Behind the Waterfall

It is Sunday morning and several things are happening. I must go to church and two of my grandchildren leave today. Having them here has been my attempt to get to know them although they have been very "tied up" with the El Paso grandchildren. It has been one big party all week. As a result of this, my grief has been minimal, seeping out only at night or when they are gone. Next to my desk is Hans' tie, watch and glasses. Things from which he was inseparable. Now it looks like he has been raptured and only his effects remain, body gone. Yesterday I was able to make a joke—not finding Hans' favorite bbq brush, I said, "Dad must have taken it with him."

The day before, Emmie was triggered by the swimming pool, remembering Grandpa taking her for a dip when she was little. The grief moments are less and what I am waiting for is the ability to think about H. with only joy and happiness. It's also odd that I have prayed for many people going through loss and Jesus took away their pain with just a simple request. But for me there is no respite except the passage of time and the sifting through the muddled feelings.

Sometimes I blame God, sometimes I blame Adam, sometimes I blame myself, sometimes I blame the cat.  I pour over pictures, memories, and events together, but after all is said and done, it still feels like I am at the end of the road. The truth is that I have turned the corner only I haven't been looking at my horizon—so deep into the details of life have I been. I must keep focused on the bigger picture.

On a wonderful note, Benjamin, Julianne's child has turned out to be a evangelist and has greatly influenced the other grandchildren who were open to truth. They are taking bibles home with them and are actually excited about it. Benjamin told them they HAD to change their lives and follow Jesus. So last night they laid in all their beds reading their Bibles. Shame on me. This morning Reese and I rummaged through all the Bibles looking for one that she liked. "Pray to the Lord for harvesters for the field is white with harvest." It was yesterday's meditation. But right under my own nose?

It feels like there are two clocks by which I live—an outer clock and an inner one. The outer one is rushing by...filled with dinners, friends and appointments. The inner clock moves slowly and quietly and measures time by the memories.  Honestly, I really miss Hans. I miss him the most at the end of the day when we found refuge in one another and from the world. Even the world of our children and we just found one another. Like the author of "The Shack"Bill Young says, he is just behind the waterfall. And until this mortal puts on immortality there will be no sighting.

The Search for Wisdom

Good morning. It is 6AM and I have been up for a while. There are no new metaphors in my head. The horizon of my state of being is flat again, perhaps a little nervous since I am heading for eye surgery on Friday. The surgery is not without risk. But what could be worse than today? Blindness might give me a new lease in life or for sure seal the deal and I would want to move on for sure. My life is seldom boring.

There is, I might say, a tentative excitement in the air as I move farther away from April 25, 2011. I am changing I can tell.  My denial is coming to an end and I am beginning to view the future without Honey. He would want me too...he would be disappointed in my giving up. He would actually be shocked. I'm sure he thought "I would be just fine without him." He was part of the process of making me whole. I thought I would be "just fine" without him too. That's how big of a fool I was. Marriage is a strange spiritual knot. The pain in death and divorce prove the existence of spiritual ties—their breaking can be heard around the world.

I am reading a book whose subtext is called the 'search for wisdom." The gist is that the older people have more wisdom than the young and this author is trying to cull it out of them. So he interviews people over 70 years old to discover how they use their "wisdom." Or how does their wisdom play out in real life. One 94 year old decided to get involved in passing the McCain-Feingold bill in her state. She was constantly on the phone cajoling senators to pass it. "She would nap in the afternoons and scrap it out in the mornings while her husband of 80 something would increasingly withdraw into his own little world of sleep and television. She outlived him. Maybe "wisdom" was really more temperament rather than "wisdom."

All I know is that desire to withdraw into my room and watch nothing but movies is a real threat to my call and the remainder of life. I have to push through to light. I have so many things still left to teach and so much spiritual energy in me. But . . . my flesh is weak and the devils are strong. If you see me advertising something you will know a miracle has taken place. I might begin with something easy... like ministry skills..or church planting. All of these are easy things for me. The life of virtue and devotion is more taxing. The most fulfilling and requiring the most preparation is teaching the bible which oddly enough is more rewarding than anything else.  God's word is like honey on the tongue. Incredibly sweet.

How does a young "old person" use their wisdom? How does a Christian allow wisdom to guide them? I wonder about that in my own life. I must make decisions now completely alone and as a free agent. It is a bit challenging.

Please pray for me on Friday at 9AM. Pray for Dr. Gulbas and staff. Pray he has a steady hand and isn't hung over or something awful like that. Ask Jesus to guide his instruments.

The Invisible Hand of Love

Yesterday I woke early and went out in the backyard. I picked up dog poop in the morning dew. Soft and icky, but gathered in a big pile, Then I offered it as an offering to the gods of the modern life—the trash barrel as my altar. I proceeded to cut the grass with a nifty lawnmower than was practically humming with pleasure as it did its neat little trim job on the unruly grass. The lawn was finally green having fertilized multiple times. I picked up lawn chairs and shaved behind the ears. Then hauled off all the clippings to the trash. I rearranged the patio furniture and set the table with white linens and candles, all the while the dogs were thinking we were having a party. They couldn't wait for the cupcakes so they got in a big fight with one another over some scrap which lay on the ground. It was a chewed up ball. Then I shocked the pool and set up a picnic table with colorful umbrellas. In my jamies still i went ot the front yard and watered all the desert plants which were wilting with thirst. It was now 11 AM and I was still going strong, raking and pulling up dead things and watering my feet with the hose every once in a while. Running into the bathroom I noticed my face was BRIGHT red..fruits of a busy life. Then I took a shower and made myself beautiful (or so I thought.) Wondering the whole time, how is it that I had all this energy and still wasn't tired. I said "Who has done this?" Who had taken care of the lawn for me. The chores of Friday, having cleaned the garage and emptied the sad space into an orderly picture. Where did the life to do this come from? Who is working with me to take care of this place? Things that my earthly husband had done for me...always...making sure that I lived in a miniature castle. A queen for sure. Now someone was performing magical tasks around my place and it wasn't me, yet it was.

Was my heavenly bridegroom loving me? Didn't my patio look festive and ready for a sweet time in the spirit as I walked the grounds this Sunday morning, the dogs quiet in repose? Who in the world had done all this work?

But  yet I miss the sure hand of the flesh of Jesus. His gift to me of a thousand fold. A man whose name I have taken forever...Christian.

The Pillar and the Cloud

Every day is like the same. Nothing new under the sun. I wake up with pain and I go to sleep with pain. I somehow manage to exist during the day. The days do not grow easier to bear. I just keep going. But neither to the left nor to the right do I see the cloud or the pillar of fire. I have no direction except the beating of my own heart which refuses to stop. Last night a wicked thought came to my mind as I held the bottle of sleeping pills. I knew that even though I cannot hear my Master's voice, there are other presences readily available to speak. I must journey on, even in the dark. I share my burden with the only one who understands how the wearing of the yoke and mantle feels, the Christ himself. My head is too small for just one. It holds the treasures of eternity and no one mind can store its weight and so I must return the gift of abundance back to the giver.  s

Lady Cowman's book was written for me. She writes her story on every page. Streams in the Desert is  finding that stream of refreshing in a dry gnarly wilderness where only the gila monsters and jackals live.

Oh where is the hidden stranger who walks beside me? Where is the rescuer and the comforter? Where do they hide in the night. I cannot be still for the forest of noise overwhelms me with its silence and my heart returns to April 25, 2011. Night after night the scene replays its majestic and awesome picture that severed my heart in two.

A Place That He Has Made

Here's a poem that signified something for me. What does it for you?

Have you come to the Red Sea place in your life?
When, in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back.
Then wait upon the Lord with a trust serene
Till the night of your fear is gone.

He will send the wind, He will keep the floods,
When He says to your soul, "Move on."

And His hand will lead you through-clear through--
Ere the watery walls roll down,
No foe can reach you, no wave can touch,
No mightiest sea can drown,
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But o'er the seabed you will walk dry ground
In the path that your Lord shall make.

In the morning watch, 'neath the lifted cloud
you will see but the Lord alone
When He leads you on from the place of the sea,
To a land that you have not known;
And your fears will pass as your foes have passed,
You will be no more afraid,
You will sing His praise in a better place,
A place that His hand has made.

Annie Johnson Flint (Streams in the Desert)

Thin threads

It has been some days now since I have not been in constant pain. Perhaps I am ending the mourning period in an unprecedented speed. Just like God to do that for me. His sparrows. I still have no joy however, but simple pleasures are beginning to return. I still spend an inordinate time online and watching movies or reading. My work suffers terribly. I work slowly on the taxes and pray that Uncle Sam understands grief with its highs and lows, no its lows and very lows.

There have been such odd things that have brought comfort to me in this period. I am beginning to think that I don't really know myself at all. I feel like I am in a straight jacket half the time and need to be spoon fed tiny bites of something called medicine. For example, yesterday I was reading about CS Lewis' life after his wife died. He never recovered from her loss. The author said that here was man that knew God and knew the ways of God and yet after her death, he never wrote again. He was effectively silenced and never again wrote another word. He also became an effective deist. I too have trouble trusting God now. I can't seem to muster up the faith walk again. He will have to carry me through until I can see the sunshine once again. I feel very much like the disciples on the road to Emmaus who were grief sticken, saying to the stranger who walked beside them, "We had hoped...."

It is a terrible moment when your hopes are lost. Hope is a priceless gift of salvation and for the first time I cannot see my future, nor could they. They were returning to the life they had known before. My problem is that I didn't have a life before that I can return too. But gladly, the disciples were not left in the dark, and rejoiced when  they recognized him in the breaking of the bread, which I hope soon, will happen to me.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have suspected I would end up on this barren island yet I am beginning to get used to the endless shores of what is before me. Nothing can separate me from the love of God, but it sure feels like the thread is very very thin.

Endings

It has been some days since I posted. Mostly because I have been flatlining in my emotional life. I have had neither bad days nor good ones. Though I am absorbed by finishing taxes and an endless supply of movies, my head has been clear of thoughts, heart freed from anguish. Yet my questions remain. I am only trodding now, hoping that putting one foot in front of another will lead me to where I want to go. Which is I don't know where. I wish we had a beach or an ocean or something cosmically grand to look upon. I am unable to see the big picture right now and I am sure that is what I lack. The other word of note is that I hear nothing from God, but the silence of the leaves falling outside my window as the wind does spring cleaning again and again. Even my flowers have died. The desert heat is too harsh for the tender flowers. But the pain is gone. I am not looking at pictures anymore. It is less painful than to remember. I am grateful to the a/c man that he solved a mystery to which Hans and I worked frantically to solve and never did. Sometimes only an expert can handle these things. Our knowledge is limited. I apply this principle to the mysterious ending of my life with Hans.