I am a Pilgrim

It’s a fact of life. If we live on the Earth long enough, we lose someone we love. Someone who is so much a part of us that living without that person is unthinkable. And even someone like me, or many others you probably know, who have lived through such a loss cannot offer solutions or make it stop hurting.

Books on death and grief tell about various steps of the process. But it’s not one-size-fits-all, and it’s not a linear process. Grief is sneaky. It blind-sides you when you least expect it – a song, a scent, a place, a voice, words and even people can trigger the pain of loss. And just when you think you have moved to the next stage of grief, you may find yourself back at square one.

I recently read “Travels with David,” by Fran Rybarik, who lost her husband suddenly to a heart attack. She and her two adult sons came up with a unique way to honor her husband by taking film canisters of his ashes to places he loved and places they knew he would have loved and probably would have visited, had he lived long enough.

The book is not drippy sad. Actually, it’s full of adventure, inspiration and honest stories of how Fran somehow goes on, as life does, and becomes who she is today. Not “David’s widow,” but much more.

So many things in this book rang true to my own experience. Joyce Carol Oates memoir, “A Widow’s Story,” ends with this quote:

Of the widow’s countless death-duties there is really just one that matters: on the first anniversary of her husband’s death, the widow should think, I kept myself alive.

While I have never been suicidal, in the years since Ron died I have often thought I would rather just be in Heaven with him than here without him. But apparently that’s not God’s plan because here I am, still on planet Earth.

Like Fran Rybarik, my life has changed. I have continued to make memories – travels, fun with grands, new friends, reconnecting with old friends, to name just a few. The thing I miss most now is that I cannot have a conversation with Ron about these experiences and the memories I am making. I know I can talk to him, but it’s always one-way. Not a conversation.

A Hawaiian shoreline

Several of my travels have taken me to the shore – the Loch Ness in Scotland, cruising in the Irish Sea, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, lakes in Missouri and Iowa, the Pacific Ocean, Resurrection Bay in Alaska, and the shores of Ohua, Hawaii. When I am on a beach or shoreline, I always look for shells. Rubarik says seashells symbolize pilgrims.

I have often said it’s a good thing I was born in the 20^th Century because I never would have been brave enough to cross the ocean in a small wooden boat, travel West in a wagon train or any of the other crossings or treks the pilgrims who went before us took.

But, now, in 2016, I find that I, too, am a pilgrim. A whole person, separate from Ron, to whom I was married for 44 years. I am stronger than I ever thought I was. And I am braver than I thought possible. I drove to New Jersey with only my trusty OnStar and me for company. I joined a different church – the first time alone and the first one where Ron has not been part of the music ministry. I took a three-year course to become a spiritual director. I’m becoming more intentional and contemplative. I have hired people to help with big tasks, and I bought a car, sold the house we lived in for 30 years and bought a townhouse by myself.

Does all this mean I’m over my loss? No. I don’t think it’s possible to get over it. It simply means I know myself -- my strengths and weaknesses -- better now. I know that while I am single, I am not alone. I have friends and family, a great circle of wonderful people who have helped me to grow, recover and heal. And most important, my relationship with God has grown greatly in these last four years. I have God and he has me. And he will never leave me.

In a class I took I learned about mandalas, which are circular patterns representing the cosmos or the universe. I think of them as the circle of life. Mandalas are visible in many forms around us if we pay attention. The most obvious perhaps is in a rose window, a circular window often found in churches of Gothic architecture. But I have noticed mandalas in many places.

A few years before Ron died, we went to an art event where we bought a beautiful circular copper wall hanging. Once I understood the spiritual meaning of the circle, that copper piece became a mandala for me. It signifies my journey, like a labyrinth. My journey was not Ron’s journey, although we walked together for 44 years. His journey ended in 2011, but mine goes on. And since I “kept myself alive” through that first year, I have sought to find my path in my life now. Maybe I had not thought enough about retirement before, but I am often surprised by how many choices and decisions I still am making.

One choice I made is to not wear the “widow badge.” I am only the widow when required to fill out an official form and check that box. Otherwise I’m a pilgrim you may see looking for seashells and picking my way along my life path.

My journey continues. I don’t have many answers. I cannot give anyone a magic formula for living with loss and grief. But I know that I am not alone on this path, which opens ahead of me just one step at a time. I continue on my pilgrim way.

Redeeming Love

As I was baking the last batch of Christmas cookies, my mind was going over this past year. In some ways, it’s been difficult, as my 94-year-old Mom was hospitalized twice and spent several weeks in skilled care, and other family members had major surgeries. And of course, there is chaos in so many places – Paris, San Bernardino, and many other places, too.

But today the focus of my thoughts was on gratitude. On the whole, it’s been a very good year. I am healthy, and I was able to travel some. One of my most cherished memories is from my trip to Alaska in June. It was a great experience on both land and sea, and the weather was very un-Alaska-like – in the 80s several days, and lots of sunny days.

The highlight of my trip, however, did not happen in Alaska. On the way back home, we had an overnight stay in Seattle. I knew that my daughter’s friend, Julie Dart Snyder and her partner Steve Wall lived there, but I had not contacted them because I really didn’t know if there would be any time to see them. Plus, I had no transportation available. But just about the minute I posted on Facebook that I was in Seattle, Julie contacted me and wanted to set up at time to meet.

Julie is a very special mom. She went to China with Steve to adopt a darling little girl named Lia. This precious little one was born with a cleft lip and palate, and she was in an orphanage. While she received good, loving care there, family and her native culture had essentially abandoned her.

Julie and Steve “redeemed” this little girl by what they did to claim Lia as their own child. They paid a price, both monetary and emotional. And they continue to invest in this child who has required countless operations and medical attention, in addition to all the usual parental care.

Please do not misunderstand. I am in no way comparing these wonderful earthly parents to Jesus, who is our once-and-for-all redeemer. The analogy of redemption is throughout the Bible, beginning way back in Genesis. And that’s what Jesus did for us. He came here as a tiny baby. God living as a human with all the problems of a culture that didn’t receive him. And he paid the price for our redemption when he died on the cross and rose again from the dead to live forever. He is the ultimate redeemer.

That day was the first time I had met Lia, though I had seen many pictures of her on Facebook. She called me “Grandma Polly,” and was not the least bit shy with me. And being called “Grandma” is the best compliment a child can give me.

When I got on the bus headed to the airport, I hugged and kissed Lia and her parents goodbye. I was overwhelmed by the experience of that short visit. It was truly the best part of my two-week trip. I was filled with thanksgiving for having that precious time in the hotel lobby with those dear people. And I knew that God had blessed me in a unique way. I was a visitor there and they drove across town to see me. Julie and I, though we are Facebook friends, have only met a time or two in person, and I had never met Steve, or, of course, Lia. Yet, for me, it was like meeting family. The warmth, immediate love and feeling of belonging. 

Julie and Steve demonstrated what Jesus said:

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me. I was in prison and you came to visit me…I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.  Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Clearly we cannot all go to China and adopt a child, but we can look for the stranger in our midst who needs a friend, we can donate to the food bank to help the hungry, and we can give much needed monetary donations to charities that clothe, feed and house the needy. And, if we’re able physically, we can give our time to organizations that help those in need. In so doing we, in a sense, provide a sort of redemption for those who need a helping hand.

And we can be grateful for redeeming love. Love of family and friends, and even strangers. But most of all, the love of Jesus for each of us individually. My paraphrase of Isaiah 49:15 is “A mother cannot forget her child.” (If Lia’s biological mother is still alive, I am quite sure she thinks of Lia often.) That verse goes on to say, “Though she may forget, I will not forget you! I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” That’s how much God loves you and me.

I hope your year was blessed, and I wish you the very best in 2016.

Trust … even when life happens

I recently received the Women’s Ministry newsletter from Lutheran Church of Hope, and I was moved, convicted and affirmed by what it said to me – my heart – during this Christmas season. I hope it touches your heart, too.

I have had lots of “trust issues” in my life. I think that started when I was a baby – my father left when I was 6-weeks old, and I grew up without a dad. Fortunately, I had a good grandpa, several good uncles and other male role models in my life. But it’s not the same … a dad belongs to YOU. And I didn’t have one.

As I have grown older, I do see how God has always been there for me in so many ways. And even though I miss Ron, my husband of 44 years, so much, especially during this Christmas season, I trust that I can do this – and even experience happiness and joy --  during this, my fifth Christmas without him.

I highly recommend the book mentioned here, “Great and Glorious Physician.” It’s historical fiction, but very true to scripture, about the life of Luke, the writer of the Gospel of Luke.

My friend, Mary Stier, Women’s Ministries Director, wrote this for the newsletter, and with her permission, I am sharing it with you.

Trust in the LORD always,    for the LORD GOD is the eternal Rock.  - Isaiah 26:4

Trust.

I've been thinking about trust this Christmas.

Trust seems easy when life is moving along as planned. Trust is abundant when all your loved ones are doing life just as you dreamed. Trust is easy when you have your health. And solid finances. And no conflict.

But then life happens. The check bounces. A friend betrays a confidence. A loved one falls in the pit of addiction. The doctor calls with a devastating test result.

It's moments like this when trust isn't so easy, is it?

But Scripture reminds us time and again that we can trust in the Lord.

Mary trusted.

There is a beautiful book called "Dear and Glorious Physician" by Taylor Caldwell. In one chapter the author describes the moment when the angel Gabriel tells Mary she will bring forth a son who is the Messiah. Caldwell writes,

"Mary lifted her small hands and gazed at them in bewilderment; she saw the stains of hard work upon them; she saw the coarseness of her garments; she remembered that she was a girl. How could she be chosen, and not the princess of Israel surrounded by trumpets and marble columns and perfumed fountains and attendants? She covered her face with her hands and wept. She did not know if she was weeping with fright or with joy."

Heaven knows (literally heaven knows!) that this wasn't Mary's plan. But Mary trusted her almighty Father. She didn't cry out a lamenting prayer or try and talk God out of his plan. Instead she responded, "I am the Lord's servant. May everything you have said about me come true."

She trusted Him.

I don't know your circumstances this Christmas but I do know that God hears your prayers. Your prayers may not be answered with the details you envision or the timing you request but your prayers will be answered.

This Christmas may you find peace, with Mary as your role model, to lean on, trust in and be confident in the Lord with all your heart and mind.

Trust Him, my friend.

Merry Christmas! 

Thoughts on the Second Sunday in Advent

Advent. A season of waiting, hoping, anticipating peace on earth. And then in our fallen world, another terrorists’ massacre of innocent people who were celebrating at a holiday party. It makes me and many others anxious and unsettled. In our world, I am less trusting that there is safety anywhere anymore.

And yet, I know that Christmas will come regardless of frenetic preparation activity and over-the-top anxiety.

A couple of thoughts have been on my heart and mind as we start the second week of Advent. One is from Sarah Young’s book, “Jesus Calling,” which I use as a daily devotional. She writes as if Jesus is speaking directly to the reader – to me. It says, “You give me thanks (regardless of your feelings), and I give you joy (regardless of your circumstances). This is a spiritual act of obedience.”

A spiritual practice, to give thanks to God. But also a mysterious equation. Thanks = Joy. Incredible that God’s “math” comes up with the answer of JOY when we give thanks, regardless of circumstances.

Anyone who knows me well knows math is just NOT my thing. Hey, Journalism majors can graduate college without a single math credit. And it’s a good thing, too, because I never would have passed a college math course. I am a words person. Maybe that’s why this word equation is so meaningful to me. Thanks = Joy. And, while I need a calculator to do math, I only need life experience to tell you this equation is real and it works. God’s equation is perfect. When I am thankful, He gives me joy in my heart. And it is cyclical. The more thankful I am, the more joy fills my heart.

Please don’t misunderstand. Joy is not the same thing as happiness. In simple terms, happiness usually depends on circumstances. When things go well, we are happy. When they are complicated and difficult, we are not as happy. But joy is different. Joy is a gift we receive from God, so that regardless of circumstances, we have joy in our hearts.

So, I choose to be thankful because I know that the equation works. Every time. Thankful = Joy. A mystery, but a perfect equation. And I add to that equation that Joy = Peace. Not world peace, certainly, but peace in my heart. Peace that I can live this moment, this day in the confidence that God is with me. I love God’s math: Thankful = Joy = Peace. What’s better than that in any season?

Another Advent thought

During this season, I am reading Deitrich Bonhoeffer’s “God is in the Manger – Reflections on Advent and Christmas.” I have used this little book in other years, but the message is always fresh and current. With all that is happening in our world, I sometimes lose sight of the fact that God is still in control, even in the midst of disasters and terrorists. I don’t believe for one minute that God causes these things. But I know that He knows what’s happening here.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer, who is one of the 20^th century’s most beloved theologians, was in the Tegel prison camp in 1943 when he wrote the letters and thoughts included in this book. He was imprisoned because he spoke out against Nazism and Hitler, and eventually was executed in 1945 as a political prisoner, just 10 days before Germany surrendered.

Even while in a German prison camp, which we know was a horrible, sub-human way of life, Bonhoeffer wrote:

We can, and should also, celebrate Christmas despite the ruins around us …I think of you [his parents] as you now sit together with the children and with all the Advent decorations – as in earlier years you did with us. We must do all this, even more intensively because we do not know how much longer we have.

Advent is about waiting. But Bonhoeffer says, “Our whole life is an Advent season … waiting … for the time when there will be a new heaven and a new earth.” A time when there will finally be peace on earth. God promises in scripture that will happen. We may not see it, but God’s got this. And with His mysterious formula we can have peace in our hearts, even in this chaotic world.

And so during this Advent season, I am trying to live in thankfulness, which results in joy and peace, and in anticipation and celebration because we do not know how much longer we have, but we know we have this season – today and throughout Advent.

Emanuel, God is with us. He’s here, with us in this season. And regardless of circumstances, He gives joy.

Thanks be to God.

The Frost Line

Here in Central Iowa we’ve had frost a couple of nights, and there is more on the way. Frost is late this year. According to Google, our average first frost is Oct. 4, but this year, it was at least three weeks later than that. We have had unseasonably warm temperatures, even breaking records some days. (I am hoping that bodes well for a shortened winter.)

When we have frost, I can see it glistening on my deck and on the rooftops of nearby houses. As the day begins and the sun comes up, I see that the frost has quickly dissipated wherever the sun’s rays reached it. But in the shadow of a chimney or other obstacle, the frost remains, leaving a patch of frost shaped like whatever cast the shadow.

These shadows cause me to think about my life. When I stand directly in the sunlight, I enjoy the light and soak up the warmth. If I stand in the shadows, I feel markedly cooler, and I miss the radiance the sun imparts. For me, it’s like my relationship with God. If I stand in the shadows, maybe even hiding behind something, I cannot experience the deep love of God.

Oh, God’s love is not changed by shadows. We read in Romans 8:38-39, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

So we know God’s love is always present, but I may not be standing where I can soak it in. I may be standing behind obstacles – things that block my faith. Things like fear, un-forgiveness, an ungrateful heart, disappointments, anger or simply not taking time to be present to God’s presence and everlasting love. In a culture that so values busyness, taking the time may be our biggest obstacle.

To keep my heart from standing in the shadows, I have to be intentional about my time and my choices. I need to choose to spend time in God’s presence by reading the Bible, praying and being contemplative. We all have the opportunity to decide what spiritual practices are most comfortable for us. And given the right frame of mind and heart, nearly anything can be a spiritual practice.

We usually think of things like church attendance, prayer, the Eucharist, as well as other religious activities as spiritual practices, and they are. But the truth is, a walk around the block, noticing fall colors and thanking God for the beauty of the changing seasons can be a spiritual practice. Serving others, cooking a meal or baking, listening to music, yoga or other exercise, can all be spiritual practices if they are centered on talking to God and listening to God. I have friends who knit or crochet prayer shawls for those experiencing illness or a rough patch in their lives, and that is one of their spiritual practices. It is all about being aware of God’s presence and being intentional.

Although some people actually hear God’s voice in times of meditation or contemplation, I never have. But if I am paying attention, I believe God brings people or things to mind that I need to be attentive to. And as I notice people and situations around me, I can attend to needs that I may have never noticed, had I not been intentional about noticing.

Though the frost on the roofs is beautiful, I don’t want to stand in the shadows where it’s cold. And I do not want obstacles casting a shadow on my life to shape me. I want to step out and stand in the light of God’s presence.