A Rock is Still a Rock, After All

    I found out yesterday that our son-in-law's three year old nephew, for whom we have been praying the past few months, is now on hospice. His neuroblastoma was stage four when he was diagnosed. The outlook was very poor. But I realized when I heard he is dying, that all those months I have been praying for Rustin, I never really hoped for anything better. I think one of the casualties of losing so many Lambs in the past few months is my feeling of hope. My faith in God is intact, my hope for a future in heaven is brighter than ever, but my hope that prayer changes things in this world is wounded. I realize one of the purposes of prayer is to line me up with God's will, and that will is too vast for me to comprehend, but right now a three year old is dying of cancer and it seems like the prayers were just to make me feel good about having done something. A show of support for the family. A participant ribbon for those of us who prayed.

     Normally God's sovereignty is a comfort to me in a world where our culture and government runs headlong toward sin, but when God's sovereign plan is death of people I care about, sovereignty is more painful than comforting. That is what this poem is trying to say. As an optimist I am by nature hopeful, and I know that this is a snapshot of my spiritual life, not the full length movie. Hope will return, but right now this is how I feel . . .

 

 

 A Rock is Still a Rock, After All

 

There are times the sovereignty of God

holds me safe and secure,

rocks me like a swaddled babe.

And there are times His sovereignty

confuses and confines me,

like I'm trapped in a grave.

Same God, same sovereignty, 

different circumstances. 

Sovereignty is the rock I cling to

lest life's waves tear me away.

But when God's path for me is tragedy

 He had power to prevent,

but allowed to come my way,

sovereignty is the rock I slam into.

 

And the pain of that shakes me.

A Rock is still a rock, after all.

1/27/23

How Can My Heart Not Know?

   Years ago there was a short lived variety show on TV, similar to the Carol Burnett Show, but starring Julie Andrews. The reason I remember it at all is because the prequel was about what a hard decision it was for her to agree to do it. Of course, I know a weekly TV show is a lot of work, but I would like to keep the illusion that my entertainment is somewhat fun for the entertainers. All that to say, I know it is a poor intro to a poem to say how hard it was to write, but this is one of those. The subject, of course, has been on my heart for a while, but the words themselves were uncooperative.

 

 

How Can My Heart Not Know? 

 

You think you will know somehow,

when your grown child dies. 

That when their heart stops beating

yours will too--at least for a moment.

Instead you get a call, God willing,

from a friend and not a stranger,

yet your broken heart keeps beating

whether you want it to or not.

 

How can my heart not know

that the baby whose life it sustained 

while his tiny heart was forming,

took a piece of my heart with him

decades ago, when he was born?

That it lived inside him through the years,

felt with him his joy and pain

and surely would die if he did.

My clueless heart may not know

that each beat now spills sorrow,

that only my Father's living water

maintains the balance of its flow.

This wound, I know, won't fully close

until healed by Him whose face

I've never seen, and yet believe

my heart can't help but know.

1/19/23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only God Knows

 

       I was hoping to be able to write a poem specifically for Russ. Nothing came in the rush of writing the obituary and the many family gatherings in Missoula. But now that I am home, I was able to write this poem which briefly sums up what I wrote in my post Russ Was There.

 

 

Only God Knows 

 

Russ, only God knows 

how many things you did 

and people you helped

quietly, where few would see.

You never expressed

feeling taken advantage of,

only regret that you were not

more gifted at fixing things.

 

 The gifts God gave you

were a heart able to see needs

and hands willing to help,

expecting nothing in return.

 

But Russ, we expected

many more years with you.

Now our hearts are breaking

and how to fix those--

 only God knows

 

1/9/23

 

 

 

Russ Was There

    We lost my brother-in-law today, Reed's youngest brother, Russ. He had been struggling with breathing problems for a couple weeks and was taking medication for pneumonia. The friend who came to check on him at his apartment today found he had passed away. Losing Lambs has become much too familiar a pattern. If his service includes a time to share thoughts about Russ, this is what I would want people to know.

   There are a lot of things I couldn't tell you about Russ. I don't know what kind of music he listened to, what he watched on TV, or even his favorite food. But I can tell you what made him great, I can tell you about his heart. Russ had a heart problem. He had a tender heart that cared about people but he didn't want anyone to find out about, what he considered, his weakness. But I know about Russ' heart because when my brother Roddy started high school and was getting picked on the way the special ed students always do, Russ, who was younger than Roddy but much bigger, spread the word that if anyone picked on Roddy, he would beat on them. For Roddy, for our family, Russ was there. One of the first things we did when we moved back to Montana, was take a trip to Glacier Park. We had to take Britten, she was our baby, but for some reason we decided to take Russ and Roddy with us. I knew Russ was dyslexic, but I didn't know it extended to doing the opposite of whatever he read on the sign. If it said, DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS, Russ did. If it said, DO NOT GO off the trail or beyond the guard rails, Russ was there.

     When we bought our first house in Kalispell, we had an elderly neighbor whose house was in desperate need of painting. We told her if she could buy the paint, we would put it on for her. Not wanting to hog the blessing of that good deed to ourselves, we invited our families in Missoula for the paint party. For us, for our neighbor, Russ was there. And when Russ found out I was battling depression, more than 30 years ago, he started calling me weekly to see how I was doing. For that dark time, for me, Russ was there. 

    After working 30 plus years cleaning at Community Hospital through various employers, Russ was both physically mentally burnt out. He could have gone on disability for the many lingering effects of the severe head injury he had 40 years ago, but disability didn't need him and the hospital still did so, he just stayed at the job. For the work that needed to be done, Russ was there. Nearly three years ago, during his Dad's final days home on hospice, for his Dad, for his family, Russ was there. And just a couple weeks ago when his Mom's water heater broke and soaked the basement, though he was having difficulty breathing even then, he helped Richie get the wet carpet out. For his Mom, for his brother, Russ was there.

    Russ was the third of four children and middle children sometimes have a hard time finding their way. Being neither the over achieving firstborn, nor the baby, middle children are more likely to be left behind when the rest of the family piles in the car. Not that I'm complaining about being a middle child myself, or confessing to anything that happened with our middle child. Sometimes middle children even prefer the anonymity of getting lost in the shuffle. Sometimes they are content with being just there. Though Russ preferred to stay quiet and in the background, and would be really embarrassed about all the nice things people are saying about him now, when it counted, when it mattered, Russ was there. And in our hearts, he always will be.

Be It Unto Me Lord

    If this title sounds a lot like a previous one, that is because it is only one word different from a blog I posted Dec. 13th. That post was about Mary's response in Luke 1:38 to the angel's announcement that she was chosen to be the mother of God's Son. This post is about a different verse, Luke 2:35. If the verse you most identify with at Christmas is Luke 2:35, you are having a rough year. It is a statement from Simeon's prophecy when Mary and Joseph brought baby Jesus to the temple. Not only was Simeon promised he would see the Messiah before he died, but Simeon uniquely seems to understand the suffering aspect of Christ's ministry when Jesus' own disciples did not get it, though He told them specifically and often. Simeon directed verses 34 and 35 to Mary, "Behold this Child is destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign which will be spoken against (yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed." Certainly, Tracy was no sinless Son of God and he did not suffer horribly before death like Jesus did, but mother to mother, I think Mary and I share an understanding of the sword of sorrow. 

    I do not usually make New Year's resolutions, but perhaps I should consider this poem a reminder that walking this painful path the Lord has put me on reveals my willingness to submit to God's plan. That is my ultimate resolution, my life goal, to follow God's plan for me, because I know the reward at the end of following God's path for my life is God Himself. Therefore . . .

 

 

Be It Unto Me Lord

 

Be it unto me Lord,

this pain, this sword,

this heavy cross of grief and loss

has always been love's cost.

 

Be it unto me Lord,

for the years we had

for the son I loved

for the man I raised.

Be it unto me Lord,

for the lives he touched

for the many he helped

for the hearts he changed.

Be it unto me Lord

for the years to come

with him, and all whose sins were paid

by the Son God loved and raised.

12/31/22