After several hours, we finally came to the end of Texas and made our way through Arkansas. Entering the Ozarks opens a way to beholding parts of God’s creation we don’t normally see in our hometown. The grandeur of God in those woods, the rolling green valleys and mountains can elevate you into worship of our great Creator and begin to ease troubled hearts. Sadly, though, that morning as we entered this space, my mind and heart went in a different direction.
Grief strikes a person in a variety of ways. Obviously, sadness and sorrow are known entities of a broken heart, but anxiety? I didn’t expect to find myself feeling overwhelmed by anxiety on this getaway with my wife. It rolled in slowly at first as I thought about the distance between us in Arkansas and our older two in New Mexico, but it was fast becoming a monstrous nuisance.
In the past, I did not struggle with anxiety. In fact, very few things incited bouts of worry or anxiety. Now, truth be told, I do come from a long line of worriers, but it never affected me too often. I could count on one hand and not use all my fingers thinking about the number of times I’ve battled mild forms of anxiety, so anxiety at this level was new to me. As the dread and irrational fear overwhelmed me, I could not logically apply truth to find my way out of this anxiety. We had plenty of experiences being away from the kids, but something about losing Izzy changed everything.
Anxiety swelled as we drove to Arkansas – it was as if each mile stretched between us and the kids increased it all the more – but it really hit me hard when we pulled down the road to our cabin. We have a four-wheel drive SUV with plenty of clearance and the ability to take on moderate off-roading. The road we turned on was a dirt road with a few mildly worrisome features. Rocks – not pebbles, not gravel – rocks strewn the path on the road. Gulleys featured at several points along the way from hard rains both on the sides of the road and sometimes right in the middle of it. Then there were the decent-sized hills on this rocky, deep brown earth taking us up and down.
Along the road, while dodging rocks and gulleys left and right, my mind raced…we were in Arkansas; Joshua and Aby were in New Mexico. Thoughts swirled in my head:
-If they get hurt, it’ll take us about 12 hours to get to them! (I looked it up.) What if they die? Or what if they get seriously injured to the point of death. We won’t make it in time, let alone get to say goodbye.
-This road is terrible! If it rains, we surely will get stuck at the cabin.
-What if we get hurt and can’t get out because of the road?
-We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Cell signal is terrible, no one will be able to come and help us. Will the kids even be able to call us to come and get them?
So, so many fearful thoughts raced into my mind. It was like that feeling at a beach when you wade offshore just a little further than you should, just to the point where your feet can no longer touch the ground, then a wave comes along, lifts you higher up, and slams you under. I felt disoriented and untethered from a rationality that normally kept me calm.
Finally, we pulled off the road and arrived at the rental cabin. The serenity of the area grossly countered the ugly storm raging in my mind. A nicely kept lawn extended several acres in front of the cabin. There’s a traditional wooden swing tied up with ropes to a tree out front. A hammock strung between two trees lazily swayed in a barely noticeable breeze. Great hills hemmed us in with deeper valleys on one side and behind the house. The rocky pathway from the road brought us to the left side of the two-story cabin with a gray metal roof and a porch in front of many windows.
Like I said, this place – under normal circumstances – was serene and idyllic.
Yet my anxiety robbed me of its enjoyment.
We parked the car and grabbed our bags, then brought the dog out on the leash. Walking him around a little bit to relieve himself and stretch his legs, we then head inside the house. Anxiety mounted again. The house is well-decorated with plenty of amenities and a comfortable setting to provide rest. However, my eyes turned upward, and I focused on the metal spiral stairway up to the loft bedroom and panic over this, too.
-Well, heck. That’s not good. What if the stairwell detaches and falls to the ground when we are up there? How would we get down??
Unbelievable.
Where are these thoughts coming from? Why are these irrational thoughts rooting themselves into my mind?
I cannot control them. Again, I’m untethered and feel like I’m flailing in this storm. I begin to wonder if this was all a mistake and we should head back home. But, then again, back home to what? Pain? The empty house that will only remind us more that we lost Izzy? It will only be the two of us home, our older two won’t be there to distract us. There’s no way I want to go home…but I don’t want to stay either. Instead, I just want our time at the cabin and our kids’ time at camp to be over and all of us to be safely back home.
I think to myself, this was a stupid idea.
Thankfully, I don’t keep all these thoughts to myself. Bottling them up probably would’ve sent me into a panic attack or worse. Instead, I share them with Jill. She’s not entirely sure what to do with this change in me either. Her husband hasn’t ever been like this before, but she takes my hands in hers, brings me into a hug, and prays over me. She prays the Lord would help me with my anxiety and give us a respite in the midst of our great grief. Then, she leads me by the hand, grabs the leash and our dog, and takes us outside to walk the property.
Summer’s sticky humidity envelops us as we step outside. The wooden screen door slams on its greaseless hinges as we step off the front porch and into the front yard. Janner picks up scents from afar and of things he’s never known. Nose to the ground, tail wagging from time-to-time, he pulls tightly on the leash and propels us ever forward. Jill and I hold hands as we walk him around and explore the swing, the hammock, the small valley of woods behind the cabin, and walk all the way up to the front of the property. The freshly mown grass softens our steps around.
My darling wife gently points out each of these small things to take note of. In doing so, she’s taking my mind from the great panic of lying irrationality inside to the small, true reality right in front of me.
This walk around the property of the cabin, up the dirt road and back would become a regular exercise for us during our stay. Grief, anxiety kept pulling me down leaving me to feel stuck and hopeless, but our walks in that small area over those few days helped to move both of us forward. With each step, we found the Lord’s help to keep moving not only through that battle of anxiety but also in the processing of our grief together.
We came inside to finish settling in and to unpack, and to also continue our exploration. We opened all the drawers and did the “micro-exploring” of the cabin to see just what was in all the nooks and crannies. In the kitchen, we opened the drawers to find the usual silverware, plates, glasses, cups, mugs, pots, pans, utensils, towels, oven mitts, lighters, and more. The kitchen was well-stocked and minimally decorated but cozy. Looking into the fridge, we found nothing (thankfully), so we put our few groceries in that we brought along. We’d go to the store the next day to pick up more groceries to fix meals and the much-needed snacks of a getaway.
Closing the door to the fridge, though, my wife gasps and calls me over. On the side of the fridge are two magnets. One, a cut-out lightbulb for the local electric company providing a phone number to report an outage. The second magnet right next to the lightbulb was a bee. A simple three-dimensional, black and yellow, two-winged, cartoonish looking bee.
In addition to the color yellow, yellow hearts[1], chickadees, and some others, we also associate bees with our Izzy. Basically, we associate Izzy with bees because we called her Izzy Bee almost from day one. Obviously, with Bishop as her last name, it was an easy move from Izzy B to Izzy Bee.
When we lost Izzy, friends would come over with bee gifts. We received a ceramic beehive, a felt beehive ornament, cards with bees pictured on them, honey-related gifts, and so much more. Our house was soon swarmed by gift bees from sweet friends and family.
So, finding a bee magnet on a cabin tucked away in a remote area of northwest Arkansas on a getaway to find some sort of respite after losing our daughter could not possibly be just a random occurrence. Sure, lots of people like bees. And, yes, it may not be too uncommon for someone to have a bee magnet. However, not many rental cabins have non-generic decorations, let alone any kitchen magnets. The lightbulb magnet makes sense as a help to renters in times of power outages.
But a bee magnet?
A bee magnet at a rental cabin for a mom and dad who just lost their Izzy Bee?
We felt this had to be from the Lord. Over the past several weeks, we were learning the lengths our God goes to show, in felt ways, His love for His children. And His way to communicate His love and tenderness to His children who are hurting is more creative than we expected.
We did not ignore the placement of this bee. In that moment, we held each other and cried. Yet again, God showed His watchcare over us. Grieving our girl, battling an unsettling anxiety, God brings our eyes to a reminder of Him and His care for us. My anxiety did not immediately evaporate into nothingness, nor did our sorrow over our girl, but we knew by this sweet reminder that the Lord was near to us.
(To be continued…)
[1] As for the color yellow and yellow hearts, that’ll be a story for another time.
Till We Are Home 
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