Just 18" from the Edge

The process of installing new flooring through the house began in December. A little less than half of my studio remains to be done and Mark will be here in a couple of weeks to finish it. Today's the first time I've sat in here since it's been under construction. I'm struck by the metaphor spread out before me. I'm literally sitting 18 inches from the edge of the floor. Tahoe is strewn out across it with his towel. This side of the room is clean, comfortable, welcoming, and warm. At the edge, though, it all changes. Boxes of flooring sit open and not yet open. A lone dining chair searches for its mates. Rod's favorite chair sits in the corner. The hamper from my Mom's previous apartment is sitting on top of my road atlas on the seat. Will his chair go back to the living room? Does it need to leave the house to make space for the future? My recently installed bulletin and erasable boards hang on the wall. The window is opaque with morning light. 

My prayer journal calls out, "Show me the way I should go, Lord." The edge is definitely close enough to see, stumble over, and the expanse it borders is chaotic, unknown, and yet familiar. So very much like the world I inhabit, that we all inhabit. The small portion that is known and ordered provides stability that is fleeting and almost laughs at me as it flows across the edge. 

Mark will return to fix this mess. A choice will be made about Rod's chair.  Cleanliness, comfort, welcome, and warmth will then fill the entire room. The edge will be hidden beneath the floorboards, but it will still be there. It will remain all around me and often much closer than 18". 

Seeing the edge, intentionally stepping towards it, crossing it, and being safe in the unknown expanse is the work of grief, the work of life. Sometimes it's best to just take a seat and let the view sink in.

The Prayer Cloth

Over the past 17+ months I've done many things to help my heart understand and adapt to the reality that Rod won't come home again. The past six weeks have been involved with new flooring, removal of a wall unit, new paint, and overall redecorating of my living  space. While being housebound by snow and ice today I opened the old wicker picnic basket we had when I was a child. Inside I found a plastic bag with a tightly folded cloth with rainbow edges. The prayer cloth! I hadn't looked at it for ten years. Rod and I had draped it over our dining room table in Tacoma, 2006, when we were seeking a new call. On it we wrote the names of places with churches eager to talk with Rod. As the Lord's leading became clear, one by one they were each crossed off until Brigham City, Utah emerged on December 3, 2006. 

At the beginning of the search, we started with specific verses at the top and bottom in the rainbow with the question in the middle, "Where to, Lord?" Rod's prayer is at the top ~

Today the creased cloth flooded my heart with memories of our hope to follow God's leading and our dream of future adventures. My eyes were totally surprised to see one specific place written and then crossed off: Eugene, Oregon. A church here matched with him and they talked, but it wasn't God's call. It wasn't the right place. It wasn't the right time. 

Now, it is the right place and the right time. Rod made sure we got here for my work. And, the scripture from Mark, written on the cloth in 2006, speaks deeply to me tonight.

As Jesus was getting into the boat,the demon-delivered man begged

him to go along, but he wouldn't let him.

Jesus said,

"Go home to your own people.

Tell them your story,

what the Master did,

how he had mercy on you."

Through this time, Lord, give me imagination,faith, and hope to be here now, to tell my story of the great, great mercy You have shown me. Great mercy, indeed.

Hesitant to Return - 8 January 2017

The universe has shifted in ways I would have never predicted.

My mirror and backbone have vanished.

I've been very hesitant to return to this page.

The man who used to come through the door at the end of day to joke about fruit in my cooking is no longer alive.

Volumes of journals rest next to my bed as my intimate companions of these past almost 18 months.

The river of healing I wrote about in August 2014 still flows and holds more value and preciousness than I could have imagined when we were joined there in our service of healing and forgiveness.

The universe has shifted in ways I would have never predicted.

Ice surrounds my trees and bushes right now, but warmer air is moving in. The dripping has begun, with potential for flooding.

Could warmer air be coming to me, too?

Could the ice containing my existence, protecting me from further harm, soon start to drip, to wane, to vanish away?

Could flooding call me back to my life? Back to my heart? Back to my creativity?

I don't know.

All I know is that I returned to this page today trying to continue my stories -

First time since the immediate ravages of Rod's death.

There, I typed it.

I don't think anyone reads this blog.

There's something quite weird about putting my thoughts out there online for anyone to see. 

There's also something that hints of life, life taking an itsy bitsy chance at creating again.

His life force flew out the window with such certainty and focus that it took my breath away, too.

But, I need it back.

I really need it back.

The universe has shifted in ways I would have never predicted.