I Sang

Today in the shower, I was not singing.  I was talking to the Lord about how grieved I am at the loss of my voice.  Essential tremor first robbed me of my singing voice, and it is now working on my speaking voice.  I am actually looking forward to dying, because when I get to heaven, I am going to be able to sing again.

I listed off for the Lord (as though He didn’t already know) all the places I have sung.

 

Church services (no idea how many different locations)

Funerals (from a big church balcony, to a cappella at a grave site and places in between)

Weddings (not sure of number, but in at least 3 states)

Band stands

Dinner meetings

Street corners (almost got arrested)

Prisons

Nursing homes

Mental hospital

Chicago Public Television

World Flower & Garden Show at McCormick Place

Nursing school graduation

Walking home from college

Rocking my babies

Silly songs for kids and grandkids

Working around the house—cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, folding laundry, painting

Driving in the car

Campfires

Christmas caroling every chance I could get

 

Besides solos, I sang in duets, trios, quartets, ensembles, little choirs and big choirs.

I sang a cappella, or accompanied by taped music, piano, organ, guitar or violin.

When I sang, I felt as though there was a direct connection between my heart and my voice.  My sincerest and deepest feelings could come flying out of my mouth.  I want to be able to praise God in that way again.  Now I stand in church during congregational singing trying my best to produce the sound I can hear in my mind.  Once in a rare while a couple of the old notes will come out.  Mostly I quaver and croak…and sometimes, I cry.

Hurricane

Trees bend before your breath,

Water surges on the shores,

Sheets of rain pour from above,

The wind ferocious roars.

 

Nature wreaks its havoc,

On structures built by man,

Collapsing as it wishes,

Defying human plan.

 

Some bow before you trembling,

Others in defiance stand,

But it matters not to you, who are

Both horrible and grand.

Mend Me with Gold

Our love was held in a priceless artifact,

Exquisitely and skillfully formed.

It was so full that it spilled out.

We wished we could bottle it and give it away

To those who didn’t seem to have enough.

 

When the hand of death snatched you away,

It was not the beautiful pitcher that broke.

It was my heart that shattered.

Countless pieces, sharp shards,

Piercing me at every moment and movement.

 

Can the broken be mended and restored?

Artisans reassemble broken pottery,

Filling the cracks with liquid gold.

The damaged piece leaves their hands

Stronger and more beautiful than before.

 

Will the divine potter, master craftsman,

Reassemble my heart, remake me?

Can I emerge stronger and more beautiful?

More conformed to the image of His Son?

Can my heart be mended with gold?

 

A vlog of the same title can be found on youtube:  @ruthchapin8805

The Sacred Space

Being in a sexual relationship is sometimes referred to as “sleeping together.”  But, there is a great deal more to sleeping together than having sex.  When you fall asleep in someone else’s presence, you are allowing yourself to become unconscious along with them and totally vulnerable to them.  You are signaling, “I trust you completely.”  There is something extraordinarily intimate about this mutual vulnerability.

It seems to me that it is a sacred thing to end the day by crawling into the same bed.  Whether there are any words spoken or prayers murmured, there is a sense of “we are in this together. We have made it through another day of both difficulties and accomplishments.”  For the one who believes in a personal God who guides us through life, there is a sense of “we are here together in His love and kindness.  We are not only holding each other.  We are being held by the hand of God.”

I have been pondering that having my husband go into cardiac arrest as we slept side by side can be viewed in two very different ways.

I could be tempted to think of this as death’s cold hand invading our sacred space.  We went to bed together secure in each other’s love and expecting, as we always did, that God would protect us through our time of vulnerability.  Did the specter of death attack while we rested in security and oblivion?

The alternate view is that the hand of God reached into the sacred space and stopped my lover’s heart.  What better time and place to take him than when we were resting in our love for each other and God’s love for us?  Picturing his passing in that way takes away some of the painful sting of death.  My sweetheart moved from one sacred space to another even more sacred…the presence of God.

Either way brings tears.  I have a choice between tears of sorrow or tears of joy.  In truth, my tears are a mixture of both grief and gratitude.

I am writing this in the middle of the night having awakened alone and calling out my love’s name, but also with an awareness of God’s amazing love and care.

What drives the desire for intimacy?

I have recently been pondering the difference between youth and old age as regards the desire for an intimate relationship.   When living in a retirement center, it isn’t uncommon to see people who have lost their spouses pair off with others.  Sometimes, there are relationships that seem to be of the boyfriend/girlfriend type indefinitely .  Other times, a remarriage occurs rather quickly.  What influences the pace?

One could ask the same question regarding relationships between the young.  I think it is quite apparent that youthful relationships are largely driven by hormones.  The sex drive can be unbelievably strong.  Once it has kicked in, it moves in only one direction.  If there is not increasing physical intimacy, the relationship ends.

I think the primary driver among us old folks is loneliness.  After living, perhaps over 50 years, with a spouse and sharing so many experiences together, life without a companion becomes very lonely.  An older widow, who was clearly lonely and acquired a “boyfriend,” told me that love was just as great the second time and did not have the complications of hormones.  A widower I know was quite clear that he desperately needed a companion after his wife’s passing.  He quite quickly developed a friendship with a lady who could fill that role.

I am aware of some late in life second marriages that were likely motivated by loneliness and ended in disaster…heartbreak and divorce.  Similarly, youthful relationships in which sex is the primary motivator can end in disaster.  So…what is a proper motivation?

As I see it, neither sex nor loneliness should be the primary reason for entering an intimate relationship.  Sex was not my primary motivator the first time, and loneliness will not be the second time, if such a thing occurs.  I am not denying that both sex and loneliness may be elements in an attraction, but neither should be the overriding reason for someone who is a believer in Christ and desires His purposes for his/her life.

In marrying Bill, I had a deep assurance within my heart and soul that we could accomplish more for Christ and His kingdom as a couple, than the sum of what we could/would accomplish as individuals.  For someone who is genuinely Christian, that should always be a large element of the decision to enter an intimate relationship.  For a believer, God Himself is part of the intimate relationship.  If He is not in it, trouble will ensue.   We tend to expect too much of an earthly companion, if our relationship with God is not primary.  Intimacy with God takes the pressure off intimacy with another person.

So…young people, make sure there is a great deal more to the attraction than sex, AND we old people need to be sure there is a whole lot more to a relationship than relief from loneliness.

 

Joyful Exuberance

I was awake during the night tossing and turning and thinking about my dear husband Bill.  Many images came to my mind, and I thought again about the energy he exuded as he tackled life.  He was a person who didn’t sit still even when he was “sitting still.”

Not many people enjoy shoveling snow or weeding a garden, but he seemed to get genuine pleasure from these activities.  I can picture him carrying his bucket of weeds to the compost pile  with a bounce in his step.  I can see him stomping the snow off his boots with a look of accomplishment having shoveled the sidewalks and driveway.   I don’t think I ever saw him trudge wearily.

One of my earliest memories of this type of behavior comes from our dating years.  The summer of 1967, I was working 11 pm to 7 am at a hospital.  He was an early adopter of computers for data processing back in the days of mainframes.  He had to rent time on a local computer during the hours when the business which owned the computer wasn’t using it.  That meant he had to run his reports at night.  If his night to rent computer time coincided with a night I wasn’t working, I would go with him and read while he worked.  When his reports were completed, he would print them out.  The old printers were noisy, but they made a rhythmic sound.  He would dance to the rhythm of the printer with a gleeful expression.  I couldn’t resist laughing and that encouraged his display of enthusiasm.  He vibrated with energy and the joy of life.

I have missed the energetic aura that surrounded him.  I recently reread sympathy cards and noticed that one of his employees had written that he always knew when Bill had entered the factory, because his energy could be felt. 

That aura was apparent until the day he went into cardiac arrest.  Right up to the end, he was approaching everything he did with vigor…well, there were a few exceptions to that…things he had put up with for years, that he was just plain tired of.  But, that did not include pickleball, a sport he had just recently taken up.  A lady who played with him remarked, “With Bill, every game was the Olympics.  He went after every shot!”

Seeing him comatose, totally unresponsive for 8 days, I knew I could not keep him here.  He had made it clear he didn’t want to be kept in a vegetative state, and I knew it was incompatible with the way he had approached life.  He wanted to run right up to the gates of heaven.

I like to picture the joyful exuberance he is now experiencing in heaven.  God did not make him to sit still, so I expect he has been given an assignment that brings him joy.  He danced through life and right into eternity.  I expect he is still dancing.

A Special Treasure Hunt

Recently my five year-old granddaughter along with her parents and siblings visited me at my cottage.  The very first day, she was very anxious to take me on a treasure hunt.  She had hidden some treasures for me, and she had drawn a treasure map.  The map was very crude…she is after all only five…and I would never have guessed where the treasure was from the map alone.  She took my hand and guided me in the general direction.  She also gave me the hint that the treasure was in a round building.  She pointed out that on her map there was an X in the middle of a circle.

There are only two circular buildings on the campgrounds…the Main Tab (which means tabernacle and is where religious services are held) and a Gazebo which is a lovely spot with hanging baskets of flowers.

She steered me in the direction of the Gazebo, and there right in the middle was a Ziploc bag containing items which would be treasures to a five-year-old.  Shiny objects of various types filled the bag…beads and coins and fake jewels.  She was very pleased that I had found it.  I was relieved we had gone on the treasure hunt before some other child came along and found the treasure, since it was in plain sight.

As we returned to my cottage, she said, “I want you to put the treasure map on your refrigerator, because I don’t want you to forget me.”

How could I possibly forget her!  I would have to be in a state of extreme dementia to forget any of my grandchildren!

But, I did put the map on the frig along with other grandchild created items.

Reflecting on this, I have thought about the fact that God never forgets His children.  He doesn’t have a refrigerator on which to put our pictures or drawings, but He has carved our name in the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49:16)

I have a ring with the birthstones of my children and grandchildren.  It reminds me to pray for them, but carving our name in His palms is a step way beyond that.  I could become senile and forgetful, but God will not…cannot.  What a comforting thought!