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

Death Pays a Visit

Death paid a visit in our family.

My cousin, only 55 years old, a fine man, son, husband, father, brother, and grandfather.  Cancer cloaked another member of its club, whisked him away before a time that seems right to us.

His mom, my aunt, said to me "Children, are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around..." the pang, the longing, the sorrow, it is there in her voice.  I clasp her hand, hug her close.

This refrain, this sentence touches me in the deepest place of my heart.  I have watched one of my brother's bury his wee daughter.  The nightmare of that time I think none of us have fully recovered from.

Death lurks still around many corners in our family and it adds a haunting resonance to our days.  We are caught some days between holding our breath and living that day with as much joy as we can juice out, or, on other days there is quiet despair, no songs sung.

To stay close to one another, to connect when we can, in as many meaningful ways as we can, as imperfect as it may be at times, is so very vital.  It is literally life-blood flowing in our veins, taking each and every moment we can with those we love - valuing, treasuring, every single moment.  Treasuring even the moments that hold hurt or misunderstanding, knowing even then that the love we have is strong enough to transcend any difficulty.

That is one reason, why I think that my love is rooted in my faith, because only His love can carry us through all the ugly moments, when we let our defenses down and say words that never should be said.  Only His love gives us the strength to forgive, cover over the wrongs, and carry on day by day still loving one another.  Only His love gives us the power to withhold judgement from one another, from driving a stake of distance that can seem impossible to cross over.

His love is the love that transcends even death.

The horror of death, of separation, that I fear for myself and for the ones whom I hold so close and very, very dear to my heart -  His love transcends even that.  And although I know that when I see my Saviour`s face there will only be delight for me, I still feel the pull to be with my family -  this family that is tangible, touchable to me in the here and now.

I have watched death breathe on my loved ones faces, I have seen them fight back, push back against its then inevitable grasp.

I think God, Himself gives us that love for, and fight for life because life itself can so often be a challenge, a struggle, something or some circumstance to overcome.  So this fight we have in our very spirits, this will to survive, to live,  is woven into to our very DNA and it stays with us till the very last.

Love is the bridge between life and death.  It is the heart that never does stop beating. Love stretches out between time and eternity.  His love is the love that promises me that one day I will once again be held in the grip of those whom I miss so very much in ``now`` time.

I have not yet conquered my fear of death even in the face of all I believe.  Life here, holds so many of those I love, and I would be loathe to leave them.  And even if death were to appear as sweet medicine - life, beats a strong rhythm on its drum.

I know that death is a certainty for all of us one day.

But for us, for those I hold dear, I`d like to slam the door in death`s face.

Please, no visit today.

In between...

In this quiet night I am suspended somewhere between hope and despair.  It is not a pleasant place to be, this nowhere land, this limbo.

I remind myself to look up for "my redemption draweth near."  I would like to curl myself around it, crawl somehow inside it, feel it pulsing over me like waterfall.

I am waiting for hope to arrive, implant seeds of growth in my heart and blossom there completely.

The Stench of Snake

I've just finished reading "State of Wonder" by Anne Patchett.

The book is riveting and pulls me in, intrigues me.  The story revolves around a trip to the Amazon during which the main character, Marina, is travelling down the river with some locals.

One of the locals grabs a snake. The snake is an Anaconda and in a moment of bragger y he slides his hand up its body and tries to hold the head of the snake away from himself.  It bares its vicious teeth and forked tongue as it writhes wildly with rage.  

What starts out to be an "adventure" quickly turns into a fight for life, breath and air as the snake wraps its body around both the man and a wee boy who had jumped into the fray.  Marina, who is a Doctor and the other Doctor's (all from the U.S.) watch in horror. Screaming, shouting out epitaphs and curses the scene unfolds.  Helpless, they look around the boat, then see a machete.  Marina, with adrenaline coursing through her veins grabs the machete.

She begins to vigorously slice,  chop and  hack away at the snake desperately trying to free her young friend from the death-grip that he is in. The others jump in yank at the snake's body.  The head of the snake is chopped off but death has not claimed it yet, so it slides around the floor of the boat jaws looking to be filled.

Eventually, they prevail.  The stench of snake reeks and blood is everywhere, but with the snake peeled off the boy they watch him intently.  He is badly bruised and breathing with great difficulty, but, he is, at last - safe.

This story stirs me...and I think of another snake.  The one who came to that first garden.  The snake that invaded Eden, seeking to deceive, poison pure air with lies and death.  First, it promises glory, but  that first bite, though invigorating, changes their lives and all of history to come.

The Enemy, we are told has come to "kill, steal and destroy." John 10:10.  But the lure and glitter he throws before us, often drags us into a net that tangles the limbs, sucks the fullness of life from us.

Sometimes, he is subtle, not blatant.  He whispers in ears, "Did God really say?"

Thoughts come, a spider web of hissing insinuations..."This is too much, how could a God who loves you allow this?" "Where is goodness in all this rampant suffering?" "You don't deserve this, give up, give in. " Seductively, he speaks quietly, "just this once, never again, no one will ever know."  "This is the stuff of myths, it's repressive, suppressing - words of men alone, not God, not Him." "You cannot survive, death is comfort, escape, release; no more stress, no more worries, no more broken dreams, no more..."

Habits form, cynicism grows weeds, doubt tortures, a life lived, short-circuited.  There is also on the other hand, well-being, self-security, self-reliance, no need, no need for Creator.  Happiness with a hole in the soul.

For the those who believe the Creator, the temptations come as well , the same words, the same doubts.  The Enemy prowls ready to pounce.  We think that like the locals in "State of Wonder", we are embarking on an adventure, or conversely that we have been hard done by.  Slowly but surely, the snake works itself around us, wraps its body - squeezing, squeezing life's breath, hope, draining us, leaving us wanting.

Sometimes, if we perceive this is the Enemy of our soul we rally, call upon the name of Lord, vanquish the blackness, the darkness.

On other days, we cannot see it, recognize it, the stench of snake overpowers us and we are choking, dying inch by inch.

This is when we need one another, when those in Christ draw close, form a battle line. Someone, believes with us, for us, picks up the machete, draws the sword of the Spirit. "For the word of God is alive and powerful. It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow. Heb. 4:12" That Sword begins to slice, chop and hack the snake that crushes life from us. Someone else and then we ourselves can then renounce the spirit of death twined round our throats.

We are panting, bruised - but we are safe.

We remember the words of life.  That we are promised life, abundant life. This abundant life is not a life free from trouble, sickness or tragedy as some would have us believe. This abundant life is recognizing all around us, every single day, the gifts of grace, the mercies new every morning.  It is pausing to stop, to be mindful of the beauty each day holds whatever else it may also hold.  It is choosing to believe that the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, goes before us; that He will never, ever, leave us or forsake us. It is choosing to believe that life's most devastating moments can be and will be redeemed for good, somehow, in some way, some day. It is choosing to believe that God is Sovereign - that He holds my life in His hands and that He will give me what I need to face every day, every moment, every minute just as I need it.

These are the words of life that blow the stench of the snake back to the pit where he belongs.

Arms reaching out...

I am driving down the street when I really notice the trees on our street.  They are stripped bare, no beauty dressing them.  Yet, they stand upright, regal, branches toward the sky like arms reaching out.

The stark gray day and the bite in the air have not beaten them down.  It looks to me as if they are waiting - eagerly waiting for something.

Maybe the iron that keeps them upright, that runs through their roots like blood and courses through the bark up, up, up into their branches is the sure and certain knowledge that spring is coming.

Could it be that they know this dark and frozen winter will not last forever - that warmth will once again kiss their limbs, bring fine delicate greenery with which they can adorn themselves?

What is it that makes them stand so tall, so straight?

Could it be - hope?

Of use...

Every day,
another day,
another
moment.
Choose to
live it
fully,
make the most
of it.
Use it
all up,
this day.

The Pastor in the Funky Sweater

We have started going to another church.

The pastor there is fairly young and wears funky sweaters – like tangerine orange and bright lime green.

The funny thing is: his clothes are a metaphor for the spirit he portrays.  His words are like citrus.  They are refreshing - bright, sometimes with a definite tang.  He opens the Word of God with a humble heart and a tangible excitement all tangled together.

He speaks from a heart that has been broken and a tenderness of heart that flows out of that –  and this brokenness is something that I can relate to; it makes the words fall softer on my heart.  The words, not new, but spoken with great conviction and great gentleness.  The words of God's love for me – that God is for me, not against me, that He is faithful and true.  That He always walks beside us.

I drink the citrus words he is speaking, they irrigate my heart in the midst of the desert I am walking in.

I am thankful that God finds unique and invigorating ways to speak to me - like using pastors who wear funky sweaters.

Ordinary Day

I like the feeling of the sun on my back as I sit here in my kitchen at the computer.  The day itself is crisp and cold, somewhat of rarity this winter.  It has been unusually mild this year.  I sip my tea and inhale the aroma of the chili I made a little while ago.

This afternoon and this evening promise to be busy and I feel a bit smug that I've got dinner in the crock pot and the thought of a more relaxed supper before heading out tonight gives me a boost.  No rushing frantically about, no stressing or worrying about being late for the Wednesday evening Bible Study.

My kitchen reverberates with quiet.

In this moment I can hear the fridge buzzing, the clock ticking, and the dog turning around on the little mat by the door.  She wants to lie in the sunlight streaming in, bathing her in warmth.

It is still and peaceful.  The earlier feelings of loneliness I had, have vanished.  I have made a few connections today, talked to a couple of friends and hubby.  The warmth of their voices, the laughter we shared reflect the warmth of the sunshine and the blue of sky.

The quiet now is a gift, a treasure trove of moments - to read, to write, to reflect, to be thankful for this day.

The anxiety and emotional tenor of yesterday and the days before that has eased off, and I am grateful.  Grateful to feel happy in my own skin, aware of the goodness wrapped up in this day, presents I will open one by one.

Some days I am so immersed in the mire, so concerned about those that I love that I can barely keep from drowning in the waves of despondency.

I work on teasing apart the thoughts and feelings that course through my brain.  I remind myself that I am not my thought or my feelings.  I try to remember that my identity is not framed in the feelings I have or the thoughts that I may be thinking.  I remind myself to breathe, to slow down, to just be.

Perhaps, part of the essence of peace in any day is the ability to accept where I am and what is happening around me without being sent into a tailspin.  There is an old saying that goes like this - "In acceptance lieth peace."  I think whoever penned this was onto something.  And of course, the Serenity Prayer says it all...

It is however, very easy to quote sayings and then to post them as a pretty picture, but exceedingly difficult to live out moment by moment.  Nevertheless, this is what I am aiming to accomplish, to gain this acceptance of the things I cannot change (and there are so very, very many), and to gain the courage I need to change what I can, which is really just me...

So I am enjoying today - reveling in the moments.

None of us know what tomorrow may hold.  So, I'll work on letting tomorrow stay in tomorrow - as Mom always used to quote to us, "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." (Matt. 6:34)  Each day has trouble enough on its own, so I needn't go to the bank and borrow some more.

It is amazing how much wisdom there is in these sayings and yet, because we have heard them over and over again, it is so easy to dismiss them as "cliche."

I take a deep breath, and move on.  I will take some time today before the busyness ramps up and rest...Molly will come and curl up beside me.  Her sweet warm body will tuck next to mine and we will drift away, perhaps even dream.

When the times comes for everything to kick into high gear, I'll breathe, ground myself in the moment and do the best I can...take the moments as they come and take the grace that will come with them.  Whether this is just another ordinary day or not, I'll walk through it, holding my head up high, with, I trust, acceptance and courage in my heart.

And tomorrow?

It will be another day.

Heredity?

What is this thing that flows through our blood?  This anxiety, this sadness, adhered to hearts, restraining joy full and free.

Did it start when we were children?  We were so young and vulnerable. We were placed in samll planes, flown 400 miles away from our parents to boarding school. Missionaries kid's (MK's we are called), placed in rooms with other children, lost and lonely, we wonder where Mommy and Daddy are.


(that's me on the right with the blue flowered dress)

I remember the dorm parents, we called them "Aunts" and "Uncles", they wouldn't let my brothers come and visit me when I so sick and in the infirmary. I remember going into hysterics, screaming and crying, throwing a fit - I just wanted to see my brothers, my family.  I cried and cried and cried, so long and so hard, till exhausted, worn with broken heart, I finally fell asleep.

I remember when my sister flew back to Canada.  I remember the airport.  I remember the wire fence separating us. I remember the panic, the tears, the wailing coming from deep within.  I remember my hands reaching out, I want, I want my sister....

Hot and steaming Africa, yet I am cold and alone.  My parents are hundreds of miles away.  My sister in Canada.  My brothers though technically in the same place are denied to me when I really need them.

I remember my oldest brother, every Saturday would go to the tuck shop and buy me a "Mars" bar, bring it to me.  A connection, a treasured memory.



(The whole family in Lagos, Nigeria - where my parents ran a guest house - there were some together times, but they were interspersed, often months apart - I think this may be just before my big sister left to go back to Canada.)

My  parents must have stressed familial ties because as siblings, we are, for the most part, apart from a smattering of blow-ups, very close.

We come home from Africa, stay in Canada.

But the marks are there engraved into the warp and woof of who we become as adults.

Is it also the sorrows of our lifetimes too, through teen years, schooling, marriages, children?  Have our lives written as all humanity, with tragedy and trial, carved this anxiety, this grief we so often carry with us, is it in the very landscape of our personalities mapped out in our bodies?

We have collectively born so many losses.

Did we unintentionally pass this anxious sorrowing through bloodlines to our children? They suffer too in many ways.

Sometimes the adversities of our families, both brothers, my sister, and myself, are crushing, even seem insurmountable.  We have traveled journeys and do travel journeys dark and long.  We watch our children, mostly adults now, they too have journeys.  We watch with anguish as they traverse their own trials.  We watch them trip, stumble and fall flat on faces.  Sometimes they get up and carry on and this is good and right.  Sometimes they are halted, trapped in their stories and as yet unable to find a way out or beyond.  We watch their successes too and are glad.

We celebrate our joys, oh yes, we revel in gifts of time untroubled.  We have laughed and we have danced and we have twirled in delight.  And, frankly, I wish there were more of this.

We find ways to enjoy life even in dark days, but to me, sometimes it feels like there are shadows that hang in the background, like clouds threatening storms on a sunny day.

Would that heredity only pass along the wondrous character traits.  Only the ones that we like to brag about when we are talking about those we love.

Yet, we do learn from all these bents in personality that shade the hue of our days - black, blue, rose-colored or yellow, sometimes bright or bleak, sometimes laughter filled and sunny.  We can find the help we need if look for it, ask for it.

We are not ourselves imprisoned or at any rate do not have to be. Heredity or no, we can change. To change - it takes perseverance, determination and baby-step by baby-step we can make the adjustments that will bring us greater peace of mind and strength of character.  It is a struggle, often long and arduous but it is a work I can begin and have indeed begun. Some days I tire of it though, and honestly, some days, it just seems too much.

But I think of the words of Jesus when He went into the temple and when He opened the scroll -

" the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:


“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, 
because he has anointed me 
to proclaim good news to the poor. 
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners 
and recovery of sight for the blind, 
to set the oppressed free,  
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”


Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him."  Luke 4:17-20


This is what He came to do, to proclaim good news, freedom and recovery and to set the oppressed loose.

When I am bound up with fear and anxiety, when I am tired and do not feel like I can go on, when I am oppressed with the worries of today and tomorrow,  when I fret over my children, what can I do? I can fasten my eyes upon Jesus.  I can remember that He came to set the captives, the oppressed, free, and that means me too.

"When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." Psalm 94:19


So this is what I will do today, I'll turn my eyes upon Jesus, fasten them there, and look full in His wonderful face...

"O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Refrain:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace."

http://youtu.be/nA2VpysAvgk

Cup of comfort

My hands curl
round warm mug.
Fragrant amber
floats up,
drifts into
my nostrils.
I breathe deeply.
Lift up to
drink this
cup of comfort.

Church Tonight...

Sitting straight
against hard pew.
Listening, closely,
intently as words fall -
rain to my soul.