Thank You...#1

LIFE Giver,
Thank you for dancing.
Mother swaying back and forth, infant to her chest.
Toddler bouncing up and down hearing music first.
Children holding hands circling round, falling, laughing again and again.
Teens swaying bodies close or wild, fun loving.
Young adults learning new moves, swing, charleston,- I don't know the new ones.
Couples whispering as they sway, close and in love.
Wedding dance with daughter/father, son/mother - my favorite ones of all.
Couples old surprising us with finness from years of practice.
And ones so old they cannot do what they love to do...watching, remembering,
delighting as others carry on.
Russians kicking high.
Strong ballet capturing our vision.
Africans chanting as they move, strong and confident.
You know what I'm thinking, Lord. Why don't we do it more?
And, how could religion ever have thought it was evil?
Thank you, God, for wanting our joy.

Grief

Tonight I was riding the lawn mower. A beautiful evening, just right temp. No mosquitoes. I wanted to praise God as I rode. I love to praise. But I couldn't. I wanted to say, "Thank you God for the green grass." Actually I said it but the words were dead. Just words. And immediately Mom came to mind. Intellectually I could see no reason for that connection. Not being able to praise and Mom. Am I mad at God? I don't think so. But there is a place inside me that seems to have died.
I thought I did so well at the family reunion. I didn't think of Mom much at all. I loved seeing everyone. It was so fun. Even when we went to her home and people were taking things I didn't feel very sad. Then I opened her coat closet. Grief surprised me like a bear jumping out from behind a bush.
Then I've been fine and yesterday on our way to meet a couple we're doing marriage prep with we passed Noodles and Wraps. I felt like someone was taking my throat and cutting off my breath. I had to consciously breathe. Images of Mom and I sitting across from each other sharing a wrap and a drink. I miss her so much.
I wonder if I treasured her then as much as she seemed to treasure me? I felt so treasured in her presence.
Sometimes I wonder if the pain will ever stop coming. Sometimes I don't want it to. I think I"m afraid if the pain stops, she will stop being near to me.
It's so conflicting. Grief. Good grief?

 
 
 
 

 
 
 

The Cardwell Bridge

Who says there is nothing to do in a small town! A few days ago, after a few days of rain (actually, a Missouri rain one evening - it was great!) Terry and I had been thinking about the Jefferson Valley Bridge next to the Cardwell school. We decided to drive out there before church and see if the river had gone over it's banks. It had not but it was close. And there were many large puddle areas near by. We remembered many times when it flooded enough to cover the windows of the old trailer just north of the bridge and the campground just south of it.
Something about watching the water at that spot is so facinating. It's different now, however. They took out the old railroad bridge just west of the bridge. And, of course, the bridge we drive over is made of cement instead of the old wooden bridge we always drove over hundreds of times as I grew up.
Evidently, river watching has been around for a long time. I remember once when our family drove to the bridge to see if the old bridge would hold when water was literally rushing, touching the bottom of the bridge. It was at that visit that one of my little brothers fell, head first, out of the front window of the car. Back then, seat belts were not existant and our cars resembled a can of worms. Open windows only meant one worm might slide out.
If that bridge could talk...
Grandpa Carroll and his high school friends would go bridge jumping from it. (another activity that is common in small towns).
When I was a teen someone, somewhere in authority decided the bridge was not safe for a busload of kids to drive across. So, for several months, going to and from school the bus would stop just before the bridge and we would all get out, walk over the bridge and wait on the other side. The bus driver would drive across and pick us up and then we would go on. Thinking back on this, as an adult, and a former teacher, I wonder about a number of things. Like... who kept the little kids from running over and standing on the edge, possibly falling in?
I never remember that type of incident. Who supervised the little ones so no one would get run over by the bus? Who kept the older ones from slipping down the bank and playing in the river? I don't remember any such incidents. Maybe it was because I had my eye on some cute boy up ahead. Or maybe we were all just a little bit afraid that old rickety bridge would just break as we walked over and so we would be swept away by the river. Or maybe we were just afraid the bus driver, Carl Armstrong would swat us with the fan belt he used to keep Randy and Vic in line when they acted up. Whatever the reason, we made it past that adventure in our, anything but dull lives, without mishap.
I'm sure, if the people of the Cardwell valley all got together they could tell many stories of that old bridge. And that very old river. When they decided to tear the bridge down it was a sad, even mournful event. Part of our life was being replaced. Change... you can count on it.

God's children

The discussion was about salvation. I was telling Dad and Marlene about reading the gospel of John in the bible.
I was underlining all the parts about salvation and the purpose of life. Alot of what I found was about faith, believing, etc but words that went with that word, "believe" were words like obey and doing God's will. At the end of our discussion I said something like, "But I always think about how, no matter what my own kids did, I would never stop loving them and I would not condemn them to hell. I would always want the best for them. And I think God is like that with His children." Dad was very quiet. (He usually is when Marlene and I get to ranting on and on.) But then he spoke, emotionally, "You know the thing that bothers me. I saw this thing on tv and it had kids starving in some country. And I just don't understand it. How could a God who loves all His children let this happen?"
I could tell it really disturbed Dad. I had been thinking about this for quite some time. I replied, "Sometimes I think that God is so commited to our freedom (free will) that no matter what happens, He will not step in. That God leaves it up to us. God gives us the Holy Spirit (the most powerful force on earth) to change things if we will but God does not interfere."
Dad, "I'm thinking that's true also."
Me, "Maybe our greatest condemnation will be that we did nothing."
This morning as I laid in bed I was thinking about my own life. We have had many opportunities to give and I suppose we've given more than most, and less than some, but I can't help but think about the way we have thrown away so much money on things that don't really matter.
At the end of the movie, "Shindler's List" Arthur Schindler, who had saved hundreds of Jews by buying them to work in his factory began to cry. "I could have done more," he cried, " This ring, this car, I could have sold them and saved one more."
I know that right now a large percent of our world is starving to death. That means children the age of Michael, Kate, Spencer...are hungry, crying. I can do more. Right now we are a bit cash poor. The only way I can give more is to not be frivolous (or give up my trips to see those grandkids and I'm not going to do that). I wonder how much I could give each month if I just ate off the dollar menu at Wendys instead of a large sandwich. If I didn't let my pride cause me to spend too much on a shower gift. If I let my grandkids go to the library instead of buying them books. If I rearranged my garden, using peranials that spread instead of buying new flowers, if I didn't think I had to keep up with the latest styles. If I didn't buy things I don't need sometimes. If...
Nathan and Karen told me they read that guilt was a way to make ourselves feel morally superior. I don't want to just feel guilty and then go back to my old way of life. I want to be different for the sake of others. But I think I am selfish enough that it will be hard. If you read this, help me to remember. Remind me kindly to stick with it. For the sake of God's children.