Intense Faith

Celise, my brace-yourself-I’m-going-to-hug-you friend, came to me today with sad news. The 23-year-old son of her choir president died earlier this week, from a fatal seizure.

Celise said she told God it was too much. But in the midst of the swirling questions, she remembered Sunday’s sermon. Her pastor preached that God calls us to have intense faith. An interesting sermon for a day celebrating mothers—perhaps God was preparing their congregation for what lay ahead.

The word intense has several meanings.

The first definition, “extreme in a way that can be felt,” made me think of one of those ten gifts of grief, exponential growth in faith. God has been with me in a tangible way. Even as I’ve wept and wailed about Jolene’s death, I’ve felt His arms holding me up.

The second definition, active, involving great effort, also resonates. That reminds me of the deliberate choices we’ve made to believe; to affirm God’s sovereign love when our hearts are breaking. Why I call it a sacrifice of praise.

Concentrated, or narrowly focused, faith, also applies. Everything in my life, my prayers, my worship, revolves around Jolene’s death. As I’ve shared many times, I can’t sing a hymn without breaking down in tears. Her passing has concentrated my attention on the reality of the resurrection.

Thanks for sharing, Celise. You are another “gift of grief,” friendship deepened in the cauldron of my pain.

Thanks to all of you who share, who have proven friendship as days and weeks have lengthened into months.

Dancing with Grief Plus 1 week

Sunday at church I met a dear little girl named Hannah Grace. She was born on a week earlier, on March 16th--my daughter Jolene's birthday.

A nice coincidence except for one thing.

Jolene committed suicide on one of the days immediately prior to her birthday. Sometime between Thursday night and Saturday.

Jolene Elizabeth Franklin would have been 24 years old on her birthday. Like Hannah, we had committed our child to the Lord from birth. And the "Jo" part of "Jolene," from "John," means "God is gracious."

So although Hannah Grace sounds nothing like Jolene Elizabeth, her name resonated with me.


Seven days ago at 9:30 PM, I sat petrified in my living room, waiting for the officer who had taken my missing persons report to call. He finally notified us at 11:30 at night.

Now we know. This side of heaven, I will never again hear my girl's laughter or have her rub my back. The memorial service is completed. Family has returned to Oklahoma. Today I spent a hard day chasing done legalities--bank accounts, death benefits, getting the key to her apartment so that we can clear it out. All those things took days to accomplish because we have no death certificate (we won't until the tox screen returns in 2 months), no will, no experience and no one to give us a users manual for grieving family members. I am exhausted beyond what I imagined possible.

But perhaps I will see Hannah Grace again next Sunday. And be reminded that God's grace continues, His faithfulness endures, and life goes on.

I know that many of you have lost children due to various reasons. Others have lost loved ones to suicide. And those who have not those particular pains have gone through your own vale of suffering. I want this blog where we can all share, lift each other up, and cry on each other's shoulders. Feel free to share.