Moments Together

...Homemade lavender playdough and caramel apples in the 12 Days of Christmas

Labor

(A September post written and set aside...)

It is just like labor. Passing through the thin veil of this life to the next. When you enter the world and leave this physical space, the two are so similar. I never would have imagined how closely bound the two are until I experienced it just fewer than two short months ago when my sweetest friend, my shoulder, my encourager, my dear Mom passed to Jesus.

The veil. It's so thin. The moments throughout Mom's suffering were intense. I have thought of them again and again. I have looked back, maybe not always the best thing to do, for many voices speak when there is sadness or regrets or difficulties in fear. But, I offer these pains now. I cannot go back and re-do, hug again, give my Mom a kiss again, but I can live and make, with God's grace, every single second of my life better: again, with God's grace. A better story. A purer road. A happier journey with the help and inspiration of my Mom's life. I can see it: by Mom's life, I am being drawn closer to Him, even in the times that downright hurt, are cold, feel so foreign. I can't hold the feelings. Sometimes I have to throw them down or just let them dance around me while I stand firm in Him, knowing that He won't leave me even if all this stuff forces itself at me.

I miss you, Mama. I remember when you were sick here.  I saw you sick and my words that came out were, "Mommy! Mama!" Oh, you were feeling so badly. Since then, in these pains, others' words have attempted to increase the pain with as their words were of what-felt-like fire. I do not know why they threw those torcehs only other than the fact that they must have been in pain too, and maybe in order to soothe their own was to ignite pain in another's heart. It hurt, but it was ok. It was good to see the pain all for your soul. Like a dear friend of yours said to me yesterday, "Jesus doesn't want to wait a moment longer for a soul." I agree. I know I will never ever stop praying for your soul, but I sense a peace that you are well, that you are safe. And, I beg for your prayers. You have, I believe, already whispered to me, "Don't hold on to the pain." To this day, I am your daughter and I should listen. You were always trying to help, encourage, give love. You succeeded.

With each passing day the ache is strong, some days it increases. The heart aches. I miss you terribly. The first time back here in the afternoon after I returned frm Seattle, I missed that call: you, your words. You. As I would tidy things, I would talk to you. I miss the chance of answering your calls when a 100 demands seem to be there. You are not here, physically anymore, but the demands still are. I am learning: those things can wait. Be present. It is a moment of grace to be present and to push back the rest. To lean up against that dam wall, hold it back and be present to another is a grace. I miss that opportunity. There were many and I let them go. Sure, there may have been "good" things I was doing, but I miss the best: being with you. Being. 

Labor. It is of the body. But, it is so much more of the soul. 


I love labor. Maybe it is because I am so weak. Labor is a built-in moment, a moment we settle into and say, "Yes, I abosrb it. I take it. I am one with you, Lord, let me be one with it."

Life hurts. But, nothing can be separated out, compartmentalized. This life and the next have one thin veil, and a path of labor to pass through to the next.

Fiat.

the little bag from The Bethlehem Walk 2016. Mom, constantly you are telling us, "I am here," through these little butterflies.- Just when the butterfly thought life was over, he became a beautiful butterfly.-

 

 

Many thoughts, but living now

A few weeks back a sad thing happened: one of our SD cards fell somewhere (still praying it is found and God allows it to come back to us), and many, many pictures are no longer present. Reminders to me: live and enjoy what you are doing in the present; do not wait to live through the past; live now; love and let go. I realize how much life has happened since the last time I wrote here and even things I wanted to write over the summer, documenting sweet birthdays, a beautiful 10th anniversary and dance party, so much. But, instead of it all here, I should remember better that God's got the documents, and just live. 

The Ache of Time

 The Road that Leads to Life
"I fell to my knees and in spirit I felt the burning sands of time beneath me. In the depth of suffering....

(taken from meditation of the Magnificat)

This one is going to be a hard one, Mama. Soon, Dad's birthday will be here. To see your handwriting on Dad's birthday card this year, 2016, without your being physically present to give it to Dad, makes me burn inside. Sometimes I feel like I get it. I feel like I know you are no longer here physically, and then it hits. And, I am thrown back. It's hard to believe you are not here in the same way, and yet, you are here. I look at all the moments when you're here. Every. day.
Today CAleb was doing the puzzle and wasn't that so beautiful what he said?  I am sure you heard. He saw the butterflies, also known at our house as, Mimi, and he said there was a butterfly, MIMI, in the puzzle. He saw that you are here. And then, someone else found that what they had in food, something tangible, looked like a butterfly. You're here, Mom.

We made Dad's birthday gift. On Dec. 21, you will have been departed from us physically for 5 whole months. And, I ache.

You will never be gone. None of us was eve meant to be gone, but we are hidden from one another in ways, and the pain in that grips sometimes.

I miss you. I miss your "Him Sweet girl," or your "Oh, Mare," as you just got off the phone with one of our little treasures. I miss you, Mom. You told me we would never be apart. Please hold us all. We miss you so much.