Running

Running....I keep running hoping to outrun sadness, to run away from home or perhaps just to catch up with my now healed body. Last Friday I ran in the woods, in a quiet trail I found rarely used at the park. I have found comfort in the quiet solitude of the woods. There crying and sweating don't seem out of place, as if the rustling leaves encourage my heart to let go and as my body relaxes into the rhythm of my stride my heart too relaxes into this sadness that defines me, and it is so comfortable, like falling into a down comforter after a long day. The tears are healing, and often times I find myself calling out for comfort. Does He hear? If He does, how come I don't feel it? How come my tears are never spent? What new stage of grief is this? I'm confused, it seems to be getting more and more difficult to face life alone. I'm often weepy and tired. Even after a long run where all tension of the body and heart are released I find myself crying at the first notes of a song on the radio or at the thought of opening the door to an empty house.

Last Friday as I was running out of the trail I tripped on a root and fell, twisting my ankle and cutting the side of my knee. When I got up I couldn't stand on my right foot, blood ran down the left side of my leg mixing in with the mud from the wet trail. After I got cleaned up I realize that it was only a slight sprain, but it'll keep me from running for a few days. I missed my long run on Saturday and today's run. I hear the calling of the leaves and feel the coolness of the morning air on my face, my feet yearn for the trail but cannot move, my heart waits patiently for healing and my mind races trying to find a momentary place to cry.

My Body

My body seems to be making decisions on its own, making up its mind on how it'll handle change. After Ron's death it decided to stop eating and sleeping even though I begged for rest, it decided to fade into the pain, to blend with the grief, to ignore all the cues that would keep it alive as if choosing to follow them to death. It has taken a monumental effort to contradict it's decision. I have had to be reminded to eat. Carmel on the constant lookout for eaten power bar wrappers and making smoothies when even chewing seemed a chore. Her first question when I picked her up from school, before I could even get in a "Hi", was, "What did you have for lunch?" and if I couldn't remember she would shake her head and say, "Mom, you got to eat!" and be mad at me until she saw me eat some dinner. I began to make a greater effort, mainly because I hated to upset her. I needed her to talk to me. So before she asked I would tell her, "Today I had a turkey sandwich," "Really?" "Well, only half but it was good." And she would smile and tell me about her day. For a while I had to make an effort to remember, for Carmel, but soon I didn't have to remind myself, my body remembered and soon Carmel stopped asking. One day I asked why she didn't ask anymore and she looked at me deeply and said, "Cause I don't need to." "What makes you say that?" and like a teenager she said, "I don't know." That night after I undressed I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time and was surprised by what I saw...curves that weren't there before. My ribs weren't protruding and the bones in my spine were hidden by a healthy layer of muscle, my legs have definition and look stronger. I sat down and cried...silly but what my body told me I was not ready to hear. My body decided to move on, to live without him, to make this the new normal. Well, I wanted to scream "It's NOT normal!" My heart and mind don't want to let go. I feel betrayed! If my body is moving on, why not the rest of me, how can I be left behind? I don't want to hold on to this sadness forever, but I realize that I'm a bit attached to it, as if letting go means that I'm letting go of myself. What else will I loose? My heart is torn, my mind is confused but my body has finally entered reality and has welcomed the new life. I hope I can soon follow.....

Affliction

"An old Puritan said that if you go into the woods and are very quiet, you will not know whether there is a partridge, or a pheasant, or a rabbit in it. But when you move or make a noise, you soon see the living creatures. They rise or they run. When affliction comes into your soul and makes a disturbance and breaks your peace, your graces rise. Faith comes out of hiding and love leaps from its secret place."
C. H. Spurgeon

I love the last sentence in this paragraph..."love leaps from its secret place." The word leaps gives me the feeling of energy and intensity. Leap means action, to spring free. Love that springs free from the depth of Christ. Amazing! What I feel is affliction what He gives is active, energetic love, love that leaps like Tigger in the darkness of the Hundred Acre Woods. He continues to amaze me with His intensity, there is nothing passive about Christ. It is in my suffering that God has stated and demonstrated His great compassion.

Today, in this very moment I feel His love leaping into the depth of my heart. I can see my storm is passing leaving me once again in peaceful surrender.

Resilience

Resilience: the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused by compressive stress; an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change.

Someone commented on the resiliency of my daughters and it caused me to look up the true meaning of the word. I don't know if I truly understood what they meant by such a comment, do you, after experiencing so much change, go back to the same life as before? To fully understand I had to go back to the word recover, and its meanings. The one that applies best to our experience is "to save from loss and restore to usefulness." I can say He is in the process of restoring back to usefulness. God saved us from the loss of Ron, He has not allowed us to drown in our own grief and sadness and is faithfully restoring us back to life. I don't think we'll ever be as we once were, but it's true, children are resilient. We are so surprise when we see children recover from the most traumatic of situations, for we adults tend to hold on to grievances, taking them out again and again when things don't go our way, using them as a ready excuse for our lack of discipline. Children take these things as part of life, we are unique in America that adversity and suffering are rare, but in most of the world, children are expose to life challenges early on. I grew up surrounded by human misery, beggars and deformed people on the streets, starving animals waiting to pray on small unattended children, famine and death, war and pestilence and these things didn't weaken or impeded my growth, in fact they made me stronger and more determined to rise above it and do something about it. No wonder I became a teacher and social worker, then when God called me, I was willing to go where He sent me. These experiences are what makes me who I am, what He so gently used to mold my heart and as I continue in this road I see He's not quite done. My daughters are no different. Loss has changed them forever, their hearts are more compassionate, their faith a little stronger, their complete surrender unhindered by logic and free to trust the One who holds our future. This change is painful, but change without pain is not truly real change. There is a steep price to be paid for the most valuable lessons in life, those are the ones that permanently mold our future, the ones that never leave us, that direct our decisions and embark us in the road less traveled. It is true my daughters are resilient, but is there less resiliency as we age? Have I reached my limit of being able to adjust to misfortune or change? Again I am at a loss when it comes to my ability to adapt and my life continues to surprise even me. I have come to understand that this is not about me but about Him, for His glory and His eternal purpose. When I began to see it that way a big burden was lifted off my shoulders for it's not how much I can take, obviously I'm weak, but how much He can take in me, so resiliency is not something that only children can experience. The true life of a believer is defined by our resiliency to His continual molding and shaping...isn't that what sanctification is all about? This is a journey in which I become more and more useful to Him who guides my steps and holds my future.

Senses

I am now finding life more arresting, feeling it with ferocity, every little experience monumental and intoxicating, as if I'm living in a world of giants and even the almost non existing smell of the ground is overwhelming. Why are my senses so acute, why do they hold me hostage, not only to my present but to my past? I have always experienced life thru my senses only leaving out sight. Many a nights I laid in my bedroom with my eyes closed tightly, listening to angry voices outside the door, smelling alcohol pouring out of my stepfather's pores, feeling the dampness of sweat in the hot and humid hours of the early dawn, engaging my mind in the ferocious act of trying to make the moment not real just because I failed to see it with my own eyes. Now I find myself facing my present with the same aggressive feelings, if only I close my eyes tightly to this maybe it's not real, but I can smell loneliness, taste the coolness of my tears, feel the presence of nostalgia in my every movement and hear sadness in every beat of my heart. I feel like a Russian character trapped in a very long novel in Siberia...cold and exhausted.

My Storms

Grieving is like being in the open ocean on a very small boat at first, so small that you feel every little movement of the water, every ripple, every wave, making you dizzy and disoriented. Then as you move along in this mass of deep water your legs become accustomed to the rhythm of the ocean and you only feel the bigger waves. Soon you exchange the little boat for a bigger one and the movement is less noticeable coupled with the fact that you're used to the water and soon you feel only the biggest of waves, but you're still traveling in this mass of water without destination and subjected to the storms the earth generates. I expect them now, when the waters have been calm for a while I know a storm is brewing and I anticipate the gale force of wind and water in my horizon. These past two days I have been bearing a storm, my emotions are as unpredictable as the waves, the force of each drowning my common sense, just tossing me around and beating up my body. The reason for each storm is still a mystery to me. What triggers the wind to hit my face and the water to almost drown me could be anything, I'm always on the alert yet each time it happens I'm unprepared. I have learned to just face each with complete surrender and let the force of my emotions exhaust me. I have tried to bear down and stop it but I'm tired and I just surrender with infinite patience for I know that eventually they will subside and I'll have rest. I'm done analyzing grief, and have just accepted it. Every one has an opinion but until you have been on that boat you can't give advice from the safety of land. Climb in this boat with me and just hold me while the storm rages on and passes. Courage is something like patience, it can only be exercise in the most uncomfortable moments in life. Soon land will be within my sight but for the moment I'm bearing down another storm, knowing this won't be the last and hoping I can have the courage to persevere.

In The Company of Women

I had a dream last night that cause me to wake up laughing. I don't remember any details or images all I remember is feelings, noise and texture. Funny how the mind works, specially mine, me being so moved by my senses. I tried to remember but all that lingered was the smell of mint tea and sugar and the feeling of having been in the company of women. That satisfying feeling I get when I hang up the phone after having a long conversation with a much loved girlfriend. Perhaps widows seek the company of women, not just for comfort but to have somebody to talk to about the mundane things of being a woman, the laundry and kids teachers, frizzy hair and our weight. Silly how those tidbits of nothing fill us so deeply.

When I visited California I needed the companionship of my girlfriends. They opened their arms and homes to me. They took me out shopping for my first pair of high heel shoes, one shared her hard kept beauty secrets (which I promised not to reveal!) and another took me out for drinks after encouraging me to buy a pair of tight fitting jeans and sexy underwear, telling me that what I wear underneath will boost my confidence and make me feel young and sexy. It worked! They made me throw out my mommy underclothes and gave me a lesson on bras and all they can accomplish no matter what size you are. They reminded me that though I feel old and worn, I'm not. That there is a lot of young desiring me left behind making me blush and laugh at the same time. Even though I don't remember my dream I'm glad I was visited last night and for a little while I was surrounded by my friends.

Newness of Life

Time seems to be passing by so swiftly and I often find myself in its wake, just the tail end blurring my vision with heat, light and air, kind of like standing on the side of fast moving traffic. Europe a distant memory of feelings and experience, tucked away in the recesses of mind and space, was I there, did it really happened? Perhaps I need another break. Running has been sporadic, my body trying hard to move but my mind is so slow that by the time it gives my legs the signal to move forward it is too late and the sun is either down or too high so as to be to hot to move.

Much has happened since I got back. The girls are in school and I find that I'm still adjusting to all the newness of this life. Never had I dropped my children at school and driven away. I smiled and blessed each as they got out of the car and I drove away with longing refusing to look at the rear view mirror, I think I can begin to understand Lot's wife. I ended at the park and ran 12 miles where my sweat mixed with my tears and after two long hours my body felt cleansed and my spirit renewed. I have no doubt that this is best for all. Long gone are my home school days, I'm no longer a housewife. No tragedy here just newness.

Now comes the task of filling my days. I'll be teaching High School Spanish at a school for home schoolers and working with the Child Abuse Prevention Program in Pickens County, with The First Steps Program, helping mothers with the first 3 months of the life of their new baby. All this will occupy my mind and heart as there is no greater joy than seeing new life. I love teens, their lives just before them full of possibilities and for someone who feels like the best has passed, this is a gift. Perhaps my perception of the future will change and I'll begin to see that I'm moving into a different season just as fulfiling as the last. My heart and mind cannot comprehend such truths, it's like looking at advanced calculus, a mystery.

The girls exitment is contagious. The long drive home is full of laughter and stories of the day. Carmel is running Cross Country, giving her a connection to her dad. Her mind is now filled with the things that freshmen think about, friends and homework instead of lifting the weight off my weary shoulders. She is very protective of me, a little lioness doing as much as she can to ease my sadness, too much responsibility for an almost 14 year old. The other two are now coming home tired and sleeping deep and peaceful, something they had been struggling with since Ron's death. We will continue to make plans for the future and fill our days with life, not the old life but a new one.

Jazz

I have been waking late lately, not used to finding light and heat upon opening my eyes my body seems to be disoriented with the late morning radiance. I feel as if I have been missing something important, forgetfulness constantly pouncing on my thoughts, something always out of reach but what it is I can't seem to grasp. Is my mind getting foggier just when my world is getting brighter? I have had to make quite a few big decisions lately...where to place the girls in school, finding a job close to their school. I feel I'm overlooking something important, something significant. My body is finally wanting to sleep and I often wonder if it wants to wake up at all. I try to will myself to wakefulness, setting several alarms, not covering the birds so they'll sing the sunrise to life, yet my body does not hear, every night sinking so deep in sleep that it doesn't even dream. Long gone are the sleepless nights now replaced by groggy mornings and slow long days. My energy is low, my body feels like it's walking under water and my mind cannot grasp the sunshine above the surface.

Music has awaken my heart. Jazz music no less, this is a new awakening for me. When I could not hear anything but the deep longing of my heart, the hush whispers of a long ago life, now all I want to hear is the trumpet sound of Chris Botti and the mellow deep voice of Diane Krall. Jazz is new to me, I didn't know poetry and music could blend together such sounds as to squeeze my heart so tight that tears fall unnoticed. Amaris took me to a concert and the music surprised me, I didn't expect my hearing to be restored under the moonlit night of an amphitheater. We two sat close together eating fruit, bread and cheese, when the first melody hit my heart, deeply peeling away the scabs of loss and silence. My body froze in amazement and I let the music do its work, it was painfully good, I laid my head on the blanket and looked at the stars and the bats darting to and fro as if in tune with the haphazard melody coming from the piano. Then I realized that my life has been like the jazz music I was listening to, darting here and there and settling no where but dancing to a melody I could not yet hear. I was happy when it ended and could not sleep for hours. Unable to explain the glow that accompanied my heart or the music that was still echoing in my mind. When I came home the music was here waiting, in the car as I went to work, in the house as I made dinner for the girls, but what was more surprising was that it lulled me to sleep the deep sleep of satisfaction, contentment, and perhaps a little forgetfulness.

Slow Transformation

Soon very soon my morning will dawn. I have seen light in the distance of my future and the sky is less dark, less lonely, less frightful. I pray that He soon opens the flood gates of His glory in my life. That God is "glory" or "excellence" beyond our understanding none can deny. But does my heart look up to Him every day in humble, earnest worship and know the truth and speak the truth "Thou art my glory"? Not as often as it should. My safety and that of my children lies in the fact that He possesses me. My deepest, holiest joy comes only when I humbly say in the hour of my secret worship, "Thou art mine."

These past few weeks He has been transforming me. He is restoring my sight, my understanding of who I am and who I belong to. For so long I saw myself thru Ron's eyes. He found me beautiful, attractive and often told me so, in the secret hour of love, in the quiet nights when he tenderly held me in love and passion, I would see it in his eyes, I could hear in his quiet voice, I could feel it in the way he gently touched me. Now that he's gone, I no longer see what he saw. Before me stands a woman far older than 42, whose hands are rough and wrinkled, hands that have lived far more years than I. Hands that have held life as well as death, that are familiar with the warm smooth skin of a just born baby and the cold steel of scrap metal salvaged from a bomb site. My hands feel ancient, wiser, cold and tired, not quite comfortable with the body they are attached to, contemptuous of the younger me. I am beginning to understand them. My hands hold the vastness of my past, the history of my construct, their lines reveal all the lives that I have lived and the lives that yet await. They continue to be lifted high in adoration, in glad surrender, in praise as well as in pain. How much more can they hold? I am slowly finding them beautiful, not because they are but because of all they hold. And as I begin to see beauty in the most worn parts of me, I see beauty in the rest of me. My face is trusting, perhaps sadness and grief has soften the lines on my face making me safe for others to open up and share. Perhaps I will never see what Ron saw, for the mirror that he was for me is broken, what I'm beginning to see is what He sees, and He too whispers sweetly, in the secret hour of intimate prayer, in the way He gently touches my heart that I am beautiful.

Letter From Camp

Dear Mom,

I miss you so much I can't wait to see you. I love you Mom. I am haveing fun at camep. I no allmost evre one in the caben. Mom, Dad loves you more then eney one and I hope I can love you just as much.

Love,
Abigail

Letter to 14 year old Elizabeth

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I will start by simply saying that this may not be the kind of letter your mom had in mind when she asked me to write to you and encourage you in your walk and maturity with God. In this season in my life I’m not the motivational Christian older woman…I’m afraid churches wouldn’t ask me to come and speak at their women’s retreats for every thing I have to say is laced with tears. As I write this tears are falling on my already weathered face.

My heart is heavy dear child and your mom may not want you to read this until you are ready to understand this pilgrimage we are all on. It is not an easy road Elizabeth. The Word tells me that His burden is light and His yoke is easy. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not true. You may think that I’m contradicting the infallible Word of God but I’m not. He doesn’t promise an easy road, free from pain and grief, in fact He does promise that we are called to partake in His suffering. This road may be easier and lighter than the road of the world, the deprived, unsaved world, maybe, for I do remember that even David asked God how the wicked prosper. I have asked those same questions and He tells me that the rain falls on the wicked as well as the righteous. But I think a little less rain falls on some of us. Few are called to walk in the desert and because the road we travel is deprived of water when we come upon a small puddle it seems like an oasis. I don’t begin to know how He decides who will walk in the land of plenty and who will walk in this arid dry harsh environment. But I have been chosen for such a road. Friends have told me what a privilege it is to be chosen to partake in His suffering and that I should rejoice that I could understand better the words of Paul, for he too suffered much. That may be all good and true but the reality of the hurting heart is that it sucks! I don’t want to suffer; I don’t want to walk this way. I want my feet to point to the lush green valleys of life. Yet here I sit broken, hurting, submitting to His will and purpose for me and I have a responsibility to keep on walking in this harsh dry land.

The last time I had thirst quenching water was a lifetime ago and it didn’t come from a puddle, but from a deep, cool pool and I was able not only to dip my hand for a drink but to cool my body as well. The memory of such luxury is all but faded now and all that remains is what I tell my heart to be true. He is aware of my thirst and pain, but my troubled soul cannot comprehend such truth. I can see how Thomas felt, if only my faith was greater and my flesh would not war with my heart. I know God’s hand is in all…

In all nature,
In all circumstances,
In all my past,
In all my present,
In all my future.

I find myself rethinking and recalling memories of the past and wondering about moments to come and the miles that I have yet to tread, and I lose heart and feel tired and burdened.

Elizabeth I have lived and loved and given birth and put to rest flesh of my flesh, my three year old daughter Naomi. I have also laid to rest next to her small body the body of my husband of 22 years, of the man whose life pointed to Christ, who loved me like Christ loves the church, who un-raped me, whose gentleness tamed my wild heart and my bitter soul. The only man I have ever loved, whose love was so near to the love I have for Christ.

I sit here alone and broken telling myself “Not as I will, but as Thou wilt…”even in my sorrow…”not what I but what Thou.” This shall hallow my hopes, this shall hush my fears, this shall ward off disquiet, this shall calm all my anxieties, this shall soothe my heart-aches, this shall give rest to my weariness and when my sadness reaches the desert of my heart, it shall be the deeper for-taste of everlasting peace and rest…not what I in my misery, and ignorance, and blindness and sin, but “what Thou,” in His mercy and holiness, and wisdom and love.

Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in between darkness and light in a world of shadows, my visibility is limited and I am trusting that though I cannot see, I have a very safe and secure guide but I’m still a bit scared. I do have one word to give you child, trust. Trust that is what He keeps telling me. I trust him but it is me I don’t trust. Death and sorrow are powerful emotions that strip the heart of all defenses, of all common sense, of any protection. Elizabeth my mind speaks logic but my heart has no ears….

I pray my dear one that the road you travel will be lush, abundant, lacking nothing and then you can just toss this aside and ask your mom what this crazy lady is talking about.

Trust, trust that He will give you what is best for what you think is better, and learn to receive His best, to humbly submit with open arms, to weep as well as rejoice that He is your King and to have the assurance even in your darkest hour when the heart is heaviest that you are under His everlasting arms.

In love, in sorrow, in darkness,

Maritza Ray

Trust

By now I should be so trusting of Him that I would not fret over situations yet to be experienced, my mind plays with my heart often making me feel less stronger than I am. He keeps reminding me that "I am better than I thought and stronger than I believed." Last night was to be my first night alone in the house, after dropping the girls at summer camp for a week. Leaving the girls at camp was very emotional. Abigail rubbed my arm and held on to me 'till the very last minute before I got in the car. I quietly cried part of the way home. I missed them terribly but was also unprepared to be alone, I realize that the Lord is dealing with me in that area of my life. I need to be comfortable with aloneness, I love the quiet house but was dreading sleeping in it. I thought of bringing in my big red dog and let him climb on the couch with me, I didn't think I was "emotionally prepared" for an empty bed last night. Silly? but what can I do, one more thing to get use to, one more fear to surrender. I'm so glad He's very gracious with me and only exposes one weakness at a time, lately I've felt He's on a very intense mission to cleanse me. I wonder what's next?!

After all that worry, I actually slept in my bed alone, well with the menagerie of pets around me ;-) The dogs on the floor at the side and foot of the bed, the bird in her cage quietly cooing before settling for the night and the cat purring at my side nestle between my arm and ribs. I slept soundly, without fear and woke to dawn gently breaking into the room from the skylight above my bed. I cried with relief and thankfulness, "Lord you are so patient with me." I ended up laughing at the silliness of my heart. I should have learned this lesson from my Abigail. Yesterday they had to do a swimming test at camp, and here at home since they swim on the lake and she's never had swimming lessons she has to wear a life vest. She's never gotten in the water without it. I sat and watched from the top bench and wondered if she was going to tell her camp counselor that she can't swim, but to my surprised she jumped in the deep water of the lake without hesitation and swam across as instructed, I stood watching her, surprised that she had so much confidence and no fear when she probably didn't know if she could swim. When she came out of the water and walked to the benches to get her towel I ran to her and hugged her and told her how proud of her I was. She was as surprised as I was that she could swim, I asked her if she was scared and she said no, "I knew that if I began to sink they would pull me out." Isn't that what God does for us? I should have known that if I began to sink from fear He would pull me out!

California

I just got back from sunny California and I saw and smelled the ocean. How vast, how deep and blue, so much feeling in just one long look...I felt Him present at my side silently talking in the hushing sound of air and sky. Nature heals me, touches me deeply and seeing the endless waters meet endless sky reminded me of His endless love for me. How can I feel so lonely when He so quietly stand closely by? I ran like an energetic child just let out from school, finding trails in my old neighborhood I didn't know existed, running from inland to ocean, logging countless miles under my feet and still feeling like it was not enough. The air was wet and salty, I could taste it with every breath. I laughed at the sound of sea gulls and cried with joy as I heard and saw dolphins playing close to shore. It was only me and nature, too early even for surfers who were still walking down with their gear and eying the swelling waves reluctant to get into the cold water. Why did we leave this place? Then I remembered the old life and how this new life wouldn't fit here. A single mom with five children in Southern California? No, it just wouldn't work no matter how blue and vast the ocean is.

His Song of Affection

Today I got a little card of encouragement from my daughter's pastor with a simple sentence that left me overwhelmed with His grace, "May the Spirit of Christ draw near to you and sing His song of affection to your heart." That is what I have been craving "His song of affection." I have spent over twenty years with a very affectionate man and now I seldom hear that I'm loved or feel the warm touch of affection. My children tell me so but that is not the love I'm referring to nor am I referring to sex. I thrive on proximity, and often now I find myself alone. The dogs get near me and I no longer push them away, but always let the big red dog lick my hand or face and I go looking for my girls to touch, a little rub on the back or just to run my hands thru their silky long hair. But it is always me doing the touching, seeking out with my rough hands for warmth. I miss his gentle attention to my body, the way he would reach out for me when I was doing the most ordinary and mundane little task of the day. He never passed by me without reaching for me as if to assure himself that I was there. Ron's song of affection came to me not as a melody but with touch or written words. He knew how words were the language of my heart and would leave little cards or notes for me to find under my pillow or inside my coat pocket, these were as sweet and gentle as his touch. He knew that growing up my mother never touched me or held me and the only touch I received as a child was perverted so he made an effort to grace me with little tidbits of affectionate touch so frequent as to make up for the many years I lacked them. His words were always loving and affirming, knowing too that all I had received before meeting him was cruel criticism spoken in anger, words that destroyed the little innocent child in me. Now I look at the Living Word for encouragement but I miss warm touch. If only I could feel His arms around me...I would sleep better and would be a little less cold. He sings over me, I can hear it now, but its His affection that I crave.

Last Weekend

Here I am sitting in Ron's office procrastinating again...not wanting to do the bills and finances. Why is it so hard to do our duty? I have had a good dose of caffeine and a great breakfast and even shed some tears as I looked over the lake and listened to Cat Stevens...he reminds me of my growing years, when my friends and I sat in the front of our house in Nicaragua in the darkness listening to gun fire in the distance, wondering what our future would be like, would we make it past the war, past the famine and suffering that guns and hate bring? Never did I imagined that 26 years later I would be sipping coffee, safe, surrounded by nature and looking forward to the blessings of spending time with my daughter Amaris. I sit here musing and thinking of the past, consumed by memories of a life that was. How many lives have I already lived and how many more remain? The past is the past, untouchable, unattainable, the essence of what makes us who we are. We are molded by it, it expands us or restrict us. It guides us into the future and we must surrender to it willingly or we remain stuck in it. It amazes me that God teaches us thru our past experiences, reveals Himself thru its deliverance. He so graciously gives and gently takes away. I sit here thanking Him for His kindness, who am I to have deserved so much? How can I not fall at His feet and thank Him, not only for my past but my present and my future. As Spurgeon once wrote, "We need clouds and darkness to exercise our faith--to cut off self dependence and make us put more faith in Christ and less in evidence, less in experience, less in feeling. The best of God's children's...have their nights..." I am waiting patiently for morning.

The peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains remind me of a little poem by Ruth Bell Graham...

Those splendid,

soaring jagged peaks,

stripped of trees

of grass and sod

whose snow

the sunlight lingers

are but the braille letters,

where we mortals

blind and fragile

trace our finger

to spell the name

God.

I am now that blind and fragile mortal that in moments of infinite vulnerability can only trace the outline of His name. Nature does have a healing effect on me and I'm glad I'm surrounded by it, but I also need the confusion of the city, the noise, the concrete and steel...to be one among the many and be swallowed up by its fast pace.

Last weekend I was in Atlanta staying with friends and it felt good to have stepped out of life. To surrender to the business of the mall on a Saturday morning. To sip wine at a tavern after seeing a movie not made by Walt Disney and talk late into the night about everything and nothing with a girlfriend. Walking to Starbucks to get a latte alone felt like I was this carefree woman with nothing on my mind but the insignificant stuff of the day. I have needed this...can one really step out of life? Yes! My grief was on hold for just a couple of days and when I came home it was there patiently waiting for me. The heaviness of it swallowed me up and it welcomed me home. How long had I been gone? A life time?...Two days ?...enough to clear my mind, to strengthen my frame, to pretend I was somebody else in another time in another place. When I walked in the house I was surprise to realized that I had missed this sadness that defines and sustains me. It made me more sad to learn that I have come to see this as part of my construct, as part of my being. I will never be able to run away from it, grief will have to be the one to leave me, to gently walk away from me. I wonder if I will just wake up one morning and the world will be in color...now I only see black and white, my eyes have adjusted and often I forget what it was like to be surrounded by light, music and laughter...I miss the old and pray that the new will be brighter, for now I am satisfied to walk in this in between place of darkness and light, in a world of shadows undecided as to where to go. The past pulls me back and the future tugs me forward. Both scare me a bit, one because I know will stagnate my life and the other because I only have very limited visibility. I'm trusting that though I cannot see, I have a very safe and secure Guide. I feel like a blind woman walking down a crowed street afraid that the noise of life around me will cause harm. I'm very vulnerable right. Grief and sorrow are powerful emotions, that strip the heart of all defenses, of all common sense, of all protection. I should be happy to have stepped out of so much sadness...my mind speaks logic but my heart has no ears.

Thanksgiving.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Thanksgiving.

So here I am, the Thanksgiving day of 2006 come and gone, listening to my mother's futile attempts to vacuum the house that was recently ransacked by many very-Hispanic family members; my very-American father typing away in his "mobile command center," happy that he no longer has to worry about language barriers at the dinner table; my sisters scampering in and out of the house, enjoying the very un-November-like weather; my brother playing guitar in his upstairs bedroom, putting off doing his laundry so we can drive back to school; and my anxious little cockatiel whistling away the afternoon, happy that she can be heard instead of the loud Spanish noises that have been the music of my household for the past several days. Thanksgiving is quite a to-do in this little house of mine.

I greatly enjoy Thanksgiving, if only for the pumpkin pie. I really do like seeing the family we only get to see once a year, and having them tell me how much I've grown (I stopped growing in 7th grade, I promise) and how beautiful I'm becoming. Hispanic women are dreadfully loving and sweet. No matter how much they tell me I'm not eating enough at the "Georgia Institute of Technology University," I still love having them in my house, asking them about the countless other relatives who couldn't come this year, because they always seem to know what's happening in their family, and they always seem to have the best stories. They group together and speak in hushed whispers about what will become of us, the young ones, pretending I can't understand what they're saying. I love how they refuse to speak to me in English and refuse to accept an answer from me in English--making sure I don't forget the language that's supposedly in my blood.

But, now that that family has left, returning to their own very-Hispanic homes, I can breathe and actually think about the past few days and the meaning of this hectic holiday. Gratitude and thankfulness for one's life only comes one day out of the year? I beg to differ... I would hope that it comes more often than that... however, I am glad that there's actually a time of year that basically forces me to view my life as a whole to grasp how much there is to appreciate. While I'm a big fan of lists, the list of things I'm thankful for has no foreseeable end. There’s simply entirely too much that I love. I think it’s taking me a while to fully grasp how much I’ve been blessed with… And, sadly, I don’t think I’m adept enough to express all my comprehension troubles with words. I hope it’s enough to simply state that I’m quite grateful right now, here, today, in this small cyber space.

Defenseless

"Other refuge I have none,
hangs my helpless soul on thee;
leave, ah! Leave me not alone,
still support and comfort me.
All my trust on thee is stayed,
all my help from thee I bring,
cover my defenseless head
with the shadow of thy wing."
Jesus, Lover of My Soul

Defenseless, that is the new feeling we four girls are experiencing. We didn't realize how safe and protected we felt when Ron was alive. How we took for granted the peace we felt when we laid our heads down every night. We never even locked our doors, just knowing that he slept beside me was comfort enough. All we took for granted, how strange that now we are so vulnerable. I lock and check the doors every night and the girls follow me around to make sure I didn't miss anything. The dog is brought in and we lay down to pray, but that feeling of abandon peace is gone. We trust Him now, but as Abigail comments we can't see Him, and sometimes He doesn't seem to be there. How do you teach young children to trust His presence when you feel defenseless in the midst of the storm? I have had to go back to basics and read the Word. The things I know to be true, what I have heard in church and Sunday school, I need to hear again and again. We are reading together the Psalms before we pray. We are learning to exercise faith, to trust and believe even when we fail to see and feel protected. How can a God who loves us so much take away so much from us, and there is where we go back to basics. We deserve nothing and that we had so much is a blessing. We unworthy, unclean ones, whom He gave so much to save that we might become His, so that we can lay our heads and know that He does truly cover our heads with the shadow of His wing.

Ramblings

Today I found a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt that caught my attention, "Women are like tea bags, they don't know how strong they are until they get in hot water." I had to laugh because it's so true of us. We think we are capable of a lot less and when hardship hits we are surprised by how much we can endure. I once thought that loosing a child was the greatest hardship, oh how little did I know then about pain and the human spirit. I keep surprising myself every morning when I rise that I have made it thru another day and night, and time rolls forward like an endless carpet before me. Today has been long and the night is just beginning. Why are some days longer than others when all have equal amount of hours? It must be my moods, they are affected by the weather or the moon I don't know which. Some days I miss my old life more and other days I dive into the new life with anticipation. The old and the new, they don't mix, like oil and water. I am often torn between time and space, perhaps that is why Lots wife turned into a pillar of salt, she looked with longing at what was and was unsure at what was soon to come. I wonder if I am not too careful I too will turn into a pillar of salt. What use will I be then to my young ones.

I realize that deciding to move forward is not enough. I know it's a choice but even when I have chosen right the way seems so wrong and my heart fights my mind and it always ends up hurting. I choose God's path, my feet move forward in the direction He has for me but there is pain in every step and like a child I need someone to hold my hand so I can move with a bit more courage. Sometimes even He doesn't seem to be enough.

A Visit

It seems like my body is stuck like a broken record that won't move past a certain line of music, to wake at the same time of the early morning every day. My eyes open and I look at the clock across the couch, I have taken to sleeping in the family room, less heavy breathing there, and I can already guess the time, 2:30 am. I want to be unstuck! Go back to sleep and wake up at a normal hour like maybe five...but here I am tired of fighting my body because it doesn't listen so I give in to it like a mother given into the tantrums of a two year old.

Yesterday Carmel and I visited Amaris and sat at a coffee house for hours on a big L shape couch talking. We picked her up at the school gym after crew practice and surprised her with spring rolls and chocolate. So we had tea and ate dark chocolate covered pretzels and graham crackers and laughed and cried together as if we were alone instead of in a crowded coffee house. Our voices rose and fell like the tide on a full moon. We talked about everything, about school, boys and men and even sex, marriage, theirs and mine, past and present and even contemplated the future. It is easy to think of the future when you are at the verge of yours, but I feel like mine is at impasse, awaiting an unpredictable turn. Then we talked about love and the words of Longfellow came to mind..."First love or last love, which of these two passions is more omnipotent? Which is more fair? The star of morning, or the evening star? The sunrise or the sunset of the heart? The hour when we look forth to the unknown and the advancing day consumes the shadows--or that when all the landscape of our lives lies stretched behind us, and familiar places gleam in the distance, and sweet memories..." Their words about love were fresh and inexperienced, full of life and expectations, and mine were filled with memories, rich and heavy, scented with His grace, molded by gentle touch. I caught their attention and they listened well, and we cried not just for me and dad but for love.

I must try again and quiet this tantrum of my mind and seek some rest.

Empty Spaces

Books inspire me. They fill me with anticipation and excitement, they comfort me and make me less lonely, less lost, less sad. Not just their content by their smell and feel. There is a world of possibilities in a very small book store that reaches beyond simple geography. I sit in the children's section at Borders surrounded by books and toys. The voices of mothers reading to their little ones in the background and children asking questions fill this space and I quietly sit unnoticed like the invisible woman in a congested subway station and I like it.

I have left home and the girls behind. They are spending the weekend with friends, escaping life and sadness to feed a miniature horse and play with kittens and dogs. I know they will love this even my older one who wasn't so sure when I left them. We are slowly moving away from our old life to the new. When we come home on Sunday he will not be there. All his things have been put away and the house is ours now to fill with our lives. It will take some adjusting but these pains will move us forward. We have chosen life and this is the first step towards that glorious life He has planned for us. This is the road less traveled. Not many have walked this way, it feels like the night before going on a trip to unfamiliar places, a mixed of excitement and fear.

I spent the night in Atlanta at a friend's loft. She was a bit under the weather and I got to hang out with her husband. I thought it would be awkward, after all I haven't been around another man since Ron died. But it was fun and relaxing. We walked to a Persian restaurant had wine with a good meal and talked. I felt like an adult for the first time...drinking without my husband. In the morning we ran eight miles at a comfortable pace talking the whole time. I didn't know how much I had to say about other things beside death. It made me realize that I don't want to be defined by what I've lost but by what I've gained in the process.

This was also the first time I slept alone since Ron died. The girls have been sleeping with me and will probably continue to do so until they feel life is a bit safer, a bit more secure. I bet the last two nights they clung to each other for comfort. They hold on to what they love lest they lose it forever like their sister and their dad. Last night the bed was mine and I didn't feel alone for the first time. Even at home with a little one on each side I feel lonely and cold in bed. Last night I was warm and slept deeply (it could have been the wine!) I awaken rested and ready to run.

Later I had breakfast with my son and as I listened I realize how much I need to get to know him better. Jonathan is a young man filled with passion for God. I got a glimpse of this this morning, saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Ron knew this and encourage and nurtured this passion in our son. It is God's gift to want to glorify Him so completely. So I sat and listened and shared what was going on in my heart during this season. When we parted we understood each other better and loved each other more. As he left he looked into my eyes and told me something I had not heard another man say to me in the last three months, "Mom, you're beautiful." This brought tears to my eyes and satisfied my heart in an unexpected way. God is slowly filling the empty spaces of my heart just as we will fill the empty spaces in our home.

Saying Goodbye

"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives.....To comfort all who mourn, to grant those who mourn in Zion, giving them a garland instead of ashes. The oil of gladness instead of mourning. The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting. So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified." Isaiah 61:1-3

Yesterday I said goodbye to yet another integral part of my life. I have said goodbye to my three and a half year old daughter, to her little clothes and toys and security toy, a little terry cloth monkey...those things will not be folded in the wash or picked up from the floor or frantically looked for before bed....they were given away or tucked away in the attic where one day when my hands are wrinkle and my hair white and my heart ready they will be brought out and I will lovingly hold ready to say goodbye one last time before I see her...Yesterday we put away and gave away Ron's things. He has moved and I said goodbye to all the little things that made him Ron. Something were easy to pull out and fold and give away, suits and ties, work shoes and briefcase...though he worked for IBM and had to wear a suit and tie he never felt comfortable in one. I know he would have been relieved to have gotten rid of that. In fact he was so laid back that I remember one work review where the only negative comment about his performance was that he was too casual. We even buried him in his favorite pair of jeans, Life if Good teeshirt and his worn pair of birkenstocks. Now I don't know if you're suppose to bury people with shoes, but I did Ron, simply because he was always walking around in those and though he had several newer pairs in the closet, those were molded to his feet so good that it was the only thing he wore after a long run when his feet were sore. He crossed the finish line at the Jacksonville Half Marathon so naturally his feet would be in those. The rest of his things, the ones I saw him most in, hiking shirts, cycling clothes, all the race shirts we had accumulated running together, were like tucking in memories for later, a fast forward movie going in my head of all the finish lines crossed, the mountains climbed and the roads traveled. My hands caressed his favorite shirt the one that said "Not all those who wander are lost" and was put away for that one day when my hands are wrinkle, my hair is white and my heart is ready to see him again. I am not lost, just wandering thru this grief and moving forward to life.....

I thought it would be harder. In fact many thought it was too soon. Too soon for what? We all grieve differently and there is no wrong way to handle the pain. I am doing what must be done so that the girls and I can more forward to life. Walking around this house as if he still lives here doesn't help. He has moved away to better home, a mansion in the presence of Christ. He lacks nothing of this earth, and all these things do is prolong the process that will move us forward.

I have to cling to His promises. He will comfort us in this season, even in my darkest hour when the house is quiet and my heart feels empty like the shelfs in the closet. We will soon exchange our ashed for His garland, for His oil of gladness and His mantle of praise so we can grow into oaks of righteousness for His glory.

For Ron on Valentines Day 1991

A little girl as brown as dirt
sat beside a mango tree.
Her thoughts afar,
her little toes digging in the ground.

What will it be like to die alone...
to think of pain no more
to sleep the sweet sleep of death?
Such thoughts so deep and strong
shook her little scrawny frame into a sob.

You see she did not know
the careless laugh, precocious whims and
silliness of any other child just eight.

No warmth, except the stinky heat
that mixed her tears with her sweat.
The angry voices, outside her door,
the smell of alcohol,
so acid and penetrating to the pores.
The knock (sometimes), the door ajar
her room so dark,
the slow descend into the pit of hell...
Death so close and yet so far never came...

The child grew,
with hate rooted in her bitter heart,
anger, not trusting any man.
Not a soul knew such pain hidden under her dark eyes.

Thru Gods hands
(a God she did not know),
she left the land of the mango tree,
of dirt and sweat
and she almost thought she left
the hate and pain behind.

She met a man, gentle, kind, quiet...
No love she had to give.
Emotions she once said are for the weak,
she knew first hand.
Had she not had a mother who gave everything,
including her daughter for the love of a man?

She married the gentle man.
He was kind to her and yet inside her secret hid,
her mouth told lies,
but he could see once in while
the little bitter heart of the long ago child.

This man, he knew God,
he tenderly spoke of Him,
never pushing, saying few words,
knowing that pushing hard
would only draw her away
perhaps scared perhaps mad.

Jesus knew this was His child,
whom He embraced long ago under the mango tree
and gave the strength to go back in the house
and endure the pain.
He never left her,
not even when hell was so close to the child.

The pain and anger grew
bigger than her bitter heart.
It came out shaming her before a crowd.
The secret is out!
She could live with this no more,
death being nearer than before.

God chose this time to tenderly touch her
and call her His child.
She saw Jesus and His pain.
He embraced her, and told her of His love.
And she ran from death,
into the arms of her Father.

The light was on...
the darkness hid in her heart no more.
The pain was gone, (well not all of it sometimes)
and she was free.
Uprooted were the bitter roots,
the pain, mistrust, the hate,
replaced with Him.

New light! What sights!
What she saw for the first time
was the tender look of the kind gentle man.
He not ashamed,
nor repulsed by her abuse.
Tenderly took her in his arms...
and she became a child again.
And she could laugh,
that careless laugh she never knew,
precocious whims,
and silliness were new to her...
So he indulged her tenderly,
touched her softly,
and whispered of his love.

Oh and how she grew to love him.
The Lord restored what the locus ate...
Thru the man that He had chosen for her
long before the time
she sat under the mango tree.

Sons

"Death is not extinguishing the light, it is simply turning off the lamp because the dawn has arrived." The Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Help

Well, Ron may be enjoying Gods light but I'm still in the dark when it comes to certain things, especially sons. I only have one and one already almost raised, but I'm still having to give advise and listen. I realize that I'm not as good of a father as Ron, after all I'm only his mother! I tend to be very impatient with him. This is when I need Ron, to talk to Jonathan and fix it! Not that Jonathan needs fixing, just another male to encourage him. I was told today that dad was a better listener. Ouch! Just when I was starting to get a handle on things God reminded me that the road ahead is going to be a long one and just because my son is soon to be 21 doesn't mean he doesn't need a dad anymore. I was less concerned with him out of all the kids. The girls have been more emotional and able to talk about how they're feeling. Jonathan has been quiet and pensive and busy with school, ministry and his girlfriend. But deep inside he too was suffering the loss. When he finally came up and talked to me, all came undone and we had some very real words. I must be patient with him and with myself. We are both learning to live without dad.

My two older kids are very different and can't be compared. They have different strengths and weakness yet I tend to fail to see Jonathan strengths. He is older and I expect more, why? I don't know. Perhaps because at his age I was already on my own and not making quite the right decisions. I want what is best for both and today I realized that it has to be Gods best not mine. I will pray for him more diligently, listen more carefully and trust him completely into His hands. After all He tell me He is the Father to the orphans.

On Loneliness

Loneliness...everyone tells me to expect it and be prepare for it, as if I haven't been alone the last few weeks. Loneliness...surround yourself with friends, make sure you're not alone, brace yourself for the intense feelings of loneliness, well meaning friends have told me. I have come to realize that we all experience loneliness even when we are in the company of others. Married couples go thru lonely seasons as well as single people. I'm very familiar with loneliness, not just recently but throughout my life. Loneliness is part of moving forward in this long and glorious road we call life. I don't need to fix it. We are commanded to go thru it..."Be still and know that I am God." That is what the Word tells me. Jesus walked alone in the desert for forty days, He didn't take anybody to keep Him company. The angles came to minister to Him and He lacked nothing. I will walk thru my desert just the same, alone, knowing that too is part of my life and experience the comfort only angles and God can bring.

Music

"The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." Music always manages to move me deeply as well as words. To know that the All mighty rejoices over us with singing is incomprehensible, overwhelmingly awesome. I sit early in the morning quietly listening to the darkness give way to light and He sings! Oh if only my hearing was better!

I continue to make my way thru this, quietly walking in step to His music. The finances are coming together and I'm able to understand a bit better than before, I'm not so ignorant after all! I have chosen to live beyond this season. I came to realize that I had a choice on how I was to live the rest of my life without him. I choose to cherish life!

Colors

Colors. They give life depth and feeling. I'm slowly seeing in color again, not all the time, but once in a while when I'm not looking. My eyes catch a bit of green and blue and I try to look but then it's gone. I know I'll be color blind for a season but seeing color hurts my eyes in a satisfying way like pulling a splinter out. Life is slowly coming into focus and I can see a little bit farther ahead than before. I'm becoming bolder and less afraid, confident that nothing, truly nothing is impossible with Christ. I want to be a widow for a season only and then I will be me, whole, complete, vibrant and full of color. Ron filled in the lines with rich color and I will display the life he left behind with courage knowing that the Master artist moved his hands. I am a canvas, richly painted in the gallery of life and because of the Master Artist I'm worth far more than precious treasure. Oh what joy it'll be to have full sight!

My First Marathon

My first marathon was the beginning of pushing my body beyond what I ever thought possible and getting a glimpse of our eternal homecoming. The last few miles were the beginning of the end, when my knees felt like they could no longer carry me, my body had spent all the energy necessary to see me thru and yet deep in my soul I searched and found the reserves to finish. Finished battered, tired, spent, but gloriously uplifted, full of His hope, overflowing with the anticipation of a heavenly reunion.

When my body could not, would not listen to my mind, and slowed down and threaten to stop, I fixed my eyes on the finish line, so near yet so far....the vision came easily, slowly, clearly of my homecoming...my Lord and my Saviour waiting, beckoning with open arms...my child, my Naomi, her voice mixing in with the voice of the saints calling my name, cheering me on, encouraging, loving me thru to the end. My knees painfully gave out all they had and moved me forward. A moment I wished would never end yet couldn't wait for it to be over. In that instant I wasn't running for my body but for my soul.

The moment of crossing the finish line was insignificant to those around me. After all only 18 people were behind me, I was one of the last, yet to me it was of great significance. Time mattered little but in the realm of eternity those hours matted much. A glimpse of light entered my darkness, just a little flickering ray of glorious light, enough to hold on to tightly, enough to leave me wanting more. It was at that moment that I knew I would survive and endure and finish in pain, but with hope, and joy and yes even peace.

True to God's character, His mercies never ceasing, I won third place in my age group. A humorous accomplishment, since I was so slow, but one that lifted me and affirmed to me that from that season on I was a runner.

Now I'm a runner, a marathoner no less. I run not from but to...
to clear my mind;
to tire my body;
to worship Him in the silence of my breathing;
to be lost in the movement of my legs;
to fill my lungs to their full capacity with fresh cool air;
and in doing so be filled with Him.

I feel my life parallels a marathon. The more I run, the less it hurts and I become stronger, able to go the distance. Painfully at times but always completing the distance. Spiritually, the more I surrender my weakness, my cries, my longings, my memories, also painfully at times, the more He strengthens me and glorifies Himself in me and thru my sorrow and sadness. Truly joy can co-exist with pain...it is even more filling, complete, a gift that I'm eternally thankful to receive...and running is just that a wonderful mix of intense joy, peace and oftentimes pain.

Lord of All Seasons

"If I can't give thanks, trust, and worship the Lord in every 'season,' in the face of any set of facts which may touch my life, I am not really a believer. It is here, in my corner of God's earth, that I'm assigned my lessons in the School of Faith." From "Keep a Quiet Heart" by Elisabeth Elliot

I don't know how good of a student I am in this "School of Faith." Often times I feel incapable of completing any of my given tasks. Sure I can take care of the little things, like keep the house, school the girls, do the laundry, make the meals, but the things that I think count for most of my grade, if in truth I'm being graded for this season, I can't seem to get to, as if my legs are made of lead and I move in slow motion in a very rapid life.

I am thankful, I do trust and worship the Lord in this very cold and listless season of my life. If only those things would motivate me to action, well that's another matter. I wonder if this is a normal part of grieving? Truthfully I don't want to use that as an excuse for my inability to act. I feel trapped at home, not wanting to leave, but when I do I am reluctant to return. Coming home is just as hard as leaving. All his things await patiently, for his return. Only I know he's not coming back! So I have decided to move forward and do what must be done quickly, all in one shot. I have called the ladies from church to come and help me get his stuff out of the house. I can see why people move after a love one leaves for heaven. Alas Naomi left, Ron left and I'm still here! Change is needed, the older ones have gone and taken what is special, all that is left is stuff, the insignificant everyday stuff, running gear, shoes, coats, etc. All the things no longer needed to function in a heavenly home. I'm aware that looking at the empty spaces will be just as hard but at least I'll be one step ahead in this process. Grieving is like childbirth, it only gets harder before it is over.

The ladies will be coming next week, and I'll be a good student and learn, and glorify Him as we put things away being thankful that he lived and enjoyed all these things that made it possible for him to love and play with us.

Bicycles and Quilts

"The future belongs to God, and it is only He who reveals it, under extraordinary circumstances.....If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day according to the teachings, confident that God loves His children. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity." From "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho

Each day in itself does bring an eternity. It was so evident to us yesterday when time became blurred by tears and our hearts were touched by God. The moment was marked before it even happened like reading an old book and coming upon a dog eared page and finding an underlined passage that you know was read and re-read by the previous reader and when you find it are so glad that it was lovingly marked otherwise you might have missed it and read over it and missed its meaning... treasure among words. Yesterday was treasure among time.

We were working on our quilts. Quilts made of his favorite shirts, one for each one of our children, my sister-in-law Joy and my mom, who loved him like a son. My heart ripped as I cut into the first shirt and just like the mosaic of squares laid out on the table, was confused. He should be wearing these....I didn't realize how much he loved the color blue. I could see all the shades the sky had been under us , before he left. The bright blue of Yesemite as we looked up to Half Dome from the valley, the sad gray of Zion from the top of Angles Landing, the pale blue green reflecting on the waters of Hunting Island. All those skies covered us like quilts, and we were safe and secure, holding hands, hiking or cycling clueless that clouds were brewing in the distance of the storm that was soon to come. These quilts are being made to cover my children's fears, to remind them that dad loved them, each patch of color carrying a memory. The memories we shared, "Remember when he wore that shirt to my softball game, mom didn't like it because it was a bit too bright but I loved it because I could always spot him in the crowd cheering me, calling my name." And I remembered what I had forgotten....shared memories. Holding on to these like a child holds on to her special teddy bear. I know that I must prepare for the second stage of grieving. I'm still grieving for his body that is absent but soon I will grieve for those memories that time and toil will cause to fade. Oh how easily does it sneak up upon you, like looking in a drawer for something you know you placed there and not finding it. Maybe the quilts will help us not to forget and as we share each others memories, they will become like the patches in the quilt, a mosaic of colors and feelings and before we know it they will blurr with our own memories and instead of losing them we will add them to the drawer and when in those moments of silence when we are still and need him we will open the drawer and find much more there than we had thought would ever fit. The quilts will heal , the quilts will comfort and the quilts will remind us that he loved us because he was there everyday, under the sky holding our hands.

Hosanna was sad. Looking at the remnants of his shirts all over the floor, little pieces of him littered under the sewing machine. She came and sat by us, caressing each square being careful not to prick her fingers with a pin. She held my cold hand and listened to us talk. Did he really wear all those shirts? Too much to bear, too much to take in. She left, to walk under the massive blue sky and find a quiet spot to sit and ponder and maybe hide from all of this. Hiding always works, a little escape, a little reprieve. Hide in the barn behind some wood, under a tarp in the dark. Solace in silence, covered by darkness, does God care that she's hurting?

The next thing I hear is delight as she rushes in the sewing room, her face lit and bathed in sunshine and fresh cool air. "What happened Hosanna?" Her face beams as she shouts "I found my bike! The one daddy got me for Christmas!" Oh my! My heart leaped, God just touched my child! The bike we looked for for days, the bike he had carefully picked out and bought for her, and we could not find, I wasn't even sure if he had picked it up and with the bike shop going out of business we had no way of finding out. All of us that were here before Christmas looked for it. I know it wasn't there in December. God hid the bike as carefully as Hosanna hid herself today. As she leaned into the darkness and prepared to cry, her back touched the front tire. She got up and pulled the tarp, moved the wheel barrel and the wood, and there was the bike, shining, waiting for God's appointed time. The tears came but they were filled with joy. She proudly showed us where she found it. This was no accident that Christmas came in February for my Hosanna. All three girls rode the afternoon away, in the chilly wind, under the vast blue sky. Truly this kind of comfort not even our memory quilts can bring. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity.

Comfort

When I am all alone and no one is near
I just think of happy things
like a rainbow in the sky
and a bird that flies high in the sky
and when Jesus is near
when He comforts me
and the presence of my dad
and the warming of his hands
and the love in the air...
those things are happy to me.

Written by my 8 year old daughter Abigail

Visitors

Visitors. It amazes me how intimately God can touch us. When we cry out for flesh and blood comfort. I'm lonely for touch, and just when I hand that over to Him, He satisfies that need, sometimes even before I need it. My friend Pammie from California came to visit for a few days. Oh how precious it was to see her! We cried together but more importantly we laughed, deeply, unbinding, as if we were carefree, just girls laughing at a slumber party. She made us dance and listen to music, she cooked with Carmel and made us eat and taste and awaken if just for a moment parts of us that pain and grief had put to sleep.

Last time she was here was soon after Naomi died and she did the same thing. She encouraged me to run, I had never run before and within a year I ran five marathons! I have now ran 13 marathons in the last six years. That is what Pammie does for me.....She leaves behind part of herself, making me feel strong, courageous and yes even attractive! I look at myself and see this shell shocked 42 year old woman, she looked at me and saw beauty. Not just physical beauty, but inner beauty, bathed in the radiant light of heaven. I could for just a moment get a little glimpse of our future and I wasn't so scared. Like looking at the edge of a cliff while someone strong holds your hand.

I wept when she left, but was glad that she had come. I'm a little less broken, and what I see in the mirror is not as bad as I thought. Tonight the girls and I are going rock climbing, again one of Pammie's ideas, maybe I'll take this to the extreme too and climb mountains.....for now I'll settle for the one I'm climbing knowing that I can and will reach the top....I'm stronger than I was a few days ago.

Death Certificate

The death certificate is here! How am I suppose to react? Happy that we can now move to the next step of clearing financial matters? My heart cringes, this is it....final, the paper that irrevocably confirms what I have been living...He's gone, dead...Now his death has been filed and certified, officiated by the Jacksonville ME. What I know to be painfully true is going to be evidently true to the IRS, Social Security and IBM, all accounts can go to probate, all insurances can be claimed and we can move on to our new financial status of widow with dependent children. Oh my it all sounds so horrid, when all I want is his body next to mine at night. I need him inside and out.

This too I must face and learn and do. I have spent the last three hours with financial consultants and they are not only going to help manage his legacy, but they are going to educate his widow. All this is new to me, the last time I managed money was in my teens, before I met him and it was so little and so long ago. I'm embarrassed that I know nothing and afraid that I'm to ignorant and old to miss something important. Lord I trust you with our finances, help my mind to comprehend.

I must watch the mail for tax stuff and bills and accounts. I'm this 1940's house wife in the year 2007! I'm learning what it cost him to support us. As I learn I realize how much he loved us and indulged us. He managed very little in relationship to how much family he had, five children, mom and I. My husband, my friend, my provider. The picture of his character and humility is slowly being painted as I see his finances, hear from his boss and coworkers and contacts I knew nothing about. Who was this man I loved? I love him even more now that I know him better. I rather remain ignorant and love him less but have him by my side.

Some nights I can't sleep, others I can't wake up and would rather sleep all day. My body feels awkward on me, like wearing a new dress, unfit and uncomfortable. I remember when Naomi died, I didn't recognize myself in the mirror...so much change. Now is the same, the lines on my face have gotten deeper, my hands wrinkled and cold, my body hugs my bones, holding on to the only thing that feels solid and firm. My eyes are deep and dark and my mouth saddened by death, seldom smiles. Who am I becoming? Can I stand more changes? Will I ever be comfortable with this new me? Tomorrow I must pick up the death certificate and begin the process of claiming benefits. Every step takes me closer to independence and further away form him. I'm always moving away from what I love and find comfort in....closer to Him.
Lord you truly are my refuge.

Christmas and birthday have come and gone...three weeks ago today he said his last words to me, "You are going to do great! I'll see you at the finish line!" Oh, if I could only go back in time and look back, turn around and run to him, hold him and not let go...It hurts so much to be without him. I miss him at night, specially my back, the part that he would cover with his warm body is cold every night...it seems that coldness is all my body remembers, how cold Naomi's pale cheek was when I last kissed her and Ron's cold hand in mine. He was never cold! He was my warmth, "Put your hands in mine," he would tell me on chilly mornings before a run. Will my life ever be warm again? I trust and believe, Oh Lord help my heart to trust you more. I surrender for there is nowhere to go, or fight. I'm tired of hurting and crying. I know the dawn will bring joy but this will be a long cold night. The prayer shawl the methodist ladies knitted will comfort me...It's soft and warm. I'll crawl under it and pray and be lost, lost in my tears, lost in His Words and eventually lost in the comfort He can only bring.

We are again at Borders, surrounded by books, it's comforting to be engulfed in the written word. The world moves around us and we are still. The girls read, devouring every word, being taken away from sorrow and pain. This season we will consume books like gluttonous children consuming candy. They will take us away for moments at a time if only to relieve some of the grief...

The girls are sleeping with me. Carmel on a cot at the foot of the bed and the younger ones around me holding me from behind and front, poor little ones...my heart breaks, there is only me left, and they fear that I too might leave for heaven. We will survive, I tell myself over and over, of course I know this. I have died once before when my little Naomi died six years ago and here I am surviving yet a second time. I believe it, I know it to be true, but I feel like dying. Lord help me live again!

Tea comforts me. It warms me inside, inside my core not my heart or emotions, but holding a warm cup of tea feels like my hands are in his, if only I could smell him, mint tea rises to meet my nose and fills my sinuses, but it's his smell I seek. His pillow has lost his smell already and I'm so dam efficient that I didn't leave any dirty laundry. The house was extensively cleaned before the funeral, his smell is gone as natural as if he had never set foot in the house. Not like when he went on a trip but like if he had never laid beside me. His things still remain, reading glasses on the coffee table in the TV room, waiting for him on top of his book. I haven't moved them yet. Part of me feels like maybe he'll be coming back for them any minute now. Oh, must I be honest with myself? But it hurts so much.....

My Birthday

I wonder around in a fog, thick mist of colorless cloud engulfs me. I bump into things and people trying to make my way around. Looking for Ron, knowing he's not there, but hoping, just hoping that I'm wrong and he'll come around the next bend and be as surprise to see me as I.

Wounded and shell shocked. Abigail and Hosanna walk beside me in this fog. Pretending that the day is sunny and clear. Life moves undisturbed, without any notice of the condition of our hearts, the depth of our loss, the tears hiding, waiting for a thought of him to flood our eyes. Whole Foods a familiar place. We walked this isle not to long ago, together and whole, chatting unpreoccupied not knowing that next time my visit would be solemn, quiet and filled with longing for the past. Maybe I should walk somewhere else.

It's my birthday and I'm alone...The girls meander in and out of pages of books at Borders, trying to lose themselves in a story or a cleverly painted illustration. Anywhere but here...the fog is too thick to see our future and we are to scare to look anyways. Has it only been a week since we last saw him and held him and felt his warmth?...or was it a life time ago? How many more birthdays will come and go before I'm whole again and see them and hold them close?

Can one run away from loss and pain? This sorrow is deep, abiding, sustaining, like the very blood that pumps my heart to life. There is no escaping it unless my blood stands still and my heart stops. I must go back to the pages that eased the pain last time. The word of God, alive and full of promise and hope. Though all I feel is despair, knowing is comfort enough. The pain being so great there is no room for any other feeling. CS Lewis, vastly consumed by loss, wrote it all down and his words of his long ago pain mingle with mine and I no longer grieve alone.

I'm not yet tire of crying. Tears are a release. They confirm what I know and allow my heart to relax in this sorrow. Sometimes I cry without tears, my body squeezed dry as a rag after the washing machine gets done with it, but it's not as satisfying as when the flood gates open.

I want to tell others if only to find comfort in their pity. Poor young widow...but at the same time I want to hide my pain and pretend it's just another day and maybe if I'm good at pretending I'll believe and for a moment, even a second I won't hurt. To much of me has gone to heaven...very little remains and what is left is so fragile, so stunned, so lacking I don't know if it'll be of any use to others, specially my five children.

Another season of fears and challenges. another season of endurance. Another season of deep pain. Lord, I'm weak. Help me......Do what must be done next. I walk without spectacles with profound nearsightedness. Perhaps it's best. God's protection on us. The view will only scare us and we might attempt to run the other way, prolonging our grief, unwilling to let us carry us to glory.

I have run away from home for just a few hours, though home can't run away from me. Soon I must be back and open presents he picked for me. I wonder...did he suspect he wouldn't see my surprise look upon unwrapping each? He was generous, as I left, the dinning room table was covered with color...if only my heart wasn't colorblind....

He has entrusted me with too much pain and sorrow and too much responsibility, which scares me just as well. I want just enough to humbly survive this, anymore and it will only burden me. Besides joy I lack wisdom in some things. How will I manage so much when there is so little of me left behind. He had been with me longer that half my life. Who was I before he came to me? Who will I be now that he's gone? Another chapter added to my book of life...can we end the story now? But more will be written down and the pages must turn and be filled with my steps in words and deeds, the ink runny in several spots as the tears fall and the fog consumes and dampens the pages...

Ron Ray

A sincere man of God, actively pursuing the will of his savior in his reformed faith.
An emphatic man of God, impressing the truths he found in Christ into the lives of his family members.
A generous husband, cherishing and treasuring his wife with gentle ferocity, selflessly placing her needs before his own.
An adventurous husband, experiencing the world from foreign mountaintops with his wife.
A gentle father, creative and straightforward in his acts of love.
A powerful father, whose caring hands were admired by the children whose heads he caressed, by the children he took on "dates", letting them pick the ice cream flavor of their choice.
A thoughtful brother, encouraging his sisters in their daily lives.
A dedicated son-in-law, lovingly embracing the mother of his wife, sharing the humorous moments of life.
A diligent man, pouring his heart into his technology and career.
A motivated teacher, chasing knowledge to share with his children, ardently creating a living legacy.
A persevering athlete, pushing himself physically for the benefit of others.
An intelligent man, patiently, yet endearingly absent-minded, living a life of learning.
A man in whose company his relatives and friends found enthusiasm, encouragement, humor, wit, creativity, and respect.
A man who will not be forgotten.

Written by his 17 year old daughter Amaris

My Story

It is with a heavy heart that I write this, my Ron, husband of 23 years has left us for heaven on Sunday December 17, after crossing the finish line of the Jacksonville Half Marathon. He collapsed with a massive heart attack. I was running the full marathon and was pulled over by the police at mile 21 and taken to Jacksonville Memorial Hospital where Ron had been taken. By the time I arrived all was quiet and they were waiting to tell me the news.

We had a touching memorial service Friday, December the 22 with a burial service at our house. We decided to bury him next to our little child Naomi, up on a hill behind our house overlooking the lake. The service was Christ-centered, as he would have wanted it to be. His whole life was dedicated to his God, and we honored him by worshiping the Lord who gave him to us. My older son Jonathan led the worship and played guitar for his dad and for his Savior. Many people spoke about the impact Ron had on their lives, and it spoke to our hearts. Their individual testimonies, whether from his work force of from his circle of friends, indicated the uniquely inspirational life he led. We were incredibly blessed to have had such a man of God in our lives for the time he was given to us.

As of right now, we are taking each day as it comes, praying for guidance and strength. Jonathan and Amaris the two older ones returned to Georgia Tech for the spring semester and I continue to home school the three younger girls, Carmel, Hosanna and Abigail. I will of course keep running physically as well as spiritually towards the finish line.

This is my story. Truly, truly He knows my sorrow and through these words He will heal my heart. My question is not why, for He promises no explanation. I trust and submit to His perfect will, but I'm a bit scared. He tells me that perfect love casts our fear...alas; my love is not yet perfect. Be assured that all that has come into my life has a very specific purpose. Sharing the sorrow for my Ron will lovingly open your hearts to relieve some of the hurt. In remembering I will keep his memory alive and will be reminded of His continued faithfulness to us. This is a big burden and my heart still hurts and aches for my Naomi, now six years later my Ron leaves for heaven too. I have learned to receive His best for what I thought was better, to humbly submit with open arms, to weep and rejoice that He is my King, and to have the assurance and peace that my children, in their sorrow are under His everlasting arms.

The last words he said to me were, "You are going to do great! I'll see you at the finish line!"
I'm counting on it!