This morning I woke up with a line reciting in my mind from a poem I wrote about 30 years ago:
"There's death all around me that I never would have known
And pain stands beside me, making joy a lesson to relearn"
While I know that my portion of having deaths in the family is perhaps average to low compared to many around the world, still it's been a season of sorrow these past two months: the loss of Bill, my brother-in-law; Ruth, my grand-mother-in-law (California); and Rachel, a "niece" (daughter of a family that is close as kin). Sorrow that's hit very close, but not directly at me: severing the closest loved ones. So I've played a supporting role in the grief around me: being the arms, the shoulders, the hands, the words, the gifts where there is an emptiness. Being the presence in the fog.
When I started this adventure, I had no idea the degree to which I was being called back home to be a pillar of support for my family and my extended family. I think there is still something sobering and humbling to ponder in it all. I am mindful now of the importance of the Tree of Life that stands in the midst of the new heaven and the new earth that brings healing to the nations. And I look to those leaves now to be the soothing balm in the hearts and lives of those around me that I love and to this world that is currently and continuously in distress and turmoil. I look to the hope set before us where every tear will be wiped away and sorrow and death shall be no more! I am mindful of it as a beacon shining to all to direct us all through the thick clouds of sorrow.
I don't know to what extent my poem captures the heart of what I am feeling at this time, nor what others who grieve around me are feeling. I know for sure that it's theology/philosophy may not jive with all world views, but it is spoken out of my world view. And I think there is something in it to for those who stand around complacent (including myself) in their humanity blissful of the delicacy and struggle of our existence on this earth. Something that may, just may, help us check our pride at the door and walk through our days open to restoration. I share this poem with you and ask you to take yourself back to sit before the first woman, the mother of us all, who seeks to speak to us today:
"There's death all around me that I never would have known
And pain stands beside me, making joy a lesson to relearn"
While I know that my portion of having deaths in the family is perhaps average to low compared to many around the world, still it's been a season of sorrow these past two months: the loss of Bill, my brother-in-law; Ruth, my grand-mother-in-law (California); and Rachel, a "niece" (daughter of a family that is close as kin). Sorrow that's hit very close, but not directly at me: severing the closest loved ones. So I've played a supporting role in the grief around me: being the arms, the shoulders, the hands, the words, the gifts where there is an emptiness. Being the presence in the fog.
When I started this adventure, I had no idea the degree to which I was being called back home to be a pillar of support for my family and my extended family. I think there is still something sobering and humbling to ponder in it all. I am mindful now of the importance of the Tree of Life that stands in the midst of the new heaven and the new earth that brings healing to the nations. And I look to those leaves now to be the soothing balm in the hearts and lives of those around me that I love and to this world that is currently and continuously in distress and turmoil. I look to the hope set before us where every tear will be wiped away and sorrow and death shall be no more! I am mindful of it as a beacon shining to all to direct us all through the thick clouds of sorrow.
I don't know to what extent my poem captures the heart of what I am feeling at this time, nor what others who grieve around me are feeling. I know for sure that it's theology/philosophy may not jive with all world views, but it is spoken out of my world view. And I think there is something in it to for those who stand around complacent (including myself) in their humanity blissful of the delicacy and struggle of our existence on this earth. Something that may, just may, help us check our pride at the door and walk through our days open to restoration. I share this poem with you and ask you to take yourself back to sit before the first woman, the mother of us all, who seeks to speak to us today:
