Letting Go Through Tears

The new move to Paris has motivated us to continue to get our house in order, literally and figuratively! Because we are going to rent out our house, we are trying to scale back what we will need to store in the garage. We have committed to not storing things that we are not using. Stuff has been sitting in boxes for years and we decided that this new move is a good chance to really get a handle on the junk that lurks in our lives for no useful reason.

     Much of what I have had to deal with are boxes and files from my parents. Even though they passed in 2013 (mom) and 2014 (dad), the long and sometimes arduous process of sorting through their minutia has taken time. While much of what has been there is not stuff that I want, it is undeniable that much of it evokes memories for me. I recently realized that part of why letting go of stuff from my childhood and their lives is so darn hard for me is because it’s my only link to my history. I don’t have living siblings to share stories with, to remember events and people and places. So all of that comes through photos and other memorabilia. My biggest regret is not finding some of these files and boxes while my parents were still alive. There have been so many times when I’ve come across something and I would love a little more back story on it. And lacking anyone in this world who shared that history with me, well, I’m left to my own internal dialogue and wondering. So letting go of many things has been pretty heart wrenching at times. As I have pored over slides that I found of my mom’s trip to Europe in 1956 or pictures from my father’s coaching career, I admit to shedding more than a tear or two. Finding the newspaper clipping of a softball team my mom played on in Galesburg, IL where she hit .557 for the season brought such a smile to my face. Priceless is the file marked “Problems” from my dad’s coaching career. This is a treasure trove of letters he wrote to school officials and referees through the years expressing his unhappiness while at the same time containing not a few letters from angry parents for not playing their “super star” son more. I have kept these things. It brings me closer to them and helps to continue to fill out the richness in their lives since they are no longer here to share with me the broader story. 

     But I have also chucked piles of photographs that we have had sitting in a box. I was a spectacularly horrible photographer back in the day and it’s amazing how good the quality of photos are that we now take on our phones. Imagine the days when you shot a roll of film and had to wait to see how they turned out. Most of the time, they turned out pretty poorly! It was time to get rid of them. But some will obviously remain with me and I will tuck them away for a few years and when we return and go through our stuff once again, I will enjoy the memory that each photo brings.

     Like many people my age, my mom and grandmother had beautiful crystal and china that no one wants in this day and age. I have my mom’s set of Royal Copenhagen blue flower china and that is a great treasure for me. But beautiful as they were, my grandmother’s Heath and Rose Spode plates and tea cups were just not something I would use. Fortunately a dear friend who lives nearby could not resist them and so she picked them up at our garage sale! I love knowing that they have found a lovely home in which to be enjoyed. I also had piles of white milk glass, ever so popular when my parents got married and surprisingly, I was able to sell all of that as well. Granted, for a $1.00 a piece but at least someone will enjoy them. But the Fostoria crystal of which there is a glut in the market failed to move. We ended up donating it to a second hand store and I hope someone who needs something like this will enjoy it. Letting go of these things wasn’t so very hard. We had tried to sell them on 2 other occasions with the same result and so I realized that whatever they were “worth” was only valid if someone wanted it! The hardest thing from the garage sale that I had to let go of were the books that I had won as a child on the Art Linkletter Kid’s Say The Darndest Things show. Yes, back in 1967 I appeared on this show and said some funny things. One of the prizes were this set of books that I adored. I read the cover off those books but they have been sitting in a box for many many years. I always hoped to have them for our kids but alas, that never panned out. A friend picked them up at the sale and I hope whatever happens to them, she will enjoy them. I feel a bit of regret in having let them go but that’s nostalgia speaking. I hadn’t looked at them for years. And they were a little crusty and moldy and needed to be read by someone else. Unbeknownst to me, the books were translated from Scandinavian authors, one of them being Astrid Lindgren and after I realized this, I flipped through them one last time and could see the Scandinavian influence that escaped me as a child. Sigh. I may have to call my friend and ask for them back.

     But the biggest thing that I had to cope with happened yesterday. We have had my parent’s sterling silver and some of the jewelry that my mom had that I no longer wanted sitting in a drawer for a very long time. I’ve made various inquiries through the years to different shops and online sellers about the value but have had a hard time pulling the trigger on getting rid of this stuff. For some reason yesterday I came across a buyer here in the desert who got great reviews and was well located for me. So I decided to pack up the silver and grab the jewelry and head over there. I really liked the shop a lot and the offer that they made was commensurate with what my own research was revealing so I decided to take the significant step of letting go of these things. Now, there’s nothing about the silver or the jewelry pieces that were meaningful to me. I had taken what I wanted and knew that anything else that I had kept would sit in a drawer forever. There also wasn’t such a huge collection. My mother was hardly one to drip in gold and diamonds. But there were some pieces that were worth selling so I carefully handed them to the buyer as he checked out what quality the gold, silver, or stones were. Nothing is ever as valuable in monetary gain as it is in emotional connection so I just realized that if I was serious about wanting to get rid of these things, now was the time to let it go, when we were really trying to cut back on how much we were willing to store. What I had not expected was how emotional this experience was going to be. The buyer was very gracious acknowledging how hard this step is. I managed to fight back the tears as I completed the transaction but as soon as I walked out I burst into tears. I sat in my car with tears running down my face, wondering where this wave of emotion was coming from. All I can say is that it’s weird to sell your parents stuff and it’s hard to let go of things from your past even when they don’t really mean that much to you. I think I also realized that the more I let go of the stuff from my parents’ lives, the more distant my connection to them in this world becomes. We’re also letting go of the car that we inherited from them. We are super happy that the person who bought it really needs a car and it’s a great car and she will enjoy. But it’s just another thing from their lives that I am letting go of.  It’s a strange thing to explain...but it’s almost like grieving their passings all over again. Even though it’s been 7 and 6 years since their passing, the loss of them remains so fresh. I long to share things with them, to talk about their lives, to hear the backstory, as I mentioned earlier. I do not regret selling the things that I did yesterday but I think I just realize that in getting rid of the things that belonged to my parents, it really is just a stark reminder that they are no longer around to care about these things. It’s a very strange place to be emotionally. 

     So while getting ready to make another big move, I have also been coping with the often uncomfortable emotions of coping with what I have lost and what I need to let go of, literally and figuratively. Once the nostalgia wears off, I rarely miss an item, but the longing for connection to my parents and my past will never go away. And I also know that I don’t have to let everything go. And so I haven’t. And I am thankful that the stacks of boxes that will remain in the garage has been greatly reduced. Even so...it’s been pretty heart wrenching at times to let go. Grief is like that. Heart wrenching and hard. I suppose we never let go of wanting our loved ones to be with us. We know they are in a better place, a place of peace and rest where their earthly issues are far behind. So this is what I know in the midst of all of this...it’s not really any of the stuff that I feel sad about letting go of. I don’t want any of those things in my day to day life. But I do want my parents in my day to day life and that’s not ever going to happen again. And so I cling to the things that evoke warm and beautiful memories of them and will treasure them always, either in my heart or in my garage. 

Two Women Named Kristi

     Oddly enough, in the past month I have lost two friends named Kristi to the very same cancer: late stage colon cancer. Both were recently diagnosed, and within months, both died from complications that arose during the treatment. It has been sad and unexpected news on both fronts.
     The first woman who died is someone I have not seen in years. Her family went to the same church as mine as we were growing up and she was a bit older than I was so I was actually much closer to her younger brothers. But I remember thinking that she was the most beautiful person I'd ever met when I was a young girl. She was fun, and vibrant, wearing a huge smile much of the time. Facebook re-connected us years later so even though we hadn't seen one another, we had gotten caught back up on our comings and goings. Because I wasn't on the inner circle of friends, I didn't even hear about her diagnosis until she was very sick. And then she was gone. Sadly, her wonderful father is still alive and he has had to walk the incredibly difficult road of losing a child. I feel so deeply for people when this happens having watched my parents and Doug's parents go through this. She also leaves her three brothers and a loving a husband, children and grandchildren who she obviously loved very much. I will be able to attend her memorial service this coming Saturday and as often is the case, the silver lining will be renewing old friendships and celebrating a life well-lived. Peace to the memory of Kristi Robbins Steven.
     The other woman who died is someone I had an abiding friendship with through the Association of International Churches in Europe and the Middle East. Her husband, Steve, served International churches in Oslo, Norway and Berlin, Germany and were active participants in the annual conferences and youth conferences that were held each year. Though we only saw one another once or twice a year, our friendship deepened as we shared ministry and life concerns on a deeply heartfelt level. Kristi was a warm, generous person who had vast musical gifts. She shared all of her gifts openly and graciously and we loved meeting up with them each year. We shared a lot of laughter, especially at the banquets of the conferences, but also spent time in heartfelt conversation, sharing our deepest wounds, ministry stressors, and life concerns.

Steve and Krisit on the shores of the Baltic at our Stockholm Church retreat center playing a bit of Kubb

Always getting ready to share some music

Leading and encouraging

Steve and Kristi always shared such beautiful music with us.

Steve and Kristi are good friends and we will now miss Kristi very much. They have two girls, now college-aged, who loved all things royal so when the royal wedding took place in Stockholm, they were quite envious of our proximity to the event! I sent them photos of our experience in downtown watching the Royal Newlyweds enjoy their special day. Their youngest was an au pair in Europe last winter and she came and spent a weekend with us in Paris. We have felt connected to the Kienbergers for most of our International church career. They recently moved back to the US and invited us to enjoy the Oregon coast while we were opening the doors to greater sunshine in the desert when the fog got to be too much. Kristi was diagnosed only in June and so things declined very rapidly. So rapidly that I actually never got around to sending that note that I wanted to write to her and Steve. Then all of the sudden we got word that she had passed due to complications and like that, Kristi is no longer part of this world. I feel so deeply for her husband Steve, and their two daughters, one starting her senior year of college and one just starting her college journey. The blessing I suppose is that because they were back in the US they were much closer to family so all could be with her during this challenging time. Even so, the shock of her passing must be a bit overwhelming as she was so deeply loved and gifted.
     So peace to the memory of Kirsten E. Penner Kienberger. I will miss her as I know so many others will as well.

One final note...if you are thinking about writing to someone to thank them for something, to give them a word of encouragement, or just to reach out and re-connect, do it today. We really never know what tomorrow will bring.

Best Laid Plans

Robert Burns and John Steinbeck were right when they each used a version of best laid plans oft go awry. Today, on the one year anniversary of my dad's passing, right now, almost to the minute, we had intended to inter his ashes in the same place where my mom's are. I had a fanciful notion that being up on the desert ridge at sunrise while scattering his ashes during the same time period that his death was unfolding a year ago would be meaningful. So we rose at 5.45 a.m. and along with my cousin and his wife, headed out to the place in the desert we wanted to be.
Alas upon arrival we discovered that this area was closed. So we pondered what to do and realized that sunset, as we did with mom, would be the likely time. So we greeted the early morning and agreed to meet up again later today. It was disappointing to me, but what can you do? Best laid plans of mice and men and daughters oft go awry.

On the upside, it's a gorgeous, fresh morning. The sun is now sneaking up above the ridge and can be seen from the backyard. Mt. San Jacinto is welcoming this new day in all of its wondrous glory. We even caught a glimpse of the lunar eclipse, a reward for getting up so early today.

The roses in our garden are blooming like crazy. Dad loved his roses so it's a good connection. A new rose, a peace rose, emerged earlier this week. Delicate, fragrant, beautiful. Tanner is a good companion this morning.

As we arrived back home from our futile outing, my watch said 6.35. The time of death a year ago. It still kind of tears me apart remembering how I sat with him over night and prayed for a peaceful passing. He did not go easily but now he's at rest. He's better off, but I just miss him so much. I'm drinking my coffee out of this cup in memory of him...he was #1 in so many different ways.

I'm grateful that the anniversary of his passing falls on the Saturday before Easter. My grief connects me to how devastated the Saturday after Christ's crucifixion must've felt to Christ's followers. The sting of death. The ending of an earthly relationship that was so powerful and meaningful in your life. Hopes and dreams for the future shattered. In some ways, the grief and heartache of Easter Saturday are such appropriate emotions for me on this day.
But I have an advantage over those who walked the earth with Christ. I already know what awaits us tomorrow at sunrise. The grave will be empty. Resurrection will unfold. Christ the Lord will be Risen and his followers along with him.  The words of I Thessalonians 4 resonate with me this morning:

"Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words."

We do not grieve without hope. For this, I am grateful. Perhaps my grief will ebb a bit now that we've passed the year marker. I'm thankful that although this makes the loss all the more profound, I feel grateful that we were so close and enjoyed one another so much. 

As I sit on the patio, listening to my friends and former Immanuel colleagues' music, I am at peace, profound peace. My heart is a bit heavy and tears flow. But I do not grieve without hope. 

And I am confident that sunset will be an equally meaningful time to inter dad's ashes.

Thanks be to God.

Miss Ya Dad

A year ago we were celebrating my dad's 81st birthday. We had just spent a super fun month with him and had made plans for him to come and spend 3 weeks with us in Sweden the following July. Three and a half weeks after his birthday, he was gone. 
It's still hard for me to embrace the reality that his life on earth ended so abruptly.

Of course, I am so thankful that he is not languishing in some horrible place, not really living but not yet dead. But the finality that death brings to our earthly relationships is just so hard to take sometimes. He would be LOVING watching our house transformation. Both Doug and I have laughed so many times about how excited he would be. He'd be up here every day watching things unfold. And we'd be gearing up to fill out brackets for March Madness and getting excited about baseball starting, and clearing our schedules to watch the Masters golf tournament together and eating delicious ribeye steaks at least once a week. We'd be engaged in the ultimate Cribbage tournament, the winner taking all of the bragging rights! All of these are things that I would love to be doing with him now that we are back in the US. But it's just the memories of doing these things together that remains.

We loved having him with us in Sweden and he loved the boat and hanging out with Tanner.

We were going to spread his ashes today but I'm just not ready to hold his remains in my hands and return them to the earth. Maybe by the anniversary of his death, April 4, I'll be ready to do this. For today, I'm content to be thankful for the 81 years of life he had and savor the memories of the shared life we enjoyed.
I'm so much like my father. I'm competitive, enjoy humor, love sports, feel passionate about stuff, love winning, am adventurous, love the underdog, and feel deeply about everything I love...and I got a lot of those from watching him be the same. I still miss him every single day. Peace to your memory pops. You were the best and all who knew you miss you too.

Time Moves On

Six months ago, I was in the middle of watching my dear dad die. April 3-4, 2014 ended up being one of the longest nights of my life and finally, at 6.30 a.m. on April 4, he left us. Can't quite grasp that it was 6 months ago. Still feels like yesterday and I miss him every bit as much today as I did then. The raw grief has subsided of course, but my longing to have his company in my life has only increased.
There are catalysts for feeling this way. Our favorite baseball team the Los Angeles Angels (who in my heart will ALWAYS be called the California Angels) won the western division and are now in the play-offs. My parents were die hard fans from almost the beginning. I grew up 3 miles from Angel Stadium and so we spent a lot of time at the ball park. The stadium was nicknamed the Big A because of the fantastic scoreboard that was shaped like an A and topped with a halo! When the Angels won, the halo blinked.

This was a fun signal in the days before you could access information from your mobile phone! After my folks quit going to games so often, they watched endlessly on TV. Baseball was our constant companion during the months that my mom was really sick because it was something we could all do together without much stress. Except for the yelling at the TV! Finally in 2002 they won their first world series. I got up at 4.00 am and got on the phone with my folks so could "see" the win together. (Pre Skype). So, with the team doing well again this year, it has made me nostalgic for sharing this aspect of life together. I'm cheering hard for the halos and with any luck will be able to add Tanner to this gem of our sweet dog Lucy, celebrating with me after the last World Series!
Another unexpected grief prompter has been the start of the American Football season in the US. I have always loved football season given that it was part of my DNA as I was growing up. And in the years when I lived in another part of the US than my parents, there were frequent phone calls to dispute calls, yell at the ref, ridicule the play calling and cheer! Once in Sweden, the time change made it hard to do live check-ins but there was a part of every week that included talk of football. Now it's actually a little hard for me to watch the game because it rouses such a longing to talk with my father. I'm super disinterested in the NFL but will continue with college but it's just amazing to me what pangs of sadness emerge when I see something that I know he'd love. He would be very sad about what's going on in the NFL and the hard hitting and head injuries have long been a concern for him. He often said that the US's thirst for violence will never allow the NFL to back off. Well, maybe now they will have to or the entire game is going to implode. Anyway...I got the greatest note from the daughter of my dad's defensive coordinator who had passed on 4 years ago. Sadly, our moms both died of ovarian cancer. Our fathers were characters together and created a stunningly winning atmosphere for their players. She shared many of my feelings and it was such a great comfort to feel like there was someone in my "football" past who knew what I was talking about. I must say too, so many of the former players have been just lovely, sending a note, commenting on Facebook...classy boys those former champions are. Incidentally, he won his first championship at... The Big A!
The big news today is that I just sold my parent's house! It feels good and weird. It ends yet another place of memory for me. I will look forward to meeting the new owner when we're back in Palm Springs next and hopefully she'll let me pick some grapefruit from my dad's, um, her tree. That was a lovely dwelling for my folks in their final years and I hope whoever moves in enjoys it and keep it looking good.
Finally, in about 2 weeks I will have a birthday. The first birthday without either parent present on this earth to remember the day I was born. These are all milestones along the journey of life that we must embrace. But I'm not sure I will be able to cheer for the Angels, watch football, drive through the south end of Palm Springs or celebrate turning a year older without feeling the deep ache, both joy and sorrow, of no longer sharing these beautiful things with my folks. Peace to their memory which lives on in every corner of my heart and mind.

Grief & Memories & Sadness & Joy

Like many, the death of Robin Williams has had a profound affect upon me. I asked a colleague why we feel so deeply stunned by this and she said what many of us think: He was such a memorable character in so many different ways, you just felt like you knew him. Sadly, Robin himself did not feel fully known and thus lived in the isolated and lonely world of depression and self-doubt. We feel this loss acutely because we wonder how someone so brilliant, so funny, so talented could feel so bereft of value and meaning. Depression is an ugly beast that rears its head in strange and unexpected places. I've struggled with depression in my life for no apparent reason. And when there is no apparent reason to be depressed, then you just feel that much worse because you feel like such a loser for feeling so crappy. I am so sad that Robin was so sad and could never find the light that he brought to so many others. I believe with all my heart that God holds a special place for his beloved who cannot escape this earthly darkness and feel that death would be a better option. My brother lived a fairly tortured existence due to mental illness that was tough to get a handle on. He was erratic and attempted suicide on more than one occasion. He died at 48, of a heart attack that I'm sure was brought on by a mixture of prescription drugs and and unhealthy living. I believe these tortured souls find rest and peace in the arms of a loving God whose compassions, they fail not. Remember...Great is thy Faithfulness, Lord unto me.
But I suppose another reason that this very public passing of a very beloved person is more profound for me as I walk through the continued grief of losing my parents so close together. I'm still in a state of shock that my father actually died in April. I often say to Doug, "I just can't believe he's really gone." And I re-live those painful final days, those awful decisions, the sad reality that he was not going to return to the vibrant, brilliant, very funny man he was. I miss him in profound ways as I long to speak with him...to share with him how GREAT the PGA golf tournament was, how sad I am that Robin Williams has died. He would've been devastated by this as well as he so respected and loved his humor and talent.
Of course, like many, Doug and I are recalling the memories we share around his films. I had forgotten that Mork began on Happy Days but I do remember faithfully watching Mork and Mindy week after week when I was a freshman in college! But it's the movies that have burned quotes, moments, profundities into our psyches. For me, I recalled immediately Good Morning Vietnam, Good Will Hunting and Dead Poets Society. But then Mrs. Doubtfire comes into view, followed by Patch Adams. (If you have missed this one, see it soon. It is based on a true story and is amazing). And who could ever forget the genie from Aladdin?! On and on and on....So one of the responses to all we were feeling yesterday was to watch Good Will Hunting last night. It was a good choice. We had not seen it in a long time so the details were sketchy. It was also the film in which Williams won his Oscar. He wasn't as funny in this film but offered incredible insight into the human condition. Of course, when Williams utters the line, "Real loss is only possible when you love someone more than you love yourself" I knew I was done in. The depth of emotional loss and expression and healing that unfolds between Matt Damon and Williams is just so palpable. I was actually wondering the depth of pain that Damon was feeling upon hearing this news and that made me weep a little more!
It's a toss up between Good Morning Vietnam and Dead Poets Society as far as favorite Williams' films but since Dead Poets is in my top 5, I would have to give it top billing.
When Dead Poets Society first came out, it was 1989. I was just back from living in Colombia, South America for two years and had landed a teaching job at the very same school where my father was the head football coach. We had this one very special year together, teaching at the same high school, a lower income, 50% hispanic school where there were lots of underdog kids that we both cared deeply about.

The year we taught together at Anaheim High School, I dressed up like him on Halloween!

You've heard a lot about my dad's incredible influence over young men through his coaching years and I was seeking to aspire to be even a fracture of that influential in my own life. I had made the decision to move to Chicago to go to seminary and my folks were leaving Orange County to move to Palm Springs. So on Father's Day of 1989, I took my dad to the movies to see Dead Poets Society together. There is no other person on earth with whom I wish would've seen this film for the first time. We were enthralled by the story. I was taken up with the language used in the film. We were enchanted by the way Professor Keating gained a hearing with these young men and sought to deeply transform them into thoughtful, thinking men. And then, the ending unfolds with the controlling parents and the pressure on the kids to conform to their parents dreams and wishes and the kid kills himself and the professor is fired and we were an absolute mess. Both of us were sobbing as the film ended. We could barely walk out of the theater and I'm really not sure how we drove home. We were still pretty weepy when we got home and when we walked into the house and my mom saw us, she just laughed out loud and said, "You Two!" Clearly, my father was the more sentimental of those two!
I went back to see the film again and again, taking notes in the dark theater, writing down all of my favorite lines...suck the marrow out of life...using the film in talks and sermons and allowing it to continue to influence me over the years in that Carpe Diem sort of way.
So now, of course, I am dying to watch the film again, but my grief is causing hesitation. I know if I get into it I will SOB and I'm not sure when that SOBBING will stop. And it's not that I mind SOBBING but I'm just not sure about how deeply I want to feel the loss of my father right now. And yet, feeling that loss as deeply as I do reminds me of how we lived our lives in a Carpe Diem sort of way...He allowed me to pursue the things in life that I loved with no pressure to conform to any preconceived notion of how his daughter should be. He was demonstrably proud of me and equally as loving. I think I've made it clear how much respect and admiration and love I had for him as well. I know that there are a host of men in this world for whom Coach Moon Mullen is indeed captain, their captain...for this legacy I am grateful. But I'm also deeply grateful that for me, I got to know him as dad.

Dad and I with mom's tree when we scattered her ashes. Some of his will be scattered there next.

Grief...many of us are feeling it these days. Some over public less personal matters. Others over a deep sense of loss that leaves a dull ache where the love shared has been severed from earthly expression. I hope that Robin and Dad find a way to sit down and share a good laugh together. They would appreciate one another on so many different levels. Rest in peace you wonderful men...who made me laugh, made me cry and helped me understand life just a little better.

The Church At Its Best

I was very much looking forward to being back with our congregation yesterday after a month long absence.  I truly love our church and yesterday they proved themselves to be the essence of Christian Community once again.  I knew that hugs and encouragements and warmth awaited me upon my return.  I knew that so many people from our church community had been praying for me and were entering into the sorrow I felt over losing my mother in profound and meaningful ways.  But I was not prepared for the amount of love and care that was showered upon me.
At the beginning of the first service, Doug put some lilies on the altar in memory of my mom Rose Ann.  It was moving and beautiful.  Between services I spoke with a number of people, some who gave me cards and flowers, others who offered a word of amazing support and love.  At the end of the second service, the entire board of our church came forward and asked me to join them.  They presented me with this amazing bouquet of flowers and shared a word of hope with me.  They expressed their deep care for me on the loss of my mother and assured me that I was not walking through this time alone, but that instead they would be by my side to journey with me.  It was such an outpouring of love and care.  I was overwhelmed, to say the least.
I lingered after the service, talking with people and sharing hugs.  So many people expressed their sorrow and but also their hope...that mom is indeed in a better place, whole once again.  So many in our church know deep and devastating loss and even so...the hope of heaven is so real to them.  What a blessing.
I wandered home, heavy laden with flowers and cards, warmly filled from a wonderful morning of worship and fellowship.  I was tired but content and eventually my mind wandered to what we would have for lunch and I was wishing that food would just magically appear on my table!  And then I opened the door to my apartment and my dreams were granted!  There stood the entire Executive Board of our church plus their families.  The delicious smell of food from around the world filled my senses and I could not believe that they had put this gathering together without my knowledge!  The first thing that the chair of our board said to me was this, "We want you to know that you have a family here in Stockholm who loves you and will walk with you through this time."  Many explained that in their culture, food would be brought for days...in India, a grieving family is not to cook for 11 days!  So they felt it only right that they come and provide a welcome home lunch for me and Doug.  
The food was fantastic....dishes from India and Pakistan which we love, spring salads, and Vida's legendary chicken from Ghana, fruit and desserts and breads.  Wow.  What a feast.  And we just enjoyed a plate of leftovers that was every bit as good!  It was the joyful feast of the people of God. What joy to have these dear people, our wonderful leadership at Immanuel, gathering in our home, to comfort me and Doug and bring love in tangible ways to our doorstep.  We enjoyed such a great afternoon together.  It was truly a beautiful welcome home.

Remembering

My brother died 4 years ago.  It was shocking that he died on this day but not a surprise that he died an untimely death as he was an unwell person.  Shortly thereafter my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer and the long, difficult road of fighting cancer began.  2007 was a wilderness year for our family, likely the hardest months I've ever lived through.
During this season of Lent I am reading a Lenten Devotional on the net each day.  It is called Journey to the Cross and it is excellent.  Today's entry is timely on a number of levels.   
The verses are from Nehemiah 9:19-21
"You in your great mercies did not forsake them in the wilderness; the pillar of cloud that led them in the way did not leave them by day, nor the pillar of fire by night that gave them light on the way by which they should go. You gave your good spirit to instruct them, and did not withhold your manna from their mouths, and gave them water for their thirst. Forty years you sustained them in the wilderness so that they lacked nothing; their clothes did not wear out and their feet did not swell."
Last Sunday I preached on Jesus the light of the world and recalled his light now being the same light that God provided the Israelites in the desert through the cloud and the fire.  We are never left to completely wander in the wilderness alone or in the dark, even if it seems so.
After the verse came this reflection on the website:
Ella Jenkins’ Songs Children Love to Sing concludes with this African American spiritual: "I looked at my hands, and my hands looked new. I looked at my feet, and they did too. I started to walk--I had a brand new walk. I started to talk--had a brand new talk. I started to sing--had a brand new song. Everybody wondered just what was wrong."

As the Israelites wandered in the desert for forty years, God’s mercy did not forsake them. They were instructed by God’s spirit. They were fed by manna and lacked nothing. Their feet did not swell. Good feet may not be first in our thoughts, but...what a gift to a weary, wandering people. They left the wilderness transformed.

As we wander in God, may we be transformed as we sing the spiritual refrain: "'Cause my soul was new when I came out the wilderness. My heart was too when I came out the wilderness. I loved everybody when I came out the wilderness. A leanin’ on the Lord."
One of the difficult side affects my mom has suffered is neuropathy, a condition where you experience numbness in your limbs.  It is a major drag as it impacts your ability to walk, drive, and have balance.  Plus it's royally uncomfortable.  So while the promise that God made to the Israelites that their feet would not swell may seem ridiculous, I have a greater understanding of why this is actually a great gift.  In some ways it points to how hard it is to keep walking when you have swollen feet. But we have to remember that God is moving in our lives even when we feel we aren't.
I realize that over the past 4 years I've been in the wilderness a few times.  4 years ago today was a shattering day of grief and sorrow as my parents discovered that Bill had died of a heart attack in his apartment.  The early Monday morning phone call alerted me to the news and I flew out the next day.  Then weeks later, mom was diagnosed and our lives changed in even more profound ways.  But today, 4 years later, my mom is miraculously healthy and while we miss Bill, the raw grief of losing him has healed and we can all be thankful on some level that he is at peace.  God really does see us through our wilderness times...when we're in them, it all seems very dark and hopeless.  But, given the chance to look back, we can see the light, the guidance, the sustenance.  I am thankful for where my life is today...even though I am far away from my parents, our visits are rich and fruitful and for that I am thankful.  I am happy that they are enjoying a season of hope and joy beyond the hardships of the past 4 years.  That was something I prayed for...that my parents would find joy again after Bill's death.  When my mom was sick, it was tough...now, life is a bit easier and a lot more fun.
I know that the light of Christ has seen us through these wilderness years.  There are other wildernesses right now that we experience, places where the light of Christ is dim and our spirits are waning.  Still, the hope that burns eternally because of who Jesus is in our world brings sustenance and guidance and eventually even healing.  I am thankful.
Peace to the memory of my brother.

Advent day 3

December 1. This is the day that many begin to open "advent calendars". This is a big tradition in Sweden and is done in a variety of ways. Many children will open a window or a pocket and find a toy or some chocolate inside. In this house, we will light our daily advent candle and watch it burn down to day 24 as we await the celebration of the day that Christ was born. Our candle this year is special. My friend Marie gave it to me as she began this tradition when she lived in Copenhagen. Each year she obtains this Royal Copenhagen candle to mark the days of advent. Now I can think of her lighting the same candle when I light mine on a daily basis.
I love rituals like these. I think they are a great way to mark time, to teach tradition, to build excitement and anticipation. I hope that many of you who are practicing this tradition in some form take time to not only enjoy the hidden treasure that you find waiting behind the window, but to also consider one thing that Christ brings to your life on a daily basis. Today I am thankful for the comfort that Christ brings to our lives. Two friends in the past week have lost loved ones under difficult and unexpected circumstances. One a husband of a girlfriend who was mysteriously ill and died during exploratory surgery, the other a brother and uncle of friends we've known for many years here in Sweden. Sadly, he was suffering from many things and ended his own life. These situations remind me that life is fragile and valuable and can change in an instant. I know that Christ's love for us endures all sorts of hardship and while we cannot make sense of these tragedies this side of heaven, we can rest assured that Christ feels our pain and joins us in our grief journey. That truth, that Christ comes and dwells among us, is one of life's greatest comforts. I treasure the comfort of Christ as I consider the pain my friends are enduring as they face their losses.
As you mark the days of December with an advent calendar or through the lighting of a candle, why not also mark the remarkable ways that Christ comes to you on a daily basis?

The Grief Journey

Many thanks to my readers who responded to the blog regarding the death of our friend. It has been two weeks now and in some ways it still doesn't seem real and yet the raw loss and his lack of presence in our midst confirms his absence. It is hard to imagine that we are not going to see Ken again, that Geri and the kids have an entirely new way of life to get used to. It is easy to understand why grief is a journey...these unwelcome realities take time to fully understand and we perhaps don't even have the capacity to embrace the full impact all at once.
As the days go by, my friend is beginning to grasp the deep reality of her loss. She said to me last week, "Jodi, I am not married anymore. I can't get my hands around that. When will I know to take off my rings?" These are ground of being issues, realities that cause our core identities to be shaken. Geri is no longer a wife. How do we move forward through the losses of our lives and begin to carve out the new identity with which we are left? In her case, she has 3 kids who she's still mother to. They are seeking to figure out what it means to no longer have dad around. There will be more losses to contend with...they will no longer have a father present at hockey games, soccer games, school programs, or Christmas. And there will be sacrifices as mom won't be able to do it all. And there will be anger because none of it is fair and all of it is painful. I told Geri the first time someone asks her if she's married will likely be a very difficult moment. I know this because recently someone asked me if I had siblings and I quickly answered, "yes, one brother." It was the first time in a long while that I had been asked that, and as I gave the answer that I had for 46 years, I realized, no, that's not entirely true anymore. I had a brother, but he died 18 months ago. I am no longer a sister. It is still hard to grasp my new identity as the only child. It is not the family portrait that I grew up with and yet, I have had to embrace the new picture of my family, one that includes the memory of my brother's life, but not his physical presence among us.
That is why grief is a journey. You have to keep moving and face each phase. We move forward, feel like we're doing well, then a set back. It's all part of the process, but you have to keep moving, no matter how slow the progress, how small the steps.
For the first time since Ken died, I felt almost normal yesterday. My own acute sadness is ebbing a bit even while my heart aches for Geri and the kids. I feel deeply for the pain and loss she faces with each new day. Selfishly, I feel thankful that my own personal journey is not currently laced with so much pain. I know my day will come and so I am savoring the calm joy of a lack of crisis for now.
The funeral is December 7. Christmas and New Year's will be tough. We'll get through this together, step by step, on the grief journey.
Prayers appreciated. Thanks.