Not Celebrating?

Did you think I had not written  the Christmas Missive because the season is too painful?
Did you think I had run out of things to say - especially at Christmas?
Did you think I was not celebrating this year?


Actually, quite the opposite is true. I am celebrating. I am baking and shopping and worshiping and singing and playing Christmas carols on the piano. I am opening doors to guests for Christmas. I am planning meals and activities and fluffing the bedrooms and stocking the pantry. I am listing three blessings a day because I promised I would, but in actuality I have many more. I am writing words of encouragement and filling mailboxes with small surprises. I am lighting candles and I am loving my husband and my 16-year old dog and listening to the chirp of my red cardinals.

Oh, I am celebrating.
I am celebrating the wonder of Christmas -
That I can still recall (at 63) the wonder and excitement of childhood memories.
Blue lights on a snowy hill on our farm.
Mother's cookie press cookies that I still cannot master.
Christmas caroling in the snow.
Getting the part of Mary in the second grade.
Rearranging over and over the Nativity - somehow Jesus always stayed in the middle of it all.
Piling in the 1959 Desoto to go Christmas shopping in Cincinnati after the tobacco crop was sold.
Stockings filled to the brim with small treasures.

And I continue to celebrate the wonder -
Believing and trusting more with each year that Jesus is my best gift.
Keeping traditions with friends - the breakfast, the candy cane cookies, the caroling, the pinwheels.
Making time each day to think of someone else, to surprise and enjoy my children.
Rising early to sit before the Advent candles - just to wonder and celebrate before the day begins.

And I don't want the wonder to end.
And so the question becomes: "How do I keep this wonder, this celebration through the year?"
Or maybe for some, "How do I find that kind of wonder?"

It really comes down to the one gift we have all be given.
Which one gift?
Oh, the gift of Jesus, the figure in the manger who remains in the center of all things - and always will. Because when we fully trust that He is the reason for this season, that He came to free us from all the baggage we each have, that He promises to be with us, guide us, comfort us, assure us of our future, that He promises to make all things new - He is the one gift that never breaks, gets returned or used up.

And yet, He is the one gift that so many refuse to open and enjoy.
We must open the gift of Jesus by allowing Him to enter our heart and live there.
And then we can celebrate.
And when life takes a turn and doesn't go the way we think it should, He is there.
For it is often in the darkest moments, the gift really shines forth, like that night long ago.

And so, can you celebrate this year the wonder of it all?
Yes, you can. Just be sure to open the gift of Jesus.

"Not celebrate?

Your burden is too great to bear?

Your loneliness is intensified during this Christmas season?

Not celebrate?

You should lead the celebration!

You should run through the streets

to ring the bells and sing the loudest!

You should fling the tinsel on the tree,

and open your house to your neighbors,

and call them in to dance!

For it is you above all others

who know the joy of Advent.

It is unto you that a Savior is born this day,

One who comes to lift your burden from your shoulders,

One who comes to wipe the tears from your eyes.

You are not alone,

for He is born this day to you."

(from Kneeling in Bethlehem by Ann Weems)

Vote

On our journey of healing, let’s consider tomorrow.

Election Day is tomorrow. Finally! We have watched with disdain and boredom the variety of campaign efforts to persuade us. I have friends from all parties who are adamant in their beliefs for their candidates and I applaud their participation in the voting freedom we have as Americans. And while I am hardly a pacifist, I tend to quietly make my decisions based not on political rallies or phone and print propaganda, but some inner core of beliefs that often seem outdated and unpopular and definitely not politically correct.

This morning, I read about “Society” from Bobby Gross’s excellent book Living The Christian Year, Time to Inhabit the Story of God. Gross writes from the lectionary text through the year and elaborates today on the Ten Commandments. At the heart of the law is the command for us to be holy because God is holy. He says that holiness is a social thing – it has to do with our moral standing before God and our moral behavior toward others. Just how are we living with each other?

From the Ten Commandments, he moves to Psalms 15 where the question is asked, “Lord, who may come and worship with you? And the answer is clear – those who maintain relations of integrity and justice. Before true worship begins, we must know how to live. Do we?

And finally, he moves to Isaiah 65 where the prophet paints a new picture of creation. The city of God will be joyful and its society a delight. I am trying to imagine a world of joy and delight. Gross asks the question, “What kind of society should we all be working toward?” Isaiah answers: “In the delightful society, infant mortality is rare and elder care extensive, the economy is just and labor practices are fair, work is meaningful and families are protected, violence is low and collaboration is high. This social justice and peace is God’s shalom.”

 And this is our work as Christians to seek God’s shalom – a state of peace, justice, wholeness and human flourishing.

 Vote for God’s shalom.

Grace, Thanks, and Joy....In Other Words, Eucharisteo

 

 

I write often that we are all on this healing  journey somewhere between celebration and sorrow. And today I feel that I am hovering right in the middle of it all - teetering on a balance beam, trying to maintain my composure. The past week was the joyous wedding of lifelong friends. But today I will return to that same sanctuary to celebrate the life and memory of yet another daughter, taken too soon for our understanding. I will enter my sanctuary, with the light flooding through the stain-glassed windows, and a flood of memories and thoughts will fill my heart.

How can it be? I was just sitting here with my husband and son and daughter-in-law, remembering their own wedding a year ago, greeting friends, almost giddy with celebration and joy. Listening to the beautiful music, hearing the familiar words of The Lord Bless You and Keep You. And when I allowed my heart to wander, I remembered, too, my daughter's memorial service. Funny, Be Thou My Vision was sung at both the wedding and the memorial. I love that. Songs of faith remain constant and true - from birth to death, through celebration and through sorrow.

This morning I found myself rereading some of  Ann Voskamp's One Thouosand Gifts. She speaks of eucharisteo, the giving of thanks, as never ending, as the preparation for full restoration, in sorrow and in joy. She says , "Eucharisteo, the Greek work with the hard meaning and the harder meaning to live - this is the only way from empty to full. I know it's true.

Sharaya Crossan, in her blog Eucharisteo Journey writes beautifully about Jesus, just before his death, taking the bread, giving  thanks for it, breaking it, and sharing it.
She writes, "The root word of eucharisteo in the Greek is charis meaning gift or grace. He took the bread and saw it as a gift. He held it and gave thanks. Is not all we have been given us by the Giver of all? Do we see the common like bread and drink as pure grace, unmerited gifts from He who can do nothing but give? Do we take up each moment of life in this way, both the mundane and the trials of life?

Charis also forms the root of the Greek word chara, meaning joy. Those three words...grace, thanksgiving, joy...come together. In all circumstances, even in our greatest trial, we can receive from Him this sustenance. Now served to us with nail-scarred hands, first we taste of grace—that He delights in us in His generous benevolence. Then we savor it with thanksgiving that both springs up from our spirit and nourishes us right down to our souls. And our dessert? Joy! Joy...from thanksgiving...from grace, freely bestowed on us, His beloved."

 

 

 

 

How Do You Define Death With Dignity?

          Death with dignity has taken on new meaning these recent days in the news. I think of dignity as I remember going to Normandy last year, visiting the American Cemetery, remembering and relearning about those who fought valiantly for freedom from oppression. I think of dignity as I remember those who tried to save victims during the 9/11 crisis and became victims themselves. And I think of dignity when I think of Andrew Taylor, my nephew, who had a grand mal seizure when he was three and lived 26 more years with loving and heartbroken parents.

The beautiful face on this week's People Magazine cover is Brittany Maynard.  Brittany has an incurable brain tumor and she has decided to take her life on November 1st. There has been much written, much talked about, much support and/or criticism. When she went public with her decision, she became the unexpected face of the right-to-die movement. Her family is devastated yet supportive and loving. It's tragic and heartbreaking and it makes me weep.

I look at the beautiful double page photo of Brittany, standing by her bed, and I cannot help but think of my own daughter who also was given a 4-6 month fatal diagnosis. The big difference in Brittany and Megan is that Megan's mind was deteriorating rapidly and she could not make sound decisions on her own. Megan's mental abilities were taken first. Maybe that was a blessing. Maybe that was God protecting Megan from the hideous side effects very similar to Brittany's. When I read of Brittany's excruciating headaches, nausea, seizures, talking gibberish, and at-times non-recognition of her husband, I can almost - almost -  understand her decision because I remember many of those experiences myself with my child.

Interestingly, both Brittany and Megan began their symptoms in the Spring. Both women were teachers with a love for helping others. Megan died at 27. Brittany is 29. Megan lived with her disease 16 months. Brittany has been sick 18 months. They even resemble each other. And I cannot help but wonder, "Would Megan have made this decision?"

I can't answer that question. I can only remember her final words written in her journal which said, "O God, such a crazy week with so many tests, but I know you have a plan and a purpose and it is good and I trust in You." That tells me that Megan put her life in God's hands for whatever purpose He had for her life. And I know that as we waited on God's timing for Megan's death, our faith found new meaning in our Christian life and for the eternal life to come after death. There was a richness to our day - a presence of God himself, comforting us, comforting Megan. Megan, in her own version of "death with dignity" gave us the ultimate gift of time which fostered great love among those who shared the journey and in the end was the beginning of our healing.

To read further thoughts, go to: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/ellenpainterdollar/2014/10/a-christian-response-to-brittany-maynards-decision-to-die/

Vegetable Soup

I don't normally write about cooking, although it is something I love to do. Monday mornings seem to be a day to clean out the refrigerator, make something delicious from all the little odd leftovers from the weekend. And some days the combinations even work! This morning I found two celery stalks, several orphaned carrots and two lonely leeks, With a little olive oil and a few garlic cloves, I knew I was on to something. Looking further I found a container of half-used tomato paste, two containers of beef broth and the piece de résistance, two leftover meaty short ribs from Saturday night dinner. A little herbs, salt and pepper and time to simmer, the chopped up tidbits have yielded  something tasty for dinner.

Maybe it's because I grew up with a mother who could take a little of this, a little of that, and turn it into something wonderful. Maybe it's because she moved a lot with a military husband and could set up housekeeping with a few things a  lot of creativity. Nonetheless, she had a knack for it.

I like to think I am like my mother. I haven't had to move very often, but I do like a new look, a change in my surroundings. My husband is always suspicious when he returns from out of town, fearful he won't recognize his own home. And I didn't disappoint him this past week.

I have been saying - whining -  for some time, "I want my own office - just a little space where I can think and write, research and read, ponder and plan." It made perfect sense to me to turn one of our unused bedrooms into just that space. Light pours in. Soft green walls welcome. All my books can live together in harmony with files and unpublished manuscripts. In my disarray of unfinished projects,I feel so at home, so together, so satisfied.

I hardly had to purchase a thing. An abandoned desk from one daughter. Bookcases from days of playrooms and toy shelves. Chairs reclaimed and slipcovered years ago. Decorative plates collected by another daughter and hung around gift crosses. All came together so effortlessly (well, moving the desk up two flights of stairs was a bit challenging). The more I changed, the more excited I became. It was as though the little green room was waiting to be transformed and used in a new, fresh way.

Transformation always requires movement.

Whether moving around furniture to create a new space, combining vegetables  to make soup, or rethinking how we should live our lives - transformation asks something of us. Can I visualize the change? What resources are readily available? Can I buckle down and do the work that change requires? Can I persevere? Will I succeed?

I write this blog as a healing journey of faith. I am learning that as I heal, I can write about making soup. I can write about rearranging some space in my home. Somehow it all fits into the journey of transformation in our lives. Scripture says God is making everything new (Rev 21:5). We are a work in process.Why not help out?

Where can the evidence of transformation be seen in your life?

It's A Small World After All

The ice cream truck just made himself known on my street. The familiar "It's A Small World" plays over and over drawing us out for that afternoon snack. I often consider running down to see what he has, to try a grape slushy or an ice cream drumstick dipped in chocolate with peanuts. And then I feel silly and remind myself ice cream trucks are for children. But I must admit, I sure do enjoy the song and the surprise of music outside my window late in the day. And don't you love the words?

It's a world of laughter, a world or tears
it's a world of hopes, its a world of fear
there's so much that we share
that its time we're aware
its a small world after all

  its a small world after all
its a small world after all
its a small world after all
its a small, small world

There is just one moon and one golden sun
And a smile means friendship to everyone.
Though the mountains divide
And the oceans are wide
It's a small small world

Earlier today I was reminded - again - how very small the world is in which we live. A group of mothers who have lost children gather in my home monthly to find encouragement from one another. We share our hopes and fears, we laugh and we shed a few tears. Today, a woman came who had lost a daughter 20 years ago. The child was three months old and died from injuries in a car accident. She was living proof that we do move through grief, find new meaning in life, and function well after loss. We appreciated her perspective.

Every time these women gather, there is another connection, a link to another source of community. And community is what we all want - whether it is in a support group, a newly married couple in a new home, or running into an old friend from years ago.

There is just one golden sun and just one moon - a very large moon these nights.  Mountains do divide us and oceans are very wide. But it is still a small world. We are so very much alike in our hopes and our dreams, in our frailties and in our losses. Why do we try so hard to make the world large and indifferent? Why do we mostly ignore ice cream trucks?

No Control Over Death

Death separates us and draws us together. As people of faith, it asks us to come together and celebrate life.. It asks us to remember the good of the deceased. As people of faith, it requires worship of us. Death asks us, very quietly, to love one another in hope and trust and faith - now. Death heals and comforts and amazingly does it better than life. Death keeps us real.

Is it because in life, we  try to find our way on our own, often unwilling to think about death? We have faith, but we also have our minds made up about how we should live, how we should respond. As I wrote last week, we get diverted.  Self always gets in the way of faith. And Self is blind sighted when Death comes in and draws a line and says, "You have no control anymore. Now what do you say?" And then we must accept the reality of life and death. Then we must recognize the illusion under which we reside. The illusion that we can make our lives a certain way or we can manage the length of our lives if we are smart, careful, and health conscious. We can do every thing right, but we have no control over death.

Henri Nouwen speaks of this as the third movement of the Christian life. (The first movement is from loneliness to solitude; the second movement is from hostility to hospitality.) This third movement is from the illusion that life is not what we thought it would be to a life of prayer. A life of prayer that says, "Thy will be done."

That does not mean that we sit down and wait to die. Other passages in scripture instruct us to work. "Serve the Lord with gladness", " Work as onto the Lord"," Whatever you do work at it with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength."  And while we work at our jobs, we can maintain a servant heart for those around us. And while we work and love others, we begin to learn we are not our own, but we belong to a heavenly Father who loves us and is watching us as we make our way to the day we will die.

These three movements become living and active as we contemplate their rich meanings:

1. From loneliness to solitude is the movement where discover that we can are loved by a great God. We never need fear of being alone because in trusting Jesus Christ, we have this friend and Savior who is always with us - every day on this earth and into Eternity when we die. There is never a day without the faithful friendship of Jesus for those who trust in Him.

2. From hostility to hospitality helps us to discover that as a believer, we can let go of the insecurities we cling to in this life. And when we let go, there is room for loving others richly, without conditions or criticisms. We can forgive and grow. We can, in fact, be hospitable.

3. From illusion to prayer frees us to laugh at our humanness. We discover we are so very out of control - really. But in our "out-of control-ness" we are freed to trust in the One who calms all our fears, comforts us in our weaknesses, and strengthens us for duty. It becomes easy to turn our prayers to our Lord and trust Him. No matter what.

And when Death comes, we won't feel lonely. We won't feel hostile. We will know that this life is not what we thought all along, but a preparation ground for a new life - rich in prayer and worship of an Eternal God.

Diverted, Never Altered

Yesterday my brother-in-law died. No more debilitating headaches. No more diabetes. No more heart condition. No more depression. No more struggle trying to find a spot in this world. And although I know he will be missed terribly by his immediate family, I privately rejoice that he is free of his bondage. Free from insecurity and frustration. Free from feeling like a failure. Free from pain.

This morning I read in a devotional (My Utmost for His Highest) that the entire human race was created to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. It went on to say that Sin has diverted the human race onto another course, but it has not altered God's purpose to the slightest degree.  I know that "diversion" presents itself every day in some form to each one of us. Diversion can be ugly like a stroke leaving one helpless and dying. Diversion also can be alluringly beautiful, like fortune and fame, often leading us down another course.  For some, the diversion consumes us. But read this again: the diversion of Sin has not altered God's purpose to the slightest degree.

This must mean that success in the world's eyes has nothing to do with God's purpose. Sort of hurts our pride for those of us who think we have somehow avoided most diversions and been able to maintain careers, families, and a decent resume.  I am ashamed to admit the times I was frustrated with my brother-in-law. His ailments, inability to work, his lack of get up and go. All according to me.

 But as I think about him today, new words describing him speak to my heart. "Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast.it is not proud. it is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." I Corinthians 13

And then I must ask myself, "Do I exhibit these characteristics my brother-in-law exhibited? In what ways am I diverted? Am I doing everything possible to live God's purpose for me now?"

Funny how death always makes us think differently.


This blog is about the healing journey, the way to find wholeness when the diversions are great. Illness, disease, bad habits and life choices all lure us and sweep us away, seeking to destroy us as a beautiful creation that God himself designed. If we were created to glorify God, we certainly don't show it on many days. Which course are you on?

Finding Healing in Retreat - From Hostility to Hospitality

A month ago - or two - I wrote about moving from loneliness to confident solitude. This is a movement in our losses, in our struggles, and in our own journey of healing to this place of confident solitude. It is knowing we are loved by God, our Creator in a way no earthy love could ever fulfill.  When we make this discovery, we learn to love the God relationship and we work to stay in tune and in touch with our Creator. That is what God intended from the beginning. We are loved. We are cherished. It matters not how we are tossed around by others and the events of life. We become real like the skin horse in the story the Velveteen Rabbit. Real through the cross of Christ. We find that we can have solitude with Him and it is more than enough.

The phone call from church reminded me that our church theme for the new month is hospitality. Coming home - you know, back to church, back to worship after the events of summer. Coming home to friends and fellowship, music and worship. Home to a faith community who loves God and loves each other.

And so how do we, confident in who we are in Christ, then open ourselves to the richness hospitality provides. Or do we? Are we really safe enough to let go of our inner hostilities to be hospitable? To ourselves? To one another?
Henri Nouwen offers up his thoughts on this second movement in the Christian life. It goes back to the first movement - trusting in God who frees us from all loneliness. And when we are free in the knowledge of who we are, then we can begin to let down the barriers that prevent us from becoming even more - a person who is okay and trusts their "realness" in full view of others. We can be free to be who we were intended to be. We are safe in our transparencies. We let go of anger and blaming and injustices. We become people of grace and forgiveness and acceptance.

I have discovered through the years that a retreat is a safe way to let go and open up to the richness of hospitality. Especially for mothers who have lost children, a retreat becomes a special healing place. and when healing occurs, we find we can be hospitable to ourselves and then to our families and then to the world around us.


One might ask, "Why in the world would I want to go to a retreat where 20 other mothers bring their grief-stricken hearts together? Isn't it just about too much grief in one room?" And I would answer,"Yes. It is a lot of grief. But something mysterious and beautiful happens. One mom is brave enough to start talking. Another joins in. One says nothing and cries. No one dominates or tries to "fix" another. We just let it flow naturally, guided by scripture and questions that keep us on track. We break and find strength in the marsh air. We rest and regroup. And we heal. We leave on that third day with more hope than we brought with us. We return to our grief work with tools and encouragement for our ongoing work of finding a different way in our lives without our child.

If you are grieving the loss of a child, or know someone who is, please forward this to them and encourage them to participate on November 7-9 at the beautiful Epworth by the Sea in St. Simons, GA.  To register, go to www. epworthbythesea.org.

Happy...On Mother's Day

    

        While Mother's Day is past for another year, I continue to reflect on the sights and celebrations I have observed over this past weekend - about as many and varied as the lush Rhododendron blooms I captured on this morning's walk, all unique and different in small ways, but nonetheless beautiful to take in and enjoy and remember.

It all started at the garden center on Saturday. Middle-aged men shopping with elderly women, carrying out hanging baskets laden with blooms. Dads with all the kids loading up their wagons with every color of blooms imaginable. Sun or shade it did not matter - it's Mother's Day and we're planting flowers! I wondered about watering and fertilizing and pruning and I worried about the sun and shade plants together, knowing some might not make it.

Then I attended  a book-signing and loved watching the family dynamics of a mother watch her son as he spoke about his book, read excerpts, and answer questions about his acclaimed work. She would glance from time-to-time at the grandson or the daughter-in-law, smile occasionally or look pensive. I love her and wanted to read her mind, wondering what she thought - her son who had spent the last eight years in study and research, and now the tangible fruit of his efforts. Pride, support, compassion, humor, wonder -  all mingled up.

Sunday morning the young mother sitting in front of us received a rose for being the newest mother in our sanctuary. She held this little bundle and watched in wonder at this new life, all wrapped in love and possibilities. I, too, wondered what she was thinking - who will she become, where will life take her, will I be a good mother, and maybe a little fear and wonder mixed in.

And somewhere in all my observations, I watched myself participate in the day, enjoying brunch and attending a concert with my own adult children. They chose fun and different ways to honor me and I just showed up. How easy it has all somehow become. Grateful for  those moments we have together. The homeless man was quick to remind me. We were coming out of the concert and there he stood with a wide, toothless smile just for me. "Happy Mother's Day," he offered. Were those tears in his eyes? He continued as I approached, "If I only had a few dollars to buy some flowers for my mother's grave..." I was already reaching for my wallet. While I doubt he left his street corner and rushed to his mother's grave, it did not matter. It was Mother's Day and he had thought of it.. Some mother had once loved and cared for him and besides, he had me at "Happy."

Over in Glory Land

 

 Today, the Siberian Irises opened in the garden. I want to invite the world to come for a stroll, admire their beauty, study the details of the blooms, touch them, wonder at the complexity of design and color.  Walk past them and admire their random groupings near the back of the perennial wall. Sit and enjoy their company. Admire and appreciate one more time. And then smile and say “good-bye.”

Like anything of beauty that is short-lived, we cherish those fleeting moments where we immersed ourselves into the sheer abandonment of ourselves, transporting our souls to somewhere that is just out of our reach, longing to capture that moment, that short life of inspiration.

It could be a sunrise or a sunset, each so very different—never two alike. It could be the movement of a falling star—the spit-second awe and reward for having been looking at just the right time. It could be the Irises that I fully expect to surprise me every spring with their stunning arrival—understanding their visit to my garden will be a short one.

             But I will never understand the shortness of a child’s life.

                      This little human with all her God-given potential,

                                      just waiting to burst forth and bloom.

                            This little potential swimmer whose innocence

                        was violated by the overwhelming force of nature.  

                                  The life-giving, refreshing water

                                             that swept away this precious life.

                   Although I know not this child

                            that has been on my heart these last few days…

             Although I know not these parents

          who are reeling in the shock and horror of this life

                              event that has changed their axis of the earth…

            Although I know so little about so much

                         and wonder about this fragile life we all live…

                                                                                   I do know this…

Today, I will pause as the sun sets and sends long fingers of rays down the garden wall. I will pull the wicker chairs off the porch and just sit and soak in the beauty of the shortness of life in my garden. I will savor this moment in time that I have been given. I will use this time to watch for sunsets, and new blooms, and falling stars— all the fleeting moments that transport me to that place of hope.

That place, like the name of the iris in my garden, is just “Over in Glory Land.”

What We Learn From Daffodils Coming to Life



 

Signs of hope spring to new life.

Signs of hope behind fences

Signs of hope in the crowded masses

Signs of hope with one single friend

Signs of hope dazzling the senses

All offer hope and  promise of new life,

 coming from inside a seemingly dead bulb

buried in the cold frozen ground.

And then they burst forth...Resurrection!

 

Dallas Willard in his book The Divine Conspiracy speaks in a similar way about our own resurrection. "He will metamorphose our humiliating body, transforming it into a glory body like his, utilizing the power he has to make all things do what he wants (Phil 3:20-21). When we pass through "death" into God's full world our "our earthy tent is torn down," as Paul elsewhere says we are not thereby deprived of a body, any more than Jesus himself was. Rather, we are then "clothed with a dwelling place of the heavenly sort" (2 Cori. 5:1-8). The mortal part of us is swallowed up by life." God has prepared us for this by depositing in us a "down payment" in the form of the Spirit (v. 5). We know even now, and by experience, the reality of a life that is not of the physical body."

 

We have promises of this New Life all around us.

Who has eyes to see?

Growing A New Heart

While I know many people who are in the midst of grief, I continue to be amazed and encouraged by the healing that takes place through the passage of weeks, months, years. And while we often grow weary of days without the one we love, we surprise ourselves with the energy and even sometimes the enthusiasm to move forward. We never forget and we will always be trying to grow a new heart in many ways, but life has a way of drawing us forward—gradually. Sometimes we have to retreat and rest, especially around birthdays and special anniversaries, but we learn to expect the movement, even welcome it in the movement of our days.

Just how do we grow a new heart? In the movie Sleepless in Seattle, Tom Hanks tries to begin again by moving with his young son to Seattle after the death of his wife. But he can’t sleep. His grief went with him.  People will often sell their home, remarry too soon, or sell their business, thinking that their heart will recover if they change their scenery. But what happens is the broken heart is buried and the busy-ness of new and different simply “mask” the pain. Eventually, it has to be realized for true healing and “heart-growing” to take place.

GriefShare www.griefshare.org, an excellent video and workbook seminar, recommends waiting a full year before any changes are made in one’s lifestyle after the death of a loved one. A full year gives time for one to experience the grief process, discovering that as time goes by, thinking is clearer and decisions can be made that are more rational and realistic.

Growing a new heart takes time and patience. And on those days when you feel the steady beating, you can give thanks and praise to God for giving you life and breath. Breathe today and feel God’s presence.

“Breath on me, Breath of God, Fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love and do what Thou wouldst do.”

(Robert Jackson)