We all know the familiar feeling, gut-wrenching or exciting or maybe both: when we get into the little car (or heaven help me, sit on a bench and let our legs dangle!) and get strapped in, waiting for what seems an eternity until there's that lurch and off we go. Up, up, up the hill that looked so manageable when standing in line, but that looks so amazingly huge now... then that suspended moment of EEEK! as we crest the hill... then AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! as we go flying down the other side, possibly into a dark tunnel, or around a steep curve. Some hang on for dear life with their eyes closed. Others wave their hands in the air and scream in release, looking around to catch every fast-flying moment. Few of them are longer than five minutes, and nowadays they are so well-engineered that there are few bumps unless they're intended.
Sometimes... sometimes life is like that. :) Sometimes one's walk of faith feels the same way--only it seldom lasts for a puny five minutes. Today, as the last hours of summer wane toward the Autumnal equinox (tonight at 11:09 PM in the Eastern US time zone where I live), I find myself on the brink of changes and pondering the theological implications of living life on a rollercoaster in the fast lane.
This year has been difficult, and not just on me. Much has gone on in many places. We have but to open a newspaper or log on to a news site to see how busy everything has been. Natural disasters, military actions, mine collapses, oil rig explosions... political upheaval at home and abroad, and OH so much fear. It seems everyone with whom I've spoken feels exhausted already, as we lean toward my favourite month of October. We still have three whole months to go--with the ever-busy season of Thanksgiving, Advent, Hanukkah, Islamic New Year, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and the whole end of the calendar year Silvester/Western New Year thing to get to, the time when traditionally few of us have time to breathe, much less sit in holy silence for the good of our spirits. Eeeeek, indeed!
I won't go into the long, gory, sad story of my own summer; I'm just glad it's coming to an end soon. I've come down the big hill, we're well into the steep turn, there's a dark tunnel at the end there but I can see the light coming. Soon the car will come back to the starting point and I can get off this ride, wobbly-legged (literally, for part of my summer has involved an unpleasant leg injury!) and glad to be on solid ground. I know some of you out there probably have had astonishing summers as well, and may well have a busy holiday season coming up on you as I do. So here's a thought or two:
1) Do you LIKE rollercoasters? Then fit some more of them in between now and the end of the calendar year. Adrenaline is good for you sometimes, and we can all use the occasional shaking up. Plus, this sort of thing can be fun when you're in the right frame of mind.
2) Do you NOT like rollercoasters? This is my category... :) I prefer to know things, I'm not good at surprises or heights with long, fast drops, but real life doesn't always work that way. If you don't like them, try to think of it as a moment for faith. *grin* Sit down, strap in, hold on, and try to enjoy the ride... there just might be a message for you somewhere.
3) If (like me) you don't do well with surprises, try not to let that make you crazy. I did, and am a bit annoyed with myself for wasting the effort this summer. I'm going to attempt in future to see the surprises, the rollercoasters, the big drops and the huge rushes, as places where I need to take notice of what's going on with myself spiritually, and see if maybe, just maybe, I can stop screaming long enough to hear the message Spirit has for me. :)
Yes, life will continue to rocket around big curves, steep hills, dark tunnels and the like. But the Lord of Heaven is there in the car with us, holding on to us as we hold on to the supports, letting us know it will eventually be all right. Even the worst situation eventually ends, and healing doesn't have to wait until the car stops in order to begin.
Know that if you've had a rough summer or even a whole rough year, or if several years have ganged up on you and you're about to go flat to the floor because of it, someone somewhere is praying for you. And as for praying for yourself? Do it. Even if the only prayer you have the strength to utter is a soft, sad "Help?" at the end of a difficult day, believe that it is heard. Believe it will be acted upon.
Now step out of that rollercoaster car with me; let's stagger out of here and get a frozen lemonade and a fresh-baked pretzel. :)
Happy Autumn, everyone!
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
23 September 2010
26 July 2010
Finding God's Mercy
Those of you who may have been reading this intermittent blog for some time--or are willing to page back through to see what the heck this is all about--may have noticed that one recurring refrain in my spiritual walk is this: "Is this year OVER YET??" At my age especially, one hates to wish away one's days, weeks, months, and years. So I have decided that my focus for the rest of 2010 is to try and alter that refrain to something more positive, by attempting to find in each day something good, uplifting, or even just of shorter duration than it might have been otherwise.
Of course, the Universe being what it is, the very moment I make such a decision there arises a challenge.... *wry smile*
Well, I've been doing it again. Wondering if 2010 is over yet, foolishly believing 2011 will somehow not have its own challenges. This time I believe the universe is not letting me get away with it.
Last Sunday I was awakened by pain. I'm not good with pain, but I'm pretty good at hiding it; not always for the best of reasons, but hey, if you're good at something and there's even the tiniest bit of positive spin to it, go with it. :) Nevertheless, the point of the comment is this: I don't usually let pain get the better of me. But this pain fit all the hallmarks of a heart attack, and for once I decided to listen.
Here's the end of the story first: it wasn't a heart attack. Thank you, Lord, for that! What it was, however, brings its own interesting challenges: it was a return of the stress-related attacks I had a few years ago when my life decided to take WAY too many new directions all at the same time, like puppies pulling toward every quarter of the compass at once. Shortly thereafter--a matter of days--I was gardening and got nowhere NEAR poison ivy, but somehow got it all over myself again. Just like the last two Julys.
Oh yay.... :)
All right, yes, to be honest, fair and just, the crisis was way overdue. I've been living on air and about 4 hours of sleep a night for far too long, and losing important bits of myself in the bargain. Had I been my own counseling client, I'd have known precisely what to say and in exactly what tone of voice--but how often do we give our own selves that interesting grace?
Oh my yes... Ἰατρέ, θεράπευσον σεαυτόν, physician, heal thyself.... a proverb known in Jesus's day, as he quotes it to the crowd in Nazareth in exactly those terms: "And all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. And they said, Is not this Joseph's son? And he said unto them, Ye will surely say unto me this proverb, Physician, heal thyself: whatsoever we have heard done in Capernaum, do also here in thy country." (Luke 4:22-23, KJV) We know, as did they, that Jesus meant we should look to our own problems prior to judging those of others--a proverb he would gently push home in another way when suggesting we remove the log from our own eyes before worrying over the speck of dust in the eye of our brother or sister. Oh counselor, look thyself in the face in thy morning mirror and take a dose of thine own medication... :)
Hence the whole idea of trying to do just that, wrapped up in the concept of joy no matter what. So I have to crawl out of bed somewhere between 03:30 and 04:00, hit the road as soon as possible, and drive safely/mindfully to my tentmaker-job? So what! I get to see the lovely full moon riding the skies amid the cloud-ships, where others miss it because they are asleep. And I get to leave before rush-hour traffic becomes horribly bad, which is also a plus. I get to learn afresh that my body's immune system really DOES work, oh boy does it ever, and that all the signals point to upcoming challenges. Joy!
But I also need to heal myself by getting to bed earlier... eating more healthfully and at less odd hours... reclaiming time here and there to do the things that feed my own soul.... And I need to believe and claim that I have as much right to health, rest and joy as anyone else. Not to mention... *gulp* making myself realize that the mercy of God is something that pertains to me just as much as anyone else.
There, I said it. Yes, sports fans, I have come to the understanding that I fell victim to one of the biggest traps that beset people in ministry: a delight and longing and joy in sharing with others the loving mercy of God, and a serious difficulty in applying it to my own self. The reasons don't matter, because they are so different and so people-specific.
Maybe you were told as a child that you were of little worth, took it in and believed it, spent your life so far helping other people because it fed some of the ache in the centre of your own being. Maybe you were abused, belittled, bereft; maybe you grew up in a normal household where helping others was a joyous way of life, and you got so caught up in the process that you forgot to look in the mirror from time to time and thus missed the need in your eyes. Whatever it is/was/continues to be, it doesn't have to have been a bad thing (though it all too often is/was)--it was just a distraction at some level. You went along, kept going, one foot in front of the other, whatever was needful to feed your desire to help, be loved, whatever.
I know I did it, for my own reasons. Some of those reasons I knew about, others I didn't, I just... did it. Gave space to it in my heart. Some of it is there and remains joyful, though I will be working on balance with it from now on. Some of it is there and is clothed in anger, sorrow, loss, grief--and I will be working on balance there, too.
Some of it... Lord help me, some of it is badness done to me or by me that I have forgiven but not released, hurt and dark things I have acknowledged and released but then not completely let go of. Those things will be worked on immediately. With lots of prayer and mercy-searching. With as much honesty as I can muster. Ἰατρέ, θεράπευσον σεαυτόν.
New Year is not the only time to make choices, declare intentions, slip your hand into God's on one side and Destiny on the other. But then again, the calendar New Year is not the only new year season we receive, either. Our ancestors believed the new year came at the dark of the season, when autumn's leaves were burning and that veil was thinnest that separates us from Spirit. So even though Summer has a high hand in charge where I live, I am very aware this week that autumn is coming. The days are already getting shorter; the heat's back will be broken, and the Lord will have many a message for me.
This time... O Lord, this time let me not only listen--but let me hear. Bring on the Mercy and help me to say yes this time.
Of course, the Universe being what it is, the very moment I make such a decision there arises a challenge.... *wry smile*
Well, I've been doing it again. Wondering if 2010 is over yet, foolishly believing 2011 will somehow not have its own challenges. This time I believe the universe is not letting me get away with it.
Last Sunday I was awakened by pain. I'm not good with pain, but I'm pretty good at hiding it; not always for the best of reasons, but hey, if you're good at something and there's even the tiniest bit of positive spin to it, go with it. :) Nevertheless, the point of the comment is this: I don't usually let pain get the better of me. But this pain fit all the hallmarks of a heart attack, and for once I decided to listen.
Here's the end of the story first: it wasn't a heart attack. Thank you, Lord, for that! What it was, however, brings its own interesting challenges: it was a return of the stress-related attacks I had a few years ago when my life decided to take WAY too many new directions all at the same time, like puppies pulling toward every quarter of the compass at once. Shortly thereafter--a matter of days--I was gardening and got nowhere NEAR poison ivy, but somehow got it all over myself again. Just like the last two Julys.
Oh yay.... :)
All right, yes, to be honest, fair and just, the crisis was way overdue. I've been living on air and about 4 hours of sleep a night for far too long, and losing important bits of myself in the bargain. Had I been my own counseling client, I'd have known precisely what to say and in exactly what tone of voice--but how often do we give our own selves that interesting grace?
Oh my yes... Ἰατρέ, θεράπευσον σεαυτόν, physician, heal thyself.... a proverb known in Jesus's day, as he quotes it to the crowd in Nazareth in exactly those terms: "And all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. And they said, Is not this Joseph's son? And he said unto them, Ye will surely say unto me this proverb, Physician, heal thyself: whatsoever we have heard done in Capernaum, do also here in thy country." (Luke 4:22-23, KJV) We know, as did they, that Jesus meant we should look to our own problems prior to judging those of others--a proverb he would gently push home in another way when suggesting we remove the log from our own eyes before worrying over the speck of dust in the eye of our brother or sister. Oh counselor, look thyself in the face in thy morning mirror and take a dose of thine own medication... :)
Hence the whole idea of trying to do just that, wrapped up in the concept of joy no matter what. So I have to crawl out of bed somewhere between 03:30 and 04:00, hit the road as soon as possible, and drive safely/mindfully to my tentmaker-job? So what! I get to see the lovely full moon riding the skies amid the cloud-ships, where others miss it because they are asleep. And I get to leave before rush-hour traffic becomes horribly bad, which is also a plus. I get to learn afresh that my body's immune system really DOES work, oh boy does it ever, and that all the signals point to upcoming challenges. Joy!
But I also need to heal myself by getting to bed earlier... eating more healthfully and at less odd hours... reclaiming time here and there to do the things that feed my own soul.... And I need to believe and claim that I have as much right to health, rest and joy as anyone else. Not to mention... *gulp* making myself realize that the mercy of God is something that pertains to me just as much as anyone else.
There, I said it. Yes, sports fans, I have come to the understanding that I fell victim to one of the biggest traps that beset people in ministry: a delight and longing and joy in sharing with others the loving mercy of God, and a serious difficulty in applying it to my own self. The reasons don't matter, because they are so different and so people-specific.
Maybe you were told as a child that you were of little worth, took it in and believed it, spent your life so far helping other people because it fed some of the ache in the centre of your own being. Maybe you were abused, belittled, bereft; maybe you grew up in a normal household where helping others was a joyous way of life, and you got so caught up in the process that you forgot to look in the mirror from time to time and thus missed the need in your eyes. Whatever it is/was/continues to be, it doesn't have to have been a bad thing (though it all too often is/was)--it was just a distraction at some level. You went along, kept going, one foot in front of the other, whatever was needful to feed your desire to help, be loved, whatever.
I know I did it, for my own reasons. Some of those reasons I knew about, others I didn't, I just... did it. Gave space to it in my heart. Some of it is there and remains joyful, though I will be working on balance with it from now on. Some of it is there and is clothed in anger, sorrow, loss, grief--and I will be working on balance there, too.
Some of it... Lord help me, some of it is badness done to me or by me that I have forgiven but not released, hurt and dark things I have acknowledged and released but then not completely let go of. Those things will be worked on immediately. With lots of prayer and mercy-searching. With as much honesty as I can muster. Ἰατρέ, θεράπευσον σεαυτόν.
New Year is not the only time to make choices, declare intentions, slip your hand into God's on one side and Destiny on the other. But then again, the calendar New Year is not the only new year season we receive, either. Our ancestors believed the new year came at the dark of the season, when autumn's leaves were burning and that veil was thinnest that separates us from Spirit. So even though Summer has a high hand in charge where I live, I am very aware this week that autumn is coming. The days are already getting shorter; the heat's back will be broken, and the Lord will have many a message for me.
This time... O Lord, this time let me not only listen--but let me hear. Bring on the Mercy and help me to say yes this time.
12 September 2008
Friday Five Goes Back to School...
Mother Laura writes:
It's time for a Back-To-School Friday Five!
1. Is anyone going back to school, as a student or teacher, at your house? How's it going so far? No, we're all as graduated as we can handle being for now, though I am considering a distance-learners Masters. Can't handle the money yet, but it's fun to dream! :) Of course the usual learning of life goes on, and there's been a LOT of that lately....
2. Were you glad or sad when back-to-school time came as a kid? Always happy, myself. :) It meant that for several hours a day I was safe and cared about because I was smart and funny. I loved school.
3. Did your family of origin have any rituals to mark this time of year? How about now? My grandparents, some of them, were German--so when we were littlies we got those cornucopia things full of candy and school supplies. And of course going back to school meant it was almost Oktoberfest, so we ate a lot of sausage and kraut as Oma practiced for the amazing feed everyone got each year. :)
4. Favorite memories of back-to-school outfits, lunchboxes, etc? This sounds so silly... but when Rev Sharon was still a size 6x, she had a little sleeveless blouse of white linen with yellow buttons shaped like chicks... and the ruffled peplum on the thing had a printed farmyard scene all the way around of barns, fences, scarecrows, and little chickies--and the chickies were flocked and fuzzy. I wore that thing to RAGS and wish sometimes that I could find a pic of me in it. I think my fave lunch box was a Monkees one, though I was never much of a Davy Jones kinda gal... I always liked Mickey Dolenz best. :)
5. What was your best year of school? I think 6th grade. I had a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Dickerson, who was the first to twig that I was being abused at home--and did what she could to mitigate it. She asked me to come to her apartment, where she did the adjustments on some clothing donated to me by other teachers because my wardrobe was... umm... awful... and while she was pinning. measuring, and taking in seams, she basically helped me understand that what was happening at home wasn't normal. Then she helped me find ways to fix it in a fashion that turned out to be healing for all of us, those at least who wanted to BE healed. I think in the end, she taught me the real meaning of pastoral counseling; I've kind of used that as a model ever since.
It's time for a Back-To-School Friday Five!
1. Is anyone going back to school, as a student or teacher, at your house? How's it going so far? No, we're all as graduated as we can handle being for now, though I am considering a distance-learners Masters. Can't handle the money yet, but it's fun to dream! :) Of course the usual learning of life goes on, and there's been a LOT of that lately....
2. Were you glad or sad when back-to-school time came as a kid? Always happy, myself. :) It meant that for several hours a day I was safe and cared about because I was smart and funny. I loved school.
3. Did your family of origin have any rituals to mark this time of year? How about now? My grandparents, some of them, were German--so when we were littlies we got those cornucopia things full of candy and school supplies. And of course going back to school meant it was almost Oktoberfest, so we ate a lot of sausage and kraut as Oma practiced for the amazing feed everyone got each year. :)
4. Favorite memories of back-to-school outfits, lunchboxes, etc? This sounds so silly... but when Rev Sharon was still a size 6x, she had a little sleeveless blouse of white linen with yellow buttons shaped like chicks... and the ruffled peplum on the thing had a printed farmyard scene all the way around of barns, fences, scarecrows, and little chickies--and the chickies were flocked and fuzzy. I wore that thing to RAGS and wish sometimes that I could find a pic of me in it. I think my fave lunch box was a Monkees one, though I was never much of a Davy Jones kinda gal... I always liked Mickey Dolenz best. :)
5. What was your best year of school? I think 6th grade. I had a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Dickerson, who was the first to twig that I was being abused at home--and did what she could to mitigate it. She asked me to come to her apartment, where she did the adjustments on some clothing donated to me by other teachers because my wardrobe was... umm... awful... and while she was pinning. measuring, and taking in seams, she basically helped me understand that what was happening at home wasn't normal. Then she helped me find ways to fix it in a fashion that turned out to be healing for all of us, those at least who wanted to BE healed. I think in the end, she taught me the real meaning of pastoral counseling; I've kind of used that as a model ever since.
17 June 2008
A Soul Goes Home
I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in me shall have life,
even though he die.
And everyone who has life,
and has committed himself to me in faith,
shall not die for ever.
Saturday afternoon, a little before 2 PM, my friend Rick S. stepped out of this life and into the next after a long battle with cancer. When we saw him last at church on the last Sunday in May, he was so tired, so weak… and then the e-mail notes from the Rector began.
As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.
After my awaking, he will raise me up;
and in my body I shall see God.
I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him
who is my friend and not a stranger.
Rick has been my friend for around eight years. He is a man of wisdom, charm, and a delightfully wry sense of humour. He is a superlative musician with a real sense of how to make a choir a family as much as a functional worship unit. He is from the deep South and it shows… his manners, his wry delivery, his innate kindness. He is a Christian, a deep-faith believer, and he knows by whom he is saved. Now, he has met that saviour in person and been welcomed home.
For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord’s possession.
When he told us about his cancer, he was very matter-of-fact. There was no real announcement to the group of us at large; when he ended rehearsal as he always did—with prayer, giving us a moment or two to mention things we felt needed attention—he simply said “I’m starting chemo this week and would appreciate some prayer.” We sat there nodding, yes, yes, that’s what we do when someone undergoes—wait, what, CHEMO?? Frissons of terror, determination, fear… but always a sense that it would get better, that if anyone could beat cancer, it would be Rick. He was a fighter, determined, strong. Right up to the end he was planning a trip to Hawaii.
Happy from now on
are those who die in the Lord!
So it is, says the Spirit,
for they rest from their labors.
For a while it seemed to go away… but when it came back, it came back with a vengeance. Sometimes when you see someone who’s been blindsided by the midnight freight like that, you just know.
I knew. I knew that would be the last time I saw him.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,
And let light perpetual shine upon him.
If I have any regrets, it is that I didn’t spend more time with him as the days wore down. We weren’t in the same social circle; we only saw each other at church, where he was the organist and I the chorister. But at church… Oh, at church we had our own partnership. I occasionally was privileged to sing solos under his direction. He could play circles around many organists I have known, and if I flubbed a phrase he just played around it. If he wanted to slip in a change, he would look at me and raise his eyebrow and I knew to tell my fellow sopranos, “let’s do the descant!” If he felt he wanted a solo suddenly, he would look at me and just twinkle… and I would go to his side, get the hymnal number, and off we’d go… it was like we shared a brain sometimes.
I will miss that.
Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down death by death,
and giving life to those in the tomb.
Rick knew how to motivate people. He was kind, and his sense of humour was incisively wry; he didn’t exactly poke fun, he just kind of… prodded. Gently. He could tell a section they had screwed up very badly without making them FEEL badly. He could make them laugh, then play the part correctly, and cause more laughter with the “ahem, see??” expression he would give them. He was our dad and our brother and our uncle all rolled into one drill sergeant, and we adored him. He knew how to get the best out of all of us, particularly my autistic, musically-gifted son. I will always remember watching them work together…
The Sun of Righteousness is gloriously risen, giving light to
those who sat in darkness and in the shadow of death.
The Lord will guide our feet into the way of peace, having
taken away the sin of the world.
The e-mails began early last week: Rick had received communion but hadn’t been able to speak; he had been visited by Hospice to receive a different blessing, that which would deaden the pain and allow him to remain at home until he passed. His partner Shaun was with him, and Shaun’s parents; they did what they could to keep Rick comfortable, those many things big and little that make it possible for us to stay occupied while walking the holy road of departure with someone we love—stay occupied and hold the tears at bay for just a little longer. It wasn’t a matter of whether Rick would leave us, but when.
Christ will open the kingdom of heaven to all who believe in
his Name, saying, Come, O blessed of my Father; inherit the
kingdom prepared for you.
It happened on Saturday: a bright sunny day, full of late spring, turning toward the long heat of summer. Choir was over for the season; we were into Summer Choir, where we would meet on Sunday to “pull something together.” Only when we met on Sunday he was already gone, flown free of his body and dancing with the Lord until we are all reunited in the afterlife. It was a hard morning full of tears and memory, but it was a good morning, too. We pulled it together somehow, because even at the grave we make our song. There is life beyond life, more happens after the transition known as death. We will sorrow—but not as those who have no hope. He is not so much gone as simply not here….
Into paradise may the angels lead you. At your coming may
the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city
Jerusalem.
Welcome home, dear, dear Rick. Keep a light on for the rest of us; we’ll see you in time. Until then we'll miss you so very much....
Whoever has faith in me shall have life,
even though he die.
And everyone who has life,
and has committed himself to me in faith,
shall not die for ever.
Saturday afternoon, a little before 2 PM, my friend Rick S. stepped out of this life and into the next after a long battle with cancer. When we saw him last at church on the last Sunday in May, he was so tired, so weak… and then the e-mail notes from the Rector began.
As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.
After my awaking, he will raise me up;
and in my body I shall see God.
I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him
who is my friend and not a stranger.
Rick has been my friend for around eight years. He is a man of wisdom, charm, and a delightfully wry sense of humour. He is a superlative musician with a real sense of how to make a choir a family as much as a functional worship unit. He is from the deep South and it shows… his manners, his wry delivery, his innate kindness. He is a Christian, a deep-faith believer, and he knows by whom he is saved. Now, he has met that saviour in person and been welcomed home.
For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord’s possession.
When he told us about his cancer, he was very matter-of-fact. There was no real announcement to the group of us at large; when he ended rehearsal as he always did—with prayer, giving us a moment or two to mention things we felt needed attention—he simply said “I’m starting chemo this week and would appreciate some prayer.” We sat there nodding, yes, yes, that’s what we do when someone undergoes—wait, what, CHEMO?? Frissons of terror, determination, fear… but always a sense that it would get better, that if anyone could beat cancer, it would be Rick. He was a fighter, determined, strong. Right up to the end he was planning a trip to Hawaii.
Happy from now on
are those who die in the Lord!
So it is, says the Spirit,
for they rest from their labors.
For a while it seemed to go away… but when it came back, it came back with a vengeance. Sometimes when you see someone who’s been blindsided by the midnight freight like that, you just know.
I knew. I knew that would be the last time I saw him.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,
And let light perpetual shine upon him.
If I have any regrets, it is that I didn’t spend more time with him as the days wore down. We weren’t in the same social circle; we only saw each other at church, where he was the organist and I the chorister. But at church… Oh, at church we had our own partnership. I occasionally was privileged to sing solos under his direction. He could play circles around many organists I have known, and if I flubbed a phrase he just played around it. If he wanted to slip in a change, he would look at me and raise his eyebrow and I knew to tell my fellow sopranos, “let’s do the descant!” If he felt he wanted a solo suddenly, he would look at me and just twinkle… and I would go to his side, get the hymnal number, and off we’d go… it was like we shared a brain sometimes.
I will miss that.
Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down death by death,
and giving life to those in the tomb.
Rick knew how to motivate people. He was kind, and his sense of humour was incisively wry; he didn’t exactly poke fun, he just kind of… prodded. Gently. He could tell a section they had screwed up very badly without making them FEEL badly. He could make them laugh, then play the part correctly, and cause more laughter with the “ahem, see??” expression he would give them. He was our dad and our brother and our uncle all rolled into one drill sergeant, and we adored him. He knew how to get the best out of all of us, particularly my autistic, musically-gifted son. I will always remember watching them work together…
The Sun of Righteousness is gloriously risen, giving light to
those who sat in darkness and in the shadow of death.
The Lord will guide our feet into the way of peace, having
taken away the sin of the world.
The e-mails began early last week: Rick had received communion but hadn’t been able to speak; he had been visited by Hospice to receive a different blessing, that which would deaden the pain and allow him to remain at home until he passed. His partner Shaun was with him, and Shaun’s parents; they did what they could to keep Rick comfortable, those many things big and little that make it possible for us to stay occupied while walking the holy road of departure with someone we love—stay occupied and hold the tears at bay for just a little longer. It wasn’t a matter of whether Rick would leave us, but when.
Christ will open the kingdom of heaven to all who believe in
his Name, saying, Come, O blessed of my Father; inherit the
kingdom prepared for you.
It happened on Saturday: a bright sunny day, full of late spring, turning toward the long heat of summer. Choir was over for the season; we were into Summer Choir, where we would meet on Sunday to “pull something together.” Only when we met on Sunday he was already gone, flown free of his body and dancing with the Lord until we are all reunited in the afterlife. It was a hard morning full of tears and memory, but it was a good morning, too. We pulled it together somehow, because even at the grave we make our song. There is life beyond life, more happens after the transition known as death. We will sorrow—but not as those who have no hope. He is not so much gone as simply not here….
Into paradise may the angels lead you. At your coming may
the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city
Jerusalem.
Welcome home, dear, dear Rick. Keep a light on for the rest of us; we’ll see you in time. Until then we'll miss you so very much....
12 June 2008
I Have Decided...
... that 2008 is way too full of challenges. And most of them have been... horrid.
I am fighting an uphill battle to keep before my eyes the long list of blessings I have been given: a loving son; a return to relative health; a roof over my head despite being still unemployed... that sort of thing. There are also the lists of hopes: good interview recently, stuff of that sort. But I've discovered, much to my chagrin, that I am only human... and that sorrow is beginning to weigh me down.
I feel unloved, unwanted... cast aside by a thirty-year marriage partner, not really much needed in the life of a 26-year-old son... and now a beloved friend seems to not need me any more, either. On top of everything else--someone very dear to me is in the process of checking out of this life.
In the face of a life ending, a holy and fraught time... all my little sorrows seem to be so petty. Needless to say, between the self-recrimination, the depression, the grief and the loneliness--I am decidedly NOT in my happy space.
So I am trying to come out of my Wallow just there on the left as you enter the Slough of Despond, long enough to ask if anyone reading this could please take a moment and do whatever your religion recommends at a time like this: say a prayer, light a candle, ask for good spirits to guide him home... as my dear friend R. prepares for the step out of one life into the next one. Musician, mentor, friend... not nearly old enough to go, and too much of a bright, beautiful light for us to be able to afford his loss, however temporary...
For R., for his partner S., and for all those who love them both... may the parting be swift and painless, the path to peace and Heaven short, and the Way lined with waiting loved ones to welcome him home.
I'll try to be better later. Right now I just need to curl up in a ball somewhere and howl for a while... fortunately I am still coherent enough to remember that the Lord "gets" that, and will never leave me.
I am fighting an uphill battle to keep before my eyes the long list of blessings I have been given: a loving son; a return to relative health; a roof over my head despite being still unemployed... that sort of thing. There are also the lists of hopes: good interview recently, stuff of that sort. But I've discovered, much to my chagrin, that I am only human... and that sorrow is beginning to weigh me down.
I feel unloved, unwanted... cast aside by a thirty-year marriage partner, not really much needed in the life of a 26-year-old son... and now a beloved friend seems to not need me any more, either. On top of everything else--someone very dear to me is in the process of checking out of this life.
In the face of a life ending, a holy and fraught time... all my little sorrows seem to be so petty. Needless to say, between the self-recrimination, the depression, the grief and the loneliness--I am decidedly NOT in my happy space.
So I am trying to come out of my Wallow just there on the left as you enter the Slough of Despond, long enough to ask if anyone reading this could please take a moment and do whatever your religion recommends at a time like this: say a prayer, light a candle, ask for good spirits to guide him home... as my dear friend R. prepares for the step out of one life into the next one. Musician, mentor, friend... not nearly old enough to go, and too much of a bright, beautiful light for us to be able to afford his loss, however temporary...
For R., for his partner S., and for all those who love them both... may the parting be swift and painless, the path to peace and Heaven short, and the Way lined with waiting loved ones to welcome him home.
I'll try to be better later. Right now I just need to curl up in a ball somewhere and howl for a while... fortunately I am still coherent enough to remember that the Lord "gets" that, and will never leave me.
03 May 2008
Whew, What a Week....
Wow, what a week.
I got a call the other week from the cardiologist and neurologist who have been monitoring my recent medical difficulties; they asked me to stop driving and come to their office for a discussion "best had face to face" (two mutually exclusive things, since I live in The Sticks (tm) and cannot get anywhere without driving unless it's close enough to walk to...) I tend to assume the worst, being Only Human, so I presumed they were going to tell me they'd found something quite dreadful and needed to operate or whatever. Turned out I had been having "pre-epileptic seizure-like events" something that everyone has about 2 or three times a day. If you suddenly cannot think of a word you wanted to say--you're having one. If you put your keys down in the same place as always and suddenly cannot remember where they are--you're having one. Problem was, I was having them about every half hour all day every day--and they turned up on my ambulatory EEG. The worst turned out to actually be pretty OK: by viewing the events and prescribing to unseat them, the docs were helping prevent me from becoming epileptic and having actual seizures. So that was good!
I had to take a few days off from work to take the meds and get used to them before being allowed to drive again. I was sleepy and had double-vision for a while, then it all evened out. Yay!
However... while I was home recuperating, a friend called from the office to warn me that there was a reduction in force (RIF) coming--and that I would be let go when I returned to the office. So it turned out to be... and after taking a perfectly human tendency to work myself into fits and swivets over it, I did a lot of praying and then went back as soon as the doctor said I could. I did get let go, but I got an excellent severance package and I do have some good interviews lined up already. So it all worked out as well as it could--and I'm sure God has more good changes coming for me. This all has the feel of a Thing Meant to Happen, and I'm more excited than scared. :)
The radio show did indeed debut; there were a number of technical glitches (including dead air for about ten minutes when the site had a server re-set right in the middle of my show!) and no one called in, but by and large it came off well. I want to thank everyone who stuck with it for the whole hour; I'm going to try editing the archived file, so that if you decide to go give it a listen you won't have to hear the dead air. :) I will be doing a show every Friday evening at 6 PM eastern time, hopefully with more music and with LOTS more people calling in. :)
Thank you God for getting me through all this....
I got a call the other week from the cardiologist and neurologist who have been monitoring my recent medical difficulties; they asked me to stop driving and come to their office for a discussion "best had face to face" (two mutually exclusive things, since I live in The Sticks (tm) and cannot get anywhere without driving unless it's close enough to walk to...) I tend to assume the worst, being Only Human, so I presumed they were going to tell me they'd found something quite dreadful and needed to operate or whatever. Turned out I had been having "pre-epileptic seizure-like events" something that everyone has about 2 or three times a day. If you suddenly cannot think of a word you wanted to say--you're having one. If you put your keys down in the same place as always and suddenly cannot remember where they are--you're having one. Problem was, I was having them about every half hour all day every day--and they turned up on my ambulatory EEG. The worst turned out to actually be pretty OK: by viewing the events and prescribing to unseat them, the docs were helping prevent me from becoming epileptic and having actual seizures. So that was good!
I had to take a few days off from work to take the meds and get used to them before being allowed to drive again. I was sleepy and had double-vision for a while, then it all evened out. Yay!
However... while I was home recuperating, a friend called from the office to warn me that there was a reduction in force (RIF) coming--and that I would be let go when I returned to the office. So it turned out to be... and after taking a perfectly human tendency to work myself into fits and swivets over it, I did a lot of praying and then went back as soon as the doctor said I could. I did get let go, but I got an excellent severance package and I do have some good interviews lined up already. So it all worked out as well as it could--and I'm sure God has more good changes coming for me. This all has the feel of a Thing Meant to Happen, and I'm more excited than scared. :)
The radio show did indeed debut; there were a number of technical glitches (including dead air for about ten minutes when the site had a server re-set right in the middle of my show!) and no one called in, but by and large it came off well. I want to thank everyone who stuck with it for the whole hour; I'm going to try editing the archived file, so that if you decide to go give it a listen you won't have to hear the dead air. :) I will be doing a show every Friday evening at 6 PM eastern time, hopefully with more music and with LOTS more people calling in. :)
Thank you God for getting me through all this....
28 March 2008
Sometimes You've Just Gotta Rant...
Every so often in the midst of the bureaucracy to which our liturgical lives can occasionally sink, there comes a moment of grace--perhaps slightly panicky, but laden with blessing. Something like this happened to me during Holy Week. Holy Week was different for me this year; what a surprise! Everything's been different for me in the last year. I did not have to preach this year, not even once; our little church has become very little indeed of late, and there haven't been meetings in a while. But I suspect Spirit will begin doing something about that soon.
So, at a time when I would otherwise have been preparing sermons and attending services at the Episcopal Church where I sing, I was actually packing for a trip to Boston to spend the Holy Weekend with someone I love very much, in the city where I was raised. In the middle of the confusion that packing always brings for me, I received an e-mail from a friend: her infant nephew was in hospital very sick, with two frantic parents talking a need for emergency baptism lest the little fellow shuffle off the mortal coil at a painfully early age. I sent her a note back saying I was headed out of town, but that she could call me if she needed prayer at any point; then I sent news of little Chris's difficulty to every prayer list I know of, and hoped for the best.
Late on Wednesday I got a note back: would I stop at the hospital on the way out of town to baptize Chris? And could I use the RC rites? Well... one answers a pastoral call however one must, it goes with the collar, so I sent a note back to say yes. Then I re-arranged my plans, printed out the appropriate liturgy, and off I went. I feared the worst because my friend told me Chris’s parents were pretty desperate to have the baptism accomplished. The father, a non-practicing Catholic, wanted me to use the RC rite as much as possible. The mother is a non-churched Protestant, and they were both VERY unhappy because the local RC diocesan response to their urgent request had been… *breathes deeply* …less than helpful or loving.
Now, I do not about the world at large, but I know how I would react if a frantic parent called me and said their child was VERY sick and possibly in mortal danger. I spent about an hour counseling the family as we waited for a practicing Catholic in the family who was to serve as godmother. I played with Chris, who is a beautiful little man, and he seemed to take to me very well. He was pale and thin and looked like he’d been through a wringer—and every few moments he gave out with gut-wrenching, deep, hacking, whooping coughs that rattled his poor little form. We spent a nice hour, if somewhat sad and nervous. God-mom-to-be showed up; I told the family what would happen, we went over a few things, then we made a Christian out of Chris. Afterwards I anointed him for healing, then left them with the promise of prayer and a copy of my cell number in case they needed me during the weekend. They didn’t. In fact, by the time I hit ground back at home following my trip, healing blessings had flocked all around Chris like angels: he was much better, the dire diagnosis he had initially received proved to be incorrect, and while he's still sick, he's not dying--and they have found what they needed to know in order to treat him. He's out of the hospital now and recovering nicely, with happy parents. Happy ending, thank you God!
Except that I was still very unhappy (OK, I was livid, when you're Irish, German, Welsh and English you do NOTHING by halves...) at the way they were brushed off by the Institution of the Church. It took a while to calm down--lots of prayer, lots of pep-talking, but eventually I reached a more philosophical state of mind.
Now that I'm calmer and more relieved at how swiftly and happily God moved to alleviate little Chris' suffering and that of his family, I can't help but turn my thoughts to the priests and Diocesan functionaries who have to give these hurtful, bureaucratic responses to human need. I tried putting myself in the shoes of the man who had to look the father in the eyes and basically say look, I understand that your child might be dying, and I get that even though you no longer go to church, we inculcated into your being the idea that a child would go to Purgatory if unbaptised... but the rules state that I must tell you: if you want a proper Catholic baptism for Chris, you're going to have to jump through hoops AND it will take a couple of months, during which we'll hope the little one survives. But hey, know that I'm praying for you all... *slaps forehead* I feel so bad for these folks. I would not be able to do it. I could not look people in the eyes and say these cruel things! And I am constantly reminded to pray for those who must say them... and for the people responsible for making it necessary. :(
I can only imagine how horrible it must have been for that priest, and for the people in the Bishop's office that Chris's dad also called and begged to. And there's little any of them CAN do, save parrot the answers... dear GOD what is wrong with the Church!! How can someone make a rule like this, then call themselves an Alter Christus?? Jesus cut ACROSS hidebound rules like this! He hung out with sinners, let his disciples pull grain off the ear on the Sabbath, and generally did what was needful to meet the needs of people AT the moment, not tell them to jump through a bunch of hoops and hope to heck that everything stays copacetic until such time as the requirements are met! THAT is a bureaucracy, not a Church!
*breathes deeply*
But I do take hope and peace from thinking in the mode of wise friends who have commented on this: thank God there are saner heads out there. Thank God there are sacramental ways to get one's child baptized at the hour of need, and receive a loving response with God's resounding, life-affirming YES! rather than just a list of 'thou must'. But Oh, the pain involved for everyone... How can they not see that anything other that God's response causes people to look away from the Church? Where is the love in telling a father whose child may be dying that they'll baptize his son IF the kid survives while Daddy jumps through hoops?
Thanks for letting me rant. May the God of peace be with us all... and help us to see through the pain to those places of grace He gives us when we need them. And may God have mercy on us all...
So, at a time when I would otherwise have been preparing sermons and attending services at the Episcopal Church where I sing, I was actually packing for a trip to Boston to spend the Holy Weekend with someone I love very much, in the city where I was raised. In the middle of the confusion that packing always brings for me, I received an e-mail from a friend: her infant nephew was in hospital very sick, with two frantic parents talking a need for emergency baptism lest the little fellow shuffle off the mortal coil at a painfully early age. I sent her a note back saying I was headed out of town, but that she could call me if she needed prayer at any point; then I sent news of little Chris's difficulty to every prayer list I know of, and hoped for the best.
Late on Wednesday I got a note back: would I stop at the hospital on the way out of town to baptize Chris? And could I use the RC rites? Well... one answers a pastoral call however one must, it goes with the collar, so I sent a note back to say yes. Then I re-arranged my plans, printed out the appropriate liturgy, and off I went. I feared the worst because my friend told me Chris’s parents were pretty desperate to have the baptism accomplished. The father, a non-practicing Catholic, wanted me to use the RC rite as much as possible. The mother is a non-churched Protestant, and they were both VERY unhappy because the local RC diocesan response to their urgent request had been… *breathes deeply* …less than helpful or loving.
Now, I do not about the world at large, but I know how I would react if a frantic parent called me and said their child was VERY sick and possibly in mortal danger. I spent about an hour counseling the family as we waited for a practicing Catholic in the family who was to serve as godmother. I played with Chris, who is a beautiful little man, and he seemed to take to me very well. He was pale and thin and looked like he’d been through a wringer—and every few moments he gave out with gut-wrenching, deep, hacking, whooping coughs that rattled his poor little form. We spent a nice hour, if somewhat sad and nervous. God-mom-to-be showed up; I told the family what would happen, we went over a few things, then we made a Christian out of Chris. Afterwards I anointed him for healing, then left them with the promise of prayer and a copy of my cell number in case they needed me during the weekend. They didn’t. In fact, by the time I hit ground back at home following my trip, healing blessings had flocked all around Chris like angels: he was much better, the dire diagnosis he had initially received proved to be incorrect, and while he's still sick, he's not dying--and they have found what they needed to know in order to treat him. He's out of the hospital now and recovering nicely, with happy parents. Happy ending, thank you God!
Except that I was still very unhappy (OK, I was livid, when you're Irish, German, Welsh and English you do NOTHING by halves...) at the way they were brushed off by the Institution of the Church. It took a while to calm down--lots of prayer, lots of pep-talking, but eventually I reached a more philosophical state of mind.
Now that I'm calmer and more relieved at how swiftly and happily God moved to alleviate little Chris' suffering and that of his family, I can't help but turn my thoughts to the priests and Diocesan functionaries who have to give these hurtful, bureaucratic responses to human need. I tried putting myself in the shoes of the man who had to look the father in the eyes and basically say look, I understand that your child might be dying, and I get that even though you no longer go to church, we inculcated into your being the idea that a child would go to Purgatory if unbaptised... but the rules state that I must tell you: if you want a proper Catholic baptism for Chris, you're going to have to jump through hoops AND it will take a couple of months, during which we'll hope the little one survives. But hey, know that I'm praying for you all... *slaps forehead* I feel so bad for these folks. I would not be able to do it. I could not look people in the eyes and say these cruel things! And I am constantly reminded to pray for those who must say them... and for the people responsible for making it necessary. :(
I can only imagine how horrible it must have been for that priest, and for the people in the Bishop's office that Chris's dad also called and begged to. And there's little any of them CAN do, save parrot the answers... dear GOD what is wrong with the Church!! How can someone make a rule like this, then call themselves an Alter Christus?? Jesus cut ACROSS hidebound rules like this! He hung out with sinners, let his disciples pull grain off the ear on the Sabbath, and generally did what was needful to meet the needs of people AT the moment, not tell them to jump through a bunch of hoops and hope to heck that everything stays copacetic until such time as the requirements are met! THAT is a bureaucracy, not a Church!
*breathes deeply*
But I do take hope and peace from thinking in the mode of wise friends who have commented on this: thank God there are saner heads out there. Thank God there are sacramental ways to get one's child baptized at the hour of need, and receive a loving response with God's resounding, life-affirming YES! rather than just a list of 'thou must'. But Oh, the pain involved for everyone... How can they not see that anything other that God's response causes people to look away from the Church? Where is the love in telling a father whose child may be dying that they'll baptize his son IF the kid survives while Daddy jumps through hoops?
Thanks for letting me rant. May the God of peace be with us all... and help us to see through the pain to those places of grace He gives us when we need them. And may God have mercy on us all...
18 March 2008
Living Lent in the Fast Lane...
OK, hands please: who else has noticed that Lent skated past like Counsel for the Opposition on greased roller skates down a frozen pathway??
Hnh. Thought as much. :)
As my son might say: Like, OMG, it's TUESDAY already and that means it's darn' near EASTER!!! So... how exactly did this happen???
I swear it was New Year's Eve only a few days ago. Then MUCH to my eternal surprise, suddenly I was back home and the choir director (the adorable and wonderful Rick!) at the Episcopal Church where I sing, handed out music one rehearsal evening and said "This is for Ash Wednesday; sorry it's so late, but this is a good one we've done before and can sing in our sleep." (And he was right... it was Mozart's "Ave Verum Corpus", which is known colloquially among our good-humoured choir as the Motorcycle Anthem [ahem... ave VROOOOOM!!... *grins*], which we have done many times and always to excellent reviews.)
Ash Wednesday. Huh?? Already??? But... but...
2007 was a rough year. I'm talking butt-ugly, hidden-blessings, ever-lovin' ROUGH. So as 2008 dawned I needed time, peace, stability... in short, by the time Ash Wednesday rolled inexorably downtown, I was SO not prepared to entomb my alleluias. I still needed them. Wanted them. Clung to the hope they offer. Off they went anyway... and now we hover on the brink of Easter. Wow.
God, my dears, is in the details. Whether you see Deity as male or female, neither, or even as everything, God is in the details. We'll get through it... I know that I hope, that as Virginia warms toward Spring this week and the days get longer with sweeter breezes before the heat hits, I will have a chance to sit down and reflect at the sleepless, painful, more-than-likely-necessary blur that was Lent. I hope, in short, that I will find the details I missed along the way, and be instructed concerning the blessings therein.
May it be so for you and yours--and may your Easter be especially blessed!
Hnh. Thought as much. :)
As my son might say: Like, OMG, it's TUESDAY already and that means it's darn' near EASTER!!! So... how exactly did this happen???
I swear it was New Year's Eve only a few days ago. Then MUCH to my eternal surprise, suddenly I was back home and the choir director (the adorable and wonderful Rick!) at the Episcopal Church where I sing, handed out music one rehearsal evening and said "This is for Ash Wednesday; sorry it's so late, but this is a good one we've done before and can sing in our sleep." (And he was right... it was Mozart's "Ave Verum Corpus", which is known colloquially among our good-humoured choir as the Motorcycle Anthem [ahem... ave VROOOOOM!!... *grins*], which we have done many times and always to excellent reviews.)
Ash Wednesday. Huh?? Already??? But... but...
2007 was a rough year. I'm talking butt-ugly, hidden-blessings, ever-lovin' ROUGH. So as 2008 dawned I needed time, peace, stability... in short, by the time Ash Wednesday rolled inexorably downtown, I was SO not prepared to entomb my alleluias. I still needed them. Wanted them. Clung to the hope they offer. Off they went anyway... and now we hover on the brink of Easter. Wow.
God, my dears, is in the details. Whether you see Deity as male or female, neither, or even as everything, God is in the details. We'll get through it... I know that I hope, that as Virginia warms toward Spring this week and the days get longer with sweeter breezes before the heat hits, I will have a chance to sit down and reflect at the sleepless, painful, more-than-likely-necessary blur that was Lent. I hope, in short, that I will find the details I missed along the way, and be instructed concerning the blessings therein.
May it be so for you and yours--and may your Easter be especially blessed!
08 January 2008
So, Where WERE You??
I came across this beautiful portion of Psalm 139 today while reading:
"I will give thanks to You,
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well."
Had a bit of a surprising reaction to it: tears. OK, now, anyone who knows me even slightly knows that one of the powers I was given at birth was the ability to cry at the drop of a hat... but this usually happens for good reasons. :) I am easily moved, and wouldn't have it any other way. However.... In choir not long ago we did a piece that was Psalm 139 set to glorious music--the sort of music that sticks in your head. And thereby hangs a tale.
Several folks have noticed, and sent me notes offline concerning, the fact that I didn't post pretty much from the end of October until now. There's a bizarre reason for that. On Hallowe'en morning I toddled off to work (60 miles away; I live in the rural sticks, don'tcha know), with a cheesecake sitting in the front passenger-side foot well of my beloved little sedan. Not just ANY cheesecake, mind you: it was Frankenstein-green, and featured pistachios. It was glorious and (as was later discovered) tasted Pretty Darn Good (tm). It was for the Hallowe'en party at my office in the Infamous Tentmaker Job (tm), since we've established a tradition of shedding our seriousness a couple days a year and having parties. I was going to dress up as a Red Sox player (I know, mixing fun and religion again... *snork*...) and had my costume in the back seat, along with the paper plates, plastic cutlery, and divers decorations, since I was one of the Party Instigators.
Never made it.
Came awfully close to never making it anywhere, ever again, had my guardian spirits not been really, really watchful.
For reasons still unknown, I blacked out at the wheel on a back street near my former home. A number of things conspired to keep me alive and keep those I almost hit in the same shape: it was rush hour, yet there were no other cars nearby. It was near an elementary school, yet all the kids were safely in class by a few minute's timing. I had been going uphill about the time I blacked out, so I wasn't going fast when the car went off the road (only about 5 feet in, mind!), struck a tree and divested it of about a foot of bark, then car, me, and pieces of tree ended up on a retaining wall. I did not hit the woman who was about to leave her driveway, because something knocked a piece of paper off her front seat--and she braked to catch it. I did not hit her neighbor who was taking out his trash--because he paused at the astonishing sight of an unconscious woman in an auto that was slowly moving toward his neighbor lady's tree.
Somehow I had gone about half a mile from where I last remembered being, and come to rest in their yard. The two neighbors were kind, helpful, and compassionate. The police and the EMTs were thorough and considerate. And I found myself in hospital, with nothing worse than a lump on the side of my head. Go figure...
In the ER, the first thing they found turned out to be the dealie: I had everything else as normal as normal could be, except the electrolyte potassium was "oddly low" according to the nice man who took my blood and did the tests. They explained as to how this could cause muscles like the heart to temporarily take a rest, thus lowering blood to the brain and causing unconsciousness... but no one could tell me how the drop occurred. We all pretty much agreed that I have superb guardian angels....
So where does Psalm 139 come in? Well, my doctors ordered every test they could think of, including MRIs, 24-hour monitoring, and all that. They told me I had the brain of a 30-year-old (I'm 51) and didn't get the joke when I said very seriously, "Hmm, she'll probably be wanting it back sooner or later then, you think??" :) And they ordered an ultrasound of my heart.
Now mind... I've seen ultrasound before. Watched my son wave at me from within my womb, watched friends' soon-to-be kids do likewise. And yes, I cried at the very sight of it, for it is indeed an astonishing thing. But somehow, laying there in that awful hospital gown, watching my very own heart beat on TV, seeing how wonderfully regular and strong it was... the music came into my head: "I am fearfully and wonderfully made... my soul knoweth that full well...." And to the dismay of the young man doing the test, I started to cry. Tears of thanksgiving... tears of grateful joy, tears of delayed reaction to everything that had happened. Took a while to explain, but then he told me quite seriously: "Happens fairly often, I just wanted to be sure you weren't squicked or something." *grins* Kids these days...
That and some basic fallout from same contributed to my absence from the blogosphere. My beloved little sedan is gone, alas, for it cost more than it was worth to fix it up; I am now the proud owner of a green pickup truck and 72 months of vehicle payments. But I was reminded in my reading today that it had been a rather close run--and the grateful tears came rushing back. I'm glad to be here!
And I'm glad you're all here too. Prayers forthcoming for all the concerns expressed in various places; may God walk with you always!
"I will give thanks to You,
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well."
Had a bit of a surprising reaction to it: tears. OK, now, anyone who knows me even slightly knows that one of the powers I was given at birth was the ability to cry at the drop of a hat... but this usually happens for good reasons. :) I am easily moved, and wouldn't have it any other way. However.... In choir not long ago we did a piece that was Psalm 139 set to glorious music--the sort of music that sticks in your head. And thereby hangs a tale.
Several folks have noticed, and sent me notes offline concerning, the fact that I didn't post pretty much from the end of October until now. There's a bizarre reason for that. On Hallowe'en morning I toddled off to work (60 miles away; I live in the rural sticks, don'tcha know), with a cheesecake sitting in the front passenger-side foot well of my beloved little sedan. Not just ANY cheesecake, mind you: it was Frankenstein-green, and featured pistachios. It was glorious and (as was later discovered) tasted Pretty Darn Good (tm). It was for the Hallowe'en party at my office in the Infamous Tentmaker Job (tm), since we've established a tradition of shedding our seriousness a couple days a year and having parties. I was going to dress up as a Red Sox player (I know, mixing fun and religion again... *snork*...) and had my costume in the back seat, along with the paper plates, plastic cutlery, and divers decorations, since I was one of the Party Instigators.
Never made it.
Came awfully close to never making it anywhere, ever again, had my guardian spirits not been really, really watchful.
For reasons still unknown, I blacked out at the wheel on a back street near my former home. A number of things conspired to keep me alive and keep those I almost hit in the same shape: it was rush hour, yet there were no other cars nearby. It was near an elementary school, yet all the kids were safely in class by a few minute's timing. I had been going uphill about the time I blacked out, so I wasn't going fast when the car went off the road (only about 5 feet in, mind!), struck a tree and divested it of about a foot of bark, then car, me, and pieces of tree ended up on a retaining wall. I did not hit the woman who was about to leave her driveway, because something knocked a piece of paper off her front seat--and she braked to catch it. I did not hit her neighbor who was taking out his trash--because he paused at the astonishing sight of an unconscious woman in an auto that was slowly moving toward his neighbor lady's tree.
Somehow I had gone about half a mile from where I last remembered being, and come to rest in their yard. The two neighbors were kind, helpful, and compassionate. The police and the EMTs were thorough and considerate. And I found myself in hospital, with nothing worse than a lump on the side of my head. Go figure...
In the ER, the first thing they found turned out to be the dealie: I had everything else as normal as normal could be, except the electrolyte potassium was "oddly low" according to the nice man who took my blood and did the tests. They explained as to how this could cause muscles like the heart to temporarily take a rest, thus lowering blood to the brain and causing unconsciousness... but no one could tell me how the drop occurred. We all pretty much agreed that I have superb guardian angels....
So where does Psalm 139 come in? Well, my doctors ordered every test they could think of, including MRIs, 24-hour monitoring, and all that. They told me I had the brain of a 30-year-old (I'm 51) and didn't get the joke when I said very seriously, "Hmm, she'll probably be wanting it back sooner or later then, you think??" :) And they ordered an ultrasound of my heart.
Now mind... I've seen ultrasound before. Watched my son wave at me from within my womb, watched friends' soon-to-be kids do likewise. And yes, I cried at the very sight of it, for it is indeed an astonishing thing. But somehow, laying there in that awful hospital gown, watching my very own heart beat on TV, seeing how wonderfully regular and strong it was... the music came into my head: "I am fearfully and wonderfully made... my soul knoweth that full well...." And to the dismay of the young man doing the test, I started to cry. Tears of thanksgiving... tears of grateful joy, tears of delayed reaction to everything that had happened. Took a while to explain, but then he told me quite seriously: "Happens fairly often, I just wanted to be sure you weren't squicked or something." *grins* Kids these days...
That and some basic fallout from same contributed to my absence from the blogosphere. My beloved little sedan is gone, alas, for it cost more than it was worth to fix it up; I am now the proud owner of a green pickup truck and 72 months of vehicle payments. But I was reminded in my reading today that it had been a rather close run--and the grateful tears came rushing back. I'm glad to be here!
And I'm glad you're all here too. Prayers forthcoming for all the concerns expressed in various places; may God walk with you always!
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