Vanity, vanity, all things are vanity.

Dr. Wright says the basis of all loss (ergo-grief) is attachment. As I read that it highlights for me my attachment to Hans. This is another wonderful part of grief—the unveiling at how deep our feelings (attachments) are. I actually didn't think I was that attached to him. So it comes at a surprise and at a time when you can do nothing about it. But had I known, perhaps pride would not have kept my lips as sealed, but humbling myself I could have let outflowing love surround him. But instead I kept it in a reservoir marked "honeymoon" though we often talked about "those days" when we were embarrassingly free and bold. I am reminded of Fiddler on the Roof when Tevia's wife asks him, "Do you love me?" He says "Do I love you?" And then goes on to say a thousand things, but never quite says yes.

But attachment is a loaded word for me, for I am steeped in the theology of St. John of the Cross and I believe in the validity of a holy detachment from not only the things of earth but the things of the Spirit. And so I ponder. . . the whole notion of attachment. Part of my training has been in the theory of human development and the inherent quest for attachment. It is the unformed soul searching for God. At first our attachments are toward ma and then da and then siblings, peers and back then again toward the "one." These attachments form our concept of self. Then Christ comes and rips them all apart, reordering our "loves" as St. Bernard says. We love too much actually. And how does that fit in with Jesus making us "one" in marriage. If so, then why can't he undo that in death? And why does he hate divorce? What is really going on? We are not Buddhists holding ourselves from any attachments. For us, they are grist of real life...giving ourselves for others...but then loss becomes a way of life for us. I, perhaps, am too Greek. Hans always accused me of this. . .I want freedom from feeling anything which causes me pain and suffering. . . Wright says, any attachment will cause loss if removed. Even my old memories cause me pain. I remember traveling up Highway 28 on a motorcycle. . . the land was empty of homes back then. The ride was wild and full of adventure  in  1974. But those happy days of youth are over.    I miss them, I mourn them and I have a million more pictures I could show you. It is the good things which cause us pain as well as the negative ones.

This is where it helpful to know your theology. These losses are designed to turn us back to God. . . so we don't find ourselves partying up until the end and then "surprise"! find ourselves staring at the face of an angry God. But I am tempted to detach from all things, which is clearly impossible. My recent camping  trip revealed that I am very attached to order, cleanliness, make-up, fresh clothes, fresh scents devoid of skunk odors, clean nails and hands....and  the older I get the worse I get at attaching to my creaturely comforts. Soon I will lose my sense of taste, sense of smell, my vision, my hearing, my hair, the spring in my step, my loved ones, my "ministry" and a thousand other things that define my life. How will I cope then?

I am very bleak today, but I am processing the meaning of life, again. And again. And who is this God who walks beside us by fire and cloud?

In a Blue Room

I am back at home from my journey to the "mountains." We worked very hard and spent a lot of money to spend one night and one day.  Overall it was enjoyable but there were many triggers and I'm not sure what to do with them all—I saw a white haired but fairly young couple holding hands and leisurely resting under some trees, others slowly walking around the campground. I wanted to run up to them and tell them to hold each other, to thank God for an uninterrupted time together and to remind them that they could still touch one another and serve each other coffee and laugh together and to never never never take it for granted. Then I watched Mike take Nicole her breakfast, get her chair for her, kiss her, and it was "no big deal"—it just seemed so normal. But  for me it was a like a thunderbold in my heart. Just like my friend whose parents hosted her birthday party. Her mom was fluttering around making sure everything was ready. Suddenly she noticed that the fireplace had to be lit. She turned to her husband and said, "Can you light it?" And off he went, no questions asked, just a dutiful response to his wife's immediate need. But for me it was the only thing I heard all night, "Sure honey." I saw Hans move forward to light the fire. I don't mean to...it just happens. Like a filter that has settled over my vision and try as hard as I can, I cannot rip it off. It isn't a filter really, it's a heavy rubber film that threatens to suffocate me.

On another level I dream of church service that doesn't exist. Every morning I long for it, wishing it into existence. I don't know where this is coming from. . . but it is like a ghost that haunts me. I see a quiet room with a blue ceiling. From the ceiling one can see a thousand little lights whose rays shoot out in all directions. The benches are round and there is thick carpeting beneath our feet. There is only a Bible. The most beautiful music in the world is playing, no words. Then slowly, the Holy Spirit descends and our hearts awaken to His presence. The music changes and we begin to hear His name. The saints of Taize are singing to the Lord in French, then German then English. The Africans follow next and then the Russians. The melody is haunting but firm. My heart begins to quake, all my sorrow is coming to the surface and Jesus is taking it away. All the tears that I have shed at his feet in the work of the ministry are pouring out of my eyes, all my disappointments in people are puddling at the bottom of the floor. I am embarrassed but I know it is God and therefore continue to submit to His grooming. He is holding me and I feel His pure pleasure in my service to him over the years. But I am cut up and seemingly martyred. This is a room for his ministers. It is the sacristy and we are once again putting on Christ. And then someone comes and reads from the Bible from Malachi. A word is spoken that is firm, sure and full of love. The service ends with a song from one individual, a man wearing a black sweater. He then sprinkles us with Holy Water and with it comes light, love and hope. He cries out in a loud voice, "Go out into the world and bless the nations!" A flute plays and we leave. No one speaks.

Under a Starry Sky

It's five AM on Friday and I am awake. I am thrown off by my upcoming trip to the mountains. Emmie is going with me today. This is immensely comforting although I know she will talk my head off the entire weekend. I am really looking forward to a contemplative weekend retreat. I either choose the comfort of this child, or the quiet of the wind. I can't bear the quiet yet, so a child it is!  As I view the social landscape, I see friends are moving on with their lives, joining things—living. All the old arrangements are shifting. What was is passing. Soon Julianne and the kids were be gone from my home and I won't hear the sound of little feet running around, or homework being done in the dining room. (Or dogs barking for that matter!) Those scenes are passing into what  used to be.

From a distance you can see how rapidly life moves...when yours stands stiller than theirs. I have lived on Half Moon now for almost two years and everything feels like yesterday was just yesterday. But for all those who I live with me in this city, I see that change is continual and rapid. They have been praying for change, and imperceptibly to them, it has changed...I wonder if they know it? Or just does it seem normal?  What about me? Have things been happening to me? In me? I am not so anxious to say yes. I get up everyday, I think everyday, I reflect everyday but I don't know about change.

Yesterday the Lord asked me to describe what is on the horizon of my heart. It was an interesting experience. I didn't realize that those visions, nudges and inklings were of His doing. Of course, what else would they be. I see that God is talking to me all the time, I just don't settle down long enough to perceive it. Yes, the cloud is moving on in my life also...even though I know some critical components, I can't predict how it will happen. I only know that a simple overnight stay in a nearby mountain range has made me anxious—leaving behind all that is supremely comforting. When did I become such a scaredy cat?  When "did the normal" feel as if it could be wiped away in a moment? These are the effects of grief. Well its only been six months.

Recently my brother in law (Hans' brother) got remarried. He had been widowed for a little over a year. I was simultaneously thrilled and horrified. I could not understand my reaction to his good news until I finally realized that it came from knowing that he was being taken away from the country of the dead. It was as if we who are widowed have leprosy and can only stretch our arms to those who are on the "inside" wishing ourselves a part of them—to somehow feel normal again. T's marriage was a reminder that I was being left outside with all the other lepers but that somehow he had been allowed to leave. I was thrilled that he could leave... and be loved again. But for me. . . I returned to my solitary confinement with only my rags to wear and greet other residents of this foreign country in which I now live.   It was a momentary reaction and I'm over it now.

Do you see how I am out in left field all the time? Does any of this sound normal to you? I don't know myself any longer. In a way it is kind of exciting. My emotional landscape is totally different than anything I have ever known. It's kind of like being a newly arrived Martian on planet earth. The only hindrance is the fear that accompanies every decision, every turn in the road.

Well, I will make coffee now. Slowly I will make my way to start packing. All this work for a night under the stars. God, let there be a star over my house tonight. . . that once again points me to Christ?

I will think of you all tonight, sleeping under the same moon...El Paso, Las Cruces and the world. Wishing you a merry Christmas.

Blessings.

Mondays Always Make Me Blue

Hans died on a Monday at 6PM more or less. They say that death is a process and not a single moment. Long before the 6PM moment, he was already in heaven.. or at least in the presence of God. A week before he died, we scraped the back of his throat and the gag reflex was already gone. So. . . the signs were there in the physical. They were there in the spiritual also.


Nevertheless, Mondays come around every week and I am downcast again.  Oddly, I do not remember the 25th of every month which marks another month gone by.  Mondays are the mile markers for me.  I am not "getting better" every month because emotionally there is no time. That is what makes humanity so complex. We have chronological time and then we have "meaningful" time. For instance, I still "feel" 35  though I am way older than that. When I see other people my age, I cringe. It couldn't possibly be that I look that way too? Puffy cheeked, saggy eyes, rounded middle? Oh...the sadness of losing life, quickly or suddenly. It constantly reminds me that this life is a journey. You know, I don't really like that expression at all. For me it makes this life seem cheap and irrelevant. But I don't feel that way about my own life. My experience has been one of magnificent growth, revelation amidst fears, challenges, suffering and confusion. Every moment along the road, even the long dry spells have been fraught with mystery and wild abandonment to the unknown and as yet unperceived will of God. But the message is "This will not go on forever." There is a point to the journey. . . there is a point to my calling. . . to reach the end for which I was created. That telios point in time when I can say, "I am done" or "It is finished" having become and accomplished the life and work I was called to have according to His riches in glory.


Not long ago, Jesus told me, "Hans finished his race, now you finish yours." Of course. Jesus acts as if He doesn't even see the four foot sword that is still protruding from my heart.  And so I go on. I go to church (once in awhile) and see friends, eat out, go to movies and even give classes, and all the while, this sword is there. No one says a thing about it, so polite society has become. But then, what can you say? I get bored with the same old message...."some days good, other days not so good." What can one say? Only another widow or widower would understand. I am beginning to think that this sword will stay there and become part of my personality. I know, you disagree, you think that it will get smaller over time, but actually I don't think so. Perhaps it will become scar tissue, stretch marks if you will. You say to me, that even Jesus' wounds eventually became scars. So not this?  Not on this side.  I kind of think that this sword is used for the battle against evil, against distortion of the truth. I'm not making this into theology....but perhaps I may.


I am writing a lot these days. I have just finished writing a beautiful course on the Prophets. I am also done with the editorial changes to the Genesis Touch, and I am writing my autobiography. Almost everyone I know is in it. Look for it on sale at your local news stand. I am moving on to writing the series on "perfection" which Hans and I wrote together. I am giving several classes in January. One is the "The History of Theology in the West."   I quote from the Wesleyan website:

"Wesley (Charles) died on Wednesday March 2, 1791, in his eighty-eighth year. As he lay dying, his friends gathered around him, Wesley grasped their hands and said repeatedly, 'Farewell, farewell.' At the end, summoning all his remaining strength, he cried out, 'The best of all is, God is with us,' lifted his arms and raised his feeble voice again, repeating the words, 'The best of all is, God is with us.'"

Hans sounded just like this. He could talk about nothing but God at the end. I wanted him to embrace me, to love me, to tell me how beautiful were my eyes were to him..yadda yadda...but he could only see God, and His eyes. What a fellow he was. Dr. Munoz, his primary doctor said of him, "They don't make men like Hans  anymore and they never will again." It is true although I'm sure it can be said of all of us on some level. Will there ever be another Wesley? Another Hans? 

 But the line that really struck me is "Wesley died..." So...I softly whistle under my breath...he died too. Death is such an oxymoron to the living that it finds no cubby hole in our reality, really. We cannot understand the cessation of a person, his disappearance. Like my friend, Melanie Wayne wonders, "Where are they really?" Well, a just man lives by faith. We do not know, but we believe.