Waiting, 26 July 2013

Sometimes a sunset glows brightly over the clouds

and I remember the beauty You've created around me

But sometimes all my eyes see is Darkness

and my spirit wonders why this waiting

Why do You wait to restore all that is Good and Beautiful

Why do You wait to crush suffering and injustice

children with cancer

mass graves under piles of rubble

a baby born too soon to live

hollow-eyed shells carting around their lives from fix to fix

daughters and sons with children but no mother

a father never aware of the child he created by violence

a grandmother in a coma she can never wake from

bullet holes in pillars where the revolutionary took his last stand

women chained and sold for their flesh

children with smiles but no words or reasoning

a wife or husband beaten by betrayal

decisions made for money and power not mercy and peace

Why do You wait?

You wait out of patience for sinners to turn

but the victims keep suffering

and I keep suffering

and I weep outside the tomb

where You are

crying

and weeping with me

But Lord if You had been here he wouldn't have died

Sometimes you wait until we are ready to see the miracle You planned

but it is hard for me to see miracles in the dark

and it is hard for me to wait for miracles

and I don't want to wait for miracles anymore

Please

just

come

Holding On, 06 June 2012

In an unexpected life, by definition unexpected things happen. Like one of your children getting what appears to be salmonella. But that can be dealt with by fluids, rest, and doctors appointments (we have one scheduled for the morning, poor G).

What is more unexpected and more difficult for me to grasp is having a friend cry on my shoulder today and ask for advice in dealing with the news of her friend's son and mother who were just murdered by another family member. I never thought I'd be someone to come to for that.

But I guess I am, seeing as that is what happened in my husband's family six months ago. Heh. I doubt any of my college friends who viewed me as an innocent, angelic creature ever imagined that a decade later I'd be talking about murder and victim-witness organizations and prison health care.

The difficult thing is that the more grief I experience and the more suffering and evil I see, the less I know what to say. I tried to pray for my friend and her grieving friends today, and I didn't even know how to do that. Oh how I want to have magic words that give comfort, or profound wisdom to ease the confusion of "How could this happen???" but I don't.

What I have are hugs for her, tears in my heart, and a scream against the evil in the world, "MAKE IT STOP!"

Playing in my ears right now is Soundgarden's "Live to Rise" (from the Avenger's soundtrack--yes, I broke down and bought the song for $1.29) and there's a line that really resonates with me:

We're insane but not alone

We hold on and let go

That just about sums it up for me. Things don't make sense and the world spins out of control around us, but we are not alone. We hold on to the One that is anchored in place as we let go of everything else, releasing our attempts at control to His loving care.

Of course, then I hear the question, "Where was His loving care when that young man was shot to death?" and there is nothing to say to ease the pain of that gut-cry of anguish. But I'm back to Soundgarden's song again:

Like the sun we will live to rise

Like the sun we will live and die and then

ignite again

God has eternal plans for us and these poor bodies are going to rise again to no more pain, no more tears, no more loss. Eventually.

But for now, I'm just holding on tight and letting the tears flow.

A Heavenly Birthday, 08 May 2012

Today would have been my mom's birthday, and this morning I got a text from my dad asking, "I wonder which birthday she celebrates now.  Her original body birth or her spiritual birth or her arrival in Heaven with her new, healthy, forever body birth?"

My happy answer to this question was, "Why not all three?  I bet they give great parties up there."  Then later in the morning, I posed a similar question to G, saying I wondered if Grandma was having a party for her birthday today.  I loved his answer:

"I think that probably in Heaven, every day is your birthday!"

What that means in G's mind is, no more counting down the days (364 days takes a long time to count), receiving gifts and special food every day, and continuously feeling like the guest of honor.  Actually, that's not sounding too far off from descriptions we read in the Bible!

Heaven is our true home, so there's no more counting down the days until something better turns up, banquets and delicasies are served at God's table, we receive rewards from Him, and each person is welcomed with rejoicing.

Yup, it sounds to me like G's got the idea: In Heaven, every day is our birthday.  So happy birthday Mom--today and tomorrow and the day after and the day after!

Resurrection Sunday, 08 April 2012

Today, my kitchen smells like Easter.  The heady fragrance of a single pink jasmine stem in a vase, plus the watery smell of shelled, hard-boiled eggs are scents of Easter to me.  Growing up, Mom and Dad usually referred to Easter Sunday as "Resurrection Sunday."  The sun was virtually always shining that day, and the yard was perfumed with lilac, sweet pea, and pink jasmine.  After church and a family meal during the first half of the day, in the afternoon we'd hunt hand-decorated eggs and sit on the lawn to eat them, accompanying our simple picnic with a selection of homemade once-a-year cookies.

As a mom myself now, I've carried on some of those traditions.  We decorated eggs last night; we dressed up for church this morning; we had a big family lunch around my table; and we hunted eggs this afternoon.  (G and Z only wanted to do two rounds of hiding because they were so excited to shell the eggs and dig in!)

There were some new elements today, too.  Today was my ADORABLE nephew's first Easter, and he's just learning to zero-in on people's faces, so Auntie Rachel spent a good deal of time staring and making goo-goo noises at him.  This is the first year the boys have hunted eggs in the backyard of our new house, so Jay and I had fun discovering good hiding places.

Today has been a very special day.  But it's a sad day for me, too.  Two years ago on this date, my Mom had her own resurrection--the resurrection of her spirit to be with Jesus.  But that day was not a celebration for us, as we wept in the hospital corridors and clung to each other in grief.  And you know what?  I miss Mom.  Today I wondered what she would think of the solo I sang in church, and if she would have liked the way I roasted the chicken.  I wanted to hear her beckon one of my kids with an excited voice, helping them find a hiding egg.  She would have rolled her eyes at Jay's puns and cleared her throat with mock nervousness listening to my brother's harrowing work stories.  And oh, wouldn't she have loved cooing at her newest grandson, tickling him and making clicking noises with her tongue.

Today we are missing Jay's mom, too.  This is our first Easter since she walked into Jesus' arms.  Last year, she delightedly ate the meal I prepared and giggled with glee watching the little boys wander through the yard finding their eggs.  It's inconceivable to me, really, that she wasn't here this year.  She would have been here.  She should have been here.

So here is a whole Easter basket-full of feelings--joy, sadness, thankfulness, hope, grief, confusion, delight, satisfaction, and I'm sure many others that haven't been named.  But tonight, as I enjoy the perfume of my pink jasmine stem, I think I'm going to end this day looking at Hope:  Jesus has conquered death, He is alive, He has given me a life worth living, and I am going to see Him when it's my turn for a resurrection.

He is risen!  He is risen indeed.