Puffs of Anger

I have a confession to make. I know that often we want our leaders to already have gotten their stuff together, but I have to admit that I don’t. I may be taking a risk in making my confession public. I hope you can understand.

 I get puffs of angry feelings. Okay, sometimes they are more than puffs—more like clouds that hover, but not generally. Puff or cloud, they do have the effect of coloring my memories and my decision-making ability.

And since there is no one who bears fault for this situation—Jeff did not choose to become ill; he did not choose to die; God did not make Jeff ill—my anger becomes apparent to me in dealing with the stuff that is left to sort.

There were some things that I was never really able to come to grips with about some of Jeff’s decisions in life. I could understand and accept his desire to become Roman Catholic, but then he withdrew from so many other parts of our normal life experience. He would say he did not want to “scandalize” anyone with his conversion, but the effect was to leave me alone in dealing with the ramifications of his choices. He no longer wanted to spend time with people whose company we had enjoyed together. Or if he did spend the time, he would either become confrontational or morose when questions in conversation arose. And so, these feelings keep arising within me as I try to sort through the things that are left to deal with. How do I sort through the things while I am still sorting through the feelings?

I don’t have a real rosy answer to this one. It’s a struggle. I want to remember with joy, and often I can but not always. At this point, advice is not what I need but simply prayers and patience—and music. Each night I go to sleep listening to the beautiful piano music that AnnaMaria recorded for Jeff and me in his last days. And balance is found for the night.

Ephesians 4:26

Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger.

Dear God

For our Renovare homework this week, we were to write a brief letter to God, recalling the first time we sense God’s presence and some of the ways God has revealed Godself to us. This is a bit of what I wrote:

Dear God,

From my earliest memories you have been a part of my life. I remember in the third grade when the Celestial Choir was to sing in the worship service. Our seats were directly behind the Communion rail. As I looked up toward the altar, I was aware of a shimmering presence that I could only know as You. And you have always been there, even when I was in high school and felt like my prayers were only bouncing off the ceiling back at me. Even then I didn't doubt you. I just wasn't sure how to reach you, but over time I became aware that you were always there, especially when I didn’t “feel” like it.

Usually it was when I was looking back that I could sense your hand at work, guiding and protecting me. It's so hard to see it in the midst of the present moment, but I have come to trust your presence more and more. I know that's why the Israelites re-membered the story of the Exodus, moving out of slavery in Egypt through the wilderness, eventually to the Promised Land. They had to hear the story again and again, to learn that you were there with them, setting them free, leading them, providing for them. When we don't rehearse the stories, we forget. When we tell the stories, when we hear the stories again and again, they become engrained within us, a part of us--just as you have always been with us. That's why we tell the story of the Good News again and again. That's why we remember how you gave yourself for us as we celebrate the Holy Meal. Every time we tell the story, every time we taste the bread and drink the wine, you become even more a part of us.

And so I give you thanks for your love, for making and telling us the stories that draw us to you.

Your daughter,

Mochel

Anxious Grasping

Yesterday, during our Communion service for the Arlington District Clergy meeting we heard a scripture read and were asked to silently reflect on it and then share what words we particularly remembered and what effect does the reading have on it we think, do or believe. The reading was from Luke 12:22-31. Normally, I would have pulled the text up on my iPad to read along with, but I just listened to it. It’s familiar words spilled over me, “do not worry.”

I heard the admonition in two areas—first, the church—all of it: our congregation, the district, the conference and the general denomination; and second, my own life. When I worry, or am anxious, I am more likely to grasp hold of something, clinging for dear life. Unfortunately, when I grasp hold I tighten down and am less open to receive the gifts of God’s Spirit. It’s hard to have enough open to receive when it is clinched tightly to something else.

As the Church looks at the decline of the last 45+ plus, the tendency is to clutch at something, anything just in order to survive. That clutching hold is usually out of fear. What if God is calling us to be the Church in a new way? What if something needs to die in order for the power of resurrection to be manifest?

And as I look around my house and see all that still needs to be done, feeling all the responsibility resting solely on my shoulders, I hear Jesus telling me to open my hand and receive.

In both areas, I don’t know what it is that is around the corner, but I do know that God is already there so I don’t really need to worry and be afraid.

How Are You...Really?

I hear the care and concern in people’s voices when they ask how we are doing.  It is genuine. And I answer, “we’re doing okay.” And we are doing okay, for the most part. In some ways, I feel as though we should be ready to move on, and yet it is not really possible, not yet.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Back-to-School Night. It was something I had always done by myself so I didn’t think too much about it ahead of time. By the end of the evening, I felt raw. I had not prepared myself for all the caring, compassionate encounters with parents who hadn’t really seen me since Jeff’s death. In those moments passing in the halls, or sitting in classrooms, they conveyed their condolences. I received them, hopefully graciously.

In some ways, nothing has changed--I still do the shopping, planning, supervising of homework--but in reality everything has changed. There is a hole here in the fabric of our lives, and sometimes it is just too much to conceive. We’ve been rearranging lots of things in the house, in our lives. That’s kept me busy, and yet it can’t really assuage the feeling of absence, of loss.

So how are we…really? We’re doing okay, as well as can be expected, but even if we don’t say it, not even to ourselves, we are still staring into this gaping hole that we don’t really know what to do with. There will likely come a time when we find healing. Right now, the edges are still so raw that, as much as we would like to pretend that everything’s fine, we can’t ignore them. Even as we engage in the normal things we have to do everyday, there is always a nagging pull. And right now, that’s how it must be.

Psalm 13:1-2a

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?

"Chance" Encounters

This has been a week for me mostly to listen, and maybe offer a brief word, but mostly listen. I took two brown paper grocery bags full of DVDs to a store that handles used CDs, DVDs and LPs. As the young man checked them for damage and sorted them by type, he talked about his experience following his mother’s death a couple of weeks earlier. He had no idea that I am a pastor. He simply talked about how deeply he was touched by the selfless service offered him and his brother by the people at his mother’s church. I was there for nearly an hour as he talked. Only when he asked if I was a teacher did I say that I am a pastor and then he asked for my card.

This week I also encountered a young man who has known a good deal of trauma in his life. He was once briefly a part of our congregation. We touched base enough for me to know that he will graduate from college next Spring.

There was the man who stopped at the church to pray in the Sanctuary, and then wanted to talk about the urgency he felt about the Coming of Christ, and his desire for various churches to unite in their outreach to save those who have strayed.

Three young men in very different places in their lives, but in all of these encounters I had the opportunity to listen to how God is at work. In these and a couple of other encounters, I felt the nudging of the Spirit to listen. This was not the time for me to do much talking. Now as I reflect on them, the Spirit of God is within me lifting them in prayer. And so I join with the Spirit offering them up into the best that God has for them. I pray that I could hear and see them with the ears and eyes of Christ.

Psalm 131

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.

But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time on and forevermore.

Play-doh

Yesterday afternoon, at the Colloquy I co-facilitate at Wesley Theological Seminary, the student who led our devotions talked about two aspects of our lives we tend to neglect when we get busy. The first is God. The second is play. So he passed around small containers of Play-doh. After praying, he played some music and asked us to play with our lump of Play-doh, reflecting on our relationship with God.

As the lump fit into my palm, I immediately thought about how God has written our name in the palm of God’s hand. I pressed the lump between my two palms. When I looked again, all the lines—large and small—from my palms were inscribed on both sides of the Play-doh. I marveled at the detail kept in the clay, and wondered how my life could reflect the Love revealed in the lines of God’s hands. These are the hands that set the Creation in motion. These are the hands that blessed Abram and Sarai. These are the hands that poured oil upon David’s head. These are the hands that healed the lame, and gave sight to the blind. These are the hands that were nailed to the cross.

I know I have to be careful with all metaphors, especially ones that liken God to a human being. Metaphors can point us towards truth about God, but in the end they will all fall short. Knowing that, I felt that if God holds me in the palms of God’s hands so closely that the lines of God’s hands are inscribed upon me, how could I live so that the memory of those lines will show through me?

Isaiah 49:15b-16a

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

Breathing In & Out

All Who Pass By

On my morning walks, I use the Jesus prayer for intercessions, saying “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on…” After praying for my family and Jeff’s family, I pray for friends and then the Bishop and her Cabinet. When I pray for Christ Crossman, I begin with “all who are members, all who call this home, all who worship with us, all who come to our doors and all who pass by” before moving on to individuals, and that we may be a part of what God wants to bless here.

The part about “all who pass by” has come to be really significant for me. There’s a lot of traffic on N Washington St and on Columbia St, especially during my walks in the morning commute hours. Normally, I walk along N Washington for almost ¼ mile. Without being intrusive, I notice lots of the folks who drive by. Some are talking on their phones, some let other drivers in, some seem oblivious to their surroundings and fellow drivers, but all are children of God. I don’t know what their religious perspectives are and while I would love for them to know about the Good News of Jesus Christ, my prayers are primarily for God’s mercy for them, and for the best that God has possible for them.

For me, this is the beginning of evangelism towards them. How can I share Christ’s love for them unless I truly want God’s best for them regardless of what that might be? I am far too limited in my scope of vision to know what is best for their lives. As I pray for them, that prayer changes me--my attitude and my actions towards them. How can I be irritated and annoyed or even angry with them when I want God’s best, God’s mercy for them?

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on all who pass by.”

Though the Mountain Should Shake

Today, I sat in the Colloquy I co-teach with Dr. Beverly Mitchell at Wesley Theological Seminary and listened as she read Psalm 46 aloud. “though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.”

As she read images passed through my mind: all the pictures from 9/11/01; the earthquake; Hurricane Irene; Tropical Storm Lee; the Texas drought and now wildfires; and closer to home, in a very real sense, losing Jeff from our daily lives.

I confess that I too can get caught up in the anxiety of this age as I hear the relentless beat of the drums. It merely magnifies some of what I already experience. And so I pause to listen for a deeper beat, a beat that is the heartbeat of our God who is the Source and the Promise of all Creation, the One whose Love began it all, redeems it all, and calls it all toward fulfillment.

In the midst of all the upheaval, when the waters rise and the towers fall, there is a strong awareness that God is deeper than the deepest bedrock. The God I believe in is not simply a God of the gaps to explain what I don’t yet understand. It is to this Rock I cling.

Psalm 46: 1-2a

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear.

Poised at a Cusp

I am poised at a cusp in a way. This summer has been a time of healing and rest in a way. Yet in another way I have been very aware that at the end of it a huge adjustment is waiting for us, for me. An experience this Sunday afternoon highlights that for me.

With Bill and Barbara, Max and I went to see a delightful show at the Rockbox Theater in Fredericksburg, TX. For two hours, the resident band and a guest artist took us through memory lane with great rock-and-roll music. We all thoroughly enjoyed it. During the second half of the show, some of the country music of Ray Charles was featured. Jeff really loved Ray Charles in The Blues Brothers, but as I sat there I knew he would not have wanted to come to a performance like this one, especially in the last ten years or so. And then came Unchained Melody with it's haunting, smooth music and lyrics. Unbidden tears came to my eyes as I missed him so much.

As we fly back to Virginia and re-enter the flow of life, I know that folks will still make space for us to grieve and adjust to all the changes we will face. Part of me wants simply to plunge into the midst of all the busy-ness of fall. I have thoughts about vision and direction that I want to share. I have plans to accomplish. And yet at the edge of it all, or really in the midst of it all, there is trepidation about how the loss of Jeff from our daily lives will affect each of us.

And so I sit at the cusp of loss and of healing, of past and of future, of being nurtured and sheltered in the heart of family and of needing to step forward. As I ache with saying goodbye to Bill and Barbara, Kat, Travis and the babies, Jesus words about dying in order to live come to mind. In so many ways, I sit at the cusp of a seed that has fallen to the earth as I wait for it to grow and bear fruit.

John 12:24

Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

Family

Two weeks with various configurations of family have been wonderful. In Alabama, Max and I were able to be with all of my first cousins, and their children, on my mother’s side. We also saw my aunt and uncle, my mother’s sister and brother. In Nashville we got to visit with my Great-Aunt Annie Sue who will be 102 in October. She is amazing.

The real surprise at almost the last minute was the chance to see one of my father’s nephews, Steve, whom I had not seen since I was about 6 years old. Steve lives in Seattle, but had been working in NC. We spent Monday morning getting to know each other while visiting some gravesites, and places where family had lived, including the site of our great-great-grandparents’ brickyard.

Max discovered writing on Steve & my great-great-grandfather Joseph Hauerwas’ gravestone. Born in Germany, he came to America as a child with his family. Within a couple of years of immigrating, his parents died weeks apart leaving the children at the mercy of an uncle who “took them in,” but also appropriated their property. Members of their church went to court to have their property returned to the children. Their uncle was also ordered to provide winter coats, a necessity for the bitter cold of Minnesota.

Family can sometimes be our genetic kin, but family can also be those who surround us with care and compassion. This summer, our actual family has surrounded us with love and care, as has the family of our church. As members of Joseph’s church came to his rescue so our church has offered us real support.

Acts 4:33-34a

With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them.

Arboreal Suicide

I have another tree reflection. We have a beautiful, huge tulip/poplar tree in our back yard.  It's the species that the City of Falls Church chose for it's 2011 tree of the year. It's been a bumper crop year for its seedlings. I have been pulling them up all over the yard, including in the front.

Last week before we headed out of town, I had two tree companies come give me estimates for clearing out all the dead limbs from all my trees. I don't want to deal with the damage they could cause this winter or next spring. One good sized branch fell from from our oak into our yard in early June, spearing the ground where I had been mowing just minutes before. Another fell from a non-flowering cherry into our neighbor's yard the day Jeff died. Graciously Maria said she would deal with it's cleanup. Luckily, none of the children in her daycare were out back when it fell.

Back to our huge poplar tree. Looking around back, one tree guy noticed insect damage in the bark, and pulled a section of bark away from the base. Underneath, the wood looked black, and had a hole in it. He stuck in a twig all the way and asked for a screwdriver. I brought a long one. That went straight in all the way. He asked for something longer. I brought out a crowbar which went in for over a foot with no resistance. Uh oh. Not good news.

He noted a root which had, decades ago, wrapped itself around the base of the tree instead of going out into the yard. He said that this root has choked the tree in that area causing it to decay, inviting insects to aid in the process. This beautiful, huge tree has been committing arboreal suicide (Max's term for it), necessitating it's removal soon.

How often do we act as if everything is okay in our lives, yet by some perhaps either intentional or inadvertent action we choke off the possibilities of fully living, maybe even leading to great damage? It is important to keep in close relationship with those who will speak truth and help us clear away those things that would choke out life.

Thanks be to God that there are possibilities for hope and life beyond. Forgiveness and redemption offer new life for us. And even the wood of the tree can be used again. 

Interwoven Roots

The giant sequoia is an amazing tree. While it can grow quite tall, it gets its name more from the girth of the tree. Besides its magnificent appearance, what really amazes me about this tree is its root system. Most of its roots are just under the surface, no more than four or so feet down. Think about it. These trees can grow 250 to 280 feet tall, and yet have roots that go down no more than four feet under ground. What keeps them from falling over? Well, the root system is quite wide; it can go as far as 150 feet out from the tree, but what really makes it so stable is that as it goes out it becomes interwoven with the roots of other trees. These amazing trees stand so tall because they have each other.

In theory, I have known how important it is to have a community of people in one’s life, however I have often found myself standing alone. Usually it’s because I think I shouldn’t need other people’s help--that I should be able to manage on my own, or because I don’t want to impose on others.  What I have come to experience this summer is a community as wide as the root system of the giant sequoias, and as interwoven.

All sorts of people have surrounded my young men and me, offering expressions of care that range from notes, cards and emails to meals, yard work, help with sorting, and arms to hug. These have come from people I have known for years, even decades, but also from some I have only recently met.

I stand because you stand around me. You make it possible for me to lift up my branches in praise and thanksgiving. Thank you.

Max and I fly off to spend time with family this month. I will send missives from the hinterlands of the Texas hill country. And I will see you in September.

Isaiah 55:12

For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you
shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

Pruning

I have been reading Bearing Fruit: Ministry with Real Results and discussing it on Facebook with some colleagues. As we read the part about the pruning that is necessary, I was reminded of times in my ministry when even fruitful vines were pruned. It was always painful and I couldn’t see the results immediately, but eventually I could begin to see new fruit.

In my gardening, sometimes I am led to prune back a tree or shrub extensively so that it looks a bit bare, but the next season it usually begins to grow vigorously. If it were left to grow completely in its own way, it could have a beautiful wildness to it, but it wouldn’t necessarily work well with its neighbors. I’m not talking about making a manicured landscape of such precision that a single errant branch ruins the whole look, but about encouraging the most fruitful and beautiful growth possible.

In this season of my life, I am taking stock of what is necessary for growth, and comfort, but also of what things can go, or need to go. I could just keep all of the stuff Jeff and I accumulated over the years, and keep walking in the same paths around the house, but I don’t want to stagnate. I want to continue to grow and be fruitful so that means using a critical eye, a bit of trimming—not too much (especially for the boys’ comfort), and having trust in God’s guidance for the fruit that lies ahead.

John 15:1-2

”I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. ²He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.

Dinner Out Becomes More

I had a strong desire, compulsion almost, for Max and I to eat at one of our favorite restaurants, Ireland’s 4 Provinces. It was the last place that Jeff had eaten dinner out with us back in February with Valerie and Jeff W. We used to go there far more frequently than we should have, but it was always an inviting place.

From afar, we watched as a wedding party continued their post-reception celebration. As we were on our last course, Travis the manager on duty stopped by the table. We first met him about four years ago when he was waiting tables. At first, he was without a name to us, but we knew him by the spider tattoo on his arm. He was always pleasant. I felt compelled to explain why Jeff wasn’t with us. Tears leapt to my eyes. I don’t like to cry in front of others. Travis sat on the edge of the booth seat as I said that Jeff had had cancer, and told us that he had been diagnosed this spring with a form of leukemia. He also named quite a list of others from the restaurant—staff and regulars—who were fighting and had fought cancer.

Travis is undergoing treatment that will continue throughout his life. His doctor, who had been Jeff’s oncologist, says that if one wanted a cancer this is the one to have because it is very treatable. Wryly, Travis said he really didn’t want one, thanks anyway.

My guilty feelings for an unnecessary extravagance turned into thankfulness for being able to share a moment and concern with a fellow traveler. I asked if Travis minded being added to a prayer list. He said that it’s okay, so I ask for prayers for Travis, of the spider tattoo, for healing but also for strength and even joy in the midst of the journey.

Romans 12:15

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

Holy Tears

On Friday, Max and I went to see the last of the Harry Potter movies. We got to the mall early to pick up our tickets, and thus had more than plenty of time to walk around. I felt better for being able to walk with few crowds around. Only the early morning walkers were getting in their laps. We were on our third lap when we came up behind an older couple. They weren't going fast. He was a bit bent. My first thought about them was about how good it was for them to be getting their exercise at a time when many older adults have given up.

We stopped at Brookstone where I sat in the massage chair. Maybe it was the physical relaxation but my thoughts were free to wander. I remembered the older couple on their walk, and I imagined myself at their age, and then suddenly realized that the one I had always assumed would be there walking with me wouldn't be. A few tears leaked out. A few more came when I thought about how much Jeff had wanted to see this last HP movie.

I know we will encounter a great many of these moments of a renewed sense of loss, especially this first year, but also in the years to come. I truly do believe that when we are in the heart of God we can never be separated from those we love who are also in God’s heart, but that doesn’t completely take away the sense of loss here and now.

It gives me comfort to know that Jesus who had the power of resurrection wept over the death of Lazarus. His tears and my tears, even though they don’t have the last word, are still precious and holy.

John 11:34-35

He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus began to weep.

The Waters Shall Not Overwhelm

I feel as though I am drowning in details. During Jeff’s illness, I worked on lots of them so that when the end came, family and friends would be able to gather in a true celebration of his life. Now that folks are back to their lives, the details continue to pour in. At some moments, I have energy to face them. At others, I would rather go hide. I start a project, get some of it done, then have to move on to something else either because it was overwhelming me, or because C can’t happen until B and A are done.

Thank God that I am supported by terrific folks who are truly there for us. Jen sits across the table from me, taking on extra details that I normally handle. Mirta gently and graciously shields me from too many calls. Valerie helps pack up clothes. Bill, far away, but closer than a heartbeat almost, is there when I need him.  And I am more than grateful.

There are some things that no one else can handle for us. There are the anxieties that go with loss, and the worries about being a single parent. When the 4 a.m. wakeup happens and I can’t go back to sleep (not everyday fortunately), sometimes the tide of anxiety rises. That is when the words below from Isaiah resound more deeply in my soul. We are not alone. We are surrounded by many, and by the One who is always there.

Isaiah 43:1-2

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.

Give My Heart

What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a Shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

In the Bleak Midwinter, Christina Rosetti, 1872

The last line of this song has been echoing in my head these last few days. When the choir at Christ Crossman sang this at Christmastime, Jeff often sang one verse as a tenor solo.

I have felt so full of gratitude these last days that it is difficult to express it clearly. My gratitude is not only to my Savior who was and is and will continue to be the gift of all gifts beyond my understanding, it is also to and for all who have surrounded my family and me with so much love and support. The prayers, the food, the notes, the cards, the calls, the thoughts have been overwhelming—in a good way.

To greet so many who loved and cherished Jeff (and us) throughout so many parts of his and our lives—his colleagues at St Charles, his students, his/our past parishioners from his churches before his retirement, our colleagues through the years, and more, was a treasure on Friday and Saturday.

I truly understand the sentiment of Rosetti’s poetry—“What can I give…, poor as I am?” Your gifts of love have filled the spaces in my heart. “What I can I give…: give my heart.” You have my heart. Thanks be to God for each of you for all you have done and continue to do. I give you my heart.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

How Superwoman Flies

As a kid I really liked hearing, “it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Superman!” And everyone would be pointing upward to see him fly over. Just the other day, I wrote to a friend, “I've always known that I'm not a superwoman, but there's something in me that makes me keep trying to act like one. I can’t fly without assistance.”

I think I have discovered how superwoman flies. We look up as she flies overhead seemingly without effort, but what we don’t see are all the hands that are raised up helping to hold her up—you know, like in those trust exercises, being passed along overhead on the upraised hands of the group.

Finally last week, two friends in particular with their questions helped me come face to face with this truth—I cannot fly alone. And thus with trepidation I have opened the way to see all those hands that have been there all along.

Forgive me if I’ve been slow. And know that I am so grateful, more than I can ever really express.

I wrote these words last week before Jeff entered the Halquist Center. Ever since then, as Jeff grew steadily weaker and now that he has died, I am learning ever more deeply their truth. I have been overwhelmed with how many there are whose hands are holding me up—some from places and people I knew would be there, but some from entirely unexpected sources.

If ever you see me acting as if I can fly alone, remind me (gently) of the hands that hold me, acting as God’s own hands.

Galatians 6:2-3

Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. For if those who are nothing think they are something, they deceive themselves.

Too Blunt Perhaps

I am coming to realize that I am a bit too blunt right now. You see, I deal day in and day out, every hour of every day, with a certain reality. I am up close and personal in living with someone going through his last days on earth.

As a pastor for over 30 years, I have walked this path with many others, but now it is a different journey. Perhaps my familiarity with the journey as a pastor has made a difference as to how I walk it in my own life, but it is not the same.

Part of the bluntness comes perhaps from ever-present awareness. There’s a sense that since it’s the number one thing on my mind, “isn’t it number one on yours as well”? or, “how can you NOT be aware of it?” And thus, I say it without using any sugar-coating or euphemisms: my husband is going to die. That is the blunt truth. In reality, it is the truth of all our lives, for not one of us is immortal. We WILL have “an illness unto death,” whether that be a momentary illness caused by an accident or one that lasts for years. It’s just that now we cannot avoid the knowledge. It stares at us; it stares at me all the time. It dares me to avoid it. It creeps around corners to surprise me just when I take a moment to dream of something else. It wags its finger in front of my eyes, just to say “here I am, this truth you cannot ignore.”

And so, I tend to be too blunt. If I have made you uncomfortable, I apologize. I inadvertently brought tears to a dear friend on Sunday forgetting that she is not living with the reality every day.

Even in my bluntness, there is one thing I would like to convey: there is hope, not despair. There is sadness and grief, but not despair, for I am not alone. I walk through a shadowed valley, but not alone for my God is with me.

Psalm 23:4

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.