Oceans of Grief

One of my favorite things to do is travel. It's something I'd like to do more of in my life. I even have a daily calendar on my desk that's based on the book 1000 Places to See Before You Die. Each page has a new location. Now, I've traveled a bit in my life, but so far, I haven't seen a place I've actually visited yet. But we're only a month into the year, so I'm sure I'll see some of the places I've been. In the meantime, I'm keeping track of the suggested places, and dreaming about places I'd like to go. A friend suggested that I plan on one place that John and I had wanted to travel to together. But there isn't just one place--there are several. But maybe in awhile, I'll figure out one special place and make that a goal to plan for in the next year. I do have a new passport, thanks to an almost-trip to China.

I think one of my favorite things about living in Michigan is the beauty of the Great Lakes. I think much healing takes place when I stand on the shores of a body of water--particularly here in Michigan--the beautiful Lake Michigan. Once per year, I travel with a bunch of girlfriends to Grand Haven--I didn't go last year, as John had just began his stay in Stoneleigh that week. I usually don't get to church that weekend. At least not in a building.

I started a tradition which I've honored almost every time I go on this trip. I rise very early on Sunday morning, and I go down to the beach all by myself. And usually, I have the place to myself except for the occasional fisher on the pier. That has become my church on that weekend.

Have you noticed that grief is often compared to bodies of water or water itself? "Waves of grief," "Cry me a river," and "I cried buckets," come to mind.

It's true.

The reason I'm whittling away at this on breaks this morning is because I had a tidal wave last night.

I had just finished laundry and I went to Meijer to pick up a few things. On my way home (I was about 10 miles from the house), I cried about the hardest I've ever cried in my life. Thankfully, I was in the car, so no one--save God--heard me. I started to think I should pull over but somehow, I was still able to navigate my way home. Actually, I hardly remember driving.

You ever heard the phrase "wailing"? Well, reader, that was me.

And it did two things: It helped me release. A lot. And, it made me tired. So all that worry about being able to sleep? It was not a problem.

I did leave the television on, as I didn't want the house to be quiet--if that makes sense.

I didn't even cry myself to sleep. I had cried enough in that drive that I had none left to release. But even after that much crying, I'm sure if I needed to, it would be there.

And I awoke this morning, got ready, and went to work.

And at one point, I caught myself feeling a bit of peace as I peered out a window and watched the snow gently fall during a stroll through the building. No joy yet, but it did make me think of a couple of scriptures, which I'll leave you with on this post.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones,
   and give thanks to his holy name.  
For his anger is but for a moment;
   his favour is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night,
   but joy comes with the morning.
Psalm 30:4-5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.’   
Revelation 21:1-4

And one of my favorite musical settings of the text from Revelation follows; music by Edward Bainton, performed by King's College, Cambridge:

I Saw a New Heaven, Edgar Bainton

Alone. And yet... not alone.

I am writing this as I sip a cup of cocoa and look out the window, taking advantage of a few moments of WiFi before I get ready to pack my things and head back to Lansing. There was a gentle snowfall earlier, and now it's a bit heavier; the wind turns the snowflakes sideways for periods of time. I sat in this exact seat almost exactly two weeks ago trying to summarize my husband's life in an obituary. At that point, we were having squalls and were nervous about the roads, so I had a time constraint. Today, my only constraint is a mountain of laundry to do and then the trip home.

And tonight, I'll sleep in that house for the first time since last April. Alone.

Okay, Elvis will be with me, but it's just not the same.

And no, I won't really be alone. But those of you that have been in my position understand fully. Going back to a house once shared with a spouse, and now the spouse is gone.

This morning, I got up early, dusted the snow off the car, and drove into Marshall to church. I am so glad I did. The folks at Trinity Marshall have adopted me; this is the church I attend when I'm in town. I love the church I attended in my youth, don't get me wrong. But I just feel more at home at Trinity these days. The "house band" played today--comprised of mostly friends of mine. One of my friends, Marguerite, doubled as bass player and violinist. A young man I've not met played mandolin. And friends Paul, Phil, and Brooks rounded out the group on guitar, clarinet/oboe, and piano, respectively. The last hymn today was Torah Orah, which lends itself to some great klesmer playing, particularly by the clarinetist. When we sing that hymn at All Saints, I usually play fiddle with it. But with no restraint whatsoever. Improvisation, all the way! One of these days. Another favorite was the anthem today, which was God be in my Head, by Sidney Nicholson. And it was really nice to meet Pastor Anne, the new rector, in person today. I've gotten to know her a little bit over Facebook over the last few months, thanks to my friend Brooks.

Today's Epistle was very timely today: It was 1 Corinthians 13:1-13. And as it was read, I started to cry. You see, this is the famous "love chapter," the same one that was read at our wedding on September 3, 1994. And it could have easily described the love that grew within the last year. Quoted from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, it reads:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

Love NEVER ends. Never.

It's almost like the scriptures today were tailor-made for me. Psalm 71 verse 3 says, "Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe; you are my crag and my stronghold."

Do not be afraid. I am with you. That's the promise made to me. Lord, help me today and in the days, weeks, months ahead.

My cocoa is finished, and I think I'll go get that laundry done and head home. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers tonight.

The house is empty. And yet, it's not. It's filled with memories, and it's filled with God's love. Help me to remember that.