The Tangled Skein

As I knit and pull the yarn from the skein,

Sometimes I discover a terrible tangle.

The yarn should pull out easily from

The center of the skein…and does not.

 

My husband was expert at undoing tangles.

He did not knit, but he unknotted,

Untwisted and straightened out,

Allowing me to move forward.

 

I went to him with things other than knitting.

We talked about my life tangles.

What should have been easy to resolve,

Sometimes was not.

 

He was expert at listening, questioning.

He was my sounding board,

Giving clarity in the convoluted maze.

His insights helped me to move forward.

 

Now as I pull on the yarn of my life.

The skein looks good on the surface.

The knots and tangles are inside,

And I miss my expert untangler.

 

My helper himself turned to an Almighty God,

Omniscient and aware of all the knots.

It has always been the divine Hand,

Straightening the tangled skein of my life.

 

My dearest love’s hand is no longer with me,

But the divine Hand can never be lost.

 

Here I Am

Here I am alone in the darkness,

No hand near mine to hold,

No embrace wards off the cold.

 

Here I am alone with my questions,

No answer to my “why?”

No one to hear me cry.

 

Here I am struggling painfully forward,

Is there a path ahead for me,

A future yet to be?

 

Here I am so weak, flawed and broken,

Will my wounded heart be mended,

God’s healing power extended?

 

Here I am….

In the Bag Check LIne

As I write this, I am flying between San Jose and Atlanta.  Both the bag check and security check lines were unusually long this morning, providing me with ample time for people watching.  So many different people exist in this world, and each one has his own story.  As I stood there, I had no idea what anyone was thinking…what his/her current joys or sorrows might be.  Unless, of course, someone was to engage me in conversation.

The man in front of me in the bag check line appeared to be sixty-ish.  He was neatly dressed and had a mustache that twirled up on the ends into a point. He had a couple of pieces of luggage and a brown paper sack.  As I entered the line and stood behind him, he said, “Do you fly much?”

I told him that I flew 3-4 times a year, although I was thinking that the number of times I fly could now be different with my husband gone.  Will I fly more or less?  I didn’t say all that.  It just passed quickly through my thoughts.

He said that I at least flew more than he did.  He wondered if I could tell him if he was in the correct line.  Did he have to go to the counter, even though he had checked in online?  Well, yes, he did, since he needed to drop off the bags he was planning to check.

Thus began an interesting chat during which I discovered he had lost his wife about a month before I lost Bill.  She had had breast cancer four years earlier, but then learned it had spread.  She was in pain and had difficulty breathing.  Eventually, she had hospice care.  He had not understood that meant there was nothing more that could be done.  Her loss has caused him much grief.  He had to move her picture from the hall.  He couldn’t bear to look at it as frequently as he passed it.

He talked about the happiness she brought into his life.  There were ways in which they were very different and other ways in which they shared interests for the 36 years of their marriage and the two years before that when they knew each other.

I totally understood.

By this time, we were called to the counter and I could not delve any further into whether he or she knew Jesus or had the comfort He provides.  I looked for him in the TSA line and later at the gate.  I didn’t see him until we were in the boarding process, and then it was at a distance.  Perhaps, all I was assigned to do was to offer my sympathy and understanding.

I don’t know his name, but I pray the man with the twirly mustache I met in the bag check line will come to know the peace only God can give.

Later….in my second flight of the day, I sat next to a young woman who was not very communicative.  She dozed or listened to music, so conversation was non-existent…. except as we landed.  It turned out she was a widow with young children.  She lost her husband 8 years ago when the kids were 2 and 4.  Her mother-in-law is an enormous help.

So much pain and loss in this world, and I understand it so deeply.

My Aura

I ran into a friend who said, “You miss your husband, don’t you?”

I thought it was obvious that I would, and I replied, “I miss him terribly.”

She said, “I can tell…there is an aura about you.”

What?

Can she see it?

I thought I was exuding a positive attitude!

Can she really see the ragged, bleeding edges where part of my self was ripped away?

It was not a clean surgical cut that could easily be sutured by time and good thoughts.

But…

I have done my best to exercise faith in a loving God.

Do I carry a gray aura of grief,

Or loneliness,

Or sadness?

Can everyone see it?

When they ask how I’m doing and I say that I am doing well,

Do they believe me?

I am not silly and empty-headed.

I cannot brush off tragedy as of no account.

But I will survive.

I will ponder and pray.

I will be transparent.

Perhaps slowly and in tiny increments,

My aura will change.

Perhaps, one day,

I will again be joyful,

And my aura be golden.