Achan's Sin

Achan’s Sin…and Mine

             (Joshua 7)

Have I squandered and hidden away,

That which is yours by right?

A bar of gold, a pile of silver,

A garment of radiant light?

 

Have I buried under my tent,

A holy, sacred thing?

An item intended for worship

A trophy for my king?

 

Has my sin impacted others,

Leading to their defeat?

Will confession undo the wrong,

As I come to the mercy seat?

 

From Achan’s sin came destruction,

His family’s death by stoning.

My sin by the grace of God,

Is cleansed by the blood’s atoning.

Looking for You.

After May eighth, you were not in the apartment in which we lived the past year.  Your clothes were still in the closet.  Your to-do list was on your desk.  Under your laptop, I found the Mother’s Day card you had planned to give me.

I spent five days by your side in a cardiac unit and three days in a hospice.  I held your hand and talked to you.  You did not respond.  I don’t know if you were still there or not.

I went to our home at the retirement community, but you were not there.  It was empty and still.  There is a large stack of never used jigsaw puzzles next to your desk.

I flew north and drove to the city in which we spent most of our married life.

I drove past our former homes, but I didn’t see you.  I knew you had not been there recently as the bushes were not properly trimmed.

I arrived at the cottage, but you weren’t there either.  It was cold one morning, and I had to start the fire in the pot-bellied stove.  You used to get up and start the fire, and then crawl back in bed with me as we snuggled to stay warm.

Your cousin’s wife died, and I went to the memorial service without you.  You were not there to visit with your cousins and reminisce about your childhoods together.

I went to the cemetery where we buried your ashes.  I told myself I was going to think about what type of headstone would be best.  Of course, I thought only of you, even though I know you are not there.

I stood there and wept.  I watered a plant that remains among the dying floral arrangements.

I wept again.

I know you are in heaven and that you are free of pain and problems.

I also know you are not here…not anywhere so that I can see you or talk with you.  You are not out on a run or away on a business trip.  Since meeting you 56 years ago, I have never gone this long without some form of communication with you.

I weep again…

and again.

What is a widow?

What is a widow?

*much more than a box to be checked on a survey

*someone I didn’t expect to be

*a member of a club practically no one wants to join

*a person who feels like she has lost a body part

*someone whose sleep patterns are altered

*a person who is struggling to find her purpose

*someone who has a gaping wound, an aching space that can’t be filled

*a person who has no appetite and no desire to cook

*someone wondering, “Who am I now?”

*a person who rarely cried before, but now cries daily

Having talked with several other widows in the past 6 weeks since I became one, I can state that all the above are true of most of us.

Most of us hesitate the first time we have to check “widow” instead of “married.”

Most of us have an enormous sense of loss, as though part of our very selves is missing.

If our spouse died during the night, we may awaken every night at that time…as though an alarm was going off.

We wonder why our husband is gone, but we are still here.

When eating alone, we choke down food, because that is what we are supposed to do.

We have a bond with other widows that we never realized would exist.  We understand each other even without words.  The bond is bittersweet.  It is comforting, but not something for which we previously wished.

We are living in a strange new world.

We are living.

How Long?

Throughout my life, I have rarely cried.  I figured out years ago that it didn’t solve anything and often left me with a headache.

But…

Now I cry at some point every day.  I cry when I see his clothes in the closet, when I eat alone, when I look at the Mother’s Day card I found after he was gone, when I see the mental picture of him taking those last few shallow breaths, when I want to tell him something and he isn’t sitting next to me, when I run my hand over his side of the bed and it is empty.

How long does it take before one can get through a whole day without crying?

Hope of a Brighter Day

Dawn of a gray and dismal morning.

The sun is shining somewhere.

The sky weeps tears here.

But the storm is nearly past.

The clouds will soon scatter.

Revealing a brighter day.

 

I am in a gray and dismal time.

The sun is shining somewhere.

And although I shed tears now,

This too shall pass.

Time will scatter the clouds

Revealing a brighter day.

Water from the Rock

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.

Standing at the Gate

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.