Heat

The sun
it beats
searing
warmth,
baking the
earth.
Saturating
the air
sizzling,
scorching.
The breeze
it blows
and
leaves, they
tremble.
They try
bringing
breath of
coolness.
But
refreshment
does not
come;
Humid,
the
air moves
but
does not
release.
The heat
it grips
tight and
close.

Much Afraid

Sometimes and often I have that failing feeling - I, like wool unwound and spinning helplessly across the floor.  

I wish for the miraculous - that change would transform this inner torment and right quickly, that only peace would remain.  That I could love well and deeply, especially those closet to me when sometimes it is so challenging.  I wish that pain of soul, spirit and body would be eased, thrown off - the leaden blanket that keeps me stooped - lifted off of my shoulders.  I wish that I would not be filled with anxiety and that the precipice of cliff that I sometimes feel I am free-falling from would be instead - a meadow, tall sweet grasses, blooms fragrant and lovely, this a bed to lay on, not the nails of dis ease that pillow my thoughts.

I wish the journey to wholeness would not be so snail-creepingly slow, so very laborious and the mountains I am climbing to reach the summit would not be so sheer and high.

I feel very much like little Much Afraid in Hinds feet on High Places, who has been given Sorrow and Suffering as her companions and would like very much to exchange these companions.  The Great Shepherd though He walks with me and talks with me, doesn`t give me what I want and I would turn to Him and plead for respite.  I am deeply weary from years of physical pain and years of emotional turmoil.  The grief of loss of dear Seana cuts deeply into my already fainting heart.

I wonder if habits of a life-time can be shifted, so that healthier more productive choices can be made, and I realize at the same time that some of these habits are indeed being shifted. If I look back even recently, I can see adjustments, different ways of doing things.  There is progress after all.  The quote I saw the other day `no matter how many mistakes you make or how slow the progress, you are still way ahead of everyone else who isn`t even trying,`` applies here, to me, and so I can have hope; eat the sweet, juicy fruit of hope, hope that energizes, hope that lifts.

This deep malaise comes from physical exhaustion, from health issues with no easy solution.  The body affects the mind and the mind affects the body.

I do try to remind myself that this weakness, this inability is really a gift.  That in my utter inability, in my complete weakness He can shine through me.  His strength infused into me.  So one more day, one more moment, somehow grace-breathed I go however haltingly forward.  This race I run albeit slowly, has a Savior who walks with me, a Comforter who advocates for me, and a Father who stands at the finish line cheering for me.  So I endeavor to ``turn my eyes upon Jesus and look full in His wonderful face.``  There is now no condemnation in His eyes, those beautiful eyes, only great, great love and much tenderness, and grace, grace abundant.

I, though full of questions, fears, and trepidation remember that ``in the midst of my lament, in the midst of my sorrows, His mercies are promised, new every day... J. Luscombe``

So onward I will go - looking around every corner for His new mercies.

Every day.

Finding encouragement...

I love Ann Voskamp's writings, her honesty, her vulnerability.  So many days what she writes strikes bells of resonance in my spirit.  Reading her blog today these are the thoughts that I so very much relate to, they captured me, encouraged me: -

"I replay blunders. I anticipate failure. I confess this to you: I compare myself to other women. And when I do, I fall on the short side of things whether it’s true or not. In my writing life, I second-guess and self-doubt. I wonder why I should say anything if it’s been written before—or been written better. As a wife and mother, I see the holes, the shortcomings. I tally up missed opportunities....

The Lord didn’t ask for gold-star performances in this life. He didn’t ask me to prove my significance to the world. Or to prove myself to Him. He didn’t ask me to prove anything at all. He is the One who approves, declaring usbeloved while we were yet sinners. He asks now only for my heart, my willingness, my hands—even when my hands haven’t seemed all that useful." -Ann Voskamp

I trust Him to sort my day out, to sooth my furrowed brow.  He whispers "I love you dear one" into my hurting, often fret-filled heart.  When the pain pounds in my head and I cannot escape it, I lay my head on Him, rest in His arms.  When self-doubt and insecurity swirl fog of blindness, He shines His light of perfect love.  He loves me, completely, absolutely, wholly - with no reservation at all.  When grief and anguish overtake me, He holds me close, rocks me gently.

Here I am in all my frailty.  There He stands in all His completeness.  And He comes to me, wraps me up, gently, tenderly and fully.  He who holds all things together also holds me.

c. June, 26, 2012 JGG

Nothing Wasted...

Know this day;

that each act of love,

each kind word spoken,

each hand held out in comfort,

is never, ever wasted.

Grateful list...

1) Warmth and radiant sunshine...

2) Talks and teas with friends...

3) New friends slowly being made...

4) Air conditioning....

5) Sitting on the deck drinking in the color, the
     beauty, the fragrance of lilacs...

Grief is not a fast food drive-thru...

I am sometimes baffled by society's view of grief.


Grief is often viewed as something exceedingly negative, perhaps even wrong, especially if the one grieving is perceived to be being grieving too deeply or too long.


What?  Is grief really something we order through the fast food drive-thru?  One order of grief, and we dust off our hands, phew that's over with?  Eat the sorrow, swallow it whole, drink back the tears, toss it back, be done with it?


I cringe from this view of grief.  It is shallow, knows nothing, absolutely nothing, of the cavernous depths of grief. When you dare to love deeply, passionately, completely; invest fully in another human being, grief is not a pill you quaff quickly.


Grief is not linear.  You do not go from A - Z, there, you're done.


Grief is circular, round and round and around again.  It is the slow work of climbing up a mountainside.  Along the way you view the memories, celebrate the wonderful moments, the times together; you suffer the regrets, the mistakes made in just being the human beings that we are,  you rewind the words spoken and unspoken, you re-live the wonder, the pain, the beginnings and you re-play the ending sometimes over and over again.  You rejoice over the laughter you shared and weep deeply for the suffering you endured with and for the one you have lost.


And grief takes time.  A long, long, long time.  Cut grief short and we amputate our emotional growth, stunt the agony so that it buries itself deep inside of us; then it rears up, surprises us - brings boiling rage or the blackest deepest hole of depression.  Our bodies tell stories that words or grief unexpressed scream out.


Grief changes us.  We learn somehow to live with grace.  Grace - it shadows us as we walk through the day, brings some relief from the heat of grief. You learn you can make it through another minute, hour, day.


Grief gives gifts too, if we can receive them.


Grief gives the gift of compassion, of eyes that open in a fresh way to the all the suffering around you, hands that reach out to those in need, who hurt like you do.


Grief teaches that every day is a gift given, live it, be it challenging, joyous, or just plain difficult, just stop, breath it in, this moment, this day.


Grief gives the gift of tears.  Tears that tell the story of the one you have loved and lost.  Tears that release bitterness, anger, and fear.  Tears that smile with memories, jewels that we treasure.


Grief teaches us to "shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel...(James Taylor)."  It teaches us to keep short records of wrongs.  Grief teaches that forgiveness is something to do every day.


Grief teaches us to be vulnerable, to be real, to be authentic.  Do not hide, do not pretend.  When you grieve, you show others that grief is not to be shunned, that it can be navigated, lived with, survived.


One of the most poignant verses in the Bible is "Jesus wept. John 11:35"  Why did Jesus weep?  He knew that Lazarus would be raised, He knew He would call forth life out of death, yet, He wept.


So go ahead weep, grieve, cry, scream.  


We know there is the Resurrection, our greatest Hope - we know He will call life out of death.  Yet, still, we weep, just as Jesus did.


We know that one Great Day we will see those we have loved once again, we will hold them, we will see them gloriously, completely whole.


We will see the One who will wipe every tear from our eyes, the One who holds eternity in His hands.


Here, now, we walk in the land of grief, and, as we journey we hold the nail-scarred Hands of Grace, one moment, one day, one breath at a time.

A list...

Five things I grateful for....today:




1) Friendship, lunches, e-mails shared this day...




2) A call from sonny boy....




3) Snuggles with my sweet girl...




4) Warm sunshine, blue skies, fluffy clouds...




5) Making a dent in the mountain of my laundry...:)

Every Day

Every day
a gift.
Precious,
unrepeatable.

There are
good days
and bad days.

Some are very,
very,
good.

Some are very,
very,
bad.

Yet, each day
a building block
a day to
live -

live,
intentionally,
and
live
purposefully.

Building
one memory
after another
and one more
after that.

Every day,
a gift
Precious,
unrepeatable.

Live it,
all of it,
every single
solitary
minute.

Every day.

Heavy heart

Heavy my heart this day.  

This feeling,

I, like worn fabric

frayed thin

about to come apart.

Surreal

A mist hangs over my heart.  


I join in the days activities. I laugh, but the laughter is shallow - not laughter that comes from deep within. 


Life is black and white, at best muted shades of grey.  Though color explodes fireworks - spring greens of trees, blossoms of white, pink, lilac, and fuchsia, and summer breath blows warmth over the earth; there is only winter in my soul.


Winter, it is cold and ice forms on the lake of my heart, grief cracks that ice with the heat of my tears.  The tears they are the only thing that keeps my heart beating, no tears and I freeze with this grief.  My heart frozen - no feeling would bring blackness so deep I fear its result.  So weep I will - long and hard, keep my heart soft even under this ice.


I look to the Son - He who will "shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace." Luke 1:79


Though we walk through the darkness of this shadow of death, this loss so terrible, of one so dearly loved - we look to Him to shine on us: to guide day by day, moment by moment, breath by breath to the path of peace.

Rainy day...

The rain, it floods from the sky today. The wind blows fiercely and the trees tremble. The beautiful lilac tree that dances outside the bay window is bent over, the blooms look crushed, no longer fluffy, filled out, fresh.  The branches they bend in melancholy.

But the earth is dry, thirsty; it soaks up the rain desperate to be quenched.  The rain it is steady, unceasing,  sometimes the wind changes direction and the rain angles down sharp streaks.

So it is with me, the grief it pours out, steady. I too, bend melancholy.  Like the earth I long for the dryness in my soul to be watered with comfort.

Grief, it has ebb and flow.  Relief comes when I think of Seana joyous, free of the torture of pain-filled days and nights.  Sorrow comes in the missing - her presence no longer present, here and now.

“Breathe on me
Rain on me
I’ve been in the
desert so long;
Dry and thirsty,
I search for you.
So many mirages,
nothing satisfies.
I wait for you,
my Lord;
Water my soul,
quench my thirst
and shelter me.

Breathe on me,
Holy Spirit,
Rain on me.
Hide me in the shadow
of your wings.
Holy Comforter
You are my Counselor,
You guide me
in all my ways.
Breathe on me,
Rain on me,
Oh Spirit of God.

Breathe on me,
Rain on me
Oh Spirit of God.”
       -Sharon & Robin

A View from Heaven...

I find it hard sometimes to believe that Seana is gone.  

Gone from our reality to the next.  

Our world seems a little less bright, the days are longer, bleaker.  

Our hope of course is heaven, to picture Seana there is overwhelming - to imagine her pain-free, joy-soaked, loved completely and totally, beyond anything we can possibly imagine.  Loved by Jesus.  

Seana now sees Him face to face.  I can see her enter into lively discussions with Him, I can see her throw her back and laugh with Him, their delight in each other a blazing light.  I can see her being enveloped in His embrace, looking into His radiant eyes that brim, overflow with compassion and care.  I can see Seana and Jesus talking about the past six years, I see Jesus weeping for her pain, her suffering, reaching across the table holding both of her hands. These hands now held in His nail-scarred hands as He explains the wonder of His mysterious ways. I see Seana react; the amazement, the slow dawning of meaning and I see her clapping her hands together - totally caught up in what she now knows, what she now fully understands - now that she is there on the other side.  I see the relief and comfort in her face.  I see the inconceivable tenderness in the face of Jesus as He gazes at Seana, at her beautiful face now glowing with health and vitality.

I can see Seana running up to my Dad and to my Mom - oh the bliss of seeing one another again!, the hugs, the kisses and again, the laughter.  I see Seana walking with Dad through his garden, hiking with him through the forest and up the glorious mountains. Daddy, he is no longer breathless, his heart now and forever beats strong. I see Seana and Dad sitting down, he is drawing - sketching the incomparable beauty that surrounds them and she is leaning her head on him watching as he works just as she did as a young child.  


I see Mom and Seana standing in that kitchen of kitchens baking Buttermilk Biscuits, they come out delicious and fragrant.  I see Seana bite into one, she, who here, for so long could not eat, now savours this biscuit that she and her grandmother have made together.  Oh the recipes they will try out, oh the new ones that they will develop.  Everything that Mom says make sense!  Gloriously, Mom is again her intelligent self, the frail, depleted mind and body, fully restored.

I see Elisabeth, her delicate beauty warms everyone around her....I see Seana and Elisabeth, they run towards each other, they are jumping up and down, up and down!  They are so thrilled to see each other!!!  The sting of one of the greatest griefs of our family is now over for Seana.  

Seana and Elisabeth, they are laughing with glee, just pure unadulterated glee. They grab each others hands and twirl and twirl and twirl.  Oh, what fun they are having!  Seana tells Elisabeth she will teach her ji-jitsu and immediately they drop to the carpet of the greenest, softest grasses, effervescent blooms surround them and Seana teaches Elisabeth a move.  Elisabeth taps with great laughter, she has heard the stories about Seana, that Seana does not tap and so she willingly taps.  Elisabeth is just so glad that one of her cousins is here and they play, learn and grow together.  There are endless adventures for them to discover and after their battle :), they sit chewing on long thin pieces of grass and make plans.

Heaven I know, holds only unremitting joy for Seana.  The horrendous suffering, the bitter tears, they are now something Seana now longer faces.  She has an eternity before her with Jesus, with her family members, with the saints of old. She has unending adventure, unending creativity to develop.  She has now and forever Fullness of Joy, in His presence Seana has this now - Fullness of Joy.

Here, now, oh, how we ache, oh, how we long for her.  We miss Seana and all that she means to us.  We groan with the loneliness that her presence gone from here leaves us with.   A part of what makes our family,  a family, now resides in Heaven.  So we miss her and there is no getting around it, just learning somehow to live the days without her.

Still, we hope, hope beats in our hearts strongly and firmly; that one day we will see Seana again.  Somehow this hope rides alongside us present with tearing grief that often ravages our days.  

Every day a new day.  

A day to grieve.

A day to hope.

To Sleep, perchance to dream

I hope that sleep will come tonight.  I wish for it to envelope me, take me away.  I want to fall into the land of dreams, where the reality of weeks gone by does not haunt my days.  I want to roll in the fluffy clouds of quietness, of peace.  I want the sadness to abate somewhat, to be able to breathe without pain.

Ah, to sleep perchance to dream...

Let it be so.

Beauty and Storm

I am not sure how to process all of this grief  
The days are bright and beautiful
yet storms are raging in my heart.

Grief is like a fountain...

Grief is like a fountain,

the water of the pain

shoots up into the sky,

down into the pool

it lives in and recycles

again and again.

Pain and grief

wash over me,

like a fountain,

again and again.

The Meaning of the Elephant

Today John and Gail brought me two rings, two earrings and a bracelet that had belonged to Seana.

The rings are sterling silver and have elephants carved, connected and encircling.  

I was curious about the elephants and so googled them to see if there was a particular symbolism surrounding them.

Here is what I discovered - “They are highly revered for their strength and power....The elephant is probably the most positive animal symbol known. Here are some of the many lessons we can learn from the elephant:

1. Strength
2. Wisdom
3. Solitude
4. Strong sense of loyalty to the family
5. Intelligence.”

I was deeply moved.  Surely this description pertains and did pertain to the spirit with which Seana lived.

Seana displayed great strength and power in her fight against cancer.  She did everything she could and more to make a difference, to add quality and meaning to each and every day.

She developed and maintained a most positive attitude despite the toll cancer took in ravaging her delicate and lovely body.  Hope was a flame she would not consent to blow out.

Seana demonstrated steel-like strength in her faith. She showed us all her love and trust in Jesus. She told me just a week and a day before she went into septic shock, that she had decided she wasn’t going to try anymore to figure out all the mysteries in the Bible, she was just going to say like Job did, “blessed be the name of the Lord.”

She generously shared the wisdom she acquired, honed through great suffering. She shared her hope, her gratitude for each day, her discovery of wonderful books that helped her along this so very precarious journey that she was travelling.  She shared with me her love of the book “The Shack” and how she found such comfort and encouragement in it.

In times of solitude Seana took the time to meditate, to pray, to think, to read- to develop in herself the best qualities of rich character that she showed to us over and over again.

Seana always displayed a strong sense of loyalty to the family. She loved Vincent with all of her heart.  She yearned deeply to participate fully in times spent with her Mom, her Dad, her sisters, brothers-in-law and her sweet nephews.  And Seana did all of that, loved deeply and passionately.

She also exhibited great intelligence.  Seana earned a Master’s Degree, she worked in cancer research at Sunnybrook Hospital.  She thoughtfully and capably entered into discussions about life, faith,  and the world around her, she knew how to communicate with clarity and effectiveness.

I take great comfort in these discoveries today... I put the ring on my finger, the elephants encircle it, reminding me as elephants traditionally do, that Seana, beloved Seana, will not and cannot be forgotten.

Pounding of Grief

Grief pounds the beat of its agony right into my body.

I go out to lunch yesterday with my sister, neither of us feel well, we are full right up to the brim with the sorrow of loosing Seana. We feel hunger, but the food has no taste; the hunger we feel is the hunger to see the one we have lost.

The world seems shifted, surreal.

The sun shines, the skies are blue. The breath of spring and approaching summer warm the day; yet I am hard pressed to find it enticing.

We head up to the cash to pay our bill.  I whisper to my sister the scream of my pain, "I'm shaking inside.." I murmur.  We go out to the car and it floods me, the rain of tears flow down my face.  I feel the throbbing in my left temple; this drumbeat that has no escape, the tears that drive the pain to the surface and I unwind, sobbing.  I tell Sue the stories of Seana that I am thinking of...we sit in the heat of the car, the boiling lament bubbles volcanic.

She reaches over quietly, gently, tenderly rubs my neck, touches my shoulder, speaks almost wordlessly, words spilling grief mingled with mine.

I feel like I do not want my brother, Seana's father, to see me like this, I don't want him to think that it is strange that I grieve so cavernously.  I worry that it will upset him.  I try to lock down the mourning that wails in my soul, I need to drive my sister to his place.  We wait for a while and then I drive, barely contained.  We arrive and he can see my distress, he does not say anything right then, he offers a hug, the warmth of presence.

This grief wraps our family.  It is a blanket that we do not care to cast off.  In part, our grieving speaks of the depths of love that we have for Seana and how very much we long for her.  Oh, we are so, so thankful that she no longer suffers, but the missing is profound anguish.

Sleep, it's hard to come by but morning comes again -  somehow mysteriously we get up to "do" another day.  But the shadow of death presses heavy upon our hearts.  We feel the grief in our bloodstream.  Our very essence carries the memories - both the sad ones and the ones that make us smile. I feel like I want the person and not only the memories.

Heads hurt and stomachs rebel, weariness creeps in and there are aches in the upper back, in the legs.  Sorrow cannot be silenced and our bodies tell stories that our hearts can barely express.

At the very same time in the background, right alongside the grief, the pulsing life of the Comforter sings words to me over and over and over again..."Oh how He loves us, oh how He loves us"...

This song was sung at the Memorial Service and Holy Spirit, the Comforter, reminds me of it and of Resurrection.  That life is always stronger than death.  That death has been ultimately conquered.

The end of the story is that we will see Seana once again, that we will dance together in glorious reunion.

For now, I grieve, I sing the love song Jesus sings to me, I mourn.

I grieve, I sing, I mourn.

The weaving of the days, black and golden, sadness and hope.

Hope, always hope.

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all." - Emily Dickinson


And I miss you Seana, I miss you.

Tribute to Seana...

I wrote this for the Memorial Service celebrating the life of my dear niece Seana, which was held on Wednesday, May, 23, 2012.

As Seana’s aunt I have many wonderful memories of her and of times spent together.

I remember the early days, I remember sleepovers at our place with Seana’s sisters - laughter and giggles and popcorn and movies.  And candy, lots and lots of candy (much to her parents dismay), by the way.

I remember her as teenager, a young lady and then a lovely young woman. When Auntie Sue would come to town, we would have a “girls night”, all the nieces and their doting aunties.  Oh, the laughter, the hilarity, the fun.

I remember six years ago - the call that came from John.  I remember the shock, the dismay,  and the anguish when he said that Seana had cancer.

I remember then, the new, fresh depth of our relationship. The dinners out, the visits, the heart to heart talks.  I remember the Jane Austen movie nights with Seana, Celeste and Selena, building moments and memories together.

Florence Nightingale once said, “ Live your life while you have it. Life is a splendid gift. There is nothing small in it.  For the greatest things grow by God’s Law out of the smallest.”  And this was the way Seana approached life, as a “splendid gift indeed.”  She grasped life with both hands tore the wrapping paper away and undid the ribbons.  

Seana lived life intentionally, deliberately, with determination and with vivid, vibrant hope.

You could see it in the way her beautiful brown eyes sparkled, the way the she loved adventure, the way she would snowboard with wild abandon, the way she played.

You could see it in the way she loved.  The way she listened, the thoughtful and intelligent way she would enter into discussions. You could see it in the way she yearned to make each moment count.

You could see it in the way she loved Vincent, wholly and with her whole heart.  The twinkle in her eyes, the way looks would pass between them.  The way they were attuned to one another.  He was and is truly a gift to Seana and to our family.  I honor and offer respect to you today Vincent for your loving dedication, your unfailing devotion and tenderhearted care of Seana.

I want to also honor you, John, and you, Gail for the extraordinarily nurturing way you have walked this journey with Seana.  The tenderness, the lovingkindness - the way you sought to make times with Seana deep and meaningful.  You did not waste one moment.  Celeste and Selena, how well you have loved your sister - with joy, with compassion and with the utmost of caring.  Markuu and Jesse you have been brothers to Seana, I know she valued each of you.  Ryder and Easton, have lost a beloved aunt who quite simply delighted in them.

When the cancer skiied, careening downhill, you could see Seana’s strength and indomitability grow.  Although she was in pain beyond reckoning, she purposed to go out, to babysit her nephews, to see the the latest movie with her Dad and sisters, to go the spa with her Mom - that is just the kind of woman she was.

Seana expressed heartfelt concern about those she loved and I quote,  “I don't want to get really sick and burden those I love, …. I don't want to leave sweet Vincent, or my family,  I want to see Ryder grow up, ... I want to meet my other neices and nephew,  (and) ... I'd like to help care for my parents when they get old, and so on, and on, and on... “

End of quote.

So, Seana fought cancer with every, single, fibre of her being.  She researched, exercised, changed her diet, found positive ways of thinking.  She did it all.  I have never encountered any person more courageous or more brave than Seana.

She did not let go of faith.  Her faith, it shone - a bright star. Yes, she certainly had questions and queries.  And God was and is big enough for that.  I know that, I believe it with all of my heart.

I am so very thankful that she no longer suffers, that she is with Jesus where  -“He will wipe every tear from (her) eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever." Rev. 21:4

But here/now we grieve the loss of one whom we love so very, very much... As Karl Barth said, “There will be no song on our lips if there be no anguish in our hearts.” You cannot lose someone like Seana and not be forever changed.  Yet, today as we mourn we celebrate Seana too. The way Seana faced the great grief of the losses associated with her disease, the way she exhibited great grace and graciousness in the way she lived her life and now, finally, we celebrate the great glory she has entered into.  And we look forward to the day when face to face we can see and be with Seana once again.

Until then Seana you are missed - always. I love you.

She has gone...

On Saturday, May 19th, at 4:30 p.m., my beloved niece Seana, passed from this life, to the next.

Now, she is safe in the arms of Jesus.

She was only 31 years old.

I miss her already.  My heart breaks.

Sunny, Dark Days

I cannot help but note the incongruity of the radiant sunshine, the luscious blue skies,

the freshly dressed ladies - those clover green trees a leaf again. And there are blossoms all around - white, pink, and purple, so very pretty.  The earth renewed with life spilling everywhere.

Yet miles away tucked in a downtown hospital in palliative care, is my beloved niece.  Here the valley of the shadow of death hovers - cold, dark and bleak.  The sting of pending death, the sharpest of razors cuts through the days spent in constant care, in deeply spoken and unspoken yearning.  The suffering of her intimate family - her husband, mother, father, sisters and brothers-in-law, their suffering is as deep as the abyss. The moans Seana breathes out are echoed in their hearts.  

I have watched these dear ones in action before, they are clothed in tenderness, nuturing, lovingkindness and the most heartfelt kind of caring.  Their ministrations indefatigable, yet they are weary to the bone.  Love orders their days.  Days of tender words, gentle touch, watchful vigilance should Seana need something she no longer has the words to ask for herself.  Nights are spent on guard, hands reach across beds to soothe and comfort.  They crawl out of bed find the nurses, get the medications adjusted - ease her, ease her pain.

They drink from the cup of suffering and death, and the dregs are bitter to the tongue. In the midst of all of this I think of Gethsemane`s garden.   Of Jesus stretched out on His face before God crying with loud moans and tears, His internal agony so great He sweat great drops of blood.  Take this cup, take this cup, He pled.  Yet God had him drink that cup, as now we, this family, in great agony of spirit -  laid out - faces on the floor, have pled,  have pled, take this cup, yet now we drink it...

In Luke`s account of this garden an angel appears to Jesus to strengthen him, yet we read in the very next verse, it says and `being in anguish`` He prayed more earnestly.  (Luke 22: 39-44)  So the angel comes ministers strength to Him but does not remove His anguish and yet, Jesus still carried on to the cross, and endured a  brutal, gory, ugly death.  God did not release Him from His excruciating anguish till Jesus cried out ``it is finished.``

I find this strangely comforting, God sends His angels to strengthen and comfort us so that whatever journey we are on, as brutal as it may be, we can carry on.  Our immediate end in this life is this once to die, and after that only glory beyond description.

So this is what I believe.  I believe that Seana is surrounded by angels, I believe that  they are ministering strength to her as she makes this final journey, as her spirit groans to be released from all this pain and agony, before, very soon she can ``fly to Jesus and live...`` I believe Jesus Himself is cradling her in His arms, I believe He is crooning love songs oh so gently and oh so sweetly into her ears, I believe He is sustaining her on level that we have no earthly imagination to conceive.

What purpose this prolonged and slow dying, for surely there has to be a purpose...is some of it maybe that when her journey is done, and her cry joins with Jesus` ``if is finished``;  that some ``earthquake`` will shake the earth that will waken those who are sleepwalking through this life, not living each day as Seana has and does, fully and intentionally and completely. What veil will be torn in two from top to bottom, so that truths may revealed to those who could not see, for those who could not make their way to approach the holy of holies, to find forgiveness, wholeness and a second chance.

I believe nothing, absolutely nothing, is ever wasted.  So  maybe these long and dark days, these waiting days, work some kind of redemption in us, in the most secret places of our being, as we press in - hearts on fire with prayers burning brightly.  We plead in great sorrow, Lord Jesus Christ, son of David have mercy, have mercy, have mercy.

There is so much we cannot not understand, so much we cannot fathom.  We only know the pain is carving itself deeper and deeper on our psyches.  This loss will mark us, define a part of  our lives and change us.  Let it make us kinder, more compassionate people, quick to hear the unspoken pain in someones voice, quick to reach out to those in need.

Still, there are many days when I want to lay on the floor like  a two year and fling a fit...demand that God do it my way, and in a timely manner thank you very much. The anger and fear and grief pulse through my bloodstream,  it beats a drum in my head.

I know I can lay my whole heart out to God, ask any question, scream, yell and cry.  And He is there, just as I was when my children gave vent to their heart-felt cries.  He receives me with great tenderness, acceptance and unending love.

I circle back to the Ever-Present God of my father and my mother.  I remember His faithfulness to me in days gone by and how He has been ever with me in the darkest of days.

And so He continues to be, my Alpha and Omega, my Comforter, my Rock and my Refuge.

So on this bright-blue sun-kissed day, black and dark as it may be to me and to my family, I lean back and lean heavily into those Everlasting Arms.  Arms that are there no matter how deeply I fall into a pit sorrow or despair, Underneath are those Everlasting Arms and they will never, ever let me go.

Dying Slowly

What more agony

can one precious

body

take.

How much loss

can one

by one

we bear.

Not only the

dying body of

our beloved.

Slowly, oh so

very slowly

wasting away.

Her to trip

to glory,

stripped of earthly

glory, of any

finery;

characterized

by pain beyond

endurance.

Our bodies,

we who wait

while she

travails between

earth and heaven;

our bodies too,

wracked with

sorrow and grief

display their

limitations.

Our grief etched

scathingly in

our muscles, our

heads that pound,

our stomachs that

twist.

Our minds that

circle round and

round and round

again.

This one

whom we love

so dearly

her death

so dreaded,

yet now

strangely anticipated,

longed for even.

How to endure the

suffering of watching

this family writhe

in the grip of death.

We long for her the

sweet release from

all the torture of

day after day

unrelenting pain,

We long for her

to reach the arms

of Jesus,

to be as she was 

so gloriously created -

whole

once again.

This time completely

fully,

alive,

no more pain,

no more tears.

And finally,

done forever

with death.

Walking on Water...

On Wednesday night our Pastor said that "Jesus walks on the things that drown us."

This is the hope that I cling to, that He, the all sufficient One will keep me from being pulled under the waters that sometimes that threaten to drag me down, down, down.

In the raging storms He stands; He speaks to me, gentle, loving words, "Peace, be still."

Standing by and entering in...

I cannot stand by and watch those I love suffer.

I enter into it, invest my whole being.  I agonize, I pray, I throw my towel into the ring, offer to help.

Still, I feel utterly helpless, inept.  Yet, that being said, I feel positive about the small ways that I can help; either by fervent supplication, or by going and being, just there, giving whatever I can. An oxymoron in feelings perhaps, but nevertheless very real.

And, there is the grief, real, pulsing and tangible.

Mingled in the midst of this tangle of emotion and circumstance is the ray of light shining through.  Though darkness may overshadow, hope is the beam that radiates through the blackness.

If I do not get the answer I desire, I will not loose hope; that there always is purpose - profound, and powerful.

Life is a prism of mystery. The sun casting light through the prism crystallizes the many shades of color and beauty.  Beauty that will arise from the ashes.

I love this quote -

Let your mighty hand and outstretched arm, O LORD, be our defense;
Your mercy and loving-kindness in Jesus Christ, your dear Son, our salvation;
Your true and holy word our instruction;
Your grace and Holy Spirit our comfort and consolation,
Until the end and in the end. -- John Knox, Scottish reformer (1510 - 1572)

These  lines penned by John Knox take hold of me.  These simple yet majestic truths, especially the deep and lovely reminders of His grace, of the Holy Spirit who gives us comfort and consolation, and poignantly this line, until the end and in the end. This comfort - eternally given.

Silence

My last posting was weeks ago.

Silence has encrusted me as I stumble about in this labyrinth of pain.  To write means to open the wound of the pain I am feeling, to be engulfed in the reality of this agony.

Even my speaking voice disappears, becomes labored, cracked - choked when talking about what is happening.

So I have retreated, stunted the flow of words, hidden behind barriers.

I have written privately (but not even much of that), words that lance, bleed out relief.  But I do not know if I can do that here.

But still I want to write.

Maybe I will dance around it, weave words not direct.

I do not know yet.

Heaven's Tears

The heavens
weep
copious tears;
drenches
the earth
with sorrow.

The earth,
thirsty with
longing
soaks up
the grief.

Spring?

The hint of spring hangs in the air;
balancing precariously between
biting cold and toasting warmth.
As if the earth is holding
its breath.

I too wait for spring,
the anticipation flares
new sparks that
kindle into flames
of hope.

Shushing

In the evening
quiet
the shushing
gentle whooshing;
dishwasher is on,
hypnotic white
noise.

Rock me

Today a story was told.

A story of love so deep and so wide.  A love beyond anything I can conceive or wrap my head around.  All-encompassing, everlasting, this love.  The love of a mother for a child.  The mother heart of God.

This love, so rich, so strong, so very present in each and every second, every single, solitary moment.  Never to be left alone, always wrapped in the all-encompassing comfort of His mother love.

He picks me up when I am sore, broken by life and circumstance: He knows, deeply, intimately, the grief I feel, the sorrow that pumps through my bloodstream...And He picks me up, He rocks me. Back and forth, back and forth.

I weep as I hear this story.  This story so gently told.

The story of my Saviour, my mother, my father God.

Passion Flares...

The night is dark, cold.
But we are side by side.
The warmth between us ignites.
Delicious touch that burns skin.
Breath - it comes hard and fast.
One, we are one.
One flesh.

Bend not break.

Wind,
it whips,
whirls,
swirls.
Trees
tremble.
Evergreen
she hurls
her needles
flying through
the air.
She bends
but does not
break.
I would be
Like the
evergreen,
though surrounded
by howling winds,
I would rather
bend,
not break.

Progress...Regress.

Watch a person
grow,
struggle,
fight,
overcome.
Progress.

Then watch
the hesitation,
the fear,
debilitation.
Regress.

But tomorrow,
start again,
bloom,
fresh new
growth.

Breathe deep,
there is
after all
hope.

Two Weeks.Two Funerals...and a Complete Life?

Today we went to the funeral of hubby's Aunt.

She was 88 years old.  I liked what the priest (Anglican, I think) said,  "She had a complete life."

How lovely I thought as I sat there.  A complete life.  Not an easy life certainly,  no, not that, but it was a complete one.

Born with mental challenges due to her mother having German Measles while pregnant, she grew up to be a feisty young lady. Aunt M took care of her younger sister, I.,  while her middle sister G was in Sick Kids Hospital, with Chronic Nephritis (a type of kidney disease).

Her parents would be down at the hospital for days on end caring for G, and Aunt M would be at home caring for baby I.  Tragically G died at 17 years of age.

This death left a mark on their family.   Baby I, catered to and spoiled (due to the emphasis and time given to G),  grew up to be cheery and full of personality but exceedingly self-absorbed.  Aunt M, with extra responsibilities when so young grew up to be very orderly, scheduled, with routine carved into her psyche.

Aunt M married and had three children.  She worked hard, devoted her life to her children.  She had a reputation for humor and for the "gift of the gab."   Aunt M outlived her husband by 19 years. She lived independently into her early eighties, an amazing feat if you ask me. Sometimes, because of her disabilities she was taken advantage of, even ignored. This I am sure was not easy to take. Nevertheless she carried on.

Finally, her waning days were spent in a Nursing Home in Peterborough, where she passed away.

It was moving to see hubby and his sister grieve their Aunt.  Asked to speak only minutes before the service, hubby did a lovely job of paying tribute to his Aunt.

Last week death paid a visit to my side of the family, my cousin, he died at 55 years of age;  decades away from old age.

Today, as I have been reflecting on these two losses, I was drawn again to the priest's words, "a complete life."  Could it be possible to live a "complete life," in the years say, that my cousin, S, was given???

Now, seriously, I've already shared with you how much death often repels me. It seems shockingly more so when those who are very young, teenagers or young adults and even middle-aged as S was, are robbed of living to what is called a "ripe old age;" but somehow this thought of living a "complete life" intrigues me.

Here's what I am thinking - maybe I need to live a "complete life" every day? One of the dictionary definitions of complete, goes like this - "thorough; entire; total; undivided, uncompromised."

Do I live this day thoroughly, entirely, paying, as best I can, undivided attention to each moment?

Do I live it uncompromisingly, and by that I mean without reservation - without holding back, without staying in the corner and looking on, merely being a spectator of life and not one who lives it fully and completely?

To live completely, I am thinking, means to accept all that accompanies each day - the joys, the laughter, the pain, the challenges, the sorrows.  Live each moment, completely, with all it holds, because tomorrow doesn't always come.  

None of us knows the number of our days.

So this is my lesson learned, the take home from these passings, the reminder, yet again, to live each day, bask in it, treasure it.

Each day is a gift.

Live each day, completely.

Live a "complete life."






Dictionary definitions from Dictionary.com.

The Gift

Wrapped in brown paper,
dropped between
the screen door and
the front door.

A gift.

From a friend,
not expected.

More than
a gift,
this offering
is
a grace...
of pure warmth
of gentle kindness.

He who knew
my desolation
sent this
gift,
this day,
through this
precious
person.

This friend
who often
stands quietly in
the background,
gives this
wondrous offering.

It is more than
the gift itself,
It is the gift she
gives of herself.

Tears streak
my face
in this holy
moment.
Where love is
tenderly
given.

And my heart is
so full,
so very, very grateful.

Thank you,
thank you.
Thank you.


"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.  Therefore my heart rejoices, and I praise Him with my song.  Ps. 28:7"


"Only God can put the pieces of our heart back together again, close up all the wounds, and bind them with a porous bandage that protects from infection, yet keeps the heart free to inhale and exhale love."  -from the book left in brown paper in between my doors...:)"A Quick Word with Beth Moore, Scriptures and Quotations from Breaking Free."

Restoration

Hearts reach out,
love overcomes,
hurt and pain
and fear.

We breathe
deeply,
step into
the newness
of God's mercies.

God is faithful
and hearts
can be healed.

Tomorrow is
a day to
begin again.

Step by step
we traverse
this journey,
broken, yet
being restored.


All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation...2 Cor. 5:18 NIV

The Answer

I'm awed by the way God answers my prayers, the cries from the bottom of my heart. Sometimes He answers specifically and clearly - a megaphone message to my hurting heart.

I open my e-mail this afternoon and what is in my e-mail but my daily dose of a blog I follow by Ann Voskamp.  Her blog today is about friendship...

 Here are some of the things she said that most struck me-

" Relationship is the currency of all reality  and our God is a love body and He hates amputations and He sutures our wounds together with the silver threads of community. (and) 


It doesn’t matter what you get done if you’ve undone a heart  – and there are no real accomplishments apart from relationships. (and)

Friendships never just happen — they are forged. And it’s either the fire of the forging or the searing of the severing. 

To read the complete post click here, http://www.aholyexperience.com/.

Friendships are fragile and they require tender loving care.  Like plants they need watering.  When the sun strikes and friendships wither under the blistering heat, we stand back and let the breath of understanding blow healing winds.

It is God's heart to restore that which is broken and mend the woundings of relationships.

I am thankful for the comfort of Ann's words today, for forgiveness and for hope.

I like the idea that Ann presents about the forging or severing friendships.  I think, as I ponder my friendships what I really desire is the forging even if it means the fire, restoration and not severing.

Friendships sometimes indeed brings hurt, it is painful and devastating. If and when we can work through the hurt we come to a deeper understanding of ourselves, our friends and of God's continuous mercy.

For indeed,

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.     
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.    
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
    for his name's sake." Psalm 23:1-3 ESV

Sometimes Friendship Hurts...Deeply & Desperately

It is with a broken heart I come to You tonight, in the hush of the darkness now fallen.

Words have been said, misunderstandings have become mountainous barriers to my friend.  She doesn't know if she wants to be my friend anymore.   She asked me what was wrong and when I tell her she is deeply offended that I am hurt.  I am too sensitive she says.  She says she cannot be herself with me.

I hold my heart up to you Jesus, lost as I am in the midst of all this,  please take this hurting heart of mine and hold me closely, tenderly and oh so very gently.

Each of us, we are made with the personalities You gave us.  I do not want to hurt her, she is appalled that I have been hurt by her words.  Our words to sort things out are tangled, barbed wire, two hearts facing off.  Can this friendship not bear a sorting through, even though we have long known and loved one another, still hurts are possible;  it happens in marriages why would it not also happen in friendship?  That is life, the nature of all really close relationships.  We speak, are heard and filtered through the lenses of our own experiences.  Sometimes, this means we get hurt and hurt others however unintentionally.

I find it desperately and deeply painful that she would consider chucking our friendship in the face of this confrontation.  How can this be so?

I am so very tired and weary and there is so much I do not understand.  I do not know how to process this.

I do know that I believe with my heart in forgiveness and reconciliation, but how to get from there to here, in this case I am not at all sure.

Perhaps tomorrow things will shift.

For now, I lift my bewildered self in all its confusion, hurt and pain to You.

I am thankful that You do not belittle the state I am in.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18