Indescribable ache

How do I write of Mother's Day

when I'm not sure I know how to breathe?

I look at pictures on paper, 

or digital captures on the computer monitor, 

or images preserved only in the filing system in my mind, 

synapses firing fast today.

Yes, I know in years to come 

I will celebrate her on this day, 

and I will rejoice.

I will inhale memories, exhale thanksgiving.

But now, right here, the wound is fresh, 

the tears stinging hot.

The final thing we shared "I love you".

For this year, those words must be enough.

 

Sorrow and joy

We all must hold the cups of our lives. As we grow older and become more fully aware of the many sorrows of life - personal failures, family conflicts, disappointments in work and social life, and the many pains surrounding us on the national and international scene - everything within and around us conspires to make us ignore, avoid, suppress, or simply deny these sorrows.  "Look at the sunny side of life and make the best of it," we say to ourselves and hear others say to us.   But when we want to drink the cups of our lives, we need first to hold them, to fully acknowledge what we are living, trusting that by not avoiding but befriending our sorrows we will discover the true joy we are looking for right in the midst of our sorrows.

Henri Nouwen

Taking the time to breathe

hold sorrows with the joy

and live.

 

looking for the still point with Sandy

 

After the rains

The rains of the early morning 

left a coat of damp on the deck wood 

and the now thawed ground. 

The branches, still bare, glistened.

The air had a strange quality, the light polarized, 

drawing me out with my phone to try to capture it.

Light through shadows, colours splashed across the clouds

this is how I have been sensing life lately

and all I see is beauty

and I am learning, bit by bit

deeper in my spirit

without the darkness

we can never see the light

 

One from two

Rarely do I write in rhyme.  It is never intentional when words pour forth in that way, but inspired, I believed.

I share these words, written to my Rick years ago, as today we complete thirteen years of marriage and step, still hand in hand into the plans God has for us.                                                                                  

You are my fantasy and reality

having made my dreams come true 

I can never love another

in the ways that I love you

My heart evermore will open

doors which you have entered in

I forget where I have ended, love

and where you now begin.

Hand in hand, my Darling

we walk a narrow road

that God has chosen for us

but it's not a heavy load

The burdens and the problems

seem lighter than a feather

when you and I and God, as one

take each step together

This is, I am certain, with a profound knowing deep in my spirit, what I was created for; to walk beside this man, joined from two into one; bound tightly by the cords of God's eternal love.

Because He Is, we are.

The Man said, “Finally! Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh!
Name her Woman for she was made from Man.”
Therefore a man leaves his father and mother and embraces his wife. They become one flesh.
Genesis 2:23-24 The Message

walking with Emily and those who have been broken and redeemed

 

Shadow she stands

wide eyed surprise

the vastness of the world

tinged with fear

and wonder

just beyond the edge

of the side-walk

yet I was not alone

or in danger

ever watching she stood 

ready to protect, rescue

love

in fading grey

she lingers still

a shadow, a ghost

leaving me

with the same child within

wide eyed

I step alone

beyond the edge of the side-walk

hanging out at the pub today
 

North of Hope by Shannon Polson

When I was offered the opportunity to read and review North of Hope by Shannon Huffman Polson I could not have known that my ailing mother was soon to take her last breath.  I am certain that God did know, and this was not circumstantial timing.

North of Hope is a story of pain, an adventure through the Alaskan wilderness and the barrenness of loss.  The author skillfully shares her journey to find healing after the senseless and brutal deaths of her father and his wife.

There was much here for me to digest and learn from as I began my own travel through the shadows of death.  Polson writes:

I envied cultures that have mourning traditions, wearing black or rending garments.  Then people would know; they would understand.  Why had our culture done away with all that?  To spare the majority the discomfort that each of us must one day face?  And by doing so robbing every one of us of the space to grieve and neutering society's ability to mourn with the bereaved, our chance to appreciate life more for knowing death?  I felt cheated.  And it occurred to me that grief is something imposed, but that grieving is something that must be learned and, like anything of consequence, would reveal its realities slowly, over a lifetime.

There is hope.  There is light.  There is life.  In the telling of her tale, Polson leads us along the way.


I received a complimentary copy of this book from Zondervan. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

Spring up

Faithfulness will spring up from the ground,
    and righteousness will look down from the sky.
¹² The Lord will give what is good,
    and our land will yield its increase
Psalm 85:11-12 RSV

raising my voice in praise at Deidra's