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.

Small stones - Deer in the Clearing

Hushed with awe
I see them
two deer,
standing.
Delicate beige.
Huge
brown eyes,
just looking at
me through
the clearing.
I gasp in wonder
this gift, given
this day.
Beauty.

When Wishes Are Not Enough...

What do wishes bring?  Sometimes only frustration, heartache and disappointment.

Some moments, some dreams are not meant for wishes.

These things are the precious things, the things that are held treasured in our hearts. Only the deep murmur, only the passionate prayer of longing, only the unending supplication will do for these.  Face to the floor, the enduring yearning of the heart poured out, poured out.  Words cannot alone suffice.

Mercy, we cry out for mercy. For those we love.  For those who suffer long and with excruciating anguish.  Mercy, we cry out for mercy. For those who are caught in the iron trap they crafted with their own hands.  Mercy, we cry out for mercy. For those who are caught in the bog of despair and cannot find the sunlight anywhere.  Mercy, we cry out for mercy.

We say now -

"Hear my cry, O God; 
Give heed to my prayer. 
From the end of the earth I call to You when my heart is faint; 
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.' Psalms 61: 1& 2 


I believe that wishes are not enough, and that God can indeed be trusted with secret places of our hearts.  I believe that He knows the when, where, how and if - even if the deepest cry of my heart is answered with a "no".  I believe that He knows my sorrowing and that He weeps with me. And I believe that He will not withhold from me "just because",  just as I as a parent know more than my child what may or may not be the answer, because I can see the big picture.  I believe He will not bend a person's will to His will because He respects the individuals that He created and will not treat us like puppets.  I believe that there are mysteries that I cannot figure out and that I can choose each day to trust His sovereignty and His character.

And, finally, I believe with all my heart that He hears every cry, every groan, every whisper, every longing of my heart.

I believe He hears me.

'I LOVE the Lord, because He has heard [and now hears] my voice and my supplications.' Psalms 116:1 Amplified


And still I cry out for mercy.


Every day, I cry out for His mercy.


                                     ********************************************

"Oh, I love the Lord

I sure do, surely do love the Lord

He heard, he heard my cry

And pitied every groan, yes he did

Every groan

Long as I live, long as I, I live

And troubles rise, troubles rise

I hasten to to to to to

I'll hasten, I'll hasten to his throne

I'll hasten to his throne hold on hold on

Tears are streaming down my eyes

[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-love-the-lord-lyrics-whitney-houston.html ]

I'll hasten, I'll hasten to his throne

Read more: WHITNEY HOUSTON - I LOVE THE LORD LYRICS http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-love-the-lord-lyrics-whitney-houston.html#ixzz1l09zxK4f 

Copied from MetroLyrics.com "

Whitney Houston sings this in the Christmas movie "The Preacher's Wife" and it is amazing!

Small stones 13 - Grey Sky

Dove grey skies,
then the sun -
suddenly
playing peekaboo
over the horizon
brings
warmth and
the world awakens.

Small stones 12 - Dinner with Family

Food, laughter,
& conversation,
family gathers
and plays.
Connections
weaving
heart to heart -
quite simply
the joy in life.

From Sunday, January 29/12

Sounds in the deep of Night

I  am awake now in the middle of the night.  I think I hear the squeak of a door opening.  Everyone as far as I know, is in bed, cuddling deep and snuggled in , piled under blankets, warm and cozy.  I feel immediate alarm pulsing through my system.

But, I grow quieter still than the black of the night surrounding me.  I listen intently straining to hear, is there someone in the house? I want to wake up hubby, but I feel foolish, small in my mid-night fears.  You see I have an ear infection that will not clear up and when all is hushed, especially at night, I hear a high-pitched buzz in my ear as well as sounds like drum-beats, a virtual cacophony inside of my head.  It is disconcerting to say the least and now, I don't know if I'm "hearing" things or if indeed, someone lurks downstairs, squirreling our "stuff" away in some kind of burglarizing attempt.

My chest is tight with unease, and I try to practice deep breathing to anchor the escape perhaps of reason.  I sharpen my hearing, on guard, attempting to pick up any more noises that are not normal for this night-time quietude.

I toss and turn, and finally decide to brave the unknown myself.  I get up, wrap the softness of housecoat around me and head downstairs.

There is nothing.  And instead of chastising myself for these mid-night queries and forebodings, I feel only relief.  It is good to be safe and the sounds that sometimes torture the night are all realized as a part of my malfunctioning hearing.

I breathe long and deeply- again and again, assured that now I can return to the luxurious comfort of my bed and sink once more in peaceful sleep, my nocturnal qualms now put to rest.

Small stones-Day 11- Chapters

Walking in and
seeing the 
shelves 
lined with
myriads of
books -
captures
the imagination.
Every conceivable
subject,
every rainbow colour.
Intoxicating -
chimera.
Every fantasy,
reverie,
mystery or
adventure.
Every nightmare,
daydream,
Vision or
reality.
Right here
on these pages,
in this bookstore.
Ah....
now go, go
READ.

Small stones - Day 10 - Feel the heat

Black cushioned
leather.
Cold
seeps through
clothing.
With time
warmth
pervades,
permeates,
soaks right into
the bone.

When life is like a waiting room...

The interminable wait. The longing.  The hopes.  The following of one day after another after another.  What do I do when my life is like a waiting room, when time presses in upon me and implodes.

What do I do?  Do I grab a chair, sit down beside a fellow journeyer and strike up a conversation?  Do I read book after book, looking for some way to make sense of the waiting? What is the reason to keep on sitting here in this waiting room of life?  What questions do I need answers for?

Why the delay?  Why are some getting answers so quickly, while I wait so long, so very long?

Maybe, just maybe, I don't wait anymore?  I get up, look around and decide, maybe there is something else to do...while I am waiting.  I don't want to miss my appointment, I've waited this long, to give up completely, well then all this waiting is wasted.  The thought of that makes me cringe.

But maybe, I can begin to wait, to actively wait.  To stop sitting on the sidelines and really join in.  What if I just jump in, feet first, and live, really live, explore my options, open my heart wide to all the joys, here, today.  Open my heart as well, to the sorrow, but maybe, put the sorrow and the questions and the frustrations, put them on the sidelines.  Visit them when I need to, when tender loving care is the vital prescription for that particular day or moment.

In the meantime I think I will take a deep breath, stop holding my breath - and dance this rhythm of life - my life today, each day, new, bright and fresh with possibilities.


 -This is the day which the Lord has made; we will be full of joy and delight in it.- Psalm 118:24 BBE

Small stones, day 9 - Waiting Rooms

Crowded this
room,
each person
hunched in
a separate
chair,
waiting.

My shocked
expression
as I view
the milieu,
is greeted by
a few sympathetic
and knowing
ones.

Those who
happen
to look up,
acknowledge
the dread
of the long
drawn out
wait.

A collective
sigh falls,
a murmur, wry
smile, a shrug
and a laugh.

I sit, hunker
down, sink
into this
in-between
space.

This waiting
place -
this waiting
room.

Small stones- day 8 -Begging

From Jan. 24/12

Small, white
and furry,
her brown eyes
look longingly -
"I want a snack
too,"
says Molly,
our cockapoo.

Who can resist
this velvet
brown
pensive eagerness.
I reach down
and share my
treat.