As you well know, I have to put words to my feelings, mostly for my benefit (and for my husband). I need to be able to describe how I feel so I can understand and cope. I had a strange experience tonight. I was in a coliseum full of people. As I looked around, all I could see was a different me in a strange place full of strange people. I did not recognize anyone but those I sat with. If I had a mirror, I would have seen a stranger. I realized that I have been seeing the world differently. Your first thought may be, "of course because things are different." Again, I need to be able to describe those feelings. I realized that I have never known the world without Mike. You see, he was my older brother. There was no life, for me, before Mike. There are a few of us in our family who probably feel the same way. And I can remember some looks on Laura's face that would make you believe there was no life, for her, before Mike, either (like the first time I met her and she glowed in his presence!). Suddenly, I am in a foreign land. I am learning a new language in this strange place. My thoughts, routes, interactions, body language, diet, and habits are all changing. My responses are changing. I don't remember applying for a passport to this land.
Fortunately, I chose to accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour as a young girl. Do you know what He reminded me of with this new "foreign land" revelation? That I AM in a foreign land. I am not home, yet. I do not define myself by this world or by who or what is in it, but by who I am in Him. Isn't He sweet to come along side me and gently remind me of this? I am not supposed to feel "at home" in this world. I am just passing through. "I am the way, the truth, and the light," says the Lord. That's my passport. My passport to eternal life with Him, with Mike, and all the Saints that have gone before us.
The roller coaster continues. Just when I am feeling down and having these hard, seemingly sad revelations, He pushes (and pulls) me up out of that valley and reveals HIS mountain. I am glad He wants me on the mountain. I like the mountains!
Rhonda
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Things that make you go hmmmm....
My Granddaddy is 93 (soon to be 94). Mike was 39 when he died. Flip the numbers. Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. I read this in reference to the shootings at Fort Hood. When one is lost, we all lose. The brokeness of the world overwhelms me. Mike made this world a little better for a lot of people. Why is he not here? Hmmmm.
Questions without answers. The "hmmmms" of the world leave us empty, longing, hurting, searching.
My faith has not waivered. My "hmmmms" are human. Contemplation, not condemnation.
Hmmmm.
Rhonda
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Power of a Handkerchief
I love to write. Not because I am profound or a great writer but because I love words. I love how words come together to speak to us in so many different ways. I love word origins and history. When they join to make phrases, sentences, and sayings, they light a spark I can't explain. I love how there are so many ways to say the same thing. And the source/sender of the writing or words have a big impact on the receiver. Some prefer eloquent, poetic expressions. Some prefer straight to the point. Take the following example. One of my favorite sayings from my husband is "it is what it is." It took a couple of years of being married to him to understand and accept the importance and profundity of this statement. It was too simple, for my brain. Surely there is more to it than that. That great, precursor to the English language, Latin, has a similar saying, res ipsa loquitor, translated, the thing speaks for itself. Both say the same thing. The latter is often used in the field of law. My husband would not make a good lawyer because he would probably say, "It is what it is, judge," versus an eloquent counselor who says, "your honor, the thing speaks for itself." Both say the same thing but the sender and receiver need to speak and hear it a certain way.
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
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