The Good and the Bad

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Colossians 3: 17 NIV

            Just outside my patio, water droplets glistened on purple flowers and dried up blooms. Bright yellow daisies pointed their smiling faces toward the sun while the brown ones drooped.

            Inside my porch, red blooms decorated the desert rose plant and the floor. Orchid blooms withered next to brilliant white ones.

            Two planters of robust greenery reminded me of Alan’s memorial service. For over a year I nurtured them and watched them grow. Their presence brought memories but not tears.

            Patches of algae marred the mirrored lake. In my sanctuary, signs of death mingled with the beauty of life.

            My old life, now gone, next to my new one. Dead blossoms can’t be revived. Neither will loved ones return.

            However, like my memorial plants, I can grow and flourish in my new life. Throughout each day, I think of Alan, dad, mother and others who are no longer here. Their legacies continue in their sayings, actions, and personal items.

            I find myself remembering things they did or said. Various objects bring back memories.

            “This garage is a mess and needs to be cleaned,” Alan often said.

            We differed on what constituted a mess. But I smiled as I swept and mopped the garage. I knew it would have made him happy.

            When I don’t want to make a phone call to tackle a problem, I remember how he diligently took care of things. His attention to detail stimulates me to follow his example.

            When I told Emily one of dad’s favorite jokes, she laughed. His humor lives on.

            Dad’s determination to stay fit and play softball until a few months before his death, encourages me to exercise when I would rather relax.

            As I straighten my closets, I remember how carefully mother arranged each of hers. Her example stirs me to be more organized.

           

            Each time I use one of her bowls, I remember countless meals she fixed for her family and friends. Her hospitality makes me want to do the same.

            The influence of each one surrounds and comforts me. They live on in each person they touched.

Heavenly Father, thank you for the influence of loved ones who are no longer here. May their legacies continue. Amen 

Another Send Off

            Today is another send off party. The tenth I have attended in two years. A few others were missed because of distance and conflicts.

            For each event, family and friends dressed up to attend. Many wore colorful dresses and shirts. Others in black dresses and suits were more subdued. All went to celebrate the guest of honor.

            Hugs abounded. Groups of guests visited until the celebration began.

            At every event, the guest of honor was missing.  Each one had already left.

            With mixed feelings, I attended each memorial service. Because of my losses and loneliness, I concentrated more on the void left by their deaths.  From my grief, I knew what was ahead for the survivors and felt pain for them.

            A few weeks ago, I attended a memorial for a friend who left us way too early. Praises and music filled the huge sanctuary as family and friends celebrated her life. Never had I encountered such an exuberant send off. Story after story honored her and her walk with Jesus.

             I realized my mindset needed to change. I needed to rejoice because they were no longer in pain and agony. They didn’t have to deal with the hardships and tragedies of this world. They left us for a better place. Those who knew Jesus are rejoicing with Him in heaven.

            During my grieving process, I have been enveloped and comforted by the Holy Spirit often through the arms and lives of other people. Being joyful for those who have passed away doesn’t erase the grief but makes it more manageable.

But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.   John 14: 26-27 NIV

Loving Father,  comfort me as I grieve and help me rejoice for those who have left to join you. Amen

            

In Grief's Grip

           

Like a prowling lion

Grief snatched me unexpectedly.

It shook relentlessly like prey

Hanging from its jaws.

My tears gushed.

I struggled to escape its grip.

To stop the tears and pain.

But the heartache continued.

For two days

It held me captive.

Gradually, the stranglehold weakened.

Gushing of endless tears slowed.

A semblance of normalcy returned.

After two years of grieving,

Its intensity shocked me.

But death after death continued.

Family and friends.

Each one ripped the scars of healing.

Thankfully,

Compassion.

Comforting words.

Prayers.

Soothed the wounds.

Held me close.

Strengthened and encouraged  me

For the long journey.

A Child's Logic

            As I drove four year old Molly home, completely out of the blue she said, “Grandma, I would like to be an octopus. Wouldn’t you?”

            Trying not to giggle, I replied, “I never really thought about it. Why do you want to be an octopus?”

            In her serious tone, she said, “Then I could carry everything and not have to go back.”

            She did have a point.

My Whacked Tree

…Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3: 13-14 NIV

            Landscapers whacked my crepe myrtle while I was gone. For years, I carefully trimmed the trees in my yard, but in my new home a landscaping company did the work.

            Instead of graceful limbs, a few ugly stumps remained on my tree. I lamented the disfigurement and wondered why they had to trim it so severely. After the initial shock, I ignored it so I wouldn’t have to see the disfigured stumps.

            Several weeks later because of the blinding sun, I moved to a different chair on my patio to do  morning devotions. The unfamiliar view surprised me.

            Breezes ruffled leaves. From the pruned ugliness, a beautiful, full crepe myrtle emerged. The transformation happened gradually. Without pruning, colorful blooms on my crepe myrtle wouldn’t be as plentiful or beautiful.

            I also felt pruned down to ugly stumps. But from the bareness of my grief, I noticed touches of growth.  Recovery, slow with sporadic setbacks, continues. Though I don’t know what God has planned, I trust that He can make something from the whacked pieces of my life.

Dear Lord, pruning is painful but you are the Gardener who has the plan. Amen