The Bartlinski Bunch

" Teresa "

" Teresa "

Teresa "Fang Fang " Bartlinski

Teresa was born on December 25, 2006 in China. She was born with a very complex heart condition. In July 2010, GOD added Teresa to our family through adoption. We have been blessed with 9 wonderful children. Gods grace has woven us together as a family. Upon bringing Teresa home from China we unfortunately learned she not only needed a heart transplant but also a lung transplant. Her doctors feel she would not survive this operation. Please help us to pray for a miracle for Teresa's heart and lungs to be healed. She is a very special little soul who has touched so many lives around the world ...
I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES!

Monday, March 31, 2014

April 1 - nine months

April 1.    I can hardly believe it has been 9 months since our sweet girl went to Heaven.  Nine months of learning to live without her here, helping us through life.  Yes, she helped us through every minute of every day.  Now she is helping us from Heaven.  There are days it feels like only yesterday she was here being a princess, giggling, singing and dancing.  And other days where it feels like she has been gone forever.  I often wonder why God chose to share Teresa with us for only three years.  How could we possibly have learned everything HE wanted us to learn from her in only three years? But I guess we did and now it is His will for her to teach us from Heaven. Some may question "Learn from her, really?" Yes, we have learned from her so much and we continue every day to learn more.
The biggest lesson we all have learned is,  God is good all of the time.  God was not bad because Teresa died.  This was His will.  All things work for the good of God. God is LOVE.  Teresa was and still is LOVE.  She personified love.
I read an article tonight talking about grief written by Sara McNutt  It pretty much summed up what our family has gone through for the past nine months.-
 
Since we have begun our own grief journey, I have noticed this subtle mindset that so many have about grief. The more outwardly composed and collected we are, the more praised we are for "being strong" and being a light and example. An example of what? Not collapsing on the floor in gut-wrenching pain and weeping that leaves our eyes nearly swollen shut and our faces red and blotchy? No, we save that for the privacy of our bedrooms.
I've said this before and I'll say it again: People who experience such profound loss and grief are not any stronger than you are. We did not experience our loss because we possessed more strength than you, and you are not exempt from experiencing it yourself. People who experience such profound loss and grief go on living because they have to.
As my sweet friend and I talked, I realized we shared many of those same experiences. People praising her for being strong. People commending her because she looked like she was moving on because she happened to get dressed and put makeup on that day. I loved the way she confronted the last person who told her that. "It's a front," she said. "I'm actually living in a black hole right now."
Because people don't see the other side.
They don't see the sleepless nights and the nightmares and the constant replay of your worst memories: the still heart where there should've been a beating one; the moment she was placed in your arms and all you could cry was, "You're so beautiful; you're so perfect"; the kissing of her head over and over; the soaking in of her face, knowing you'd never see it again; the handing her over for the final time; the collapsing on the bed in tears because you don't know how you will live through this pain.
They don't see the crushing of your heart when you see someone who has what you should have. They don't see the tears rolling down your face night after night, the thousand different places in this city that you've cried and then pulled it together as you pulled into the church parking lot.
They don't see the anger and the desperate questioning and the item thrown across the room because you can't stand the pain and anger anymore. And they don't see that it doesn't stop. That nine months later you're still so freaking sad and angry that you realize for the first time that grief is a long, long journey and you're just getting started.
I'm comforted when I find in the Bible the same gut-wrenching pain that has become so familiar to me. None of this ridiculous composure and "staying strong" and being the poster child for handling grief well. Isaiah tells me that Jesus was a man familiar with grief and sorrow, and when Jesus wept the original language describes for us the type of weeping that is from the stomach—you know, the kind that doubles you over.
Jesus is near to me. He is with me. He has never left me. I have laid in bed and pleaded with Him to please show me His love and kindness because it felt so far and, even at times, not true, and my God, the One who leads the stars out in number by name, has done just that. He has shown me indescribable love and kindness. But it doesn't erase or exempt me from the grief experience. Nor any other believer.
Yes, God is good, but death isn't. He tells us in His own Word that the last enemy to be destroyed is death (1 Cor. 15:26). Yes, death is an enemy. And we can have every type of visceral reaction to it that soldiers have in battle at enemy lines. It is not tidy. It is not comfortable. It doesn't make for easy conversation or even relationship. It reshapes what you thought your life would be like and look like. It is inescapable.
When I talked to my friend today, my eyes filled with tears as she spoke and shared how angry she's been, and I told her I have been as well, and I told her that's OK; it's part of the process. No, we don't want to stay there and become embittered, but we don't have to have a quick, palatable response to everything either. We don't have to defend God or try to make it go away for the other person. We can simply say, "I know and I'm so sorry. I've been there too. I'm there now."
Someone shared this perspective not long ago, and it's stuck with me. How much would I love it if my children came to me when they were older with their real problems and questions and struggles and sin, more than if they simply always told me the "right" thing so that I somehow felt better about them? I love my children desperately, and nothing could ever separate me from loving them. I crave relationship with them, not a surface appearance of them doing the right things but me never actually knowing them, truly knowing them. And it makes me wonder how much more so our Father? He's not looking for us to have our spiritual ducks in a row first. He's not looking for us to redeem our own pain and experiences. He is the Redeemer. He is the one who sanctifies. He is the one to work out all things for good.
I think people who suffer and grieve have such deep faith because the believing doesn't come easy anymore. It's been purified in the Refiner's fire. We can no longer say that God is good because our lives are going how we think they should; we now say God is good because He is simply good. Because it is who he has been for all of eternity, and He is incapable of being anything other than Himself in all His perfection. His goodness isn't true because we have good gifts. His goodness is true because it is who He is.
Yes, my faith is deeper. My belief in God and His Word are stronger. But it's not without severe pain and wrestling.
Teresa , we love you more and are so much better for having the privilege of being your family forever... We will be together again someday in Heaven. Until then please tell Jesus ," Thank you."

7 comments:

Laine said...

I love your family and continue to pray for you all....

A Swavely said...

You have put so eloquently into words the effect that grief has and the vast emotions that we experience, yet are so hard to express. We also lost our little girl, but haven't been able to put our loss into words. Thank you for sharing your life so openly, your family, and most of all your sweet, sweet Teresa.

Would you mind if we share this with others who are at a loss to understand?

Lynda said...

Ann,
So beautifully expressed, I can only add AMEN and we continue to pray for God's grace to be poured out on you and your family.
The Carr's

Anonymous said...

Teresa looked like a happy little angel right up to her last moments. Such a blessing you were given to spend 3 years with one such as her. And what a greater blessing to have an even longer ongoing time with your other children.
Seven billion people never had the chance to know Teresa the way you knew her.
God Bless.

Susie said...

Ann,
You say it perfectly. I have not experienced the loss of a child and this fall experienced my first real loss in the loss of my father. I so so appreciated hearing from my friend who had lost hers the year before that some days my kids would watch too much tv while i lay in bed and that I would cry in the car sometimes for a reason and sometimes just because I was at a traffic light. I don't wish loss on anyone... but I am so thankful for those that have been on this road and who have made me feel that I do not travel it alone. I also believe that God doesn't care if we are angry when we talk to him-he just wants us to keep talking. Our grief is important to Him because He loves us.

Anonymous said...

Praying for you and your family and Teresa always. - Theresa from Georgia

Robyn said...

A long time ago someone shared your blog on facebook and I saved it in my favorites. I happened to click on it again this morning. I lost my 5 year old to a drunk driver two weeks ago and your words were comforting this morning.