Day by Day for Lent

On Fat Tuesday, I received an email from a friend and former member--Linda. She wrote of several ways that she was looking at this impending Lenten journey--rebooting a computer, training for a marathon, learning a new habit, and an image from history, the Bonfire of the Vanities. I found them to be intriguing. She added some fuel to stoke the coals that have been smoldering. 

I will have to see what this Lent holds for me. Physically, it is the recovery period for the radiation treatments which ended on Fat Tuesday. Part of my Lenten discipline will be accepting that it takes the same amount of time to heal that it took to do the radiation: 6-1/2 weeks. By Easter, my stamina and skin should be somewhat resurrected. 

Then there is the matter of my spirit which has also taken a beating, but that has gone on for a good bit longer. In the matter of grief, I have heard that it takes about two years to work through the initial stages to come to a balance of some sort. It’s good to know that a new balance will come because just now I am caught between the reactions to anxiety--fighting, fleeing and care-taking, mostly the latter two, though I have been know to get feisty lately too.

What I think I need to learn from this physical recovery period during Lent is that the spiritual and emotional recovery period will be just as slow and deliberate. I can’t rush it no matter how much I want to. I want to jump to the new balance, but that’s just not how it works. Day by day, step by step, season by season, and all along the way learning to trust in God’s grace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

((Sighs))

((Sigh)) I evidently have a tendency to sigh, according to my boys. Actually, I know I do. Different sighs can mean different things—exasperation, wonder, exhaustion, questioning, and more. And, of course, a sigh can mean nothing more than an expelling of breath, especially if I have been holding it for some reason or none at all.

Andrew Greeley, author of several novels that I really enjoyed, writing about people of Irish heritage would describe someone’s sighs as sounding like they were on the verge of death. I don’t think mine sound that bad, but they can definitely elicit groans or concern from my sons.

Right now, I think my sighs come more from tiredness as the radiation treatments have sapped my stamina, though I do still feel as if I am holding my breath, waiting. The question is am I waiting for the other shoe to drop or am I waiting in hopeful expectation.

These images from Scripture help me: God shaped me from the dust of the earth and breathed life into me; and then the risen Jesus breathed on the disciples, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

Even when I don’t know what my sighs mean, God does for God’s Spirit takes them and turns them into prayer.

May my ((sighs)) move beyond exasperation and exhaustion to wonder and being filled with God’s holy breath.

Romans 8.26:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

Tears

Max and I use the Upper Room for our devotions at breakfast. Monday’s entry began with a couple going on a long-anticipated trip shortly after their retirement. A wave of grief hit me. Jeff and I did a lot of traveling in our early days, and we had enjoyed the travels we could take with kids in tow. There were places we still wanted to go visit, and favorite places to revisit. As I read, I suddenly felt the loss of a dream.

After my father died, those waves of grief often hit me at choir rehearsal as we sang phrases in hymns and anthems. I intentionally sat at the end of the pew during rehearsals so that I could simply turn my head towards the window and hide my tears. By the time Sunday morning came, I knew what we were singing and I was able to sing the words without tears.

I know that there are moments in sermons, especially during our current series, when I get choked up, but I have never liked crying in front of others. My boys have always liked to tease me about tearing up while watching movies. In reality, usually my eyes water up and that’s all. When somebody sees them, generally they stop.

I have a first-century tear vase that Jeff brought back from one of his trips to the Holy Land. The story about the tear vase is that a woman would catch in them her tears from the significant times in her life. After learning that tradition, I have always seen the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears as pouring out all the tears of her life, not just those of a moment.

Grief and tears are something I am going to need to ponder further, but probably not where others will see me.

Luke 7:38b

She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair.

Waking Up

Today, as I drove to my twentieth radiation treatment, I was almost on automatic pilot. Do you know how it is when even something that is out of the ordinary can become so routine?

A Metro bus blocked traffic in front of the hospital for a while causing me to wait but I didn't worry because I had time. Then I looked up. Not far from VHC are two radio or communication towers. The closer one is taller by far. What caught my eye was the fact that two men were being raised on lines, to work on the tower, I assumed. As they went higher and higher, I was amazed by their bravery. I would have been terrified. The sight of them, trusting to the cables and those on the ground who were spotting them, woke me up from being on automatic pilot. I became more observant.

A woman who is almost always after me was there before me. I encountered a group of nursing students--women and men-- walking down the hall. I heard snatches of different conversations than normal. Everything today seemed just a bit out of the ordinary causing me to take more notice.

It reminded me of how often we walk through life no longer seeing the palpable grace at work. Perhaps when we first came to a sense of commitment to follow Christ, we were more aware of God's touch everywhere, but after a while we no longer saw with such fresh eyes. We became habituated to the holy presence, like the two disciples who walked along the road to Emmaus not even realizing that it was Christ himself who walked and talked with him.

Today, my awareness was shocked awake by the sight of the two men high in the air. The two disciples' eyes were opened when they saw Jesus break bread for them. Oh, to stay open to seeing Christ's presence in each moment of the day!