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)

When Candles Won't Light....

The church was decorated beautifully for Christmas. Families gathered and music wafted through the pine-scented sanctuary. As we moved through the order of service a family approached the Advent Wreath to light the Candle of Joy.  Try as they might, the Candle of Joy simply would not light. The father took the brass lighter from the mother.  The audience watched and waited. Then the minister took it from the father.  We, the audience, held our breath. Finally, the minister broke our tense expectation with laughter, saying, “Even if the Candle of Joy will not ignite, we can still find joy in our hearts today.”

You could almost hear a sigh of relief. We had been assured we could still feel joy. We could still sing the songs, read the scripture, pray, and worship – without the light of the Joy Candle.

My thoughts remained with the unlit Joy Candle for the remainder of the service. Partly because I am in the Altar Guild, and I know that every detail for a worship service is carefully and lovingly watched over. Baptismal cloths are starched to precision, communion challises are polished—and candles are prepared in advance to make sure they will light.

And I know in our own lives as well we do everything humanly possible for things to run smoothly—and then the unexpected happens. The “candle does not light” and we find ourselves waiting and wondering how it could have happened. We are disappointed things did not go as planned.  We might even become, hurt, angry, or despondent. And we certainly have lost our joy.

But the minister said we could still find joy – even when the candle is not glowing.

Is that true? Even when events in our lives “snuff out” our light and joy, can we still find joy in our hearts? I know the answer to that is “yes.” I know that joy is not dependent on happy events and everything going as we had planned.  I know that joy is more.

In his book, Turn My Mourning Into Dancing, Henri Nouwen says that as we break through our need to cling to what we have, what we know, what we possess (all of our carefully lit candles and laid out plans for our lives) we can be liberated by trustful surrender to God. Then our anxiety will not cripple us, but point us forward in JOY, point us even to what we cannot predict or fully see, or understand.

For it is when the candle does not light that we long most for the light to come.  

     And it is in the darkest of nights,

                    when candles won’t light,

                                       we must search and find the light of the stars,

                                                                     And we discover the joy of our longing heart.

Benefits of Retreat ...and this does not mean running away

View of Marsh at Epworth by the Sea

A retreat is one way a person can find a safe spot in which to grieve.  Finding a safe spot in which to grieve helps the griever to move to a new spot in their grief. And that is where healing occurs. Little steps. One at a time. Gaining strength after a tremendous loss.

Retreat can be something as simple as sitting quietly in your home with no distractions of phone, tv, or yes, even the people we love.  All is quiet and you have prepared yourself to be still and consider where you are exactly in your grief. But listen up, being still is NOT doing nothing. Being still and focusing on the movement of grief is actually very hard work.

You can also go away for a retreat. Churches offer one-day events. Retreat centers offer one to three day, sometimes week-long retreats. They can be simple and very affordable or resort-like and expensive. Regardless of the style or cost, the mission is the same - to offer participants the space and tools to leave the retreat in a much stronger place than upon arrival.


Epworth by the Sea

This past weekend, eighteen women gathered from all walks of like to plunge into the task of grieving the loss of a child. Epworth by the Sea www.epworthbythesea.org/  on the Georgia coast provided a peaceful, beautiful setting for the work to begin. And it was work - from telling the painful stories, to finding gratitude, looking for joy, reaching out to the community, and experiencing God's love, these women left the retreat, energized and willing to return to homes with new thoughts, new feelings, and new hopes.

These women were willing to move to a new spot. They wanted to take the first step and decide to move from the loss of a loved one to a new place without them. Never forgetting them, but leaving them to be where they are they decide to walk the rest of their life without their living presence in their life. And it is okay. And it is healthy.

Many will never allow themselves the benefit of retreat. They think it is for weaklings or those who just want to stay in their sorrow. Quite the contrary, those who bravely come, choose to say, "I want to do something with my pain and move to a new place in my life.  I may require a little more time, and have to work at it a little harder. But in working through, I will find my joy again. I will.

 Psalm 30:5 says, "Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning."

Have you found your joy?

A Song for Those Who Grieve

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH87Hdd5O28&feature=player_embedded

 

The beauty of the music at my church this past Sunday keeps resonating in my heart. All Saints Sunday remembers those who have gone on to their eternal home. The service is dedicated to remembering, finding hope in scripture and song, celebrating with Holy Communion. Sometimes we don't  have to fully understand something to find meaning. It is simply faith.  I think it is when we allow our hearts just to "be" and move with the rhythm of grief, longing, and the mystery of death and life beyond. That is when we find hope...and peace.

Below are the words, but take time to listen to it being sung. You will be glad you did.

Sing me To Heaven

In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poets' gloss

Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute

In response to aching silence, memory summons half-heard voices

And my soul finds primal eloquence, and wraps me in song

If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby

If you would win my heart, sing me a love song

If you would mourn me and bring me to God,

Sing me a requiem, sing me to Heaven

 

Touch in me all love and passion, pain and pleasure

Touch in me grief and comfort, love and passion, pain and pleasure

Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem

Love me, comfort me, bring me to God

Sing me a love song, sing me to Heaven

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH87Hdd5O28&feature=player_embedded