Until we meet again...

The death of the Beloved bears fruit in many lives. You and I have to trust that our short little lives can bear fruit far beyond the boundaries of our chronologies. But we have to choose this and trust deeply that we have a spirit to send that will bring joy, peace and life to those who will remember us.

- Henri Nouwen

Once again we have made that sad journey back home to our beginnings. These painful trips have come much too often of late for my husband’s family. Less than two years ago we said “goodbye” to his father and then to his mother and now, to his baby sister.

Hers was bittersweet. I guess most are.

It was only a year ago that she had a horrible fall which left her paralyzed and on a ventilator. The days that passed were never easy. Battling infections, poor medical care, bedsores – a weary warrior who tried to fight but the victory was not to be here. So at 45 years, her story ends and our stories change.

Rest in peace, Robin.



© A Sacred Longing 2009-2010

Rest In Peace

And I said to the one who stood at the gate of the year, “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the Unknown.” And he replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
Minnie Haskins

(my mother-in-law at her first time at the beach EVER -October 2009)

So, this dear friends is where I have been – learning to say goodbye.

My mother-in-law fought valiantly but her body failed her. The doctors, nurses, machines and medicines tried to change the course of fate but it was not to be. On January 6, 2010 with her family bedside, the machines stopped and so did the world, for one brief moment.

Collectively, we have said our goodbyes and shed our tears.

Privately, we are learning that grief lingers in corners and closets. This is not how a new year should begin.

2010
Be kind to me, I pray.
Your beginning has not been welcomed.

I beg of you that the days to come be kinder and gentler.

© A Sacred Longing 2009

Done vs Undone

I love this picture of the early morning near the Potomac River.

Calming.

Restful.

Peaceful.

I wish I could transplant myself somewhere into that scene but I can't. So instead, I journey around this bloggy world for some encouragement.

I wasn't disappointed. Of course, stopping by my bloggy friend, Elaine's site is always a pause well spent. Today, was no exception. If you have never visited Peace for the Journey you will be in for a "real" treat. Go there...as soon as you can. Elaine always pens her words with an honesty that speaks volumes. Today, it was just what I needed to hear.

You see, my life has been a bit jumbled of late. A mission trip, a horrendous accident of a family member and now the unknown of health concerns for my hubby.

I am done or at least, nearing being undone. If you have been there you know what I mean.

It is not easy to admit that I am tired.

It is not easy to admit that I am frustrated.

It is not easy to admit that I am not patient in the waiting.

It is not easy to admit that I don't know the answers.

While I know that God hasn't left me; while I know that God gives me the strength to handle life's stressors; while I know that God's timing is perfect; while I know that God can perform miracles -- what I need is to believe. I am echoing the desperate cry of the father in Mark 9, "I believe, help my unbelief."

I am being real here. We still need your prayers.

My sister-in-law has had surgery to stablize her cervical spine. She is a quadriplegic now. During the surgery it was noted that she has had some damage to vocal cords and there is concern that she may not be able to speak ever again. She is still intubated and on a ventilator but the good news is she is breathing strong over it and has shoulder movement. A permanent ventilator may not be needed. So, we wait ...

My hubby on his return trip from NC to be with his sister, received an unexpected call from his physician. Apparently, tests were concerning and warranted further testing. Those have been done and once again we are waiting for test results - could be serious - maybe not - so, we wait...

Since I am being real here, I don't wait well. Patience while a noble virtue, hasn't been a bulwark virtue in my life. It is one I am learning but honestly, don't know if it will ever find its home in me.

So, my friends, this is my life in the here and now.

Thank you for listening!

Thank you for praying!

© A Sacred Longing 2009

A Good 'Ole Country Boy

It was a hot summer day, the sticky kind of hot that smothers your skin and zaps the energy right out of you. Days like these you would have found me in the shade of the front porch watching the cars drive by sipping on the biggest glass of sweet tea around. That was the type of summer work that I liked to engage in but not so for my dad. He knew it was the growing time. Things needed to be done on the hot, sunny days in order to enjoy the harvest later.

You see, my dad was a gardener. What he could do with a small plot of land smack dab in the middle of the city was amazing. I am not a gardener. Green thumbs and dirt under the nails didn’t make it in my genetic makeup. I couldn’t fathom why you would want to work hard for those vegetables when you could go to the nearest supermarket and buy them. I didn’t understand then but I do now.

What I wouldn’t give for another bite of the fruit of his garden. The corn was sweeter. The tomatoes were bigger. The green beans were longer and the zucchinis were massive. There was a difference between the bought and the nurtured – a very big difference and it was more than size or taste. There was a sense of accomplishment knowing your hands together with God’s grace grew a harvest to be enjoyed.

I wish my eyes would have seen what was really unfolding in that dirt field when the seeds were planted. I wish that I had not discounted the work my father was accomplishing and sought the lazy pleasure of a shady porch. I am grateful for the memories of his 6’2” frame bent over his plants. The vision of him in his dirty denim overalls and straw brimmed hat brought horrified embarrassment to a teenage city girl and now brings a warm smile of recollection to a middle aged daughter’s heart. While I was city born and bred, he was Kentucky country through and through.

A good man
A hard working man
A country boy forever

Unfortunately, my dad no longer tills this earthen dirt. He is tending abundant gardens in heaven I am sure. With him is the wealth of when, where and how to plant and tend the tilled and furrowed rows. Gone with him is the hope that I will one day grow a plot of land and harvest a sweet bounty. Yet, the gathering isn’t complete.

My life is a gleaning of the harvest he began. The work of his heart and hands joined with God’s grace has tended the furrowed rows of my heart. The person I am today has been shaped by his example.

He loved the land. He loved his family. He loved his God.

He wasn’t perfect. This side of heaven none of us can claim that title. He was and will always remain my father. Legacy born in dirt; grown in time and lived in life. I am grateful the harvesting continues.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!






(This picture is from my wedding 26 years ago. Sadly and quite surprisingly, I couldn't find a picture of him in those denim overalls.)