These symbols of servanthood and ordination hung in his various church offices for over twenty years. When the last time came to move, he brought them home fully expecting to use them again in the future - in the next ministry - in the next place of service.
That future and those ministries never came for him.
And these precious symbols of his life, his commitment to Christ, and our joint ministry have rested quietly in my cedar chest since he died over three and half years ago. The chest sits in my closet and has often whispered, "We're here. You can't forget us. We remind you of everything that use to be, but the man who wore us will never come back." Often sadness has risen within me until I get what I need and close the door.
As the 42nd month anniversary approached, the house felt heavy, I felt heavy, and I didn't know what to do -- until the cedar chest whispered again, and then I knew.
I had to take big girl, big courage, big grit steps to claim my life as it really is which means physically letting go of the life that was and never will be again. Rod doesn't need these things anymore, but I realized that I've needed them to affirm who and what I used to be: the Pastor's wife. I can no longer exist in this memory or recreate it. It has to be blessed and let go of so I can grow and continue to heal.
The work of grief involves rearranging landscapes we know nothing about and somehow find a path through the ruins. Move this, move that, does this feel better, does that feel better, what if this goes over there and that comes over here. There is constant upheaval in learning how to live the new life grief has created.
Grief opened the cedar chest and raised up the vestments with a choice: Hang onto the symbols of the work, of the roles, of the past or hang onto the faith living in my heart where the Path is found, the Truth is solid, and the fabric is of no consequence? I knew the choice I had to make, but it had to be done with dignity and respect for Rod's life, ministry, and faith.
Gratefully, through a series of connections the Alb met its new Pastor today. With kind, moral support a friend met me at a local Methodist church where one of the Pastors was in need of a robe. He was very kind and retreated to his office to try it on. I simply wasn't prepared for him to walk through the door, with his cane, wearing the Alb. I hadn't seen it on anyone since Rod last wore it in March, 2013. It fit and he was so grateful. He's young and recently stricken by a very rare neurological disease which is why he walks with a quad cane. In gratitude he gave me a hug and in a fleeting moment my last contact with Rod's Alb was over. We spent a few more minutes talking and then we were on our way, but as we left the building we had to stop to hug and cry. It was a huge life changing moment for me and she was right there.
Tonight the Alb is exactly where it belongs. Rod's brave and prophetic spirit has been honored and I'm very clear that my role as the Pastor's wife has finished.
The next step is to mail the stoles to the Oblate Seminary in San Antonio where they'll be given as gifts to new priests when they graduate in the spring. I anticipate that letting go of them at the Post Office will be hard and I'll be crying before I get back to my car.
It's hard work to liberate my heart from the past that I miss dearly but, it's work that has to be done in order to make room for God's call on my life now. Through this painful work Rod's legacy is honored, his vestments will continue to infuse life into the liturgy (the work of the people) through young pastors in other denominations, and I am a little more free to live into my future.
A blessing for them and for me.
The house is not as heavy tonight.