Reflections

You painted the sky for me tonight.
Brilliant hues of pink,
pastels of mauve, peach and baby blue.

You, in all Your glory.
And I know You did it for me
because it so sharply contrasts
the colours of my world.
I am enshrouded in the murky,
death-like grip of greys and black.

You calmed the wind for me tonight
so the lake was a shimmering
mirror to highlight Your painting.
You, in all Your power.
And I know You did it for me
because the waves that crash
into my soul day after day
have been relentless.

I wanted to ask You, oh Glorious One,
why You won't paint new colors in my life...
I wanted to ask You, the God whose power calms
the sea with just a word,
why You won't still the storm in me.
But, something in my spirit tells me
that tonight is not a night for questions...
It's a time for silence, awe and gratitude.
So thank You for giving me
the gift of tonight--
of seeing a majestic You.
I'll save my questions
for another night.
--Eden July 21, 2005
Juanita

The above prose was written five summers ago.  The breathtaking sunset was just a month ago.

I've reflected and given thanks many times these past six weeks for the gift of enjoying this year's summer season.  How grateful I am that God in His mercy has  painted new colors in my life; that the storm within has been calmed .

Living life five years ago was about survival....about struggling to believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel I was in.  It was a time in which I wondered if I would ever laugh again...ever taste the goodness of life that had been stripped away.  Gripping anxiety and torturous depression were my constant companions.

But He gave me incredible sunsets, among countless other gifts, to remind me of Who He was.

And today, I can laugh until it hurts, and fully engage in life's joyous goodness.  My spirit knows serenity, and my mind has gained peace.  I have even glimpsed the sovereign workings of my God throughout those years of suffering.  The unanswered questions remain in His safekeeping.

"What shall I render to the Lord
For all His benefits toward me?"
--Psalm 116:12

May  my life be an all encompassing response.

Remembering my Mother June 20, 1940 -April 24, 1970

Today, April 24, 2010 marks 40 years since my mother's tragic death.  I use the word tragic, because it still is.  Even though healing has come and my life has flourished.  Even though I can gaze at pictures and smile instead of cry.  Even though "inherited" memories bring a sense of peace and not sorrow.  Even though remembrances of her own brief life grace my home but do not grieve my spirit.  Even though God has indeed fulfilled Romans 8:28 and brought a rich goodness into my life...April 24, 1970 was a day of tragedy, unfairness and deep sorrow.

My mother was, in a moment, ripped from this world...my world.  I have spent 40 years wandering, groping, fighting, grieving, and eventually releasing the heart breaking mystery of her untimely death.  I have moved forward through the journey of sorrow.  I have not moved on.  Moving on would signify a desire to forget, to ignore the impact of her life on mine, to pretend that she does not occupy a sacred place in my heart.

Because she does.  Instead, I have moved forward through the mystery, without it ever being solved.  I have moved onward through the pain that at one time overwhelmed my being.  I have moved forward, not because I wanted to, but because I needed to.  So that I could, in the fullest way possible, be a devoted mother to my own children.  To continue in her footsteps of devotion to me, despite their brevity.

It's not supposed to be like this.  Drunk drivers are not supposed to get behind the wheel of a car...ever.  Mothers are not supposed to die before their 30th birthday.  Little girls are not supposed to touch their mother for the last time...in a casket.  But this side of Eden, there are lots of "not supposed to".  And if you don't have at least one,  you will.  Until our lives on this earth are fully redeemed, we will live with "not supposed to".

 Throughout the years, I have marked this day in various ways.  This year,as April 24th loomed on the calender, I began to ponder what I might do that was unique to where I am on this journey.  And it came to me.  I'm going to be a mother to my kids.  I'm going to kiss them and hug them when they wake up, wash their breakfast dishes, and hear their plans for the day.  I'm going to send them off to their scheduled events with my prayers and more hugs and kisses.  And they when they return home, I will be here... to listen, to laugh with them, to comfort them, to be there for them, in whatever it is that they need.

And I'm going to be a wife, and enjoy my husband and the beautiful life we share together.  I will hold hands with him as we go to the luncheon we have been invited to.  I will sit close, and watch him interact with people, knowing that out of all the people in the world, he picked me!  And at the close of the day, I will crawl into bed beside him, grateful for the shelter he provides for me.

I'm going to spend time with friends...some who are living their all-too-fresh-"not supposed to".  I will sit with God in the quiet of the day and give thanks that the Eternal Comforter has indeed covered me through seemingly endless sorrow.  

Today, I'm going to "live" this life that God has given me to live.  For reasons beyond my understanding, my mother's living was cut painfully short.  But I am still living mine.  And I want to live it fully, purposefully, richly.

 Remembering you Mom...with all my love...your daughter, Juanita