Someone handed something to me tonight ....a gentle reminder of the role we play in our children's lives.
God's Lent Child
"I'll lend for you a little while
A child of mine," God said -
"For you to love the while
she lives,
And mourn for when she's dead.
It may be one or two years
Or forty two or three;
But will you, till I call her back,
Take care of her for me?
She'll bring her charms to
gladden you
And - (should her stay be brief) -
You'll have her lovely memories
As a solace for your grief.
I cannot promise she will stay,
Since ALL from earth return;
But the lessons taught below
I want this child to learn.
I've looked the whole world over
In search of teachers true;
And from the things that crowd
Life's lane - I have chosen you.
Will you give her all your love?
Nor think the labor vain?
Nor hate me when I come to take
This lent child back again?
I fancied that I heard them say
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done.
For joys Thy child will bring
The risk of grief will run.
We will shelter her with tenderness,
We'll love her while we may -
And for the happpiness we've known
Forever grateful stay.
But should Thy angels call her
Much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the grief that comes
And try to understand."
-Florence Correa
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
The Dogwood
When I was growing up one of the first flowers of spring were those on the sparse branches of the dogwood tree sitting in our front yard. It was just off the driveway and no matter what door we went out, it would catch our eye. I always noticed it, but really thought nothing of it. It wasn't a very big tree and it was far less lush than the crabapple or the incredible cluster of the cherry tree. This simple tree inspired no oohs and ahhs, but it never let us down. It was the first to bloom. My father was a bit of an amateur arborist, and he taught us quite a bit about the rhythms of nature, when things would bloom, heading off in search of pussy willows beyond our own yard, and cutting branch after branch of whatever was flowering at the time. But he never cut branches of the dogwood ...the bouquet was always ready for us just outside the door. Anyone making their First Communion would pose in front of that tree to have a picture taken, so it earned its place in our hearts and our storybooks. It was steady, sturdy, reliable ....but not nearly as grandstanding as most flowering trees. I hadn't thought too much of that tree until last year. In our backyard now is a tree that for the first three springs did nothing. It annoyed me a bit and I'd decided to cut it down. There was more I could do with that gardening space, perhaps a lilac, a cherry ....something that made a statement ...delighted me in the spring. Incredibly, just as I had firmed up my decision to chop down the tree ...it bloomed. One morning, I noticed buds, tiny ... Hmm, I thought. The following morning it had unfurled the tiny buds and there were the flowers of the dogwood. I was so, so excited and greatly relieved I had not taken the ax to its narrow trunk. What a gift! I loved the simplicity of this tree, some branches barely had leaves, never mind blossoms ...and that appealed to me even more, the starkness only augmenting the beautiful simplicity. Phoebe arrived in the kitchen and joined me at the window. "See that tree, I was going to cut it down." I said. "Why?" she asked, not a fan of disturbing nature. I told her it hadn't bloomed in all the time we had been in this house, and I was totally surprised to see those beautiful flowers now. She listened to my excitement, knowing how much I love gardens and flowers and flowering trees. I told her about my childhood dogwood. She had smiled and laughed, listening to my tales and love of the dogwood. And that was the end of that, so I thought. But God and the dogwood had more for me, and God in the richness of His wisdom and His exquisite intimacy waited for the time when I could see the weaving of His grace ...how that day of the dogwood conversation was orchestrated so that I might understand something greater.
I love finding comments from readers. Most people I know, but sometimes I don't. A few were left by someone I didn't, but they were very thoughtful. I did some research and found one of her sites offering beautiful rosaries, handmade with great faith and love. The last one struck me, deep brown beads adorned with Christ on the Crucifix of a dogwood tree. She shared the story of the dogwood and the Crucifixion of our Savior, a story I had never heard. I was stunned, re-reading the source, one I favor very much because of its orthodoxy, holding fast to the traditions and truths. It tells of the legend that Christ was put to death on the Cross made from the dogwood tree. I had never heard this, but when I share this story others have ... I guess I wasn't meant to know until now.
"It is said at the time of the Crucifixion, the dogwood was comparable in size to the oak tree and other monarchs of the forest. Because of its firmness and strength it was selected as the timber for the Cross, but to be put to such a cruel use greatly distressed the tree. Sensing this, the crucified Jesus in His gentle pity for the sorrow and suffering of all said to it: "Because of your sorrow and pity for My sufferings, never again will the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used as a gibbet. Henceforth it will be slender, bent and twisted and its blossoms will be in the form of a cross -- two long and two short petals. In the center of the outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints -- brown with rust and stained with red -- and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see this will remember." - Fisheaters.com
For me, God is letting me know He understands my cross, my loss, and it is united to His own. My cross will bloom again, redemption and salvation are found only in Cross. Both joy and sorrow coexist in the Cross ...neither stands alone. Phoebe and I gazed at our dogwood together, my cross just months away from being given to me ...but we held our gaze ...together, and marveled at that flowering tree ...together. I never would have had that specific conversation with my girl had the tree bloomed as it should. There would be no excitement to share, no past to the present story, and so, no story to tell...but there was and is. For good reason that dogwood, ever faithful, waited to bloom just for me at that moment in time.
One more grace granted, one more abundant showing of His love for this sad mom, missing, so very, very much one extraordinary daughter. He lets me know too, that she knows ...she really does, and in some way, she is helping me carry the burden.
I held a branch in my hand today to see the rust stained tips, edged with crimson ...it blooms again. The Cross of death became the Cross of life ...for all time, for everyone. The humble dogwood ...
May you be blessed with the grace of Divine Mercy on this great feast day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
I love finding comments from readers. Most people I know, but sometimes I don't. A few were left by someone I didn't, but they were very thoughtful. I did some research and found one of her sites offering beautiful rosaries, handmade with great faith and love. The last one struck me, deep brown beads adorned with Christ on the Crucifix of a dogwood tree. She shared the story of the dogwood and the Crucifixion of our Savior, a story I had never heard. I was stunned, re-reading the source, one I favor very much because of its orthodoxy, holding fast to the traditions and truths. It tells of the legend that Christ was put to death on the Cross made from the dogwood tree. I had never heard this, but when I share this story others have ... I guess I wasn't meant to know until now.
"It is said at the time of the Crucifixion, the dogwood was comparable in size to the oak tree and other monarchs of the forest. Because of its firmness and strength it was selected as the timber for the Cross, but to be put to such a cruel use greatly distressed the tree. Sensing this, the crucified Jesus in His gentle pity for the sorrow and suffering of all said to it: "Because of your sorrow and pity for My sufferings, never again will the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used as a gibbet. Henceforth it will be slender, bent and twisted and its blossoms will be in the form of a cross -- two long and two short petals. In the center of the outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints -- brown with rust and stained with red -- and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see this will remember." - Fisheaters.com
For me, God is letting me know He understands my cross, my loss, and it is united to His own. My cross will bloom again, redemption and salvation are found only in Cross. Both joy and sorrow coexist in the Cross ...neither stands alone. Phoebe and I gazed at our dogwood together, my cross just months away from being given to me ...but we held our gaze ...together, and marveled at that flowering tree ...together. I never would have had that specific conversation with my girl had the tree bloomed as it should. There would be no excitement to share, no past to the present story, and so, no story to tell...but there was and is. For good reason that dogwood, ever faithful, waited to bloom just for me at that moment in time.
One more grace granted, one more abundant showing of His love for this sad mom, missing, so very, very much one extraordinary daughter. He lets me know too, that she knows ...she really does, and in some way, she is helping me carry the burden.
I held a branch in my hand today to see the rust stained tips, edged with crimson ...it blooms again. The Cross of death became the Cross of life ...for all time, for everyone. The humble dogwood ...
May you be blessed with the grace of Divine Mercy on this great feast day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Goodbyes
I sat with her for the last time, filled out the paperwork, had her sign. Our banter was typical of our visits together ...except this was our last time. This near centurion is moving, starting a new life in another place, closer to family. I'll miss her, but we've spoken of that for months as the move has been anticipated and arranged. She reminds me of how my mother might have been had she lived as long ...matter of fact, quick witted, well-read, politically astute yet non-invested ...at home with who she is ...and who she will become. Remarkable and inspiring, really. When providing care, our notes must state we followed doctor's orders and I always chuckle when I write that for her because truly, she is the one calling the shots. "You know what he wanted me to do .... Well, I went right down there and told him I didn't care what he thought, that he didn't know enough, and I refuse to follow his plan." And so often, I danced between the two ... and she was usually right, incredibly astute about her own body ...and her doctor readily admitted it. In fact, he had tremendous respect for this feisty woman.
I closed her file. I know I will miss her. I've had a comfort level with her, a natural sort of fit. I "get" her, have been able to help her navigate some challenging adjustments and decisions ....simply because we are "on the same wavelength," as she would say. I thought it was because she had lived in a coastal town next to my own ...we share the New England way ...a life steeped in salty air, nor'easters and lobster. No excuses for who she was, if she told you she was royalty, you'd believe her. I stall, not wanting to say goodbye. "When will your son arrive?" I ask. "Soon, he's en route as we speak." "You have one son?" She nods "Yes, only one ...but I had another, he died." I see ...I see where the familiarity comes from, it is not our geographic commonality ...it is this, this loss. "I'm sorry." She does not know of Phoebe. She tells me her story. "It's a wound that never heals she says ....but you know, the worst of it, the hardest part, is that people won't talk about him, as if he never was ...they think it will upset me. Upset me? What upsets me is to be forced into silence about him. He lived, he walked this planet ..was part of God's plan." She tells me more, and I see her son, hear his name. I can see his 21 year stride, fierce independence ...I can see." She speaks of him for a bit. "Oh, its something you can't really know, ever, if you've never looked it in the eye. People think other things are hard, harder even, but that's not true ..this is the biggest assault for a person, a parent." "Your kind to listen to me speak about him, I don't really get to ...and I like to." I hesitate ..."I lost my daughter in October" I choke out. She strikes her chest, lurches forward towards me ..."oh no, no ...then you know ...how old, what is her name?" I tell her and she wipes her eyes. "And you think you failed her don't you, you think you weren't good enough, didn't do enough ...I know, I know that's what you think isn't it?" I nod. "Yes, its true, its all so true." "But we did the best we could ...that's all we could do." We hold each other, me so fresh with grief ....her decades out, yet still hovering there. And we say goodbye ...she follows me to the door. "I will think of you and Phoebe and often, I really will." And I tell her I will do the same for her and her son.
I leave, heart lifted ...here she is years away, pushing nearly one hundred years of living ...and she is willing to make a change, remake her life, start afresh ...she has lived on in a good way ...knowing and loving God ...her lifeboat. I think back to my months of caring for her, and how often I'd laughed with her ...hunted her down only to find her flirting in the library, grumbling after that "he's married ...wouldn't you know!" Or chasing down a handsome young security guard with her walker, his panic stricken face, pleading with me to reign this old lady in as she yells "I'm a cougar, God made me that way." Approaching her apartment each visit I could just follow the music, KISS 108 blasting in her apartment twenty four hours a day, "Oh, I love this song!" as yet another song plays that I tell my kids to turn off. "I tell everyone here I'm moving cause I can't get anyone to dance with me ...you know, really dance, to this kind of music ...to really move." Yes, this broken-hearted women has lived, and loved ...and made me laugh. I will miss her ...but no doubt, I will always remember the brief joy she brought to my life.
Peaceful travels dear friend. And when the time comes ...safe home.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I closed her file. I know I will miss her. I've had a comfort level with her, a natural sort of fit. I "get" her, have been able to help her navigate some challenging adjustments and decisions ....simply because we are "on the same wavelength," as she would say. I thought it was because she had lived in a coastal town next to my own ...we share the New England way ...a life steeped in salty air, nor'easters and lobster. No excuses for who she was, if she told you she was royalty, you'd believe her. I stall, not wanting to say goodbye. "When will your son arrive?" I ask. "Soon, he's en route as we speak." "You have one son?" She nods "Yes, only one ...but I had another, he died." I see ...I see where the familiarity comes from, it is not our geographic commonality ...it is this, this loss. "I'm sorry." She does not know of Phoebe. She tells me her story. "It's a wound that never heals she says ....but you know, the worst of it, the hardest part, is that people won't talk about him, as if he never was ...they think it will upset me. Upset me? What upsets me is to be forced into silence about him. He lived, he walked this planet ..was part of God's plan." She tells me more, and I see her son, hear his name. I can see his 21 year stride, fierce independence ...I can see." She speaks of him for a bit. "Oh, its something you can't really know, ever, if you've never looked it in the eye. People think other things are hard, harder even, but that's not true ..this is the biggest assault for a person, a parent." "Your kind to listen to me speak about him, I don't really get to ...and I like to." I hesitate ..."I lost my daughter in October" I choke out. She strikes her chest, lurches forward towards me ..."oh no, no ...then you know ...how old, what is her name?" I tell her and she wipes her eyes. "And you think you failed her don't you, you think you weren't good enough, didn't do enough ...I know, I know that's what you think isn't it?" I nod. "Yes, its true, its all so true." "But we did the best we could ...that's all we could do." We hold each other, me so fresh with grief ....her decades out, yet still hovering there. And we say goodbye ...she follows me to the door. "I will think of you and Phoebe and often, I really will." And I tell her I will do the same for her and her son.
I leave, heart lifted ...here she is years away, pushing nearly one hundred years of living ...and she is willing to make a change, remake her life, start afresh ...she has lived on in a good way ...knowing and loving God ...her lifeboat. I think back to my months of caring for her, and how often I'd laughed with her ...hunted her down only to find her flirting in the library, grumbling after that "he's married ...wouldn't you know!" Or chasing down a handsome young security guard with her walker, his panic stricken face, pleading with me to reign this old lady in as she yells "I'm a cougar, God made me that way." Approaching her apartment each visit I could just follow the music, KISS 108 blasting in her apartment twenty four hours a day, "Oh, I love this song!" as yet another song plays that I tell my kids to turn off. "I tell everyone here I'm moving cause I can't get anyone to dance with me ...you know, really dance, to this kind of music ...to really move." Yes, this broken-hearted women has lived, and loved ...and made me laugh. I will miss her ...but no doubt, I will always remember the brief joy she brought to my life.
Peaceful travels dear friend. And when the time comes ...safe home.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Knitting II
I have a friend I've always thought most resembled the Blessed Mother in both looks and manner. She, of course, giggles and thinks that's preposterous to draw such a comparison ...and that, no doubt, reinforces the comparison. Like most faithful women I know, she's bears a heavy burden she never asked for, not of her own doing in any way ...and yet, if you know her, you grow to cherish the joy radiating from her very being ....always. Another faith filled woman shared with me recently that 'happiness comes from circumstance, while joy comes from God.' That makes sense to me. Joy is my friends hallmark quality ...constant. My friend could complain a lot ....all day ...every day ...and few would fault her, most would understand ...even expect it. But this incredible woman does not complain usually ...and when she does it is of her own imperfection ...her own reluctance to trust God in all areas at all times. She does not whine or question her circumstance. She is, quite simply, an incredible witness of grace ...and faith. She is pure courage in the face of adversity ...the face of broken dreams and broken promises. I can not imagine anything less than God's pure delight in her way ....her life, her witness.
She loved Phoebe ...every inch and ounce ....every smile and frown ...she simply loved my daughter who gave me the run of my life. Often times she would run along beside me, panting, telling me I would catch my breath one day, but for now ...just keep going and chasing ...and we would laugh and laugh at how great this girl, my Phoebe, was and how she drained every bit of life out of every bit of living. And now my friend tends to me like a bird with a broken wing, soothing and encouraging, telling me how high I will fly again. We've walked some difficult miles together, learned to love God together ...and in ways she scoffs at, she has been a lifeline ...a promise to me. No weight she bears, clouds her gaze of God's beauty and gifts.
Because of all this, and far, far more ...she reminds me of the Blessed Mother.
A few nights ago I had a dream about her ... I had been searching for her, needing to ask something. Finding her, she was standing, knitting needles in hand. I couldn't see them at first, all I could see was this beautiful garment of some sort draping from her hands. It was all shades of beige and gold. "What are you making, this is gorgeous?" I said. "Oh, this ...I just figured it would be good for anything really ...I could wear it to work, to a football game ..anywhere. It's long enough to keep me warm." I was staring at it as she spoke and realized it was made of translucent gold, capturing the light, but in a very subtle way. I was fixated on it as it literally took away my breath. Her hands continued to work fast and I could see tiny knitting needles that darted about as she spoke to me, humored by my compliments. "Oh, come on, its so simple." "Will you teach me ...?" I asked. "Of course, but I really don't even need to you can do this without my help." I laughed "No, I have no idea where to even begin." She told me she would, and I was so pleased, but she thought it ridiculous.
This woman has no idea the beautiful life she has 'knit', teaching us how to make a pleasing robe,fitting to wear before God ...That's what I saw in this dream ...that she is in my life to teach me this craft, this craft of knitting a life for God.
I told her of that dream and we both cried ...her refusing to see herself as she was in that dream. I am so blessed with knowing her for that ...and blessed for knowing how she loves Phoebe ...making her feel special whenever she saw her ...as she does for each of my children.
That dream makes me wonder what kind of life I am knitting for God. How much do I complain and rage at what He has offered me ...I think I am knitting a poncho of an ugly color filled with burrs ...you know those nasty things of nature you can't get off your clothes? Do I have the courage to lay down the needles and yarn I've been using, and pick up the ones that will knit for me a translucent stole of gold? Do I have the courage to stop counting my loss and begin counting the miraculous blessings that begin with each and every breath of living? Do I have the courage to be a daughter of God by silencing my tongue and following His way ...even when it is the way of the Cross? Like my friend?
Do I have the courage to smile and open my heart to the cleansing balm of loss ....so that I might gain, not just for me ...but for everyone around me? I pray for that .... for that courage to truly be His daughter ...to truly live in His way ...and not the way of the world.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
She loved Phoebe ...every inch and ounce ....every smile and frown ...she simply loved my daughter who gave me the run of my life. Often times she would run along beside me, panting, telling me I would catch my breath one day, but for now ...just keep going and chasing ...and we would laugh and laugh at how great this girl, my Phoebe, was and how she drained every bit of life out of every bit of living. And now my friend tends to me like a bird with a broken wing, soothing and encouraging, telling me how high I will fly again. We've walked some difficult miles together, learned to love God together ...and in ways she scoffs at, she has been a lifeline ...a promise to me. No weight she bears, clouds her gaze of God's beauty and gifts.
Because of all this, and far, far more ...she reminds me of the Blessed Mother.
A few nights ago I had a dream about her ... I had been searching for her, needing to ask something. Finding her, she was standing, knitting needles in hand. I couldn't see them at first, all I could see was this beautiful garment of some sort draping from her hands. It was all shades of beige and gold. "What are you making, this is gorgeous?" I said. "Oh, this ...I just figured it would be good for anything really ...I could wear it to work, to a football game ..anywhere. It's long enough to keep me warm." I was staring at it as she spoke and realized it was made of translucent gold, capturing the light, but in a very subtle way. I was fixated on it as it literally took away my breath. Her hands continued to work fast and I could see tiny knitting needles that darted about as she spoke to me, humored by my compliments. "Oh, come on, its so simple." "Will you teach me ...?" I asked. "Of course, but I really don't even need to you can do this without my help." I laughed "No, I have no idea where to even begin." She told me she would, and I was so pleased, but she thought it ridiculous.
This woman has no idea the beautiful life she has 'knit', teaching us how to make a pleasing robe,fitting to wear before God ...That's what I saw in this dream ...that she is in my life to teach me this craft, this craft of knitting a life for God.
I told her of that dream and we both cried ...her refusing to see herself as she was in that dream. I am so blessed with knowing her for that ...and blessed for knowing how she loves Phoebe ...making her feel special whenever she saw her ...as she does for each of my children.
That dream makes me wonder what kind of life I am knitting for God. How much do I complain and rage at what He has offered me ...I think I am knitting a poncho of an ugly color filled with burrs ...you know those nasty things of nature you can't get off your clothes? Do I have the courage to lay down the needles and yarn I've been using, and pick up the ones that will knit for me a translucent stole of gold? Do I have the courage to stop counting my loss and begin counting the miraculous blessings that begin with each and every breath of living? Do I have the courage to be a daughter of God by silencing my tongue and following His way ...even when it is the way of the Cross? Like my friend?
Do I have the courage to smile and open my heart to the cleansing balm of loss ....so that I might gain, not just for me ...but for everyone around me? I pray for that .... for that courage to truly be His daughter ...to truly live in His way ...and not the way of the world.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Baby Grace
Baby Grace was born at 12:15 AM today, 8lbs, 12 oz. Mom and baby are healthy.
All is well.
Thank you for all your prayers!
All is well.
Thank you for all your prayers!
Monday, April 25, 2011
How Great Thou Art
I think Carrie Underwood just sang this song for me ...Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLLMzr3PFgk
Yeah, He's pretty great!
The pain of losing Phoebe ...the missing, I know will pale in comparison to the glory of eternity and my reunion with her. God's generosity will NEVER be outdone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLLMzr3PFgk
Yeah, He's pretty great!
The pain of losing Phoebe ...the missing, I know will pale in comparison to the glory of eternity and my reunion with her. God's generosity will NEVER be outdone.
Welcome
Please pray for our friend who is laboring as I type. Katie is a wonderful young mother whose fourth child will likely be born today. Please pray for a safe, comfortable deliver ...for the doctors and nurses who will care for her and for Mike, Katie's husband. Keep their whole family in your prayers today as they welcome another wee one into the fold. They are among the most generous, compassionate people walking this planet, and while they are always giving without ceasing to others, I beg everyone to pause for a moment and say a prayer that all goes well. I'll keep you posted!
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