Dear One,
Word came yesterday of the tragedy you and your family are enduring. I have traveled through the Land of Darkness a few times and as a mother and a survivor of loss myself, I wanted to write and offer my experiences with the hope they might provide some comfort and light for the journey you now face.
First, you can say goodby to normal as you have known it. Your life will never be the same again. Grieve the loss of what you had but know this, you now have an opportunity to create a new, stronger, more loving normal than you had before. All that was has been wiped away and you stand in what might seem to be a bleak and barren landscape, but all has not been lost.
When you survey the ground upon which you now stand, I hope you will be able to see those who stand with you, the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before you to this land of grief and loss and rage. Your eyes will now see differently. People whom you thought were untouched by struggle and pain will reveal themselves to you, share their suffering and show you their wounds. These companions know of your hurt too deep for words, have walked through their own dark valleys and will hold you close in their hearts as you make your own journey. All grief is unique and all grief is the same. Your heart, in being broken, will be stronger when it is mended and your compassion for others will become a balm for other’s souls.
Second, do not hug this hurt to yourself keeping it in the darkness of guilt and shame. It will grow moldy and not support new life until it is stands in the sunshine of sharing. Find a therapist or counselor for some professional help (been there and done that and will do it again). Call your friends and let them listen to you weep and rage. Say yes when they call you...when they ask if they can help, say yes and give them something to do. Let them keep your children so you can take a nap. Ask for a meal to be brought once a week so you can take a break from one of your daily tasks. Let your friends provide rest in this weary land. You have some hard work to do and they need to be able to help you for Love’s sake.
Third, let your faith help you find your new blue highways of life. This season of Lent has rich tradition, scripture that speaks to the sorrowful, a path already marked through the darkness of death and suffering. Read the Bible. Explore paths taken by some who have gone before you and see if their story can light the dark landscape of loss. Eat the bread. Drink the wine. Search for your coming resurrection and light as you remember Jesus and his journey through death to transformed life.
When you go to church tonight you will be marked with a cross of ashes. This outward sign of Lent hearkens back to the days when new church members spent forty days in sack cloth and ashes repenting of all sins committed and sins yet to come. Days in sack cloth and ashes marks each of our lives and reminds us of Paul’s words, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” For me the important word in this is “all”. None of us is perfect, no, not one and to forgive ourselves is sometimes more difficult than forgiving others. Try to be as kind and loving to yourself as God is. Look for gratitude in the midst of your struggles and seek out your blessings even as you face all you have lost.
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy steadfast love...Create in me a new heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of my salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.” Mercy, steadfast love, new heart and right spirit, salvation joy and Holy Spirit presence... all these and much more I pray for you in your valley of the shadow, dear. You are not alone. You are loved. You will be made whole again. Thanks be to the God who makes all things possible through Love that does not let us go. Amen.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Walkabout Wandering...
Michael and I went walkabout this weekend. We drove to Abingdon, Virginia, a small historic town, and stayed at a lovely hotel that was first a family residence and then a girls college. Many of the shops were closed for the season but that hardly mattered. We needed to step aside from the everydayness of our living and catch our breath. It was a jewel of a holiday.
Virginia countryside, like the North Carolina mountains, has a hold of my soul in some strange way I cannot explain. Since childhood these two geographical locations have called out to me, felt like home, whenever I am there. Perhaps there is some DNA transmission from my ancestors that connects me to these places, connections passed on from great-great-grandparents through my parents to me. Perhaps it is more mystical than that. It doesn’t really matter because I know home when I see and feel it. That is what matters.
The Bible tells stories of others who have gone walkabout. Abraham and Sarah, the Israelites leaving Egypt, the Prodigal Son, Jesus himself, all went somewhere else seeking and searching for something elusive, something that was not where they were. Sometimes they knew it when they saw it and sometimes God had to knock them upside the head to clear their vision. The journey, the trip, leaving behind the workaday world to clear out the sticky cobwebs that hold our soul’s eyes half shut, can help us find our home place again.
The journey can be simple... a weekend retreat of silence and reflection, hiking the Appalachian trail for a few days, going to a friend’s house for an overnight stay... but leaving home to find it is never simple. All you have to do is read your Bible to see how complicated and messy it can be. Abraham passed Sarah, his wife, off as his sister to another man. The Prodigal Son ended up in a pig pen. And the Israelites refused to listen to their GPS system thus condemning themselves to a forty year hiatus in the wilderness.
A walkabout journey for Christians begins this week with Ash Wednesday and the imposition of ashes. I know “imposition” means marking in this context but for me, it also means it is a hitch in my getalong, a break in my usual routine. If I pay attention, read my map and listen to the GPS system provided by this liturgical season of Lent, I can find my home once more in the Love that never lets me go, the Life that is the source of my life, the Laughter that takes delight in my being. So here goes... on the road again... Ash Wednesday, Lent, Easter... death, burial, resurrection... home, sweet home... I know it when I see and feel it.
Virginia countryside, like the North Carolina mountains, has a hold of my soul in some strange way I cannot explain. Since childhood these two geographical locations have called out to me, felt like home, whenever I am there. Perhaps there is some DNA transmission from my ancestors that connects me to these places, connections passed on from great-great-grandparents through my parents to me. Perhaps it is more mystical than that. It doesn’t really matter because I know home when I see and feel it. That is what matters.
The Bible tells stories of others who have gone walkabout. Abraham and Sarah, the Israelites leaving Egypt, the Prodigal Son, Jesus himself, all went somewhere else seeking and searching for something elusive, something that was not where they were. Sometimes they knew it when they saw it and sometimes God had to knock them upside the head to clear their vision. The journey, the trip, leaving behind the workaday world to clear out the sticky cobwebs that hold our soul’s eyes half shut, can help us find our home place again.
The journey can be simple... a weekend retreat of silence and reflection, hiking the Appalachian trail for a few days, going to a friend’s house for an overnight stay... but leaving home to find it is never simple. All you have to do is read your Bible to see how complicated and messy it can be. Abraham passed Sarah, his wife, off as his sister to another man. The Prodigal Son ended up in a pig pen. And the Israelites refused to listen to their GPS system thus condemning themselves to a forty year hiatus in the wilderness.
A walkabout journey for Christians begins this week with Ash Wednesday and the imposition of ashes. I know “imposition” means marking in this context but for me, it also means it is a hitch in my getalong, a break in my usual routine. If I pay attention, read my map and listen to the GPS system provided by this liturgical season of Lent, I can find my home once more in the Love that never lets me go, the Life that is the source of my life, the Laughter that takes delight in my being. So here goes... on the road again... Ash Wednesday, Lent, Easter... death, burial, resurrection... home, sweet home... I know it when I see and feel it.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sweet sleep...
The intercranial chatter last night was so loud I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. As a child, at bedtime, I would make up stories in my head to control the ceaseless back and forth of the tracking system in my brain. Johnny Mack Brown, Roy and Dale, the Cisco Kid and his sidekick Pancho starred in my bedtime movie reels helping me focus for sleep and rest. As an adult, the cast of characters changed but the process remained the same. This worked fairly well for most of my life ( waking night dreams as opposed to daydreams) until the past few years. It is like a switch clicked in my brain and I can no longer lull myself to sleep with reel life stories that always have a happy ending. So now I am reduced to reading in bed or getting up and watching television until I am bored to sleep.
About two o’clock last night, I gave up and went to the living room, turned on the t.v. and settled down on the sofa next to Barney, our big dog, for a snuggle. Barney wasn’t interested in the program I chose so he went to the away room to sleep on the sofa. After an hour or so my brain settled down and I drifted off to sleep only waking up when Michael came in at eight o’clock this morning.
When I was rearing young children as an at home mom, sleep was a precious commodity. On the rare nights that were uninterrupted by children’s needs, I slept a deep, dreamless sleep of utter fatigue. During times of grief and illness, sleep has been a sweet balm of Gilead for my body and soul. When I feel on the edge of a bad cold or virus, going to bed and spending time resting and sleeping can stave off the impending illness. I am struck by how many of us experience sleep deprivation... not enough sleep or not the quality sleep that leaves you feeling rested.
When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet... for the Lord will be your confidence and shall keep your foot from being caught.Tonight I think I will memorize these words from Proverbs and use them as my bedtime lullaby. Sweet sleep that comes when I rest in the Lord trusting that all will be well... sweet sleep that brings rest for my weary body and soul... sweet sleep that knits my raveled edges back together and lets me rise with joy in the morning. May it be so, Lord, please?
About two o’clock last night, I gave up and went to the living room, turned on the t.v. and settled down on the sofa next to Barney, our big dog, for a snuggle. Barney wasn’t interested in the program I chose so he went to the away room to sleep on the sofa. After an hour or so my brain settled down and I drifted off to sleep only waking up when Michael came in at eight o’clock this morning.
When I was rearing young children as an at home mom, sleep was a precious commodity. On the rare nights that were uninterrupted by children’s needs, I slept a deep, dreamless sleep of utter fatigue. During times of grief and illness, sleep has been a sweet balm of Gilead for my body and soul. When I feel on the edge of a bad cold or virus, going to bed and spending time resting and sleeping can stave off the impending illness. I am struck by how many of us experience sleep deprivation... not enough sleep or not the quality sleep that leaves you feeling rested.
When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet... for the Lord will be your confidence and shall keep your foot from being caught.Tonight I think I will memorize these words from Proverbs and use them as my bedtime lullaby. Sweet sleep that comes when I rest in the Lord trusting that all will be well... sweet sleep that brings rest for my weary body and soul... sweet sleep that knits my raveled edges back together and lets me rise with joy in the morning. May it be so, Lord, please?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Beauty is God's handwriting...
Beauty is God’s handwriting. Welcome it in every fair face, every fair day, every fair flower.
Charles Kingsley
I grew up in South Georgia, a place not known for the beauty of its landscape. It is flat, hot, with a population of gnats and mosquitoes that surpasses the human body count. And yet there are those who see a beauty there that speaks to their souls... the ponds with old cypress tree centers, technicolor sunsets all year long, tall pine forests, farm fields emerald green with rye grass in the winter time, mile after mile of family farms with abandoned tall tobacco barns standing in the middle of cotton fields, night starscapes that glisten unimpeded by light pollution.
I have lived in Texas, central Texas not the hill country, and learned to see the beauty there. The huge empty spaces mirror a generous spirit that seems to be peculiarly Texan, open and welcoming to strangers. Wild flowers blooming in bright primary colors in riotous abandon by highways and in fields, the wind that always seems to blowing through and around you, the clarity of light in Texas, hot and dry, green ribbons that follow the waterways winding through a dun summer landscape... all beautiful in ways that differ from South Georgia.
In Kentucky, the lush green tall trees and rolling hills, black painted barn, rock fences, the city of Louisville with its night lights and large parks designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, the smell of sour mash in the air and the sight of graceful, powerful thoroughbred horses running at Churchill Downs, neighborhoods with their distinct personalities, Germantown Octoberfest and Saint James Art Fair, the Ohio river flowing on the edge of the city separating Kentucky and Indiana... its beauty both urban and rural.
South Carolina... humid, hot, lush deep South with Spanish moss and azaleas and camellias, old oaks and tall pines, sandy soil with a carpet of pine needles, beaches and the smell of the sea, the sound of air conditioners running heard on evening walks, gentle winters with brief springs and brutal summers, a culture still strongly connected to its past, soft edged light that is warm and moist... Its beauty envelopes you like a warm fog and provides a soft cushion upon which you can rest.
The North Carolina mountains... rounded green mother like shaped mountains that have been calling me home since childhood, damp with the flow of rock filled streams and rivers, ancient trees and rocks from the birth of time, the earth folds seen most clearly in winter time when all the trees are stripped bare, home to those who have survived the influx of outlanders for generations and still hold dear the speech and values of their ancestors, four distinct seasons each with their own beauty... I am at home in these mountains and their beauty speaks to me of God all the days of my life.
In this place that is hallowed for me, today I will look for God’s handwriting in the snow frosting the fields, the birds on the feeders, the silver fox in the front yard, the garlic’s green leaves and the beech tree still holding its leaves hostage until spring comes, the rusty roof on the high barn that peeks through the trees, the line of dark green pines that marches down the fence line separating our farm from others farms, a gray skylight that seems to be holding its breath waiting for a sliver of blue sky and bright sun, a pair of hawks flying high calling to each other, the gathering of those whom I love, fireplace warmed laughter filled joy making evenings with farm family... I am surrounded by beauty. God has made everything beautiful in its time and I yearn not only to see and know the beauty that surrounds me but to be beautiful, too. Write on the tablets of my heart making me beautiful in my time, please God.
Charles Kingsley
I grew up in South Georgia, a place not known for the beauty of its landscape. It is flat, hot, with a population of gnats and mosquitoes that surpasses the human body count. And yet there are those who see a beauty there that speaks to their souls... the ponds with old cypress tree centers, technicolor sunsets all year long, tall pine forests, farm fields emerald green with rye grass in the winter time, mile after mile of family farms with abandoned tall tobacco barns standing in the middle of cotton fields, night starscapes that glisten unimpeded by light pollution.
I have lived in Texas, central Texas not the hill country, and learned to see the beauty there. The huge empty spaces mirror a generous spirit that seems to be peculiarly Texan, open and welcoming to strangers. Wild flowers blooming in bright primary colors in riotous abandon by highways and in fields, the wind that always seems to blowing through and around you, the clarity of light in Texas, hot and dry, green ribbons that follow the waterways winding through a dun summer landscape... all beautiful in ways that differ from South Georgia.
In Kentucky, the lush green tall trees and rolling hills, black painted barn, rock fences, the city of Louisville with its night lights and large parks designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, the smell of sour mash in the air and the sight of graceful, powerful thoroughbred horses running at Churchill Downs, neighborhoods with their distinct personalities, Germantown Octoberfest and Saint James Art Fair, the Ohio river flowing on the edge of the city separating Kentucky and Indiana... its beauty both urban and rural.
South Carolina... humid, hot, lush deep South with Spanish moss and azaleas and camellias, old oaks and tall pines, sandy soil with a carpet of pine needles, beaches and the smell of the sea, the sound of air conditioners running heard on evening walks, gentle winters with brief springs and brutal summers, a culture still strongly connected to its past, soft edged light that is warm and moist... Its beauty envelopes you like a warm fog and provides a soft cushion upon which you can rest.
The North Carolina mountains... rounded green mother like shaped mountains that have been calling me home since childhood, damp with the flow of rock filled streams and rivers, ancient trees and rocks from the birth of time, the earth folds seen most clearly in winter time when all the trees are stripped bare, home to those who have survived the influx of outlanders for generations and still hold dear the speech and values of their ancestors, four distinct seasons each with their own beauty... I am at home in these mountains and their beauty speaks to me of God all the days of my life.
In this place that is hallowed for me, today I will look for God’s handwriting in the snow frosting the fields, the birds on the feeders, the silver fox in the front yard, the garlic’s green leaves and the beech tree still holding its leaves hostage until spring comes, the rusty roof on the high barn that peeks through the trees, the line of dark green pines that marches down the fence line separating our farm from others farms, a gray skylight that seems to be holding its breath waiting for a sliver of blue sky and bright sun, a pair of hawks flying high calling to each other, the gathering of those whom I love, fireplace warmed laughter filled joy making evenings with farm family... I am surrounded by beauty. God has made everything beautiful in its time and I yearn not only to see and know the beauty that surrounds me but to be beautiful, too. Write on the tablets of my heart making me beautiful in my time, please God.
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