Why I blog

I have been asked before why I blog, but the answer was never as clear as what I heard in a class on Job today; "Sometimes we just need to speak and for just one other person to hear."  That is why I blog, to put my small, lone voice out there, hoping that one other person will hear me.  Maybe we will grow closer, maybe we will understand each other better.  Maybe I won't feel so filled to overfull of whatever I am blogging about?
We all need to reach out to one another- I just choose to do mine through blogging sometimes.  I am sharing who I am, my life, my problems, my joys.  You don't need to fix them, comment on them, or even read them.   But, if you do, and you have wondered why I write so much "Stuff", this is why- I long to pluck the string that ties humanity together to hear the music of bond.  

the dream of a garden memorial

I dreamt that I walked in soft green grass,
the whisper of wind in the trees.
The flowers all nodded their sweet hello
as they welcomed the buzzing of bees.

I dreamt of a tree whose leaves unfurled
and gathered my sorrow within
And took it from me and gave me instead
peace and innocent comfort again.

The sun touched my hair in gentle warmth
while the breeze brushed my cheek so soft
Now lightened inside, my heart once more whole
No more burdened by such grief and loss.

I stood and I turned to leave that place
with its sweet peace and timeless lore
Understanding again, she is not here
I will see her in heaven once more.



~ A true dream, written the morning after the death of fellow Luther Seminary Classmate and DL Cohort 4 member, Rebeccah Whitlock  September 11, 2014.  

Waiting... hoping...

Grief.  Death.  Loss.
They do funny things.
Twisted things.

I sit here with my grief in my lap,
rocking it.
I do not want to hold it,
I want to let it go.
But if I let it go, will I have let them go too?

It feels like this,
this bit of nothing,
whole of everything,
is all I have left of them
at this moment.

My soul is calmly watching.
Listening, humming.
Her knitting needles are gently
clicking, tapping, winding,
as she knits a prayer covering
that never seems to end.
She knows this too shall pass,
That all is well, really.

But my spirit- it is wounded.
She looks like a rag left in the street,
dull, tattered, useless and unattractive
in its disrepair and overuse.
Run over and over, it lies there.
Waiting.  Hoping.
But too tired to do anything.

And my mind, well it goes places.
It remembers last breaths.
It remembers smiles and love.
It wonders what it is like
when our soul leaves here.
It twists and turns and wonders,
wonderful, gruesome, morbid things.
Beautiful, sad, poignant things.

What Happens After? Sermon for August 25, 2013

 Luke 13: 10-17

Cinderella got her Prince Charming. So did Snow White, Belle, Sleeping Beauty and Juliette.  

The problem is that is always where the story ends.  I much prefer the  Shrek storyline.  (hands on who has seen this one… if your hand is not up, I will see you at blockbuster after coffee hour).  The story line of Shrek II specifically dances with the question about what happens after happily ever after.  It addresses life after with the imperfection of diapers and bills and the craziness that makes us sit back and wonder "who did I marry?"

 

Let me read again what happens here that leaves us asking this question:

Luke 13

The woman was healed, stood up and praised God. But then what? 

As I pondered this passage this week, I kept thinking my love of fairy tales must be going overboard.  I went through site after site looking for someone else who asked the same thing- so to be honest, I am on my own here unless you are with me.  So, do you wonder too?  What happened after they all went home that Sabbath?  It is the ultimate season cliffhanger,  JC style.  

I also notice everyone in the story got so caught up in the Synagogue Ruler’s temper tantrum that we forgot about the woman.  She got healed, praised God, and that was it.  Never heard from again. Talk about a one hit wonder, and the shortest 15 minutes of fame ever. 

Now I am sure it actually raised a bit of ruckus for a while with those who knew her.  She probably was ecstatic at first.  I mean,  think about it, she could stand up straight after 18 years.  That is no small thing if you have ever lived with back pain.  
 

Lets take a moment though and look at some other things we should know about this text.  If we go back to the Greek word, ασθενειας  used here, it is best translated as "infirmity or un-firm" in our language.  But that doesn’t tell us what kind of infirmity.  In fact, it might actually read better if we called it "the results of depression."  The type of infirmity historically referenced here in the original language is the kind caused by mental distress and depression.  It is the kind you see when you can tell through body language that someone is dejected, lonely, sad, depressed and hopeless; drooped shoulders, downcast eyes, a person literally as curled into themselves as they can get and still be upright.  

What amazes me, and it shouldn’t, is that Jesus saw her.  The synagogue was  bound by strong social rules.  Men and important figures were always up front.  Women and the unimportant, in the rear.  Bent and infirm, this woman was more than likely the lowest of the low on the social scale.  So this woman was in the rear of the room and he noticed her, calling her forward.  

In that moment she must have felt an odd mixture of fear and joy.  

               Jesus noticed HER!  Oh no! Jesus NOTICED her!

 I don’t even think she really understood what was happening until he touched her, when she stood up, and she immediately praised God. 

And then in her moment of glory and joy,  Mr. Buzzkill pipes up and says, “Hey, you have 6 other days to get healed lady, do that some other time.” Immediately the attention is turned from her.  The Synagogue leader was exerting his right and power over the way things went in the synagogue on the Sabbath.  I wonder if he was jealous?  Or was he just upset over the planned day not going as he expected?  I think a little of both.  But don’t you wonder, what happened afterward for this man too?  He not only exerted his power, but then got shot down big time in front of all those folks- and they agreed with Jesus' actions and words.  Talk about an ego buster. So what happened to him?  How did the rest of his day go?  
 

And how did the rest of her life go? 

 Suddenly she is able to do an awful lot of things she could not do before.  If we read this right, not only is she healed physically, but  also of the infirmity, the depression, that made her this way.  So she has a whole new attitude folks.  

Now let me ask you… the last time in your life you felt a huge personal change and you got home or went to school or work the next day- how did people take it?  What about a few days later?  Did you get to a point they kind of looked at you and said, “ok, that was all well and good, but we need to get back to normal now.”  What about when you go back home or to a reunion?  You may have had a HUGE change in your appearance, life or frame of mind, but you are treated the same as before.  Does that help you succeed at keeping your new perspective?  Does it help you stay on track?   Me Either. 

Cynthia was born with scoliosis.  By her early teens, her spine was curled like a pig tail and a rod was  inserted into her spine that she still has to this day.  Although she was deeply loved by her family, she knew she was different and even though doctors were working on keeping it minimized, it was still obvious that she had something different going on physically.  And we all know how kids are to each other.  

But Cynthia, she is tough.  And she fought back the only way she knew how.  By being mean.  I mean, really, really, mean.  She has told me how she was nasty, vicious, cruel and hurtful- all on purpose.  Because if she struck out first, others would still be licking their wounds as she walked away relatively unscathed.   

She was raised in a Christian home by two of the kindest, sweetest, most nurturing people I know.  But she ran from God.  And man oh man did she run.  She did her best to destroy her spirit to match her own image of her body.  I won’t go into details, but let’s just say, if you can imagine a way to offend God and other humans, she did it or she tried to. Because she was hurting inside.  She was infirm.   She was bound and she was broken.

Then one day she realized it was time to get off the pity pot and get right with God.  What she was doing wasn’t working and she knew deep down inside that she had Jesus and a chance to start over. 

 Today she is one of my dearest friends,  fiercest of my supporters, and most brutally honest with me as a sister in Christ.  Her life is on the right track and she seeks to honor God in every word and step. She lives the gift of a healed woman. She knows Jesus has healed her.  She may still be physically ‘broken’ to the world, but she is spiritually healed.  Unfortunately, her soul still suffers.  

BUT, even though she was healed, she left a path of destructive consequences that are still piercing her life.  Her good and healed life.  She didn’t get a ‘happily ever after’  While she still cringes at her own x-rays and broken body,  she did get healed of her infirmity- the one inside that was destroying her far worse than anything physical ever could.  And the best news is that every time those barbs of consequences bite into her, she drops them back at the feet of Jesus and the Cross.  She is healed regularly, sometimes daily, or even minute by minute.  But over and over again, she is healed.  

When Jesus told the bent woman to stand up, that she was healed, he knew there would be more.  She would go home and face the changes, good and  bad that came with no longer being  infirm.  She would have to train others to look at her differently, but to still see her as the same woman in many ways.  She would have to learn how to be a more productive person and to fit into the fabric of her social world in a whole new way.  But when she would stumble, she was not left to her own devices.  She had Jesus, and she had his gift of life, of healing; over and over and over.  

So what does this mean to us?  Now I am not saying we get a free pass to intentionally act stupid and still be right with God.  But it  does mean, when we  leave church today and  backslide by calling someone a choice name for cutting us off in traffic, or you don’t pick up that Bible to read it tomorrow morning, like you keep promising you will do every Sunday, or you forget to pray over your meal at lunch later in the week, it is okay.  Those are the small things... when you lie to a friend, when you steal on your taxes, when you are sexually immoral... it is not right, but it will be okay, because if you are already saved, you are unbound and already in possession of healing and that healing is not a one time deal.  It has a lifetime warranty. Because of the cross You can keep using that promise over and over. 

question

  Originally posted and written 2-19-2009

I hear this friend,
her mom is dying.
Soon 

she will no longer

hold her mommy.

I watch the tv,
stories of 

reaching,
grasping,
desperation
and I think...
how horrible for them.

I know 

divorce and
death and
poverty
are all around, 

most times not so silent.

My husband
feeds a huddled vagabond
on his way to the train
from a warm office.

The world is starving
and in Haiti
the 

only

hope
is what is eternal
where hunger
is 

no

more.

I see this
I hear it
I wince and
hear the stories and
watch
the tears
in my dear friends eyes.

So what right do I have to feel sorrow for myself?

What right have I
to feel unaccomplished,
incomplete with
no end in sight?

What right have I to
shed a tear
over little time for "me"
in a selfish society?

In Rwanda
there is
no thought to "me"
instead,
will I
survive

HIV to
raise my child?

And I sit
in my
comfy bed
at my
shiny laptop
with tears
in my eyes
ache in my throat...

wondering....

who am I that
I am
so special
special enough
to be sad

that I am not 

what I dreamed.

breathe.....

For Jeannie, and all who live a day of life missing a loved one who has gone on before us.


You took that breath last night in awe and wonder at amber moon light.
Missing those loved ones now a memory, wondering if connection yet exists.

You breathed them back into you- and sighed them out to the universe.

When we breathe we share infinite atoms that all life has breathed in before us.
That breath during birth shares the last of another and wraps us together eternally.

When you wonder if they will live on, will they be there in Three hundred years,
you can know deep inside, to the very atomic makeup that is Jeannie,
they are still here- and not just with you, but with me.

When I breath in this Christmas, with joy at the smiles of my children,
I will share that love of your loved ones.

It is said when we breathe we are speaking Gods name
and  when we consider breath the most silent and ultimate of gift
it all makes sense in that great cosmic way.

When we say goodbye to this earth, we do leave our love behind,
and it is given and remembered when we sob in grief, when we shout in ecstasy, and when we sigh in exhaustion.
They are in every moment of our lives yet.

Do not wonder my friend... know. And breathe.

It will come... sooner or later.

Today is a different day. That doesn't mean that things are different though. Yesterday a friend was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery.

Try as I might, I cannot cut short the sadness over the loss of his life in this world. I could not travel the 6 hours each way to honor his life there with others. I chose instead to take a break from moving and see Long Island beaches for the first time. I spent the hour of his interment watching my children jump into the ocean. And the waves crashed over and over again like a heart beat, reminding me of his now gone.

Am I a crappy human for wanting to forget? It was as though my heart said, if I cannot be there to truly grieve with others then I will simply not grieve.

Unfortunately, although I was able to defer pain, I could not cut it off. It remains. I woke this morning with a lump in my throat and a deep need to cry before I even knew why.
It's done. He is gone. There are no more ceremonies or memorials, there is not another step to finalize the formal end. Now comes the time when the others slowly but surely get on with thier lives as his family drowns in grief that has been deferred to a point as well. Now there is nothing else to keep them busy arranging or trying to 'get through'.

100 years ago we still wore black for a year. We showed our grief. A close friend or distant relative wore a black band to show the grief. The widow for a full year or more was clothed in all black with little relief of color.

Today we have no outer way to know of grieving kin. They walk by us in the grocery store and for all intensive purposes carry on thier daily grind as we stand in line behind them or scoot our cart around them in the deli department.

As a not so close friend, but more than mere acquaintance, where do I fit in? Some of us feel grief for others in the oddest of ways with no rhyme or reason. Maybe this is deferred pain over other losses in my life?

All I know is that today I grieve and no matter how enjoyable yesterday was, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I was aware all day of my friends who stood by a grave and shed tears at an armed salute, taps and a folded flag. I was so aware that I let out a deep breath- one I did not know I had been holding- around 1500. Surely it was done. Surely his lovely bride stood surrounded by others muttering condolences to her when she only wished to be alone on a mountain top screaming her lungs out over the ugliness of this.

There are no words I can utter to her that will ease her pain. There is no action I can perform to lessen her grief. I can only allow my tears to join hers as they fall to the earth where he is laid. My only hope is that I will be able to travel soon to honor his life where he rests and that I can live my life in a way that honors the love, laughter, friendship, and heartbeat that was his.

Pedro Mercado, my friend, may you rest in peace. May your lovely wife carry a little less pain each day. May your family remember you with honor and smiles. May your memory live on to remind us all that we should live with a HUGE smile that lights up a room, because in the end, while we may try to defer the pain, or even death, we cannot. It will come. Sooner or later.

my grandma

For my Grandma T;

Upon this last breath I give her up and trust her to the Lord's embrace. She will feel no more of these worldly things that cause us hurt.

Her pearly white locks will be full of color and youth, her eyes sparkling with joy and excitement as she wanders her grandfathers shop of second hand goods on the end of eternity street. Her soft wrinkled skin will be firm with the color of springtime blossoms reflected in the perfection.

She will know the names of all those who passed before her- the ones she has poured over for years- and now she will have a face to go with. She can ask the questions of them that sit open in those books of history with no answer we know now. And we will envy this knowledge with a smile.

She will sit at a table with her mother and daddy; engaging in loving banter, laughter and joy. She will prepare a place for her lover, her child, her progeny, and wait patiently for us to join her- enjoining us to wait for our time and not come too soon.

She will no longer roll beside us in her scooter, will not guide us over the phone, will not chide us lovingly for a poor choice. She will not holler "Worth" with that disapproving voice when he tells an all too colorful family story... nor will she call out, "Worth" when she seeks his guidance, his voice, his wisdom to balance with hers.

She will not dance with her granddaughters for now. She will no longer crochet an afghan to wrap around us on cold nights when we cry our tears over her passing and her personalized patches sewn with love on each one will become a legacy to future generations.

She is tiny again, a wraith of beauty that no one needs peach colored glasses to see clearly- they will all see her as her beloved did for over 58 years. She now lives in our memories as all too human and frail- not the woman of strength and character we knew- but one whose strength we only now begin to grasp.

Her loving arms will not hold another generation and her missing birthday cards will be the most painful moment of each of our birthdays for years to come. There will be no more PTA baths- instead her lithe heavenly form, slipping gently into sweetly scented pools of crystal clear water that slide over her skin like silk and she breathes deeply and swims with no effort as far as the eye can see.

We will catch our breath as we feel the tears run down our cheeks, struggling to swallow, grasping for solace in words that right now are so lacking in solace... and yet.... we are filled with joy for her- with love that words cannot express our respect, honor, awe, tribute and adoration.

Instead of locked to a chair, taking each breathe from a tube, she will run, ski on one ski, rebuild an engine, climb to a roof, and never, ever need to worry that she cannot breathe.

Now she will dance with cousins long gone, fish with her daddy, walk with our Jesus and know a peace we could not give her here. She will be free, glancing back with a loving expression as if to say- "you will be okay, I taught you well. It is time for you and me both to fly."

And then she will.