Posts Tagged ‘Transitions



07
Jul
10

a very good day

Five days ago Darling Daughter and #1 son—the Captain—tossed aside their butterflies and wed. The ceremony began as Darling, preceded by Miss Green and Miss Pink, floated down the beautiful 19th century staircase to the sonorous tones of the Pachelbel Canon, and into the waiting arms of—the Captain. It was a perfect day for a wedding and a perfect day to be back in the home and company of Virgil and Joan Vogt of Reba Place Fellowship, where Darling and I began our Christian journey decades ago—a single parent and an only child, at the edge of our rope (so to speak). Who would have thought then that one day Darling would walk down those stairs? I learned recently that as a child she imagined herself being a bride and doing just that! It was paper dolls and dress-ups then. On July 3, 2010 it was for real. Time flies, buttered or not and our journeys take us through many nooks and crannies. This was definitely neither nook nor cranny. It was sunlit tips of sparrow wings and wispy breath, blue skies. It was a very good day to say… I do.

The Captain escorted Darling and the Misses Green and Pink into the living room. The immediate family followed and took their places in a circle of chairs. The pastor spoke a greeting and the candles were lit. It was a mesmerizing experience of hope and love and unity. The scripture was read, the words were spoken, the vows were uttered and voices in song filled the air.

After toasting the bride and groom with champagne and greeting each other, we watched as they walked out the door to the porch, where flower petals had been lovingly strewn by two of Darling’s  dear friends. We threw the ecologically correct birdseed and thanked God for blessings yet to come as they walked down the stairs and toward their car.

Then came the wedding luncheon at the Persian restaurant, Noon-O-Kabab, where the chef served us personally as honored guests, and we all ate more than we should have. But who can refuse a beautiful and most delicious piece of wedding cake? None of us did and I wish I had a piece right now! It was quite a banquet and quite a day. I have a lovely new family of four and an extended family of ten. That makes sixteen…a very good number.

28
Jun
10

6 days

In 6 days Darling Daughter and #1 Son, the Captain, will exchange wedding vows. The very next day 40 relatives and friends will descend upon my sister’s home where she is hosting a reception for the happy couple. I am not much thinking about any of this just now. I have too many vicissitudes of life sprouting on my shoulders. What happened to the golden years? I am now in that time period when life is supposed to be easy and pleasant. That is what was promised back when I was growing up. My body says it should be so, but the news and the mail and the world says something very different. Ten years ago I expected to live to be 90+ and not skip a beat. Today I am wondering what happened to the beat. I think the rhythm is completely different. There are days when I do not even understand the beat, let alone want to skip along with it.

Darling and Captain will begin a new song. I pray their lyrics do not lose their sweetness…that the God who dwells within them always has a place at their table.

And to Miss Green and Miss Pink, my new grandchildren…you are the sunshine on a cloudy day.

05
Jun
10

june 6

This is the 3-month anniversary of Adopted Daughter, Bettina’s, death—exactly 13 weeks. The few weeks following were sometimes numb and sometimes sharp, but I was busy with preparations for her Memorial on March 27. Once that was over it seemed like life became mostly gray and I have been slogging through from oasis to oasis ever since. This is grieving 101.

My big sister Florence, a mother to me, died 2 years ago of T-Cell Lymphoma and I grieved, but in a different way. My sister and Bettina were my cancer buddies. We understood each other…walked with each other. I am the only survivor and there is a deep loneliness to that. What more can I say? Cancer: I wrote about it on my website, inheritanceproject-2.com, Project 5, Dying to Live. Check it out. No sugar coating. I write about how it really was. Cancer…the Black Plague of the modern age. I’m thinking of doing a similar project about how I experienced care giving. How it was and what it meant to me. I’ll have to give this some serious thought. Might be too soon. In the meantime… Love.

My soon to be new grandchildren are coming to visit in a half hour. Darling Daughter is getting married. Life goes on. I will write about this too and show you pictures. Grace.

29
May
10

beyond pentecost

A great deal has happened since I last wrote. A dear friend of mine advised me to speak to my community…to tell them what I need to feel at home with them. I took his advice, and although painful to be so vulnerable, I believe doing so has released the bird in me from the wire that held me fast, and has provided freedom to move…eventually to fly once again. This time I must learn a new flight pattern—a slow and easy circling pattern that allows for the inevitable waiting that is often the life of faith. I am a bird flying carefully and quietly so that I hear God’s voice and feel the leading of the Spirit. I have a lot to learn at the same time that I have so very much to give. Holding the Both and the And together, while walking forward with a basket of life balanced on my head.

Tonight I went to bed early but couldn’t get to sleep. Night can be a very difficult time for those of us who are loss-prone. All the needles and threads of daytime busyness fade into the deep, velvety-blue, darkness of night and there is no covering. I deeply miss adopted daughter, Bettina, whose let’s get it done energy melded so well with mine, allowing me to venture forth in foreign lands with bravery. There are birds who fly on the loft others create in flight formation. I am learning to fly solo and grateful for the several friends whom God has provided as air traffic controllers during this time of transition and initiation. They are my angels. I think they know who they are…

At night I turn on my Taize music, take my meds, turn off the light and wait for Bella, my little orange cat, to come join me. I talk to God. I say everything and nothing. I pour out wordless thoughts and painful experiences. It is my most intimate God time. I ask why and I ask how. I mostly ask for help. There are always tears. After a while Bella comes and with her comes Bettina to say, Goodnight Mamma. I like that.

My soul aches…not for any one thing or any one person. My soul aches for something it needs…God.

I am a bird circling high overhead, hoping it does not rain…preferring the clear blue of a sunny sky.

22
May
10

Pentecost Sunday

Tomorrow is Pentecost Sunday. It is a day of commemoration and celebration of the 50th day following the resurrection of Jesus—the day (according to the Acts of the Apostles, chapter 2) that the Holy Spirit was given to the apostles and other followers of Jesus. It is considered to be the birth of the Christian Church.

Today, as I prepare to dress the altar in my current place of worship, I am painfully reminded of Pentecost Sunday, 2009, a day that began beautifully and joyously in the church I was attending, but ended in gut-wrenching pain and confusion for Big Dawg and me, as our request for membership was euphemistically burned at the stake. The church was in turmoil. We were in shock. The young, inexperienced pastors were immobilized, despite having been largely responsible for the disaster. Since that time nothing has been okay. There has been no respite, no core reconciliation and no going forward. This church has added another sad chapter to it’s history of passive/aggressive behavior. And we languish in the field wondering where we will ever find a comfortable fit in the Body of Christ. There is something so glaringly wrong with this picture. BD and I initiated and expressed forgiveness to the pastoral leadership, yet no confession of responsibility has reached us…sorrow for loss, but not accountability.

I live in a church world I do not understand. There is a bedrock of discipleship, but it is in dire need of a face-lift. No one likes change, but change it must and eventually will. The question is: how many dead and mangled bodies will be piled up along the way? I’m feeling pretty mangled right now. I’m so messed up that I actually miss the church that threw us out! But it is not the same and one cannot go backward. Everything changes and everything stays the same. What a conundrum! I am once again a bird on a wire, and it’s not a comfortable place to be.

At the church I currently attend, I am accepted, but I do not feel affirmed. They don’t seem to see the difference. It’s a cultural thing, I guess. Teutonic peoples are very different from demonstrative middle easterners. When AD was with us, we were a unit. Now I am feeling alone. They tell me it takes longer than a year to feel a part of things. Now why on earth—in God’s Good Church—should that be the case? Why indeed? I have no acceptable answer, but it appears to be my problem.

I am a mass of painful memories, losses and lack of purposeful direction.

If you have a suggestion, please pass it on.

My prayer is very simple: Please help me.

25
Mar
10

birds would walk

I heard an ornithologist say in a documentary program, that birds would walk if they could. That’s how he explained the ostrich and the penguins and the 40 some species of other flightless birds. He said that most of them have evolved in the absence of predators. Hmm, I wonder about this. Why would a bird give up that incredible gift of flying? Why not keep flying on the back burner as a fun thing to do every now and again, just for the heck of it? Evolution, he said.

Well, I envy the birds who fly and fly and fly. I am a bird—clearly evolved past flying—yet something I feel/imagine. My bones, though small, are way too heavy to fly, and yet I think that I should be able to do so. I fly in spirit. Right now, my wings are wet and heavy with grief, so I only make circles low to the ground.

I have entered a time of life when losses seem to be piling up all around me. But still I fly…maybe not so high, maybe not so joyfully, maybe not so vigorously…probably more mournfully than not. But God has provided some angels to walk with me. Each one strokes and dries a different feather. I need all these angels and am grateful for them, even if I don’t seem to sound that way. One of these angels gave me a book that I often read at night. Last night I found this poem. Listen:

THE HYMNS OF THE EARTH

I wanted to be a hermit and only hear the hymns
of the earth, and the laughter of the sky,

and the sweet gossip of the creatures on my limbs,
the forests.

I wanted to be a hermit and not see another face
look upon mine and tell me I was not
all the beauty in this
world.

For so many faces do that–
cage us.

The wings we have are so fragile
they can break from just
one word, or

a glance void
of love.

I wanted to live in that cloister of
light’s silence

because, is it not true, the heart
is so fragile and shy.

St. Catherine of Siena (translated by Daniel Ladinsky from his book, Love Poems from God.

26
Feb
10

there is now

My days have a quality of completeness…each one complete in itself. This is a very curious thing to me. I’ve always been a person connected to tomorrow, next week, next month…always looking ahead with lists and plans. Now my lists are contained and geared to completing each day without something important being forgotten. I am a care-giver for adopted daughter and I do this whole-heartedly, because our relationship no longer has tomorrows and next years in it. It is now…today…this minute, this hour. There will be no retirement for the three of us…no peace van  with satellite dish on top to roam the country like a traveling road show. There is now and I am thankful for that.

AD calls me mama all the time now and I respond naturally. I am old enough to be her mama. We met shortly after her mother’s untimely death. Her mother and I were close to the same age at the time. I wonder if I could have been a good mother to one as talented, smart and…dare I say it… headstrong as AD? I doubt it. In those days I was barely able to keep house and home together. I have grown through the years. No going back.

Today I am more than I was a year ago. There is a part of me that has blossomed because of our friendship. In the last couple of weeks we have come to call ourselves “a good team” and that is true. We are a good team for progressive change—making things happen. I am the emotional-intuitive. She is the intuitive-analytical. Together we make a good team and we continue to be that until she slips off into the last days and hours. And maybe even then, I might find it continues. She says she will be hovering and I will know. It has been my experience that persons important to me lie deep in my heart after they pass away—become part of me.

This is AD’s favorite picture of herself…




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