Guest Posting by Lindsay Brinkley... When Things Fall Silent....

His face has lit up every room I have ever seen him in and boy, does he have energy to match.  To know his father was to know genuine kindness.  To be Brandon's friend was to have a gift straight from heaven and in partaking in his life was to witness a powerful force of determination and strength.  Brandon passed from this world into the arms of His savior and it is still very fresh and raw for all that loved him.

He was married to one of the most amazing women I have the pleasure to know.  I remember watching her before I even knew her or them, before I understood the miracle of her being pregnant, (that is a story for another time), before I knew the beauty of what it is to call the Brinkleys friend.

Tristan is the little boy whose face lights up every room he is in... and his passion for life and his little boyness is intense and amazing....

Lindsay.. she'll kill me for this but gosh this girl has my heart.  She inspires me daily.  It is her face I picture when the days get hard with Gideon, it is her courage that gives me the picture of what it looks like to walk with uncertainty, it is her grit and determination that shows me the Lord time and time and time again.  

So I was thinking of her and felt the Lord put upon my heart the words, "When things fall silent,"  and I knew that I wanted her to write  her journey.  What she and Brandon walked through for years is inspirational.  This beautiful human being carries a weight and authority born forth from adversity and forged in triumph.  

Thank you Linds.. thank you for writing this... thank you for sharing your heart...  

I know I can speak for her when I say it is our prayer that when things fall silent for you that you would know that you know that you know that there IS One who never forsakes and never leaves.. and before you call He is hearing and while you are speaking He is answering....

When things fall silent….

            A very special mentor-friend of mine recently exhorted me to “write in those lonely, quiet times.” Instead of heading her advice, I decided to sit on it and everything inside of me, once again, got bottle necked to the point that I could no longer express myself…. verbally or in written form.

To me, a good word picture is a clogged toilet or stopped up sink; not a very pretty sight when all the contents of the clog come bubbling up to the surface yet the water remains stagnant.

Then, this same mentor friend came to help me in my personal un-clogging session and boy, was it messy. Un-clogging my junk sure did help, but ever so subtly, the grime and grit of my circumstances built back over time.

                                                                                                 

So, now I had a choice… express and expose my raw, real self or get bottle necked? I may be stubborn, but I am a quick learner. So, now here I am writing, in the midst of my loneliness and in a very quiet house, which will remain so until my full-of-life toddler rises as the sun dawns and starts yelling my name very loudly.

            Brandon was the writer.

He was the journalism major.

He made the front page of his college newspaper on many occasions.

He blogged passionately and in moments, some times even while sitting on the toilet, could make words come alive on paper that spoke volumes into people’s hearts and lives. He had a very special gift of expressing his heart through writing that could change lives and this came easy to him. He was gifted at jotting down a profound revelation as though it was a common thought for most. He had a unique ability to connect to people through words, both spoken and written.

The writing stopped at our house, 4 months ago, when Brandon left this world and stepped fully into heaven to be with our Father. It wasn’t his choice. The cancer had spread so quickly through out his body that, when he could muster the courage and strength, he was only able to type out three cohesive sentences in a letter to Tristan that I later found. However, in those three mere sentences, he expressed the love of a Father to Tristan that some people never hear in a lifetime.

 Writing doesn’t come easily in this house any more, not that there is even any time for it as a working, full time mom. However, there have been far too many quiet, lonely nights squandered because I didn’t believe I had the ability to express myself in words.  I didn’t want to write, and, quite frankly, I pushed that thought so far away that, in my mess and brokenness, I doubted that I could ever produce something worth reading.

Brandon was the writer, the lover, and the speaker.

            In the last 4 months I have done many things I never thought I would have to do on my own. I have done things that I never expected I could do on my own. By the grace of God, I have exceeded my own expectations and limitations. Many of these things I have done on my own, in silence.

            My heart still hurts and I miss Brandon, but the transition from a house full of life and laughter to a house of silence after 7:30 every night hurts like hell. As time goes on, the visits and support, the calls, and the “I’ll do anything for you’s” taper off.

            As they taper, the silence grows. As the quietness is expected, the loneliness sets in. Sometimes, the loneliness is unbearable and there just doesn’t seem to be anyone around who truly understands. Whether in a gathering of family and friends or alone in my home, the loneliness has been painful, even excruciating at times, unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

I believe (in my brain, because it’s what the Bible says) that He never leaves me nor forsakes me. He is in the silent laundry folding. He’s in the dish doing, the toy picking up, the diaper changing, the solo grocery shopping, and here with me in the quiet of night.

He’s in the mayhem of toddler boy-hood, He’s by my side in the unexpected tantrums, and in the tickles and laughter. He’s beside me on the couch night after night, in the quiet and the loneliness, as tears role down my cheeks.

He’s with me in my lying down and when I wake. He’s an ever-present help in time of need. His presence is guaranteed, but that does not necessarily change my feelings when my daily life seems to run on repeat and those all too familiar feelings, frustrations, and doubts build up over time and clog my drain.

When I forget He is with me, I experience deep sadness and loneliness. The enemy slyly reminds me of my great loss and injustice.  I have tried my hardest to keep in mind, and confess, that in the silence and loneliness, His presence is a promise.

It is through awareness of His presence that allows peace to come, allows my mind to rest, and fullness of joy to be experienced. Whether it’s in the quiet silence or in the demands of “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” at 7am, I have the opportunity to fully experience His presence each day.

His presence is real and although it may not come to me like the burning bush appeared to Moses, I choose to believe that He is always with me, not as a distant, far off God, but actually sitting on the couch with me while I cry or standing beside me as my heart hurts while folding piles of laundry, alone, in the silence of night.

I didn’t want to write this blog post.

I didn’t want to write in the silence.

 I didn’t want to make confessions I didn’t truly believe.

The loneliness was too consuming to possibly write my raw, real feelings for the entire world to see. But when I allowed myself to let my walls down and asked the Lord what He would have me write, His presence came like a flood. For the first time in a very long time, I experienced His tangible presence in the silence.

My heart could rest.  The grit and grime that had been building and clogging me up was washed away so the words on this paper could flow freely, like a melody out of my heart.

As I sat alone in my room and wrote and cried, His presence was like my very own burning bush, clear and powerful. My heart was, for once, able to experience healing and restoration in the midst of silence. In the quiet, He met me. He ministered to my heart. He comforted me. He was very real to me in those moments and not only did I believe I wasn’t alone… I actually knew it.