Curator--
a keeper, trustee, guardian, conservator.
If I am, then,
to care for these feelings
I suppose it's best
to give them voice
if only
to myself
I sing them
in muted tones
gray, soft, rising
with breath
barely drawn
then held
And this dear earth
receives them
Pulls me in
to her breast
and whispers
hush
Her word
is not
reproof
Rather, it says
I know
I know
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Monday, October 01, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Through the Night
And maybe now
with the space of days
i can whisper
that parting hurt
That night
when they left
and you realized
you wouldn't see them
Your tears
scalded little streaks
down your face
and didn't stop soon
It was late
and they still needed
to come
so we welcomed them
In the dark
we climbed under
our mosquito net
and huddled together
The four of us
with your quiet sobs
The only thing I knew to do
was sing
I sang the old songs
the ones that lulled
my babies
to sleep
I sang
shaking voice
shaking heart
shaking sobs
Your brother slipped out
and you slept
You found me
in the morning
curled at the foot
of my own bed
Rather than wake you
I let you be
and found a place
where there was room
You felt so bad
And I thought, "Really?
You think it bothered me,
that flickering sleep?"
Rest is relative
and on that night
there were bigger needs
to be met
We unpacked your things
at boarding school
just a few days
later
And it was hard
But, honestly,
it was easier for the way
we passed that night
-lisa, 11 September, 2012
with the space of days
i can whisper
that parting hurt
That night
when they left
and you realized
you wouldn't see them
Your tears
scalded little streaks
down your face
and didn't stop soon
It was late
and they still needed
to come
so we welcomed them
In the dark
we climbed under
our mosquito net
and huddled together
The four of us
with your quiet sobs
The only thing I knew to do
was sing
I sang the old songs
the ones that lulled
my babies
to sleep
I sang
shaking voice
shaking heart
shaking sobs
Your brother slipped out
and you slept
You found me
in the morning
curled at the foot
of my own bed
Rather than wake you
I let you be
and found a place
where there was room
You felt so bad
And I thought, "Really?
You think it bothered me,
that flickering sleep?"
Rest is relative
and on that night
there were bigger needs
to be met
We unpacked your things
at boarding school
just a few days
later
And it was hard
But, honestly,
it was easier for the way
we passed that night
-lisa, 11 September, 2012
Monday, November 14, 2011
Remembrance
I lit a candle today
not in a church
I lit a candle today
on the shelf in my hall
to say
I remember
I remember that
you were due today
25 years ago
you were due
I wasn't trying to be
morbid
I lit a candle today
spontaneously
because it felt right
to think of you
we made it ten weeks
the two of us
and then you were gone
I lit a candle today
because you're somewhere
and you're holding
a little piece of my heart
-lisa, 14 November, 2011
not in a church
I lit a candle today
on the shelf in my hall
to say
I remember
I remember that
you were due today
25 years ago
you were due
I wasn't trying to be
morbid
I lit a candle today
spontaneously
because it felt right
to think of you
we made it ten weeks
the two of us
and then you were gone
I lit a candle today
because you're somewhere
and you're holding
a little piece of my heart
-lisa, 14 November, 2011
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Andre, Rob, Ray and Ebel
It's been a weird couple of weeks. Within the span of 14 days, we've been aware of the deaths of four men.
Now, I know that lots of people die every day, everywhere. I think it's the fact that we knew, even just a little, three of these men, and knew the fourth man's organization well. While we personally didn't know them deeply, we are close to people who considered them dear, even intimate, friends . Also, they died in terrible ways. Two were murdered and two died in freak accidents. For the record, two of the men died in Kenya, one died here in Tanzania and one died in Zambia.
I keep thinking of their families; the sudden loss and pounding waves of massive grief. I think of the wives and children and the lives turned upside-down. I think of the hearts of service that brought two of these men and their families to Africa in the first place and the particularly troubling thoughts surrounding the questions of how this could be. I think of the other two men and the fact that, while they weren't vocationally in a role of "serving", they were good men who cared a great deal for Africa and her future.
So, yea, each death has brought layers of loss and pain to our hearts. I can only imagine what those who were really close to them are going through.
Death is not new. It's ancient, like life. But does that make it any easier?
Now, I know that lots of people die every day, everywhere. I think it's the fact that we knew, even just a little, three of these men, and knew the fourth man's organization well. While we personally didn't know them deeply, we are close to people who considered them dear, even intimate, friends . Also, they died in terrible ways. Two were murdered and two died in freak accidents. For the record, two of the men died in Kenya, one died here in Tanzania and one died in Zambia.
I keep thinking of their families; the sudden loss and pounding waves of massive grief. I think of the wives and children and the lives turned upside-down. I think of the hearts of service that brought two of these men and their families to Africa in the first place and the particularly troubling thoughts surrounding the questions of how this could be. I think of the other two men and the fact that, while they weren't vocationally in a role of "serving", they were good men who cared a great deal for Africa and her future.
So, yea, each death has brought layers of loss and pain to our hearts. I can only imagine what those who were really close to them are going through.
Death is not new. It's ancient, like life. But does that make it any easier?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
a few of you, so far away
if i could choose
i would not be this far
from you
the way your eyes light
and your laugh
spills out
there are days
when it makes sense
some how
the long flights
the enormous cost
the loss
i'm afraid, though, that
today is not among
those days
i would not be this far
from you
the way your eyes light
and your laugh
spills out
there are days
when it makes sense
some how
the long flights
the enormous cost
the loss
i'm afraid, though, that
today is not among
those days
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Esther Slips Away
Today I want to honor the Earl family. On Wednesday morning at 3am, their Esther took her finally bow as a citizen of Earth and slipped her lovely self into the Heavens. Esther was 16, the veteran of a four year battle with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer.
I could try to come up with words that would be worthy enough to carry their pain; to cradle the accumulation of their suffering and loss. But it would be a vain exercise and I would be foolish to try.
Let me say, instead, that the Earl family have shone to me these last years. Their faith has taught me new levels of grace while their grace has taught me new levels of faith. I am so much richer for knowing them.
Esther's daddy writes:
We awake to an empty bed... and empty hearts. There is awfulness all around. We are sad. The weather is sad. Esther's cats are sad. But Esther liked this kind of day. She liked most everything. Esther liked. We would stay doubled over but she would have us rise and receive the grace that is a new day. And Esther loved you all so much! She loved us, too. Esther loved. Thank you to everyone near and far, known or unknown to us. You helped to carry our light and life, gave her hours of joy and purpose. She will miss you and we will miss her banter with you. We're not so up for calls and visits but appreciate your condolences, emails, texts and tweets... Nerdfighteria: you are awesome! Remember: Awesomeness trumps awfulness every time. Death is not the final word but the "next great adventure" as Dumbledore said so well. Esther was never an unhappy lady. She was always happily up for adventure! In our hearts and exploring heaven; that's where we'll find her now.
Our Star was a welcomer. Didn't matter who you were or what badge you did or didn't wear, you were welcome to sit and visit in person or by computer with her. Esther welcomed. Whoever you are and wherever you may be, we welcome you, too, to join us as we remember and celebrate her brief, but glorious life. By tomorrow we will connect you to her official obituary and a means whereby you can give in her memory if you'd like.
You can read more of the story here .
Peace upon your family, dear Earls.
I could try to come up with words that would be worthy enough to carry their pain; to cradle the accumulation of their suffering and loss. But it would be a vain exercise and I would be foolish to try.
Let me say, instead, that the Earl family have shone to me these last years. Their faith has taught me new levels of grace while their grace has taught me new levels of faith. I am so much richer for knowing them.
Esther's daddy writes:
We awake to an empty bed... and empty hearts. There is awfulness all around. We are sad. The weather is sad. Esther's cats are sad. But Esther liked this kind of day. She liked most everything. Esther liked. We would stay doubled over but she would have us rise and receive the grace that is a new day. And Esther loved you all so much! She loved us, too. Esther loved. Thank you to everyone near and far, known or unknown to us. You helped to carry our light and life, gave her hours of joy and purpose. She will miss you and we will miss her banter with you. We're not so up for calls and visits but appreciate your condolences, emails, texts and tweets... Nerdfighteria: you are awesome! Remember: Awesomeness trumps awfulness every time. Death is not the final word but the "next great adventure" as Dumbledore said so well. Esther was never an unhappy lady. She was always happily up for adventure! In our hearts and exploring heaven; that's where we'll find her now.
Our Star was a welcomer. Didn't matter who you were or what badge you did or didn't wear, you were welcome to sit and visit in person or by computer with her. Esther welcomed. Whoever you are and wherever you may be, we welcome you, too, to join us as we remember and celebrate her brief, but glorious life. By tomorrow we will connect you to her official obituary and a means whereby you can give in her memory if you'd like.
You can read more of the story here .
Peace upon your family, dear Earls.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Mama Byron (which is how we say Mother of Byron)
"Hey dear friend," the text read. "Can you let me know when you get this?"
I knew from the message that there was urgency to Ciska's request. We had been out of cell range for the better part of 3 days on a camping trip with friends but in that spot under the big tree by the dry river bed, there was enough coverage to deliver the brief text. I decided not to bother writing back and forth and just dialed her instead.
So it was that we heard the news that Byron's mom had passed away. It was Wednesday morning in Tanzania and Norma had died early Monday morning (August 2nd), Florida time.
Norma had suffered from Alzheimer's for about 7 years. Even though we knew that her time was coming to a close, none of us were expecting it that week. And even when death is a true relief and blessing, it breaks something that can never be put back together in the same way. Oscar's bride, Byron's mom, our children's paternal grandmother is not here anymore.
Driving home took us through rough, wild, beautiful Africa for about 3 hours. It was fitting, I thought, to be surrounded by all we were seeing. The area reminded Byron of a place where his family used to hunt for the meat they ate years ago in Kenya. I thought of Norma and what a good sport she was on all those trips. There she was, a farmer's daughter and pastor's wife, not enjoying any of the "thrill of the hunt" but getting plenty of the work load! And I know she did it all with a good attitude. Norma loved to work hard serving others and that was often seen in all things related to food. I could just picture her keeping all the camp well fed and cheerfully helping with every aspect of butchering the animal. It made me smile as we bounced along.
We got the news mid-morning and Byron was flying to Florida the following night. How thankful we are that he could join his dad and 2 sisters to grieve and celebrate the farm girl who cared for others so easily and laughed at herself so often.
Norma was 85 when she died. We are eternally grateful for her life.
I knew from the message that there was urgency to Ciska's request. We had been out of cell range for the better part of 3 days on a camping trip with friends but in that spot under the big tree by the dry river bed, there was enough coverage to deliver the brief text. I decided not to bother writing back and forth and just dialed her instead.
So it was that we heard the news that Byron's mom had passed away. It was Wednesday morning in Tanzania and Norma had died early Monday morning (August 2nd), Florida time.
Norma had suffered from Alzheimer's for about 7 years. Even though we knew that her time was coming to a close, none of us were expecting it that week. And even when death is a true relief and blessing, it breaks something that can never be put back together in the same way. Oscar's bride, Byron's mom, our children's paternal grandmother is not here anymore.
Driving home took us through rough, wild, beautiful Africa for about 3 hours. It was fitting, I thought, to be surrounded by all we were seeing. The area reminded Byron of a place where his family used to hunt for the meat they ate years ago in Kenya. I thought of Norma and what a good sport she was on all those trips. There she was, a farmer's daughter and pastor's wife, not enjoying any of the "thrill of the hunt" but getting plenty of the work load! And I know she did it all with a good attitude. Norma loved to work hard serving others and that was often seen in all things related to food. I could just picture her keeping all the camp well fed and cheerfully helping with every aspect of butchering the animal. It made me smile as we bounced along.
We got the news mid-morning and Byron was flying to Florida the following night. How thankful we are that he could join his dad and 2 sisters to grieve and celebrate the farm girl who cared for others so easily and laughed at herself so often.
Norma was 85 when she died. We are eternally grateful for her life.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Undone
It's late and I need to get to bed but I can't sign off from this day quite yet. Ever since early this morning, my heart and mind have been heavy with the knowledge of senseless suffering.
You know, there is so much suffering in the world it can become an entity of its own: "Suffering." As strange as it seems, I can almost keep it out there some place when there's just one big impersonal name for it.
But right now, suffering has a single, piercing name. Suffering slips through my defenses when the big generic title is dropped and I hear the name Esther.
Our friends, Wayne and Lori, were colleagues of ours in Europe when, 4 years ago, their young Esther was diagnosed with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer. It's been a rough road since then; one that seems to be moving toward a final destination.
Today, I am equally undone by the uselessness of Esther's suffering (what is the point?) and the honesty of her father's shared journal entries. Wayne has permissioned me to share a couple of excerpts here...
29 April 2010
Esther is not doing well. Next week they will be putting in one or more shunts (tubes for draining fluid) into her right side. All the fluid, and more, that they drained out a week ago is back again. This is very likely a sign of tumor growth. She's uncomfortable and tired a lot and has asked for a hospital bed so she can sleep for longer stretches. Our health care team is looking at yet another experimental chemo and maybe something more. We are willing and Esther is game to keep fighting, so we're not giving up hope!
Still, suffering seems a useless business. I see no value in my daughter's pain. I know the standard answers ("redemptive" "result of sin" "an evil attack" "bigger purpose"). But the only reality is mystery and that sucks. Our faith remains but is changed; we have "put away childish things". We talk about death and dying and living and loving and we wait, and try to dream a little together each day. Esther knows more about these things than any 15 year-old should. The grief for us is like a tightening of the chest, a closing in, a sadness and an anger and mostly, a helplessness. I can't do anything to make my little girl's pain go away! And she's so perfect, to me.
I wish I could tell you more but those treasures are ours for now. Thank you for waiting with us.
Wayne
9 June 2010
Just last Friday evening Esther strolled (or rather was pushed by Angie in a wheelchair) around a local cemetery where she picked out her spot. Am I saying this? What parent helps their child choose a plot? This is not what we want. The joy and sadness of watching two sisters roll the grounds and simply be together was surreal. I cannot explain why hope sustains us even in the presence of innocence undone. Very few people in our culture talk about death and dying or if they do it's "embrace the light/suffering" or "fear not, heaven will reunite us with loved ones". I do not worry about death, at all, though I do not welcome Esther's dying. I do not care about joyous celebrations there; I want to give her away in marriage here! Heaven is Esther doing cartwheels again, her cloud of fire-white, brittle hair shining, waving at waiting earth.
Wayne
*************
How could I possible add any words to that?
Pray for Esther and her family. Their journal can be found here .
You know, there is so much suffering in the world it can become an entity of its own: "Suffering." As strange as it seems, I can almost keep it out there some place when there's just one big impersonal name for it.
But right now, suffering has a single, piercing name. Suffering slips through my defenses when the big generic title is dropped and I hear the name Esther.
Our friends, Wayne and Lori, were colleagues of ours in Europe when, 4 years ago, their young Esther was diagnosed with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer. It's been a rough road since then; one that seems to be moving toward a final destination.
Today, I am equally undone by the uselessness of Esther's suffering (what is the point?) and the honesty of her father's shared journal entries. Wayne has permissioned me to share a couple of excerpts here...
29 April 2010
Esther is not doing well. Next week they will be putting in one or more shunts (tubes for draining fluid) into her right side. All the fluid, and more, that they drained out a week ago is back again. This is very likely a sign of tumor growth. She's uncomfortable and tired a lot and has asked for a hospital bed so she can sleep for longer stretches. Our health care team is looking at yet another experimental chemo and maybe something more. We are willing and Esther is game to keep fighting, so we're not giving up hope!
Still, suffering seems a useless business. I see no value in my daughter's pain. I know the standard answers ("redemptive" "result of sin" "an evil attack" "bigger purpose"). But the only reality is mystery and that sucks. Our faith remains but is changed; we have "put away childish things". We talk about death and dying and living and loving and we wait, and try to dream a little together each day. Esther knows more about these things than any 15 year-old should. The grief for us is like a tightening of the chest, a closing in, a sadness and an anger and mostly, a helplessness. I can't do anything to make my little girl's pain go away! And she's so perfect, to me.
I wish I could tell you more but those treasures are ours for now. Thank you for waiting with us.
Wayne
9 June 2010
Just last Friday evening Esther strolled (or rather was pushed by Angie in a wheelchair) around a local cemetery where she picked out her spot. Am I saying this? What parent helps their child choose a plot? This is not what we want. The joy and sadness of watching two sisters roll the grounds and simply be together was surreal. I cannot explain why hope sustains us even in the presence of innocence undone. Very few people in our culture talk about death and dying or if they do it's "embrace the light/suffering" or "fear not, heaven will reunite us with loved ones". I do not worry about death, at all, though I do not welcome Esther's dying. I do not care about joyous celebrations there; I want to give her away in marriage here! Heaven is Esther doing cartwheels again, her cloud of fire-white, brittle hair shining, waving at waiting earth.
Wayne
*************
How could I possible add any words to that?
Pray for Esther and her family. Their journal can be found here .
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Of fire and loss and people far away
It's never good to wake up to several emails saying things like, "Just want you to know that your boys are O.K." or "The fire is approaching campus but they are all in the gym."
Don't get me wrong. I am tremendously thankful for a handful of people, (most notably Tanya, Jenelle and Kjaere) who went into over-drive to give me frequent news of Jesse and Trevor's safety, mood and whereabouts.
But I am ahead of myself.
On Thursday night at about 6pm California time, a wildfire broke out in the hills above Westmont College in Santa Barbara, (Montecito, to be exact.) The cause of the blaze is unknown at this time. What is known is that the 70 mile per hour winds took the fire and whipped it into a fast and furious inferno that engulfed the college and destroyed 14 faculty homes as well as a significant portion of one of the residence halls and several smaller buildings.
Within moments of smelling smoke and then spotting flames, the student body and everyone else on campus, was in the fire- proof gym where they ended up spending the night. The blaze ripped through campus and then up into the Riviera area of Santa Barbara and has (so far) taken at least 70 homes down in its 2,000 acre path.
Westmont students are off campus now, scattered here and there. They are waiting to hear if classes might resume by next Wednesday.
Those are some of the sparse details.
It has been 16 years since we lost our home in Loita to a fire.
I remember the surreal feeling of knowing that the house was gone. I remember the oddly pleasant feeling of lightness when I pondered the fact that I really didn't HAVE anything. (Painful but strangely good at the same time.)
Of course, I had everything that truly mattered. I had Byron, Jesse and Trevor and the 4 of us together made a wealth that nothing else could touch.
But all the little things were gone... The ring my mom gave me when I turned 11... The letters from my grandfather who lived in West Africa for 40 years... The baby blankets my grandmother had made for the boys... The note Byron wrote me on the night Jesse was born... The stuff of life, no more.
The loss of place is a more elusive feeling to deal with. There is a sacred nature to the shelters we call home. This is where we live and breathe and laugh and kiss and have our arguments and welcome our friends and make our tea and lay our tired selves down in the cool of night. This is where we grow and where we find the safety to dream tomorrow into being.
This space called home is nothing less than a holy place.
Today, I am thankful that no lives were lost. I am thankful for a well-planned emergency response and a dedicated crew of courageous fire-fighters. There is just so much I am thankful for.
But I am also sober and mindful of tender things. I don't know who all lost home Thursday night. I do know that my friends, Russell and Allison, lost theirs.
I know how much loss they have already experienced in the last few years. I know that cancer took their lovely teenage daughter and then raged in Allison's body as well. I know that they have been rebuilding life as a three-some with their son, Travis.
And now home is gone. The place where they tended gently to their dying daughter and escorted her as far as they could go as she slipped away from them has "gone with the water" as the Maasai would say.
My Maasai friends came to sit with me when my house burned down. Over the next couple of weeks, my friends would arrive with a bag of sugar or a bowl and spoon or some other gift, and sit quietly with me. If I was busy with the work of living in camping mode, I would pause to receive their companionship.
Jesse and Trevor said they saw Russell working hard all night to help the evacuated students. When they passed him on their way out the next morning, they asked after his house. It hit them hard to realize that he was serving others while his own home was burning down.
I guess I wish I could sit with Russell and Allison today.
No need for words. "What good are words now?"
Just the unglamorous gift of presence.
Don't get me wrong. I am tremendously thankful for a handful of people, (most notably Tanya, Jenelle and Kjaere) who went into over-drive to give me frequent news of Jesse and Trevor's safety, mood and whereabouts.
But I am ahead of myself.
On Thursday night at about 6pm California time, a wildfire broke out in the hills above Westmont College in Santa Barbara, (Montecito, to be exact.) The cause of the blaze is unknown at this time. What is known is that the 70 mile per hour winds took the fire and whipped it into a fast and furious inferno that engulfed the college and destroyed 14 faculty homes as well as a significant portion of one of the residence halls and several smaller buildings.
Within moments of smelling smoke and then spotting flames, the student body and everyone else on campus, was in the fire- proof gym where they ended up spending the night. The blaze ripped through campus and then up into the Riviera area of Santa Barbara and has (so far) taken at least 70 homes down in its 2,000 acre path.
Westmont students are off campus now, scattered here and there. They are waiting to hear if classes might resume by next Wednesday.
Those are some of the sparse details.
It has been 16 years since we lost our home in Loita to a fire.
I remember the surreal feeling of knowing that the house was gone. I remember the oddly pleasant feeling of lightness when I pondered the fact that I really didn't HAVE anything. (Painful but strangely good at the same time.)
Of course, I had everything that truly mattered. I had Byron, Jesse and Trevor and the 4 of us together made a wealth that nothing else could touch.
But all the little things were gone... The ring my mom gave me when I turned 11... The letters from my grandfather who lived in West Africa for 40 years... The baby blankets my grandmother had made for the boys... The note Byron wrote me on the night Jesse was born... The stuff of life, no more.
The loss of place is a more elusive feeling to deal with. There is a sacred nature to the shelters we call home. This is where we live and breathe and laugh and kiss and have our arguments and welcome our friends and make our tea and lay our tired selves down in the cool of night. This is where we grow and where we find the safety to dream tomorrow into being.
This space called home is nothing less than a holy place.
Today, I am thankful that no lives were lost. I am thankful for a well-planned emergency response and a dedicated crew of courageous fire-fighters. There is just so much I am thankful for.
But I am also sober and mindful of tender things. I don't know who all lost home Thursday night. I do know that my friends, Russell and Allison, lost theirs.
I know how much loss they have already experienced in the last few years. I know that cancer took their lovely teenage daughter and then raged in Allison's body as well. I know that they have been rebuilding life as a three-some with their son, Travis.
And now home is gone. The place where they tended gently to their dying daughter and escorted her as far as they could go as she slipped away from them has "gone with the water" as the Maasai would say.
My Maasai friends came to sit with me when my house burned down. Over the next couple of weeks, my friends would arrive with a bag of sugar or a bowl and spoon or some other gift, and sit quietly with me. If I was busy with the work of living in camping mode, I would pause to receive their companionship.
Jesse and Trevor said they saw Russell working hard all night to help the evacuated students. When they passed him on their way out the next morning, they asked after his house. It hit them hard to realize that he was serving others while his own home was burning down.
I guess I wish I could sit with Russell and Allison today.
No need for words. "What good are words now?"
Just the unglamorous gift of presence.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thanks for Prayers
Several of you have asked if there was news of my cousin, Brenda. (See post called "Brenda" two posts down.)
My uncle wrote us all today with the news of her passing. I will copy a portion of that below.
"Early this morning our much loved Brenda went peacefully to be with her Saviour. We are thrilled for her, no more pain, a new body, dancing with the Saints,couldn't be better. The pain for us is severe but it will not last. Please pray for her family today."
Thank you so much for continued prayers for her entire family, especially for her husband and children.
If I could think of something to say in response to the sadness of this loss, I guess I would write it.
Some times silence is best.
My uncle wrote us all today with the news of her passing. I will copy a portion of that below.
"Early this morning our much loved Brenda went peacefully to be with her Saviour. We are thrilled for her, no more pain, a new body, dancing with the Saints,couldn't be better. The pain for us is severe but it will not last. Please pray for her family today."
Thank you so much for continued prayers for her entire family, especially for her husband and children.
If I could think of something to say in response to the sadness of this loss, I guess I would write it.
Some times silence is best.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Kansas Anymore
Several severe tornadoes
I see the photos of flattened homes. The little town of Greensburg is practically wiped off the face of those wide plains.
News like this touches us momentarily and then we move on. There is so much disaster everywhere... can't just bog down, life carries on.
But I can't numb myself to this one because friends of ours live in Greensburg. Tim and Deanne Garrett lost their home, their garage, their two cars.
Thankfully, their family is safe. All their stuff, though, is gone.
I remember our house fire almost fifteen years ago. I remember the weird almost euphoric feeling of realizing I owned just about nothing. There is something very nice about that.
But I also remember the grief of little treasures lost. I think about the photographs that must be gone... photos of their boys, their years in Ireland and Scotland, their wedding. I think about journals and letters, paintings and drawings that the guys would have done when they were little... Then there's all the practical stuff too: book keeping and banking records, birth certificates, passports... just the whole lot.
My last post was called Thoughts Amid the Rubble but it should have just been Thoughts Amid the Mess. Greensburg understands rubble.
I pray for the Garretts as I pack.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Monday, Seattle
It's Monday and, not surprisingly, grey and drizzly in the greater Seattle area.
We're at my sister Tanya's house. This is our landing place in this city, the place we invade while we run around seeing everyone we need to see.
Trevor has a sore throat and is lying on the couch watching a Death Cab for Cutie dvd and Colin is out for pancakes with his Uncle Don and cousin Anna. Heather is in the barn brushing one of the ponies. Byron has been doing some computer thing and I've been trying unsuccessfully to find contact information for two couples we'd like to see while we're up here. We have an appointment this evening but today is a holiday and we're free. We'll go to the thrift store (charity shop) and look for sweatshirts. Travel tip: Seattle has great thrift stores. And great music. Trevor and Anna were downtown last night to see The Presidents.
It's been a strange morning so far. The phone rang very early with the news that Rachel's father died very suddenly today in England. Rachel is our English sister, married to our little brother. Her dad has been a very dear friend of our family since we were all kids. We are all stunned. Rachel was able to book a flight out of LA tonight. British Air kindly waived the 24 hour requirement for using free miles and were exceptionally helpful when they heard the circumstances.
Life is fragile.
People are precious.
I realize this is not news to anyone, but today it feels raw and stinging to me.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Deela
On Saturday evening my friend Deela received full healing for her ovarian cancer at home in The Hague.
She is now enjoying being in the presence of her Lord.
The rest of us miss her a great deal.
Byron and I worked on the Europe Team with Al and Deela.
I guess I just want to say that it has been an honor to walk with Al and Deela through these last three years as they bravely battled Deela's ferocious cancer.
Please pray for Al and the kids, Daniel, Bobby and Katie there in Europe. We love these guys.
Thanks.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Feelings Unplugged
I'm finding myself a little reticent to write posts these days. A landslide has begun here.
I cling to Barbara on the curb by the train station as she begins her three month sojourn. I have no idea when I will ever see her again. When she gets back to Portugal, I will be in the States. From there, I will head to Tanzania.
The lump in my throat feels like a grapefruit. The tears are hot on my face.
I told Barbara on the night before that I don't know anyone in whom Jesus seems to reside so comfortably. He seems so at home in B. She is so hospitable to him. But just like in Narnia ("Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia) I figure "Once a Borden, always a Borden." Baba has become a permanent member of our family.
Still I have no idea when I will see her again.
I pull away and pick up Heather, who is sobbing beside me. We climb into the car and sit there, waving until she disappears into the cavernous station.
The landslide of emotions has begun as goodbyes gain momentum. I want to put up barriers around my heart to keep it from being crushed under the weight of what is passing over it.
But my little fences would be foolish.
I question God. "Aren't we supposed to love deeply? Then why do you ask us to part? What's wrong with you?"
I am sometimes called upon to teach on coping with this life of following God all over the world. I always speak about the difficult but better choice to live with open hearts and to love the people God brings into our lives, rather than to protect ourselves from the cycle of separation and loss by keeping folks at a distance.
"And love is not the easy thing/the only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind."
I can't leave Baba behind. And so I won't. Yes, we physically part. But our fragile human hearts are permanently intertwined.
Still, it feels like someone just tore out a great chunk of mine.
Strength for the journey. That's what I need.
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