A passing

I have a friend whose mother is slipping away. I remember what it was like to lose my Father-in-law. Time was ticking by so slowly and yet there was no stopping life from being irreconcilably changed.

In this country we separate the process of dying from everyday life. Few are witnesses of the holy event. Few are the ones that bath and feed and nurture. But those that chose to witness have tasted a different dimension where all things carnal pass away and all things eternal blossom.

How are we different?

I know,
I know that Osama Bin Laden was brutal and ruthless. I know that we couldn't have done any different... "Those that live by the sword will die by the sword." But I don't think this is a time to rejoice.

I work with women who have been hurt. Sometimes I help them walk through a divorce. Many times they are divorcing a tyrant, a boar of a man who is brutal to them and divorce is their very best choice. But a divorce is never a thing to celebrate. It is a time to grieve. It is a loss of huge proportions even if it is the loss of a dream. A marriage has crumbled at the hands of the enemy and he is giddy with the holy thing he has destroyed. This is no place to celebrate. Many heave a sign of relief, like Jesus on the cross they can finally say, "It is finished" but that is all.

The shooting of Bin Laden is time to grieve. Time to grieve the loss of what could have been. One human being chose a life of brutality and hate. He could have used his influence for so much good! I grieve his choice. And the loss of what could have been if he had made a different one.

I know many are heaving a sigh of relief. Many have lost husbands, children, wives and friends at Osoma Bin Laden's hand. I get that. I grieved too at the twin tower catastrophe and at the cruel celebration of those who thought it a victory in the name of "god". I too hope the loss of their leader will scatter the members of this terrorist group. But I can still grieve the loss. One more death, one more bloody coo.

editing yikes!

I got an email from the editor of the book Wings of Angels. All the formalities seem very strange to me. This is a very small children's story and yet it is given the same respect as a full blown novel. Respect is a huge gift. Writing is hard. It's not putting words on a page that is hard for me but allowing someone else to read it... that's the hard part. I don't mind people who tell it like it is. Some will say, "geeze, your too real for me." I'm good with that but it's the hidden contempt that still hooks me. How can tell, really, what people are thinking? Why do I care? That's a good question. Why does hidden contempt have so much power? I have no real clue, but as this story I wrote morphs into a book on library shelves, I find myself in need of deeper connection with Jesus. He is my only hope of getting through the fear of what people will think of the author after they read it. I hope that they won't think of me at all... only life and death and Jesus most of all.

Pondering spring... and hope

I'm thinking about spring... and hope. Finally here in the north it is getting warmer. The sun is shining and the grass is greening up. It reminds me of Psalms 30:5b Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning. In the darkness of loss, it doesn't feel like you will ever laugh, or sing again. Psalms 40:3 says "But He has put a new song in my mouth—Praise to our God;"But verse 2 says why: "He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, Out of the miry clay, And set my feet upon a rock, And established my steps. The pit is horrible... but there is an end, there is spring at the end of winter and hope at the end of loss.

Breathing

Sometimes it takes effort just to breathe. Sometimes I've had to take life one minute at a time. Sometimes when it is hard for me to breathe I tend to hole up inside, curtains drawn tightly around me. Darkness almost feels like a friend to me... sometimes.

But light is a healer on more than one level. The more I have learned about sunshine and vitamin D, the more I realize it's not just an emotional thing but a physiological one as well. We need light. It helps our immune system fight off disease. Light changes our outlook on life.

Interesting idea in the context of I John 1:5 "God is light; in him there is no darkness at all."

Unresolved Grief

Change is a constant. The world has never before been in such a rapid state of flux. Change brings grief... any change good or bad. I don't believe we have time anymore to grief one change before we are hit with another. That explains to me things like road rage and the rise in domestic violence. I know there are many factors, but knowing that change brings grief and that grief must be processed has not helped me find a better choice.

Where is there a place or a time to process the grief of change? I have had many changes in my life this year. Weddings, losses, births they all bring something new but they all come at the expense of what was. I'm good with that. Life grows and becomes but who has the time to process? And who can afford not to?

Labor, hope, more?

I am a fan of George MacDonald. I'm thinking of a book he wrote. Bethany house has an edited version called "The Marquee's Secret" It starts out with a woman preparing another for burial. There is so much respect, grace and honor given to the one lost. We have devalued ourselves to a point at which death is a tragic end of everything we were. Without the hope of more, death is so fearful and pointless. How can our lives mean anything without that hope?

But there is hope. This is the hard part--labor. This world is the part of our journey that squeezes our heads into points, bruises our hearts and bodies and leaves us gasping for an air we have never yet tasted.

I recently watched a movie directed by Clint Eastwood. It was called Hereafter. It's kind of a strange movie, there were no answers given but simply the question raised, "Is there more?" Go ahead, ask the question. Search the internet. Seek and find. I believe there is way more. Like here is the place of laboring and there is the place of life.