What Cancer Can't Do

A good friend gave me a bracelet for Christmas. In the middle it says, “What cancer can’t do.” On either side in small letters it says, “corrode faith, shatter hope, destroy peace, silence courage, invade the soul, steal eternal life, conquer the spirit, cripple love, kill friendship, suppress memories.”

It is a good reminder as I face the beginning of radiation next week. It is also a good reminder for me that many persons facing cancer, and other trials in life such as the death of a loved one, do find their faith corroded, their hope shattered, and all of it. As I ponder this, I confess that there have been moments that have been tinged with a bit of fear and despair. For me those moments come most often at night, and at times I am trying to power through all on my own.

I give thanks that God knows me so intimately, down to my cellular DNA as I said to someone today, that my moments of fear and despair aren’t hidden but held in a deep embrace of acceptance. It is when I am held in that embrace that my faith and hope are restored, that peace returns, that courage rears up, and my soul is strengthened. It is then that I know a hint of the joy of eternal life in my healing spirit, in the love that surrounds me, in my friends, and in my memories.

For everyone who is sitting on the edge of hope but not quite able to dive in, may the waters of grace lapping at their toes invite them further in.

Romans 8:24-26

For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. 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.

Release to the Captives

Tonight, in our Renovaré group, we reflected on this question: “How does Jesus speak the good news of ‘release to the captives’ to your life?” There are so many persons who are in real captivity—to oppression, to addiction, to war—that to consider myself a captive seems a bit self-centered and maybe even arrogant. As we talked, I realize that I am captive in a way.

There are some, many even, mornings that I wake up and my first thought is not joy for a new day, but a sense of “oh, it’s yet another day.” Last week, I stood in the shower suddenly overwhelmed by all the decisions and details that face me; and I realize that I feel like I am held in captivity all alone.

It might seem that release from this captivity would be to be relieved of having to make the decisions, but that is not realistic, nor even desirable in the long run. So what “good news of release” can, or does Jesus speak to me? He reminds me that though I may feel alone in this journey, I am not alone. He is with me, and he has given me others with whom I can touch base, who support me, who lift me up when I feel low or overwhelmed.

When the people who sat in darkness saw a great light, it was not someone to take them away from their situation, but it was and is Someone who came to be with them in the midst of life—the One who chose not to grasp at equality with God, but humbled himself in human likeness. And so this Advent—this approaching Christmas—I hear a word of release, and I see a light in the darkness.

Luke 4:17b-19

He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ¹⁸“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, ¹⁹to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

An In-between Time

A time between two Advents: the first coming of Christ in the Babe of Bethlehem and the second coming of Christ when the New Creation will be all complete; in the-already-and-the-not-yet. This Advent seems to have more of this resonance than usual, especially the 14^th. It would have been Jeff’s 57^th birthday and it was the day before Aaliyah’s second birthday, so she was over to celebrate with us. I think all three of us have particularly been missing Jeff this week in our own ways.

The news yesterday from my medical oncologist was good. I don’t need chemotherapy so can start hormone therapy and radiation. Tonight I took the first pill that I will take every day for five years. It feels like an another already-and-not-yet for me. The happiness over the news has now moved into the reality of long-term treatment. I am mostly confident, but I confess to some tremulousness about the treatment itself and its outcome.

It is especially in a time like this that the almost mournful melody line and words of that great hymn echo in my head and in my soul:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand;

ponder nothing earthly minded, for with blessing in his hand,

Christ our God to earth descendeth, our full homage to demand.

         …the Light of light descendeth…

         …the powers of hell may vanish as the darkness clears away.

I stand, we stand, in this holy, tremulous place and time, in between, touched both by the grief of this world and the hope that lies ahead.

Revelation 21:4b-5

“Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.”

Preparation

Preparation.  That's the word for this week in my online Advent retreat. In the season of Advent we prepare for the coming of the Christ-child, God incarnate among us. We also prepare for the celebration of the season, decorating our houses and our trees, putting presents under the tree.

Last Saturday, a group of six band students spent four hours in helping prepare our yard for the winter. In addition to raking out the leaves, they trimmed back the day lilies and the irises, the butterfly bush, the burning bush and the miscanthus (ornamental grasses). The year's growth has been spent, and now the plants need to lay dormant for the winter so that they can prepare for next year's growth.

Earlier in the year, I spent a lot of time in a different kind of preparation. At times, I prepared for what lay ahead by making sure that our legal papers were in order, that the forms for Jeff's disability leave were completed, that materials got back and forth to his school. I prepared by making sure that the appropriate pain medicines were on hand. I made plans for the services to celebrate his life and resurrection. And I tried to gently prepare the boys and Jeff's family.

All the while, Jeff was preparing as well. While my preparations involved more action in the world, Jeff's took him further and further within himself. He would rouse himself from this inward journey every now and then with instructions for the boys and for me--things that he wanted to make sure we remembered. As time went on, those arousals were fewer and further between. The last coherent words that Jeff spoke on Saturday in the hospice center were a question: did the dog get fed?

In a sense, Jeff's preparations were like the work in our yard. His outer growth had been spent, and now he was getting ready for the dormancy of winter in order to wake to a Spring of new growth.

Preparation for the coming of the God who is born among us.

Expectancy

“On the tiptoe of expectation.” I am doing an online Advent retreat that focuses on one word from the scriptures each week. This week’s word is expectancy. I signed up because I feel the need to go deeper this season, however this one word almost brought me to a standstill.

As a child, the expectancy before Christmas was wonderful. The preparations, the services—all led to an increasing sense of waiting with baited breath. I remember too the expectancy of waiting for Andrew to be born to another woman, yet placed in my arms. Waiting for the pager to go off to say she was in labor was almost agony. And then six years later, waiting for Maxwell’s borning cry was literally agony as the neonatologist worked to revive him right after birth.

There are so many different perspectives on expectancy, but what almost brought me to a standstill was the question How have you experienced expectancy in the past year? This year’s expectancy was difficult. Knowing that the death of one I loved was imminent drew me forward and pushed me back all at the same time. I was drawn forward to take the steps needed to help Jeff and all of us prepare; I was pushed back by my reluctance to say goodbye.

As I reflect on the experience of expectancy and waiting with baited breath, I become aware that I have not drawn a full, deeply satisfying breath for months. I am tensed. The tension could be from holding myself in so tightly that I cannot relax. Or sitting at the edge of expectation can be a sort of tension—the tension inherent in being poised for some action, or to spring into action. Maybe this time of grieving, and adjusting to a different life, is a season of being poised for something that is just ahead. What it is I cannot say, but I will wait for it—a new life, a new birth.  Was this how God felt waiting for Mary to come to full term? Is this how God feels waiting for us to come to full term in receiving grace?

Advent--Expectancy. Breathing. Waiting. Hoping. Abiding. Receiving.

Spirit of Thankfulness

It has been a tough year. No, let’s be honest—it’s been a tough 3-1/2 years. From the first diagnosis of cancer for Jeff, through his surgeries, some not cancer-related, to his final stay in the Hospice Center, we have been through the ringer. And then to deal now with my own diagnosis of breast cancer has felt like a punch in the gut.

I cannot say that I give thanks for these things. There may come a day when I can actually give thanks FOR them; I can’t imagine that day just yet, but I leave open the possibility.

I can give thanks in the midst of these things. And so I do, I give thanks for the love and commitment Jeff and I had for each other; I give thanks for our two sons; I give thanks for our granddaughter; I give thanks for my loving family, and for Jeff’s; I give thanks for how my congregation and friends have taught me to accept their gifts and support; I give thanks for having a truly amazing health insurance program through the Annual Conference that we could face these years without being entirely bankrupted; and I give thanks for having Life Insurance that enables us to stay in our home now.

I could go on and on. I think you catch my drift. I do give thanks in the midst of all circumstances for the will of God is that I see my life as a gift, and through God’s Spirit I am filled.

Thanks be to God.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-19

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit.

Growing Up

What do I want to be when I grow up? Or more to the point, what do I really want to do when I am on my own? That’s important to figure out because the day is coming in the not too distant future.

I have spent so many years juggling the desires and needs of others that I am not really sure what I want to do all on my own. I get little glimpses into this dilemma when I find myself home alone for several hours. I have never been a stay-at-home mom. I don’t find great joy in doing housework. I love to read but I need human stimulation as well. I like to cook but really for special occasions. I think I would like to weave again, but it’s been so long that I’m not sure. All of these are things that are mostly on the outside of me.

What I really want is to be, as Jen has said, “so full of Christ that there is no room for regrets.” This is especially true as I have faced once again the truth that all the plans I make for the distant or even not so distant future can be thrown awry at anytime.

The phrase that keeps coming to mind is one from the old RSV of the Bible: “into the fullness of the measure of the stature of Christ.” What do I want to be when I grow up, or when I am on my own? I want to be at peace with God, with myself, with my family, with my neighbors. I want to be so full of Christ that there is no room for regrets.

P.S. My surgery went well. The sentinel lymph nodes were clear of cancer. Now I wait for the word on when radiation begins. Thank you all for your prayers, cards, meals and support.

Ephesians 4:13

until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

Mercies in Disguise

The Psalmists were really good at telling it like it is. When they were happy, they praised God. When they were mad, they railed at God; then they praised God. When they were sad, they rolled in it; then they praised God. When they were forgetful, they remembered their history; and then they praised God. When they thought God was forgetful, they reminded God who they were; then they praised God.

Over the past few weeks, I have been a bit mad, a bit sad, a bit forgotten. I have railed; I have rolled; and I have reminded. I have agreed with Teresa of Avila who said to Jesus, "If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you don't have too many."

And then in the midst of it all, I have remembered God's faithfulness. God never promised that life would be smooth sailing, or a piece of cake. God promised to be with me through it all, and so God is faithful.

A song that just came out this past spring, Blessings by Laura Stories, says, "What if trials in this life are your mercies in disguise?"

At 11 a.m. on 11/11, I will have a lumpectomy to remove an invasive ductal carcinoma in my left breast. It is small and slow growing, only a Stage 1. The MRI indicates that it is the only one on either side. A mercy in disguise? A chance to trust God’s faithfulness.

Railing, rolling, reminding, but also praising. God is faithful, and God is with me.

Psalm 27:1     

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
   whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
   of whom shall I be afraid?

Friends

Friends

So often, I think I have to do it on my own, contrary to the evidence all around me. I may be a slow learner about this but not only am I surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses—the communion of saints who have gone before me--I am surrounded by a great crowd who witness to me of God’s gracious embrace.

I know that my calling and profession put me out in front in many ways, but I have always felt that I am really a back-stage person like I was in high school, working with Jeanette to get the costumes all ready for the performers. And so, I am almost always surprised when it is apparent that someone “sees” me, and then reaches out to me. I am reminded of Hagar in the wilderness with her son Ishmael She thought they would die in the wilderness but God heard, redeeming their lives.

I know that God sees and hears me. You are the evidence of that. I give thanks for the “drink of water” you offer me.

Genesis 21:17

And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is.”

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.