships with your squad immediately. They put you all in a Facebook group and encourage Skype dates and Google Hangouts. Then they send you to training camp for 10 days of intense team building where you get to know each other in the flesh instead of over social media. You begin to learn what it means to have each others' backs and pray for one another. Then you are put into smaller teams where you begin to get to know a few of your squad mates on a more intimate level. You go home with 30-some new friends and continue to build relationships while you get ready to launch. Then your launch date finally arrives, but before you leave they put you through one more training all together before you head out. You learn what community is supposed to look like and how to grow together in the Lord. You learn what traveling together and having a life shaken up will entail. Finally, you all get on a plane and head out for Month 1 of ministry. Hard as it is once you're there to learn everyone's quirks and ways of handling stress you still become family. You form bonds and embrace living this unbelievable opportunity of a lifetime. 

The thing is... it doesn't take long. It doesn't take long to build relationships and to walk in community. Sure it's hard and you want to curl up into a ball and just quit some days. You want to NOT share with your team how you're feeling or you'd rather call a friend from home. But these moments, these experiences, they all change you. They reform you. They start molding things in your heart and soul. 

Then, there's the people of each country. The whole purpose of your mission. They are so excited to have extra hands to help, and new American friends. They become your heartbeat. They become the strength to get up each day and do it again. The tears of goodbye at the end of each month become the motivation to reach more people in the next country. It all gets ingrained into the deepest parts of who you are. And it doesn't take long. 

You see, I was only able to be on the Race for 72 days. Approximately 11 weeks. Just shy of 3 months. But those 72 days were life changing. Those 11 weeks were hard and exhilarating. This made leaving that much harder. This was something I had worked for, for months. This was a dream come true. So, having to leave because no doctors could figure out why I was sick, was unbelievably gut wrenching. I can't explain the inner turmoil I felt when I was trying to decide how to proceed, and I can't explain the inner turmoil I still feel because I can't finish. This. This, is grieving. This is a loss, a hard one. What makes it harder? My squad continues on, and I have no direction for the future. I have no goal. I never had a plan B. 

So just like the loss of a loved one, there's emptiness. There's a piece of my heart missing, and it hurts! Sure I can keep in touch with my squad and I can follow all of their blogs and pray for them everyday like my life depends on it. But I'm not there. I'm not with them. I'm not fulfilling the dream. I'm not doing what I have always thought I was meant to be doing. THAT, is unbelievable grief. Does that mean I'm going to mope around be sad? No. Does it mean I'm mad at God? No. Does it mean I don't want to talk about it or share my experiences? Absolutely not. Quite the contrary. But it does mean I'm hurting. It does mean that there are days I'm sad, because I desperately want to be with my squad. It means I may still cry when you ask me how I am or how my trip was. It means I'm a human on a journey just like all of you.

Here's to new beginnings and more adventure. I know they are both just around the corner.

The Waiting Room

 Well... once again we find that my consistency is lacking! I apologize. As some of you may know I moved home to Iowa shortly after my last blog post to start fundraising efforts to participate in The World Race! Not to be confused with the Amazing Race! :) At any rate, I spent the fall and winter months fundraising and left in January. (You can read more about my adventures here: http://casstruthers.theworldrace.org/ )

As of March (mid month) I have been back home in Iowa seeking medical treatment. I had some issues on the field for several months and saw a plethora of doctors who could not figure out what was wrong with me. I made the decision to come back to the states for treatment and have been home since. (You can catch up here: https://www.youcaring.com/casandra-struthers-539316 .)

So, here I sit, in what I am calling the waiting room. The following is an excerpt from the above blog that I wrote regarding where I'm at spiritually right now:

I was thinking about it this morning. About waiting, about my future. About what it means to wait and how much of our lives is actually spent, waiting. I found this interesting: 

According to a Timex survey, Americans wait on average of 20 minutes a day for the bus or train, 32 minutes whenever they visit a doctor and 28 minutes waiting in security lines whenever they travel. 

That's only a fraction. That doesn't include, waiting in line at the store, waiting at stop lights every day, waiting for our food to cook or be brought to us, for someone to answer the door etc. We spend a lot more time waiting than we realize. In the waiting, we don't know what the outcome is going to be. So this shouldn't surprise me, right?! That I'm in a spiritual waiting room. That I'm at a place where I don't know when the light is going to turn green, or if the person ahead of me in line is going to need to ask a hundred questions before proceeding to check out, or if someone is ever going to answer the door.... metaphorically speaking of course. ;) 

This has been one of the hardest seasons in my life. Unable to understand why I would have that huge miracle only to have to turn around and come home; or why I would be "allowed" so to speak to push for a dream so much only to have it cut short. (Maybe this is where I stop and yell "PLOT TWIST"! haha) Seriously though, I don't pretend to understand. What I do know is this: He is still a good Father. He is still on the Throne. He still loves me. He still has a plan. This was not a surprise to Him. This is not a difficult thing for Him. This will all work together for good, somewhere, some way, some how. He is still God. He is still in control.

I share that to invite you into the next part of the journey. Where I go from here is in the Lord's hands, but I want to share it with all of you, here. I want to share it because so many of you have traveled with me thus far, through all the ups and downs; and I know that the Lord has used my story to speak to many of you. I pray that continues. I pray that in some small way, my challenges and my struggles will speak to even just one of you. So, here's to the waiting room and whatever lies ahead.