Despite the pace of the season, the personal challenges it brings this year, there is this sense that I must be about the business for which I am gifted, my writing. So, back to the blog. In the midst of dusting a bookshelf so I can place my overflowing books at the very top (not necessarily a wise thing in earthquake prone Alaska) I came across one of the many journals I have started at various times. Perhaps you know the ones, those that have a few pages that rail against some personal or societal imperfection--generally the former for me--but rarely are sustained.
Similar in appearance is the one I found, but its pages were a blessing so often looked for but not always found this time of year. I took this on a journey, wrote one page, and then abandoned it. Finding it today, however, it is clear to me that the orchestration of our lives is hardly random and even less devoid of meaning at any and all times.
As many of you know, my mother died just a few weeks ago. Deterred at times by my own mourning and the demands of the season we place upon ourselves, understandably and otherwise, I have written nothing of my thoughts of this time of healing.
Perhaps what is written below will suffice for now. It was written on December 14, 2004 in Iron Mountain, Michigan while at my mother's house:
The first gift is realizing that all situations, challenges, choices are best faced with an attitude of love. It seems as though the chaos, the pain of loss, the overwhelming emotional challenge of facing death is best navigated with Love as a companion. When Love is captain of the voyage through grief, the journey brings even more gifts. Strength, generosity, patience, hope, and blessed peace.
To find myself with gratitude without guilt, sorrow sanctified by faith (however fragile) and fear crushed by empowerment is nearly overwhelming, joyful even. To have the blessed assurance that God's timing is oddly perfect, that good fruits have already been gleaned from a harvest of loss makes my heart sing.
Rest in peace, dear daddy, deeper in the heart of the Father of us all.
And thank-you, for pointing me toward Him and for teaching me to love.
As I breathe back the mist of tears that surface in my eyes, I would like to dedicate this return to blogging to all those with loved ones whose earthly journeys ended this year. Our shared pain of such loss is so poignant in this time of remembering the abundant grace of Love, whose birth on our planet we celebrate.
As I navigate my first Christmas as an orphan, I feel lucky to have been adopted by my community of faith, my friends, my family. The arms of comfort, bewilderment, sorrow and hope that have surrounded me in this time astound me with the affirmation that what endures is Love that is timeless, whole, and sustains us all in endless communion. The assurance of what I know to be true is the great legacy of two parents whose profound gift to me was a nurtured faith and the ability to express it.
I will honor that all my life.
