There were no divine encounters today. There were no mishaps either. There were no soiled sheets or falls to the ground. There were only a few words today. We are all tired—sleeping most of the afternoon. Morning was filled by loving visitors. The refrigerator is overflowing with food. Meals are an undisguised blessing. The role food plays in this time of grief and loss is intriguing. We are constantly opening the refrigerator to nibble. Quiet music fills the house most of the day. By evening we are all spent. Even our evening prayer time peters out. By 9:30 I can no longer pray or read Scripture, I must return to Hans, who sleeps right next to the room in which we pray. I am like a drunk woman weaving to his side. I get in bed with him, circling his body with mine. I sleep. All the lights are on in the room, I see and hear nothing.
I am worried that he will die while I am reading or talking, or God forbid, laughing with someone. We do a lot of laughing here and I would never forgive myself if he died while I was being frivolous.
I was at Penney's yesterday trying to find booties for Hans. I buy all of his clothes there. I realized that I would never again buy him anything from there or anywhere. I regretted immediately all the years that I hadn't cherished the ability to do so. Had I known that someday it would come to an end I would have given more thought to "us." See, that's the problem. I guess I thought we would go on forever.
I wonder if I will ever dress in nice clothes again.Will there ever be a point to my life again? I am walking through tar pits in the Spirit. Every step feels sloshy and unsteady.
What will I do with his tools? His projects, the books? Everything will remind me of the hardships of the last twenty-seven years, of the tremendous suffering we endured as a result of the Gospel. Our remains are pitiful rags really. Nothing of estate value, not even worth an ebay sale. Our treasures are hidden in heaven.
There are a million things that are loosed at death. I will be single again. That is the strangest thought of all. What will I do and where will I go? I am like a loaded caravan of spiritual treasures, it is hard to park your herd at Walmart or Comfort Inn. I am bearing spiritual gifts and I am also pregnant.
I am pregnant with the Word of God which yearns to bear spiritual children. I don't want to be a single parent.
I am in my own room again. I am thinking these thoughts. Hans wants to know in wakeful moments, "What do you think?" How do you say the unspeakable? We are like a young couple who had sealed their fate with a Captain that has taken them to every foreign port in the world, and has shown them every treasure the earth possesses. And suddenly, one of us is asked to get off the boat and leave the other to go on alone. It is unthinkable. The Captain is silent.
Another captain says I am suffering. It's true. Suffering with joy. Is that even possible? Yes, it is one of the paradoxes of the Christian faith.
I lament the end it is true. But here is the funny thing. I lament the end of hardship and trial—this is all I have ever known and I think it is life. But it is the wilderness. And though we made love in the desert, it was only a desert. If I lament too much then my theology is wrong. And everyone knows that my theology is never wrong—for I know only too well, that the end of the trail is Jesus and the garden restored.
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