I Didn't Want to Get Out of Bed

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.  It used to be that I didn’t want to get out because my husband was still sleeping, and I could snuggle up to him feeling all warm and cozy and secure.  Now I don’t want to get up, because it means facing another day without him.  So I stayed in bed crying and trying to wrap my mind around how he could be gone, and I could possibly be alone.

But, I got an early morning phone call to schedule a follow-up procedure, so I had to get out of bed and look at my calendar.  It brought my tears to an abrupt end too.  One can’t be blubbering over the phone to a complete stranger.  After the phone call, I knew there were 12 marigolds in the back of my car which I planned to put in the garden in places where the wildflower seed hadn’t germinated, so I ate breakfast and pulled on some grubby gardening clothes.

Somewhere in that process, I got another phone call.  The shepherding elder assigned to me by the church called and asked if I could meet him and his wife for lunch.  Ah….the day began to seem positive.  I had some human interaction to which I could look forward.

I hustled over to the garden and planted my marigolds.  Folks were walking by, and I had several brief conversations.  I picked some radishes, did a bit of weeding and watered the garden.  As I was finishing up, a lady who was riding her bike stopped to talk.  I don’t know what possessed her to stop….most people on bikes don’t.  It turns out she lost her husband unexpectedly about 3 years ago.  We talked long enough that she felt comfortable telling me that her husband had committed suicide, and that she had lost friends because they felt awkward around her afterward.  I wish I could have on-going contact with her, but she is moving away in the next week.  She is not a Shell Point resident, and she owns one of the homes nearby.  She is selling and moving in with a family member.  I felt as though we met by “appointment.”

As I was getting dressed and put together after a shower, I had another phone call.  That conversation allowed me to share a way in which I felt God had used me over the summer to do something I would not have been in a position to do if I still had my Dear Bill in my life.  I talked about the strange way in which I understand God had a plan and accept it in my mind, and yet grieve greatly about Bill’s absence.  I’m not sure how these seemingly conflicting feelings coexist.

I had a delightful lunch with the elder and his wife, walked back to my apartment across the Island, ate two pieces of chocolate and fell asleep sitting up on the couch.

The sun is shining, the last load of laundry is in the washer, and I am not crying.  I do wonder what my darling is doing in heaven.  I would like to tell him about my day, and how the garden is coming along. 

If he was here, the box of chocolates would be gone by now.

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.

 

 

Silent Sob

Silent snowflakes fall to earth,

Leaves float gently down.

A tear drops from a wrinkled cheek,

But no one hears a sound.

 

My heart is shattered, broken.

My thoughts are incoherent.

A sob, a scream well up within,

But no one else can hear it.

 

Death snatched away my dearest love.

In vain I call his name.

His voice, his touch have disappeared,

And nothing is the same.

Quo Vadis?

While staying at my daughter’s house post Hurricane Ian, I have done lots of knitting, but I thought it was a good time to do some reading too.  I pulled Quo Vadis off her bookshelf, knowing it was a classic and having some vague idea that it dealt with the Roman Empire.  I guess my clue was the title in Latin, which means “where are you going?”  I did not realize the extent to which it is a romance.

The story is set in the first century during the time of Nero, who is portrayed as a nasty and unstable tyrant.  Living in this era, is Marcus Vinitius a wealthy young member of the aristocracy.  While visiting another aristocratic family, he catches a glimpse of a beautiful young woman named Ligia.  She is a member of royalty in a European tribe, and has been brought to Rome as a captive, although not a slave.  She lives with the aristocratic family as a sort of foster child.  The mother in the family Pomponia is a follower of Christ, and Ligia becomes one also.

Initially Vinitius’ interest in Ligia is motivated totally by lust because of her beauty.  He scorns the Christians, as do many Roman citizens.  Over the course of the story, he gradually and with much struggle comes to realize the truth and value of the Christian faith and becomes a Christian himself.  This changes his entire attitude towards Ligia, and he comes to love her in a genuine way.

This is a long book and is heavy into both philosophy and theology.  Petronius, who is Vinitius’ uncle, is a man of culture and good taste.  He is educated and witty and unflappable.  He has no use for Christianity and steeps himself in pleasures.  He is a confidant of Nero.  His discussions with Vinitius about his changing attitudes and with Nero allow for much of the philosophical discussion in the book.  Later in the book both Peter and Paul are introduced.  Their interactions and the contrast between them and the very judgmental Crispus help to define the theology of the book.

As Nero descends into madness, Rome is burned either at his suggestion or direction.  Which is not clear.  But, it is decided to blame the Christians.   Ligia is caught up in the persecution, and Vinitius is desperate to find a way to save her.  Nero knows of his love for her and delights in taunting Vinitius and watching his agony.  The horrors of this time for Christians are described in gory detail, as Nero and his advisor Tigellinus think up increasingly terrifying ways to kill Christians.

Although she nearly dies in prison and does end up in the arena, Ligia is spared in a miraculous way.  Petronius is eventually forced to commit suicide with no indication that he ever comes to faith in Christ.

The theology presented in the book is in keeping with scripture.  The one bit that is uncomfortable to me is that it is a set-up for the papacy being centered in Rome and Rome being viewed as the capital of the church, just as Rome was viewed as the capital of the secular world.

The author of Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz, is a masterful writer.  His descriptions put the reader in the setting surrounded with input from all of one’s senses.  His dialog as Petronius debates and discusses is very thought provoking.  One ponders:  What is beauty? What is art? What is truth?  What is to be most valued in life?  Is there life beyond this one?  Is flattery ever warranted?  What does real love look like? Should one meekly accept one’s fate or fight it?  And a host of other questions.

This was a book worth reading, even considering the difficulty presented by my current blurred and double vision.