Grandma Ruthie
Moses struck the rock,
And water gushed out.
In my heart there is a rock,
Heavy and dense with grief.
Can water gush out?
The pain in my stricken heart
Leaks only tears.
Can the water of life,
Refreshing and invigorating,
Once more flow?
How hard must the rock be hit,
Before it cracks open?
How severe the pain,
Before it liquifies,
And water runs free?
Is water from the rock,
Too much to expect?
I pray this is only a dry spell.
I pray for a spring.
I pray for water.
This morning, I smiled remembering a recent event. Bill and I had a very tight connection while flying to California to visit our son and his family. As we got off the plane on the first leg of the trip, Bill said that he would run to the next gate and make sure they kept the gate open for me. As soon as he could get past the lady on the escalator with the large suitcase, he took off leaving me in the dust.
When I arrived, he was standing in the opening with the gate
agent making sure they waited for me.
So, this morning I pictured him running up to heaven’s gate. Although, I know they would not close that
gate, I pictured him standing there, as he did at the airport, saying, “My wife
is coming. She’s a bit behind me, but
she is coming.”
The mental picture makes me smile through tears.
Why don’t I hear his footsteps on the stairs,
The rhythm so familiar?
The youthful, lively tempo of his feet,
Denying his age.
Why isn’t he walking in the door,
His blue eyes twinkling in amusement?
“Why are you telling people I am gone,
I have passed into another place?”
Why doesn’t he wrap me in his arms,
Or plant a kiss on my lips?
Why don’t I feel his warmth,
As we sit on the sofa or lie in bed?
I must be having a bad dream.
Surely I will wake up soon.
My heart breaks at this new reality.
At the silence and stillness and emptiness.
And yet, I delight in the memory,
That he was once mine and I was his,
That our love was a gift of a gracious God,
And one day we will rejoice together in His presence.
The silver trumpets sound.
We gather all around,
Awaiting your
direction.
The silver trumpets sound,
Though the enemy surround,
We trust in your protection.
The silver trumpets sound.
Reveal a glory that astounds.
We bask in its reflection.
In preparation for leaving our apartment on Amelia Island, we are starting to think about how we will get rid of everything here. We already have our home in the retirement community in Fort Myers furnished, so there is very limited room for items from this apartment to be moved there. One of the boxes here contains quite a collection of Zane Gray books which Bill acquired. Some of these appear to be First Editions, so they might be valuable, and we don’t want to just put them in a dumpster. Yesterday, we sorted through them and made a list with publishing company and copyright dates. This exercise brought a memory back.
As a high school student, I was very diligent. I did not take the easy way out when
completing assignments. So, when it came
time to pick a book for a book report, I opted for weighty material. I don’t remember what all I waded through,
but I do remember Walden Pond was one of the mental challenges I tackled. I had the same English teacher for both my Junior
and Senior years. He and I engaged
regularly in mental jousting. He
delighted in baiting me by bringing up topics he knew we would disagree on. He referred to me as his “worthy adversary.”
However, as I thought about the final book report for my high
school career, I decided it was time to give myself a break. I got a Zane Grey novel…I think maybe it was
Riders of the Purple Sage…and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I knew my English teacher would be shocked,
and I thoroughly enjoyed that too.
When I got the book report back, I had a 95…that was actually
the highest grade he would give. He
claimed no one ever deserved 100, because there was no such thing as a perfect
paper. I had to laugh though when I saw
what he had done. He had circled my name
in red. He had circled Zane Grey in
red. He had drawn a line between the
circles, and on the line, he had written “incongruity."
If he thought that was an incongruity, he didn’t know me as
well as he thought he did!
