thick clouds

friends dear to us

have had their hearts exploded by tragic loss

clouds dark have settled over us all

in my quiet time with the Lord this morning

He spoke these words

in Africa funeral houses fill with wailing cries

this, when there are no words

they do not fear the depth of mourning

this makes sense to you now

your people, your village is shaken

I hear cries that they think they should suppress

there is no need, no reason 

to be strong

I Am the strength for all

stand together in your weakness

those who already have answers

did not hear them from Me

shout life

vines, shoots, petals bright

new leaves and a million 

shades of green all

twisted, tangled into one

resounding

YES

thundering stronger

than any

no

in the midst of mourning

the passing of my youngest brother-in-law

I will shout praises to my God

and deny the enemy any taste of victory

what my spirit hears

can you hear

the sound of a mother’s tears or

the wail of a young wife left homeless

her husband newly dedicated to the ground?

can you hear

the stretch and strain of nations 

as they attempt to birth themselves

raging against the darkness?

can you hear

the flap of wings not fully formed

desperately unable to fly

breathing thunder

in a silent roar?

have you listened?

can you hear?

no words

I have not words

but perhaps

there have already been 

too many spoken

or typed

sent flying 

via anti-social media

this may well be

a time for the silence

of mourning and regret

or the wailing lament

that goes beyond words

a weeping song

that only the Spirit knows

So too the [Holy] Spirit comes to our aid and bears us up in our weakness; for we do not know what prayer to offer nor how to offer it worthily as we ought, but the Spirit Himself goes to meet our supplication and pleads in our behalf with unspeakable yearnings and groanings too deep for utterance. Romans 8:26 Amplified

 

all in the waiting

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; 

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; 

there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought. 

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness, the dancing.

T.S. Eliot

One year ago, it was not the Saturday of waiting

for the glory of Easter Sunday, no

that day of rejoicing had come

and gone, weeks before

last year today was a Friday

a different day of waiting

for what we knew would come

but could never prepare for

and by Saturday, she was

simply no longer here

grief is sticky, having 

it's way with me

there is no calendar

for mourning

no limit to tears

I wait for Sunday

in the stillness with Sandy

 

notes to Mom

four months, or days

or years my tears have fallen 

hard and fast this week

small seeds of ache

sprouting and swollen

fill me with memories

hard and sweet

so much of you lives on in me

the sharp impatience, the need to be

right at any cost

the stiff and painful joints

but also the curiosity, playfullness

and the love, above all

the heart filled with love

and the need to care for

life is picking up speed

down here, where you no longer

have your being

so much I would share

and wonder if you know

somehow

and if you miss me too

walking with Emily, broken, redeemed and thankful
 

two months gone

It feels like much longer 

than two months ago

or perhaps just yesterday 

Mom drew a last difficult breath 

then stopped

it seems impossible 

that she is gone 

hand and mind reach daily for the phone 

to check in with no one

grief travels a winding road

often silent, shadowed

a walk through the woods

trees in full leaf

grief travels a winding road

screams, memories flashing

clouds drawn back

exposing the raw 

I can't predict, or dictate

as I open my hands

to the wind, trusting

storms of tears

wash clean

 

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.

 

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.

yet I float

Here are words I wrote in an email to my oldest brother this afternoon, wondering if he was experiencing the same odd sensation I am:

So it's been a week and we are back in our lives

yet for me, nothing feels quite right

all a bit off kilter

as if I've lost my footing

I am like a helium balloon 

after someone released the ribbon

not adapted to flying free

yet I float

 

Muffled

The new fall of snow

began on April's last day

and dragged into the start of May

an outward expression

of my own muffling.

I have been quiet here

in my home

in my heart

holding it still

at the edge of the waterfall

fearing the rapids

could wash me far 

lost downstream

from the me I have known

daughter, child 

to those who raised

and loved me

and are no more.

Yet never an orphan

for I am His.

"Now you can reinvent yourself"

whispered my sister-in-law

on the day I left what will never again

be my parent's home.

The tears will start, stop

start again

as memories rush in

I will share when I can

as I find my footing

in a world forever altered.

“I will not leave you orphaned. I'm coming back. 

In just a little while the world will no longer see me, 

but you’re going to see me because I am alive 

and you’re about to come alive. 

At that moment you will know absolutely that I'm in my Father, 

and you’re in me, and I’m in you.

John 14:18-20 The Message

Walking with Emily and the broken redeemed

 

Snowblind

Image via Wikipedia 

 

Environment Canada predicted
only 5 centimeters of snow
a mere 2 inches
more or less
but who ever trusts
a forecast?

The falling was scattered
light, continuous
sun muffled
clouded skies
an appropriate backdrop
for the funeral
I set out to attend.

(I can't, in fact, recall any funeral days that have been bright.  As if God Himself weeps in loss)

I myself am not grieving
but intended my presence to be
a sign of support for a friend
a family
who will miss their mother
no matter how expected
was her passing.

I wished to be obedient to the Word
that speaks of compassion

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn Romans 12:15 NIV

I set out
down our country lane
where even such scant accumulation
created havoc with my vision
and unable to discern
what was road or field
my progress was tentative.

Empathy drove me forward
nervously to the highway
where wisdom
prevailed and turned me back
toward home.

Snowblind, I prayed
that the God of all comfort
would grant peace
to those who gathered
and arriving safely
in our yard
took a long, deep swallow
of that comfort for myself.