This is great- no one follows this blog but there is the tandalizing possibility that I'll be "overheard". Boy, that'd sell on a psychiatrist's couch.
This was a bad week. Bad week, say bad week #42. It's been 214 weeks, if my math is correct, so there are more good over bad- moving forward. But some weeks are just crap all over. It rains, or the car breaks down, or the toilet runs the entire morning we are in church. There's just something wrong about not qualifying for divine intervention when you're at church. Or at least a split on the billl for the new septic tank pump.
But this week it wasn't the ordinary annoyances of living solo in a complicated world. This week I stood and willed another widow not to turn around. "Don't look at the casket. Ignore us, keep your face forward. I've got your back." But of course, I don't. She will face this alone.
The casket was drawn the front of the chapel. The songs were sung, the right words were spoken, she was escorted out- past all those eyes and sympathetic looks. Like anyone really knows what it feels like. Not even me. My death was after the children were born and after memories formed, memories that will carry me on their bruising wings. Wings that protect and yet buffet me as I struggle through grief to the other side.
And just went I think I've made it, made it to a safe harbor for a while, a young warrior dies. Another widow is formed. I am exhausted holding her intact and she's twenty feet away. Ramrod straight in the pew. Beautiful in a little black dress. She should add sparkle and fun shoes and meet the young warrior husband for a flirty date. Not sit through his funeral.
The color guard stands stiff to guard the honor of those who have sacrificed all. Who guards those who are left behind? My heart wasn't guarded well on this day. The flag draped casket. The crack of the salute whip flicks my memory and taps, sweet mournful taps fills my heart with a fresh ache. "Come closer. Don't you want to see this?" "No, thank you. I've seen it"
I've had the flag folded with precise care and presented to me. "On behalf of a grateful nation." It was soothing at the time, it was honoring to his service. Maybe that keeps me intact in the buffeting. We do honor our dead, we try to comfort the widows and orphans. We gather together and our hearts yearn to hold the other's pain.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
April 2005- Jump
April 5, 2005
Several weeks ago I went to a soaking prayer time at All Saints Episcopal Church. We just sat or lay on pillows and soaked in the Presence of God. It was uncomfortable- I like to talk “let my requests be made known”
But of all the works God did in my heart that day, the one that relates to this story is this vision.
I was walking up the winding stairs in a European church or tower. The stairs with the little windows to gaze out and judge your progress. I could clearly see getting higher and higher.
Suddenly I got to an open window- really open, floor to ceiling with no bars. I actually had the sensation of height with the drop in my stomach and burning pain in my feet (my weird reaction to heights). And immediately, the Lord said, “;Jump”;.
Without much hesitation and with a strange anticipation, I jumped. I soared above a city and I don't have many details except for the amazing experience of choosing to obey without question and jump into the unknown and into His ready arms.
I am not that mystical and I don't intend to try God's hand with real windows but that sense of complete trust and confidence has SO buoyed my spirits this week. We trust God. I know there are dozens of scripture to support my testimony but it has been a very long day of meetings and discussions. I will close tonight and continue to expect God to meet us and give us the Living Word for each new day. I will close with the Scripture He gave on each day so far because I have those in my journal.
God can minister to each of you in the way you need as you read them and meditate on them for yourself and for us.
Thank you for your love and prayers. Kathy
April 1 Psalm 61
April 2 Psalm 27:9
April 3 Psalm 116:1-8
April 4 Joshua 21:43-45, 23:10-14
The Beginning
I am finally getting some of the emails but onto this blog site. This was the first one.
April 4, 2005
This is the first chance I have had to write any details of our trial. It seems like this has been consuming our lives forever and it has been five days! So much has happened already so here goes.
When we first began with Usana supplements19 months ago, we were all amazed at Bill's new energy. He stopped sleeping all day Saturdays and completed old projects, etc. Then after about 7 or 8 months, he began to flag a little- he still had good energy and could handle his very stressful job, etc. He had off and on inflamed lymph nodes and a short, barky cough. But he felt ok and we ignored what seem like very obvious signs now! Finally in February, after another bout of flu like symptoms and sore throat, he decided he should see a doctor. So in late March ( do you see the pattern here.... don't procrastinate!) , Bill went to the doctor with inflamed lymph nodes, a sore throat, a tightness in his ears and some blood in his saliva.
The doctor immediately ordered a CT scan which Bill had on March 28th. They said it would be read on Friday and that there were no appointments for retirees at Bethesda. So when he got a phone call on Tuesday with an appointment for Thursday, we should have suspected bad news. On Thursday, March 31st, we went up to Bethesda Naval Medical Center- the same hospital that treats the president of the United States. We are in good hands!
Nonetheless, to hear the doctors say that there is a large mass on your tongue and they are 90% sure it is malignant is the shock of your life. I must say that there is an amazing grace that fills this situation. We have cried and ached and been terrified; and we have laughed, argued, loved and learned way too much about cancer. But we have never doubted God's love and grace and His abiding Presence.
On Thursday, we saw several ENT doctors who poked, prodded, scoped and put their hands down Bill's throat. We had had a lovely breakfast that morning and it was only God who kept it in Bill. They removed tissue for a biopsy and did a needle aspiration on Bill's lymph node. Note- I, Kathy, have no formal medical training and don't have a clue how to spell half the stuff we heard. Bear with me... We also saw a dentist who did a periodontal exam and an oral surgeon who scared us with graphic descriptions of the possible ramifications of traditional cancer treatments. Then it was off to a chest x-ray.
By the time the day was over, it was sinking in that life had just taken a shocking turn and that we were facing some very hard times ahead
April 4, 2005
This is the first chance I have had to write any details of our trial. It seems like this has been consuming our lives forever and it has been five days! So much has happened already so here goes.
When we first began with Usana supplements19 months ago, we were all amazed at Bill's new energy. He stopped sleeping all day Saturdays and completed old projects, etc. Then after about 7 or 8 months, he began to flag a little- he still had good energy and could handle his very stressful job, etc. He had off and on inflamed lymph nodes and a short, barky cough. But he felt ok and we ignored what seem like very obvious signs now! Finally in February, after another bout of flu like symptoms and sore throat, he decided he should see a doctor. So in late March ( do you see the pattern here.... don't procrastinate!) , Bill went to the doctor with inflamed lymph nodes, a sore throat, a tightness in his ears and some blood in his saliva.
The doctor immediately ordered a CT scan which Bill had on March 28th. They said it would be read on Friday and that there were no appointments for retirees at Bethesda. So when he got a phone call on Tuesday with an appointment for Thursday, we should have suspected bad news. On Thursday, March 31st, we went up to Bethesda Naval Medical Center- the same hospital that treats the president of the United States. We are in good hands!
Nonetheless, to hear the doctors say that there is a large mass on your tongue and they are 90% sure it is malignant is the shock of your life. I must say that there is an amazing grace that fills this situation. We have cried and ached and been terrified; and we have laughed, argued, loved and learned way too much about cancer. But we have never doubted God's love and grace and His abiding Presence.
On Thursday, we saw several ENT doctors who poked, prodded, scoped and put their hands down Bill's throat. We had had a lovely breakfast that morning and it was only God who kept it in Bill. They removed tissue for a biopsy and did a needle aspiration on Bill's lymph node. Note- I, Kathy, have no formal medical training and don't have a clue how to spell half the stuff we heard. Bear with me... We also saw a dentist who did a periodontal exam and an oral surgeon who scared us with graphic descriptions of the possible ramifications of traditional cancer treatments. Then it was off to a chest x-ray.
By the time the day was over, it was sinking in that life had just taken a shocking turn and that we were facing some very hard times ahead
Friday, October 29, 2010
Light
Winter's light Feb. 2007
The anticipated snow began to fall earlier than expected and my drive home in the early winter dark is on roads slick with a deadly mix of fresh snow and sleet. The cars creep over slick overpasses and follow one another in just one narrow lane of the wide roadway, a lane visible only by tracks on the dirty brown surface. I pass cars trapped in the snow-filled median and soon I meet an ambulance slowly pulling away from a tangle of cars caught in an icy patch.
I'm anxious to be home yet I can't help but wonder what will greet me. Will my teen age son be silent and sullen again? When will it feel good to go home? My heart feels heavy as I carefully enter our long, dark driveway and pray my way up the hill. And as I turn the corner, the house stands welcoming, the lights gleaming softly in the gently falling snow. Home--where the lights beckon.
But home is too quiet now. The older children are gone and my husband's death only months ago has left this house much too large for a single woaman and a teen age boy. I call to him and he briefly pops his head outl to acknowledge me, to decline food and to retreat again to his room.
I sigh and switch on more lights. A small lamp gives light to a corner near the stairs. A cabinet light highlights the collected treasures of the past and also fills the shadows in the foyer. I turn up the lights in the kitchen and find soup to warm and a book to read. The evening passes, the night falls and the dark envelopes house and presses close to my heart.
Rising stiffly from my chair, I resign myself to bed. Even without school in the morning, I am letting Paul stay up much too late. I need to connect with him and now it is too often awkward, fragile. Lamps in a house does not insure we are still family; my husband's illness and death has left such a gap. And as I turn off the lights, one by one, I pray for light, for clarity, for the hope that light represents.
I pause before heading upstairs to wrestle another night and remember my own words to a friend, "I so need beauty in this season, to know that there is order and loveliness in this barren time." My heart is heavy as I step to the patio door and look at the gray scene. The deck is covered with new snow, the chairs have full white seats, the railings are capped with their narrow ribbons of snow. I know in the morning, when the sun eventually returns, I will see beauty. Tonight, it is just cold and dark. But impulsively I reach for a switch and the scene is transformed.
The strings of Christmas lights, left over from a summer celebration, twinkle like strands of stars around this sudden sanctuary. The warm light bathes a deck covered with a blanket of purity and the scene is full of beauty and promise. The railings are friendly boundaries, steady tracks topped with pristine white. The light shines down on the wall of stacked blocks and reveals the pattern and texture in the orderly rows. The trees become sturdy sentinels with lights wound around their trunks, guarding my secret garden. The beauty is revealed when I chose to turn on the light.
Can I choose light for my dark heart as well? God's light is always available, His face is always turned to me. His light beckons me to again; He waits to welcome me and He is patient with me as I struggle to light the dark corners in my mind with my own strength and determination.
We refer to Jesus as the Light of the world. Such familiar words but I forget that means MY world; following Him means I will not walk in darkness but that I will have the Light of life. The light that reveals the beauty that awaits under the cloak of darkness, the cloak of my sorrow.
I choose to turn once more to Him, to choose the beauty of His presence, the life of His light and the warmth of that light floods the garden of my heart. I know once more that I am safe, I am home. For this night, I can both lie down and sleep in peace.
I leave the light and go up the stairs to Paul's room. I hesitate but when I enter, he is laughing at something and we share the story he finds so funny. He fills me in on details that I care little about, I'm just grateful to hear his voice, to connect over something, anything. I remind him of the new fallen snow and the canceled school day. He comes with me into the darkness of the hall and together we look out the windows and see the glow of the tiny lights filling the small space just outside our house. We talk of light and space, of the future-abstract and complex, of snow and winter. We say nothing and stay, our arms lightly touching as we lean on the railing and we connect as the light shines its beauty on our deck and our Lord shines His beauty in our hearts. We are home.
The anticipated snow began to fall earlier than expected and my drive home in the early winter dark is on roads slick with a deadly mix of fresh snow and sleet. The cars creep over slick overpasses and follow one another in just one narrow lane of the wide roadway, a lane visible only by tracks on the dirty brown surface. I pass cars trapped in the snow-filled median and soon I meet an ambulance slowly pulling away from a tangle of cars caught in an icy patch.
I'm anxious to be home yet I can't help but wonder what will greet me. Will my teen age son be silent and sullen again? When will it feel good to go home? My heart feels heavy as I carefully enter our long, dark driveway and pray my way up the hill. And as I turn the corner, the house stands welcoming, the lights gleaming softly in the gently falling snow. Home--where the lights beckon.
But home is too quiet now. The older children are gone and my husband's death only months ago has left this house much too large for a single woaman and a teen age boy. I call to him and he briefly pops his head outl to acknowledge me, to decline food and to retreat again to his room.
I sigh and switch on more lights. A small lamp gives light to a corner near the stairs. A cabinet light highlights the collected treasures of the past and also fills the shadows in the foyer. I turn up the lights in the kitchen and find soup to warm and a book to read. The evening passes, the night falls and the dark envelopes house and presses close to my heart.
Rising stiffly from my chair, I resign myself to bed. Even without school in the morning, I am letting Paul stay up much too late. I need to connect with him and now it is too often awkward, fragile. Lamps in a house does not insure we are still family; my husband's illness and death has left such a gap. And as I turn off the lights, one by one, I pray for light, for clarity, for the hope that light represents.
I pause before heading upstairs to wrestle another night and remember my own words to a friend, "I so need beauty in this season, to know that there is order and loveliness in this barren time." My heart is heavy as I step to the patio door and look at the gray scene. The deck is covered with new snow, the chairs have full white seats, the railings are capped with their narrow ribbons of snow. I know in the morning, when the sun eventually returns, I will see beauty. Tonight, it is just cold and dark. But impulsively I reach for a switch and the scene is transformed.
The strings of Christmas lights, left over from a summer celebration, twinkle like strands of stars around this sudden sanctuary. The warm light bathes a deck covered with a blanket of purity and the scene is full of beauty and promise. The railings are friendly boundaries, steady tracks topped with pristine white. The light shines down on the wall of stacked blocks and reveals the pattern and texture in the orderly rows. The trees become sturdy sentinels with lights wound around their trunks, guarding my secret garden. The beauty is revealed when I chose to turn on the light.
Can I choose light for my dark heart as well? God's light is always available, His face is always turned to me. His light beckons me to again; He waits to welcome me and He is patient with me as I struggle to light the dark corners in my mind with my own strength and determination.
We refer to Jesus as the Light of the world. Such familiar words but I forget that means MY world; following Him means I will not walk in darkness but that I will have the Light of life. The light that reveals the beauty that awaits under the cloak of darkness, the cloak of my sorrow.
I choose to turn once more to Him, to choose the beauty of His presence, the life of His light and the warmth of that light floods the garden of my heart. I know once more that I am safe, I am home. For this night, I can both lie down and sleep in peace.
I leave the light and go up the stairs to Paul's room. I hesitate but when I enter, he is laughing at something and we share the story he finds so funny. He fills me in on details that I care little about, I'm just grateful to hear his voice, to connect over something, anything. I remind him of the new fallen snow and the canceled school day. He comes with me into the darkness of the hall and together we look out the windows and see the glow of the tiny lights filling the small space just outside our house. We talk of light and space, of the future-abstract and complex, of snow and winter. We say nothing and stay, our arms lightly touching as we lean on the railing and we connect as the light shines its beauty on our deck and our Lord shines His beauty in our hearts. We are home.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Beginnings
Well, I've created a blog. First step to publishing, I wonder? My intent is to import my emails that I've written since Bill's death and get them all in one space. This will be short- let's see how this works!
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