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.