If You Want To Try

Putting them on required working quickly in the fading light of the freezing air, wrapping different materials, and hoping for enough protection from the elements in order to heal.

Taking them off took longer, required scissors/a box cutter/clippers,  a lot more work, and far more courage.

For almost deadly wounds like these, the tree expert said last February:

"If you want to try to save it - this is what you do right now and this is what you'll do in August.
 - and there's no guarantee it'll survive."

If you want to try -
Do now - do later - no guarantees.

Bandages and Courage

Why do we rarely take notice how they work side by side?

Courage to put them on with great expectations for safety, healing, and memory of the wound.

Courage to take them off when it's time for such wounds to fill with sun, fill with wind, fill with water
When it's time to step back into life.

Do now - do later - no guarantees.

Leaving the iridescent green tape on the limbs reminded me of the traumatic snowstorm my precious tree endured.
It spoke of my good work and of my care.
It also told me there was more to do, but I preferred to ignore that part....

.....until today when I knew it had to be done and so I began -
Cutting, pulling, coaxing, even asking the bandages to give way
And in their unraveling the gaping wounds became exposed
Something akin to healed bark appeared in some areas, but not all.

I touched the deep wounds with a little prayer
It's time to stand on your own, I said
It's time to take the sun, the wind, the rain and even the winter snows.
You've healed enough to do this.

You are free to fully breathe again
No longer restricted by green tape and bandages

I have no idea what the tree wanted in this whole matter
But in my all knowing human way I decided it wanted to live
It might have become quite accustomed to the bandages, too,
Just as grieving humans are apt to stay in our caves, wrapped in our symbols of pain, and expecting the rest of life will always be exactly like this.

Until ---
Someone takes the time and shows the courage needed to remove the bandages, lead us to the next step of healing, tell us that we're worth something again.

Until----
We come together and say to each other --

I know what it's been like --
I know the grievous  wound beneath your bandages --
I know the courage it's taken just to survive --

Until ---
We say to each other

Here,
Let me gently remove all this stuff so you can breathe again -
Let me ease the path still fraught with surprises
Let me take your hand and reassure you that as the bandages come off
You will stand in the sun, the wind, the rain, the snow and be alright.

The wound, of course, somewhat healed over
Will always be present -

As will I.

As will I.

So much left to say.....

The last time you sat there -- the last time you sat anywhere
You didn't want to move -- you didn't want to return to that hospital bed

As you sat at the far end of the couch I've never liked at all

Your last clear words echoed forth like a call to arms.....like a haunting
Filling the space between our life I clung to
And
The one I feared crouching like a tsunami on the porch -
Still outside my vision, but already within my heart with its cold, unstoppable grip

"But I have so much left to say," you said while struggling to stand, to take the two steps to the bed
The last two steps of your life

God knows, we both had so much left to say
and
No one could tell us when the last opportunity would be

Your utterance was it

Your announcement of incompleteness
Your desire to keep sharing yourself
Your hope for more words
Your drive to stay alive, to stay engaged with this gift called life

I didn't get it until you were gone

Gone from the couch, gone from the hospital bed, gone from the house
Simply gone

But, the couch I've never liked at all has remained these past four years
Still the ugly color we picked out thinking it really wasn't that color, it must be some other color
Over the years it's been here, it still hasn't become the color I wanted
Sitting here like a memorial in the exact same place
The far end where you sat and where I slept the last week of your life

Grace has allowed me to live in this room without dwelling on all that transpired
within its walls your last ten days
And now
Grace is telling me to invite in
New hope, new vision, new warmth, new joy
Even in this room with the couch I have never liked at all

Completely unexpected
Totally unwarranted
Parched soul and withered heart
Tenderly held
Overwhelmed and grateful.

This room walled with painful memory
Now blessed with tenderness
Restored to life

Your last words echo in a new and fresh way
There really is still so much left to say ---- within this gift of life!

So much left to say!

Amen - let it be so!

Fire Blue Dream

Something is stirring

Something is calling me to the blank page tonight

Something is itching to break free

I can't put my finger on it

I can't taste it

I can't see it

But, it is there - invisibly forcefully there.

Pushing. Ordering. Pulling.

Something is stirring inside

Fires of light

Blues of emotions

Dreams hiding between marrow and bone

If only I could wrap my arms around it

Taste its sweetness

Spend hours gazing upon it with my light shy eyes.

Compelling. Urging. Begging. Demanding.

Fire Blue Dream is calling

It wants my hand and promises to lead me

To bring me home

Home to the place free of fear, free of grief

Fire Blue Dream is calling

I want to answer, to take the leap, to fall into its balmy abyss

Where only Life can catch me

Where only Truth can hold me

Where only Love can heal me.

Fire Blue Dream is calling ...........

Can you stand in the river?

Tall grasses cover the beach that once was -
A different shape of shore makes it hard to find the spot -
Mossy rocks still present, but seem to have moved,
But -  this is the right spot - this is your place.

Can I stand in the river on this day, just shy of four years since you died?
Can I stand here to bless your watery grave with roses, hydrangeas, daisies, and rosemary we planted side by side when we were so sure there were decades ahead of us?

Standing in the river beholding your grave with tears in my eyes --
Unable to resurrect you from the water
Unable to resurrect our life together -
It's all right in front of me on a stunningly beautiful summer day.

And when I turn to my friend
Standing in the river right behind me
He reminds me there are choices to make --
Choices for life or choices for staying locked in our aloneness.

Our faith is all about life -- it's all about resurrection
But
Resurrection can only follow the death, the grave
And
For mere mortals it's a leap of faith, it's a choice.

Can I stand in this river of memory and at the same time claim new life?

This year I can.

This year a soft, strong, silent Yes behind and within said it is possible.

Thank-you.

A Self To Be

Almost four months ago I wrote "The house is not as heavy tonight," and based on my absence from these pages one might conclude the house floated away, but it has not.

I don't know why I haven't been here. I think it's because no one has said, as Rod used to say, "You need to write tonight." He was always the best gauge of my soul's need - a task I have yet to pin down on this continued journey of life rebuilding.

Frederick Buechner writes in The Sacred Journey ~
                                                            We search for a self to be.
                                                                        We search for other selves to love. 
                                                                                             We search for work to do.

As my previous piece acknowledged, I'm no longer the Pastor's Wife.
                                                                                               Who am I now?
                                                                                                     Who am I becoming?
                                                                                                         What is my place in life?

Honestly, I've stressed a lot about who I am on my own and I've worked hard to protect myself from unknowns, which typically means getting more education!

In 2017 I thought I was called to attend Seminary, but that self wasn't the right one.

Then, I was accepted by a spiritual direction program, but a few days ago I withdrew my plan to start later this month because that self wasn't the right one, either.

I remember Rod telling me that it's not what I do, but who I am that matters; however, at this juncture my professional self is the most familiar to me.  It's where I know what I'm doing and my work makes a difference.

Personally, navigating new friendships and boundaries is far more challenging. I don't know where the edges, much less the beginning and the middle, are. Unlike waving Tahoe across the street to the open grass after I've checked for traffic, no one is standing in front of me waving, "OK, Sher, it's safe to go this way now!"

A card in my study shows a woman carrying a suitcase and reads, "It's OK - It's only change." Rod loved preaching that staying the same is not an alternative which some people loved and others, not so much. For me, the first moment after his last breath, remaining the same was abruptly no longer an alternative. Nothing would be the same.

Although we long for the self we used to be and the life we used to have -- it simply is not an alternative.

So, we search, we dance, we put our toes in the water, we creep to the edge of the known universe right in front of us, we say "Yes, life I'll love you again," we hope to be received and valued, we hope for new people to love and to love us, and in the long run we hope our work eases the burdens of others.

As I continue to search for the new self I am becoming, I remember Jesus' words,
                                           
                                                           Seek and you shall find

Pastor Rod's Alb and Stoles

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.

What are you after?

I'd been following the man for quite sometime when he finally turned around and, in an exasperated tone asked, What are you after?

How much time do you have? I thought to myself. Well, there's the matter of too many deaths - Stef's Mom, Tressa's Grandma, Erin's dog, my client at work who can't find a way to deal with her husband's death and Child Protective Services are now involved, and all of the hundreds of other hopeless people I talk with about recent deaths. Then, there's the matter of the question my doctor asked me on the way out the door last week, "So, what plans do you have for 2019?" Three years ago the question of a new year stretching ahead of me without Rod struck total terror in my heart and gut. I had to have plans. I had to have a roadmap. I had to know what was around the corner. Such is the experience of early grief tantamount to total abandonment. This year, though, I have no big plans for anything. Maybe a trip here or a trip there, but I really don't know. The terror is lurking, not quite as overwhelming, but still present. So, when this man asked me what I'm after, you can see the list is very long: Answers, hope, direction, purpose, wisdom, security, health - that's all I'm after.

I knew, though, that if I blurted all of this out I might scare him off, so instead I answered his question with my own, Where are you staying? He wasn't quite as grumpy now as he extended an invitation, Come and see for yourself.

Oh, that's all I have to do? Just go and see where he lives and spend some time? That will do it? All my questions will be answered and needs met? Well, let's see, I do have the grocery shopping, vet appointment, house cleaning, and a myriad of other things on my list today, but I have a feeling this is important. No, more than important: This is crucial.

I went with him, saw where he lived, and spent the afternoon with him. At first it seemed like a strange thing to do. He didn't ask me anymore questions or anything about my life. I wondered if he cared about all my needs and those of the people I loved and worried about. But, when I left at the end of the day, his Way, his Truth, and his Life came with me.

It was all about the time and my choice, our choice, to follow to his house. To leave the list at the door, to listen, to be absorbed into his life.

What are you after?  The Incarnation of Christ in my life, in our world.

Nothing less will do, nothing less will do.




(John 1:35-39, The Message)