This Funny Little Enterprise: My Life

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but things are very different now.

Perhaps, your interest in the here and now is also very different.

I suspect that it is, which breaks my heart because I like to tell myself that you're fully engaged and fully present in this funny little enterprise: My Life.

But, I don't really know, do I? Do any of us know?

What I do know is that I get confused between your call, your legacy and my call and whatever legacy I might leave behind.

We lived your call, your work, your passions for a very long time -
To the point that when you died, I thought it was my job to carry it all on --
To continue to represent your voice, your commitments, your dignity.

But, like I said, things are very different now
And in the middle of this difference, in the middle of this change
I am trying to sort out what is mine, what was yours, and what remains ours.

Of course
Absolutely
Without hesitation
I want to honor your hard work, your commitments, and your passions -
I want you to be remembered.
Yours was a life of service and giving that earned the right to be remembered, to be honored.

So, if I don't, if I can't, if it's not my call to do exactly as you did --
How do I keep you present?
How do I honor your life's work?
How do I remember our life and build a new one at the same time?

Across my room I see your marching orders for me -

Don't isolate yourself --- Be vulnerable with others ---- Write --- Don't let the past decide your future

All of these I have tried to keep front and center
And maybe this is the best and only way to really honor you, to keep you close, to make sure you are remembered --

To live life the way you did - driven by passion and love and joy and commitment to God.

Perhaps it matters little at this point what was yours, what is mine, and what will remain.

Perhaps what really matters is how well I get up every morning to serve God and love those present in my life right now.

Things are very different now and also exactly the same.
You're no longer right here, but my life is still blessed with love.

I do honor you and  hold your accomplishments and your lifelong tenacity in the highest esteem.
I do bless them and bless you as I let go a little more.
As the four and half year mark approaches ---

I have to let go a little more --

In order to be with others, to be vulnerable, to write, to make a new future.

And, I think you're ok with this approach -
You're ok with my handling of this funny little enterprise: My Life.
I think I hear you cheering me on.
Yes, I'm quite sure of it.
Very sure of it.
Thank-you, Rod.
Thank-you very, very much for everything.
For absolutely everything.

Remember Them

I don't remember all of their names, but I remember their faces and their stories. I remember the baggy prison sweatshirts and sweatpants they had to wear with their inmate badges clipped to their chests. I remember the rooms, the chapel, the gates, the rules, the barren in-between, the armed guards, the gate control room, the enormously bright yard lights at night, solitary/maximum/medium/minimum security cell blocks, the J Unit: mothers and babies, med lines, kites, lockdowns, getting through security each Thursday, and the very serious officers.

My experience of the Washington State women's prison outside Tacoma as a chaplain intern 18 years ago comes to the surface of my consciousness from time to time. This morning, as part of local church support program, I preached at a small PCUSA church near Eugene. As I prepared my sermon I remembered one particular inmate, Penny, and I spoke about the experience she and I had together. I also mentioned praying Nishelle's poetry and some of the other women whose names I simply don't recall.

Tonight I regret not using a particular phrase to describe those women: Actual Human Beings. For all the wrong they had committed, for the ways they'd chosen to live if only to survive, for all the darkness they lived inside the prison fences and gates, for all the trouble they may possibly remain in 18 years later, it's important to remember that they, and all prisoners, are actual human beings.

On this third Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of Joy, I thought it important to put these thoughts out into the universe. Isaiah 35 reads "He will come and save you." That means you, that means me, that means the women behind prison bars all over the world. Remember them in your Advent prayers and Christmas preparations. Remember them.

Gratefully Always

As it turns out, today will be a collision of past, present and future ---

Around the beautiful table set to Downton Abbey music, seven precise settings,

We will gather - all of us with our pasts, some connected and some not -

Bringing our memories to this new and yet quite old table -

Here they've all sat before in such an arrangement, while I have not.

Where they all were thirty-nine years ago today, I cannot know.

Full well, every fiber of my being knows exactly where I was at each minute of this day.

A plethora of stories and histories, spoken and unspoken, we'll each bring -

To gather with the leader of this changing clan  which is bound by so many feelings.

My prayer is that each of us will be ready to embrace the new present and the unfolding future with joy even as we tightly hold our pain, our loss, our missing loved ones.

This table may be set for seven, but far, far more will be seated

Yes, far more......

For our loved ones will always come with us to this table --

Gratefully Always.

Just a Few Questions, Ms. Castro

How does it feel?
                          Really hard to describe ---

What will you do on Friday?
                          The day will be weird and I don't know what to do ---

What have you been thinking about?
                          I'd love to elaborate, but feel overwhelmed & constricted ---

What are your plans?
                          Gratefully, they aren't just my plans anymore ---

Where have you been?
                          That's hard to explain and would take far too many words than my sparse
                           style allows for --

When did you know?
                          When they all talked about their long marriages and ------

Why did it bother you so much?
                           Now, that's a hard one - really no clue - it came out of the blue ----

How have you changed in the past 39 years?
                           Unbelievably, impossible to describe -- - really, it'd take
                           far too many words ----

Where's the silence gone?
                          Not far at all, accessible really, it's me who has gone ---

Do you think you'll come back to the silence?
                          Well, there's no choice - I have to - it's my lifeblood ----

What does God think of all this stuff in your head, in your heart?
                           God wonders when I'm going to sit down in silence to pray ----

Why are you finally writing tonight?
                           Because I have to -- I have to remember who I am -- I have to connect --

What's kept you away?
                           Worries about raising someone's ire, fear of speaking my heart ----

Has that really kept you quiet in the past?
                           The past has never been the present so I don't know -----

What will you do on Thursday?
                           Give thanks at a new table with new family ---

What will you do on Friday?
                           Give thanks for Rod and the life we shared: Bless it, let it go ----

What will you do on Saturday?
                            Happily help George with the green egg and ham.

Do you have more clarity after this little chat?
                            Actually, I do. Thanks for taking the time to ask me all these things --

Do you have anything to add?
                            I do --- I've found since my last post that true love can hold the most
                                        painful things this world throws at us. If I wanted to use more words
                                        I'd write about that. Again, thanks for asking.

You're welcome.
                           
                         

Thank God, they came.

Somewhere between the lightening and flood,

between the heat and ice,
between heaven's songs and earth's tears,

between the dark and light,

They came.

No announcement given

No invitation sent nor received

No words spoken nor heard

They simply came.

A daunting task, they knew

Unsure of their timing

Unknown if their gift would be rebuffed or embraced

They came in courage.

Attached to her back in one graceful motion

Pinned to his heart in one fell swoop

They came in hope and strength.

To show a new way

To grant a new path

To choose a new life

Blessing given

Path revealed 

Leaving again those they once cleaved to in love

Waiting, watching, praying to see

Their new wings unfurled...

As we step off the cliff --- Falling into Grace

Learning to soar with courage and strength 

To say 

I love you

In ways never thought possible.

What was that silent sound?

Fluttering wings hovering, waiting, rounding

Staying just long enough to insure --
We know our hearts have been enlarged

Big enough for the love holding our past

and

Big enough for the love filling our future.

We are so grateful they came.

Thank God, they came.

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!