2018-part 2 The Bottom Drops Out

Posted on by jactucke

*This is Part two of a possible four part series on “2018.” If you haven’t read the first one yet, here is the link. Go back, read it, then come back for this one.*

Well, well, well. You’re back! I promise this second one will be just about as gut wrenching as the first one. But the biggest takeaway is that God reached out to us through the darkness and comforted us. That’s the only way I can keep saying confidently that everything is and will be just fine. Now, on to the next week.

Just before dad passed, probably the month prior, we found out that we were going to have another kiddo! Oh happy day! It takes an act of Congress for us to get pregnant and we did it all on our own this time! It was so stinking amazing! In the middle of the stuff going on with the Wildman, we had a flicker of light and joy.

The day after dad’s funeral, we went for our first sonogram in Lubbock. We got into the office and sat in the waiting room with nervous excitement. We had joy in this rough time.

Our tech called us back. She squirted the goop stuff and got to work. We had shared some baby experiences with this tech before, actually with both of our prior pregnancies. The mood went from light to a little more subdued and finally somber. She asked where we were in our pregnancy. Jeg told her and she nodded her head.

Honestly, her voice turned into Charlie Brown’s teacher then for me. Jeg can explain this part better than me. I immediately knew something wasn’t right. We had to sit on this vague visit for a week before we got any kind of answers. It had to be one of the most agonizing weeks that either one of us had to date (mind you, my dad had literally died the week before.)

Our doctor told us that our baby stopped growing in the weeks before the sonogram. We had miscarried our new kiddo. That information flooded my mind and buried me under the surf. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. And that was just me. It doesn’t even come close to what Jeg was feeling.

They told us that Jeg would pass the baby naturally. So we got to play the waiting game all over again. I dealt with it by not really dealing with it. I’d talk with my buddies Scott and Tanner and try to explain my feelings, but it was just tough. Yeah, Jeg and I talked about what was going on too, but we didn’t get very deep. How could we? We were walking on the edge of this knife waiting for the final slice.

We decided that some kind of change was needed. We had to snap this stupid funk that the devil was trying to put on us. So we did what anyone who was completely overwhelmed with life and put our house up for sale. 😳

The day our house was being shown to the eventual buyer, something happened. It was roughly a month-ish after the sonogram and Jeg started bleeding. Not, “Oh no…I’m bleeding” but “Holy crap, you’re bleeding…like a lot.” And guess where I was? Two and a half hours away on a pipe recovery job.

When I got that call, my mind flashed back to a month prior when dad died. It was just fear that washed over me instead of peace. I might have kept it cool on the outside, but I was 100 percent afraid that I was gonna lose my best friend.

I thank God every day for the folks I was working with that day. My engineer and company man caught wind of what was going on and they shut down the job and we took off to Levelland. Both of them had been exactly where I was right then and they knew how important it was for me to be there at Jeg’s side.

Another big blessing was that NanaMary, Jeg’s stepmom, was with her until I got there from Odessa. She got her to the ER in Lubbock and threw her weight around to get her admitted. (Not exactly sure how that went, but I just know Mary was all momma bear status and it was awesome.) The attending doctor (who was a former OB/GYN) examined Jeg and said that she was hemorrhaging and part of what was supposed to be passed was still attached and causing the massive bleeding. If she hadn’t gotten there when she did and gotten help, she would have bled out. That was all before I even got there.

When I arrived, all the major excitement was over. We were just left with the weird emotional hangover that I guess comes with narrowly avoiding death. We were discharged and we went home. Just like that, it was all over.

Well, it wasn’t over. It was all just the beginning of us picking up the pieces of our life all over again and handing them to God to do something with. Patch us back together, throw us back together, just do something. We needed something. Some kind of answer to all the pain that we were walking through.

We’re pretty private people. We spent many years in the spotlight and under a microscope through ministry work. This wasn’t a story that we wanted to tell people every other week and it sure wasn’t a story to be told through a game of telephone. The help and support might have been there, but it sure didn’t feel like it. We were treated like we had the plague from most folks. It was just a level of loneliness that we had never experienced before

People who have gone through losing a baby will understand what I’m saying here. Nobody really knows what they need to say or even what they can say. I can say confidently on my end of things, that I was lost and just flat out sad. I didn’t know what to say to my wife, who was absolutely wrecked. What do we do?

Well, we got up and went to church. We sought after God. We figured out what He said about our situation and tried our hardest to apply it.

Second Samuel 12:16-24 talks about David losing his son. Now, this is due to him jacking around with Bathsheba, but his kid gets sick and he goes into mourning and the child dies. After the boy’s death, in verses 23 and 24 he explains what he’s doing.

“But why should I fast when he is dead? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him one day, but he cannot return to me.” Then David comforted Bathsheba, his wife…”

We can’t turn back time and change what happened. All we can do is have our time of mourning and grief. Then, trust that God has got our kiddo there with Him and know that we will go to see them one day. That’s it.

Like I said in the last post, over time things heal and change, but nothing ever goes back to the way it was. Just like in the loss of my dad, this loss left a hole. A little, baby shaped hole. When you really think about it and focus on it, a whole life is supposed to be in that hole. But you have to realize that the only thing you can fill that hole with is the peace and comfort that only the Holy Ghost can bring you. In John 14:16 it says, “And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper (Comforter, Advocate, Intercessor—Counselor, Strengthener, Standby), to be with you forever—” That’s the skinny of it. The only way y’all make it through.

I realize that there is still a ton of unpacking to do in the situation, but that is the barebones of it. Trust that God is still going to have your back. Trust that He is faithful and He is able to do exceedingly and abundantly more than we can even ask or think. Trust that He is going to lead you and your family out of this valley and back to the mountaintop in His glory.

Phew! That was heavy. It’s so tough writing about this because you wind up revisiting and rehashing it all over again. But this is gonna bless someone. To know that someone went through it and made it out is going to encourage somebody out there.

Thanks for reading folks. Stay tuned for part three of “2018” because the hits just just kept coming that year. Y’all stay safe out there.

2018 – The End Was the Beginning

Posted on by jactucke

Man, it’s been a while! Life has been busy since the last time we talked. The oilfield has done it’s thing. The pandemic has done it’s thing. And politics have done their thing! Ha!

I wanted to talk to y’all today about a year that was a turning point for me and my family. It’s gonna be pretty heavy, but know this: God won. Because He always does. It got extremely dark for a while, but God was always there.

Let’s start in the beginning. A little bit prior to February of 2018, my dad, the Wildman, was diagnosed with two types of non-Hodgkins lymphoma: Large B Cell and Follicular. Now, one of these was curable and the other could be controlled and maintained. He had gotten to “ring the bell” and the everything went into remission the Summer of 2017, but the dragon came back with a vengeance in the Fall.

He was tired of fighting. He and my mom had to live in Houston close to MD Anderson so they didn’t wear themselves out driving the seven to eight-ish hour trip weekly. Time and poisonous radiation had taken their toll on the Wildman and when he was told that it was back, he tapped out. He was ready to be in his own home and finish the fight there.

The last time I saw my dad alive was a couple weeks before he passed. I was coming back from a job in Woodward, Oklahoma and was able to stop and spend a couple days with him and NanaRita. Wildman was a shell of his former self. My once jovial dad had been reduced to skin and bones. He couldn’t really move a whole lot without help. He had already begun to not eat as much and drinking was a chore as well.

My plan was to spend a day and then head back for work. But when I went to hug goodbye, he wouldn’t let me go. We cried together for a while. He was scared and so was I. I got to the end of the road and turned right back around. I just couldn’t leave.

We sat and watched his favorite cooking shows, just soaking up one another’s presence. I hurts my heart just thinking about it, but I still have the joy of that time, if that makes any sense. I left early that next morning to start off my work week again. I went not fully realizing but half-knowing that I wouldn’t get much more time with him.

A mere two weeks later, I get a call from my oldest brother, James. I was on day 14 of a stuck drilling rig that had just been a tough sucker. He tells me I’m gonna need to get some relief because Dad wasn’t going to last much longer. As the ladies on Crime Junkie say, I had full body chills all the way back to Levelland. James calls and says I can hold off until the next day to come. So I get to spend a few hours with Jeg and the girls before I head their way the next day, Valentines Day.

You know, you always folks talking about those “never forget” moments. The moments where you know exactly what you were doing when a certain event happened. Valentines Day 2018 was one of those moments for me. I had gotten on the road early to make the two and a half hour drive the next morning. I got to Lorenzo, about 40 minutes into my drive, and I got the call. I had stopped in to grab a quick bite at the local Allsups. When I hung up the phone, my stomach was rolling around my feet like a quarter. The Wildman was gone.

The ensuing days were a blur. Comforting my mom, my brothers, and my family was my primary function of course. It’s just hard to describe the feeling of that kind of loss. Those who have been through it completely understand and those who haven’t have been spared.

So many people told me how awesome my dad was. I heard, “They don’t make anyone like that anymore.” “Your dad was definitely one of a kind.” “He was the best man that I ever knew.” “Nobody ever had anything bad to say about your dad.” It was just surreal hearing folks refer to him in the the past tense.

You find out who really cares about you when you’re in these dark places. We had numerous friends make the trip to love on us. (Thank you for that by the way.) Phone calls and food were in abundance. It was just amazing. Then, on the following Sunday, we laid him to rest and the challenge of grieving began.

I’ll use a whole other blog to write about the grieving process because it’s just too complicated to include here. It just came wave upon wave. I’m thankful for my wife, who just loved on me and my mom the best way she knew how. And my sweet kiddos. Goodness, those girls are incredible.

I was back to reality by Tuesday and it just sucked. I had a peace that he was in Heaven with Jesus but it didn’t help that he wasn’t here. That being said, you never really get over that loss. You just lean into that peace and comfort that the Holy Ghost gives you. (More on this later.)

A verse that I really took in during this time was Psalm 34:18 – The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The cool thing about God, is that He hangs out right there with you. Right there in your hurt. You may be a slobbering mess, but the HG…He’s got you.

Time heals all wounds, they say. Who is they? I’m not exactly sure, but that next week…the wound from my dad’s death was about to ripped open and exposed all over again in the form of another set of tragedies.

But that’s gonna be next week in part two of “2018.” Feel free to leave a comment of encouragement or even a snippet of your own story. Y’all stay safe out there.

Wave upon wave

Posted on by jactucke

Grief and loss can be…well, weird. It stops you dead in your tracks. It disrupts everything. And your norm? Forget about it.

Over the last year, our family has had a TON of loss. It started back in February of 2018 when my dad passed away from a long battle with lymphoma. That was a huge blow. Then, the following week, we had a miscarriage and a hemorrhage where I almost lost my wife. That was one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced.

Six months later in August, my Grannie passed away. Days later, our Aunt Nona passed. Six months after that, my wife’s Mimi passed away unexpectedly. Talk about when it rains, it pours!

Loss upon loss upon loss upon loss. It was pretty tough for a good stretch of life. Explaining death and loss to a four and two-year-old is not fun, let me tell you.

It felt as if loss and grief had come and set up shop in our house.

What could we do? I went to work. Jeg kept busy. We just kept our minds focused on the task at hand: living life. We talked about everything. We prayed together. We prayed over our littles.

We’ve always been taught that there are seasons in your life. That there will be times when things are really good and times where things will just plain suck. Check out Ecclesiastes 3:

“There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth: A right time for birth and another for death, A right time to plant and another to reap, A right time to kill and another to heal, A right time to destroy and another to construct, A right time to cry and another to laugh, A right time to lament and another to cheer, A right time to make love and another to abstain, A right time to embrace and another to part, A right time to search and another to count your losses, A right time to hold on and another to let go, A right time to rip out and another to mend, A right time to shut up and another to speak up, A right time to love and another to hate, A right time to wage war and another to make peace.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 MSG

To me, this season did more than just suck. It was flat out terrible. Grief just came in waves. Right when you were able to get your head above the first wave, a bigger one rolled in to push you back under. Wave upon wave just pushed us further from where we wanted to be, which was on the shore with peace.

I know, the Word says that there are seasons. I said it and referenced it just right up there. But that doesn’t make it any easier in the moment. “Well, why didn’t you talk to someone?” We did and it helped…for a time. But when you’re in a season of grief, and this is solely my opinion, other people have no idea what you’re feeling. Sure they could have experienced the same loss, but the same feelings? Nah bruh. I quit writing. Nothing felt the same, no matter how many folks I sought counsel from.

The biggest thing that has helped our family has been Jesus and leaning on the fact that every one of these family members had a relationship with Him. It’s like in 2 Samuel, when David lost his son. He prayed and fasted and slept on the floor waiting for God to move. When he learned that he had passed, David got up, cleaned himself up, and ate. Most importantly, he worshipped God. It’s his actions that have really pushed me during our season of grief.

His servants were astounded by his actions. They wondered why he did what he did. Why did he worship after he passed? He said:

“…why should I fast when he is dead? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him one day, but he cannot return to me.” Then David comforted Bathsheba, his wife…” 2 Samuel 12:23-24 NLT

He knew that he’d see him again, so he cleaned up and comforted his wife. And out of his season of grief, Solomon was born. The one who’d build the Temple. Literally, the wisest man was born out of grief and loss. How cool is that?

Things are better. Will they ever be the same? No. Not at all. But things don’t need to be the same. We have to grow, be stretched, and experience these things.

Psalms 30:5 says that, “weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.” And later, it goes on to say, “You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” (Psalms 30:11-12 NLT)

During your season of grief, take comfort in Jesus. That’s literally the only thing that can shine a little light in your valley. He loves you and will never leave you. Remember, there’s joy in the morning.

Have a great day folks! Leave a comment or two just to let me know y’all are still hanging out. Y’all stay safe out there.

Stuck like Chuck

Posted on by jactucke

The last few days, it’s been raining here in West Texas. And when it rains, it gets muddy. 

Not just any old muddy, oh no. That’d be too easy. It’s the deceiving, looks like it’s solid but really it’s quicksand kind of muddy. The kind of mud they write songs about, only this time the songs aren’t about joyriding and slinging it up on the sides of the truck. They are of doom and gloom. 

While trying to traverse the muck the other day, my boot got stuck. The squishy mess enveloped my steel toe and it slipped right off. So there I was, hobbling on one foot, trying not to get my dry sock all muddy. 

When I finally was able to stabilize myself and slide my foot back into my boot, I realized something. There are so many people who get caught up in the muck and mire of life, that they don’t even bother trying to get out. They feel so helpless and messy. 

Now the muck and mud could be a number of things: a rough job, financial hardship, family dysfunction, sickness, unforgiveness, depression, etc. I could go all day with more examples, but it is time to get on with it. For some reason, you’re stuck and you feel hopeless. 

But right there, right in your hopelessness…is where God will lift you. In Psalm 40:2, the Word says “He brought me up also out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay; And he set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.” 

He wants to pull you out of your mess, out of the destruction that the devil has afflicted you with, and set you upon a firm foundation. He wants to establish your steps and set you back on your race. 

You were never made to dwell in the pit, despite what the devil or the world has told you. You were never meant to live in the darkness and in the muck. You are a child of God. 

After that verse, it says something even more encouraging. In The Message translation, Psalm 40:3 says “He taught me how to sing the latest God song, a praise-song to our God. More and more people are seeing this: they enter the mystery abandoning themselves to God.”

When He pulls you out of your mess, He teaches you a new song. A song of praise and abandonment to Him. We should sing that song continually. Over and over again so that we are constantly reminded of His grace and His mercy. Not just grace and mercy, but His complete love for us. He saw you and when you cried out, He came and set you upon a firm foundation of faith. 

Bethel sings a great song that really reminds me of this “new song of praise” that God teaches us. You can find it here and I suggest to take the time to listen. The verses talk about His faithfulness and how He just makes us whole. 

You father the orphan; Your kindness makes us whole; You shoulder our weakness; Your strength becomes our own. 

No matter how hard you try, you aren’t going to be the one to right your ship. You aren’t going to just pull yourself up by your own bootstraps and get out. If you do, you’re just gonna get right back in the mess again. You have to submit. 

I want you to know that no matter what you are going through, no matter the pit you have ended up in, that God is ready to pull you out, set your feet upon a rock and give you a new song to sing. All you have to do is cry out to Him. Humble yourself, let go of your bootstraps and allow Him to work. I promise that He is faithful to do what His Word has set forth. 

Thanks for the read, y’all be safe out there. 

When words just aren’t enough.

Posted on by jactucke

  
Recently, we had a family in our church who lost a child unexpectedly. Like, he was good the day before, gone the next morning. It’s a terrible tragedy for this family. 

What do you say? You fight for the words of comfort to say to them. Eventually, you let the Spirit do the talking because mortal words have little comfort. You just let them cry on your shoulder and pray. 

I had a similar situation when I was in full-time ministry. A family of four were traveling home from visiting family Mexico when they rolled their vehicle. Only two of the four survived, the mother and teenage son passed. I was in my office when I heard the news and just couldn’t believe it. We prayed as a staff for the family and prepped for the services. Since this happened across the border, it was going to take some time for anything to happen. 

A day or two later, the father and his extended family came to plan the service. I had talked to him a handful of times before, but it was always just a little difficult due to the harsh language barrier. Our eyes met and I stood to greet him. He rushed to me and hugged me. We cried together and that was really just it. No words, just love. That was what he needed at the time. 

When a death in the family happens, it’s like your whole world just stops. Nothing else matters. Your mind definitely isn’t in the present and you just can’t find any words to illustrate how you feel. 

The outpouring of love and support is generally a great one. Your church family is around, food is getting dropped off and you just get to reflect. But what happens afterwards? 

That is when it hits. The reality of the whole situation sets in. They aren’t coming back and generally the outpouring that you had up to the funeral is gone. It’s just you and your thoughts. Where do you go from here? As I stated earlier, mortal words aren’t going to help.

It reminds me of when David lost his first son with Bathsheba. He cried and fasted while the child was dying, but when he gots news of the death, he changed. 

“David got up from the floor, washed his face and combed his hair, put on a fresh change of clothes, then went into the sanctuary and worshiped. Then he came home and asked for something to eat. They set it before him and he ate.”

‭‭2 Samuel‬ ‭12:20‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Everyone was puzzled at what was going on. He just replied, “I can go to him, but he can’t come to me.” He took comfort in the fact that his son was in Heaven and one day, he was gonna see him again. 

You might be going through a loss in your family. It might be the loss of a child, a husband or some extended family. I want to encourage you to get off the floor, clean up and go worship. Nothing in the world can replace the loss that you’ve experienced, but God can fill that hole with His love and supernatural peace that passes all understanding. 

Maybe you are on the outside looking in to this kind situation, just get in there and love on the hurting folks. Be those hands and feet to the body like we’ve been called to do. Sometimes all it takes is a hug and a smile to let them know you’re there. 

As always, thanks for reading and comments/likes are appreciated. Y’all be safe out there.