Embracing Joy and Sorrow

 This prayer on "Embracing Joy and Sorrow", was recently shared with me by one of my sisters.  It has been so timely and has been providing me with somewhat of a template to sift through a myriad of emotions.

 

Do not be distant, O Lord,

lest I find this burden of loss too heavy,

and shrink from the necessary experience of my grief.

 

Do not be distant,

O Lord, lest I become so mired in yesterday’s hurts, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

that I miss entirely

the living gifts this day might hold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let me neither ignore my pain,

pretending all is okay when it isn’t,

nor coddle and magnify my pain,

so that I dull my capacity

to experience all that remains good in this life.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For joy that denies sorrow 

is neither hard-won,

nor true, nor eternal.

It is not real joy at all.

And sorrow that refuses to make space

for the return of joy and hope,

in the end becomes nothing more than a temple

for the worship of my own woundedness.

 

So, give me strength, O God,

to feel this grief deeply,

never to hide my heart from it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And give me also hope enough

to remain open to surprising encounters with joy,

as one on a woodland path might stumble suddenly

into dapplings of golden light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amidst the pain that lades these days,

give me courage,

O Lord; courage to live them fully,

to love and to allow myself to be loved,

to remember, grieve, and honor what was, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to live with thanksgiving in what is, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and to invest in the hope of what will be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Be at work gilding these long heartbreaks 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

with the advent of new joys,

good friendships,

true fellowships, unexpected delights. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remind me again and again of your goodness,

your presence, your promises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For this is who we are: a people of The Promise—

a people shaped in the image of the God

whose very being generates all joy in the universe,

yet who also weeps and grieves its brokenness.

 

So we, your children,

are also at liberty to lament our losses, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

even as we simultaneously rejoice

in the hope of their coming restoration. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let me learn now, O Lord,

to do this as naturally as the inhale and exhale

of a single breath:

 

To breathe out sorrow,

to breathe in joy.

 

To breathe out lament,

to breathe in hope.

 

To breathe out pain,

to breathe in comfort.

 

To breathe out sorrow,

to breathe in joy.

 

 

In one hand I grasp the burden of my grief,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

while with the other I reach for

the hope of grief ’s redemption.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here, between the tension of the two,

between what was and what will be,

in the very is of now,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

let my heart be

surprised by,

shaped by,

warmed by,

remade by,

the same joy that forever wells within

and radiates from your heart, O God. 

Amen.

 

Liturgy  "Embracing Joy and Sorrow"

"Every Moment Holy"

Douglas McKelvey

One year

One year

52 weeks

365 days

All the "firsts".

The first Easter, first Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, first birthday, wedding anniversary, holiday.  Each calendar page has turned and twelve months later, we are here at the first anniversary of Mom's death and her home-going.  I hold her loss in light of eternity and this makes all the difference.

The year was not what I had envisioned.  Never did I picture a pandemic altering the path of grief.  "Being together" as a family was to be a significant part of healing.  "Being together" was to aid in our adjustment of what family now looks like.  "Being together" was to provide us with moments to laugh and cry, remember and celebrate and mark the journey.  Like the rest of the world, we creatively wrote our own first year grief story.

It was painful and joyous, hard and simple, empty and rich, frustrating and satisfying, with tears and laughter, regrets and gratitude, all of which I suppose, is the path of grief on a "good" year.

At times, I'm still unsure if Mom's death has truly hit me.  I can still hear her grandiose laughter, the inflection in her voice as she dramatized an experience, the way she greeted me when I walked in the door.  I can hear her tone when she was frustrated and her sigh of weariness.  I can hear her vehemently disagree and joyfully celebrate.  I can remember her movements when she was healthy and when she was sick.  In many ways, Mom continues to be "alive" for me, and yet, she's not here.  I wonder if, because we couldn't gather in the usual way, if, once that day arrives, it will feel like the "firsts" all over again?  Yet I know that family is never stagnant; we are forever changing as individuals, and the coming months will most assuredly bring forth the new with other "firsts".

Though life seemed to stop when Mom died, it was merely an illusion.  We continued to move forward, however haltingly, even when it felt otherwise.  I have latched on to these words from Sallie Tisdale, "Grief is the opportunity to cherish another without reservation.  Grief is the breath after the last one."  "To cherish another without reservation"--I love that there is a place in my heart which is solely reserved for Mom.  No other person encroaches on this space.  It's just for her...for me...our place.

Many memories have come to visit me in these last few days.  I spent the final two afternoons of Mom's life caring for her, and was there with Dad when she took her last breath.  Those were agonizing passages of time for me.  Two words which came to mind last evening were "Sacred Burden."  My time with Mom was sacred AND it was a burden.  It was both.  They were and are woven together in ways which have made it virtually impossible to separate.  The sacred held the overwhelming sadness of suffering and it carries like a burden in my spirit.  And, this burden, this weight, holds the sacred tension which marks the path from living to dying and all that transpired as time slipped away. And yes, to pray someone into the presence of Jesus is sacred. To be present through all of this was a high honor, another part of these feelings of reverent heaviness.  Perhaps one day my  memory will only speak of the Sacred.  I don't know.  Today, one year later, those time- suspended -hours remain a "Sacred Burden."

I reflect with thanksgiving on the ways in which we were able to be together, laughing and crying, in those first days after Mom passed.  That we could remember and celebrate her life in grandiose fashion,  with hundreds of people, is a rich memory I do not take for granted.  And, that we can't be together today, even with our immediate family, is disheartening if I think too much on that.  None of this, including death, is the way it's supposed to be.  But Mom would not sit around and stew about what cannot be.  She emphasized this in her everyday living.  

For myself as someone who likes to plan, I have some special ways of remembering and celebrating her life.  Dad and I will go for a winter walk on the trails near my home.  I cherish my dear Dad.  He has been such a courageous man.  One of my sister's is teaching at a Virtual Women's Conference and I "signed" up just to hear her speak.  It seems perfect to listen to one of Mom's legacy's share her heart!  The small bag of potato chips I bought (Mom loved chips!!!) will be a fun snack to munch on at the same time.  I must remember to mute myself! haha   I now have in my closet, various pieces of clothing that she wore and her warm, cozy sweater and infinity scarf will bring me comfort in many ways. A plant of remembrance sits on my coffee table.   I came to the realization a few days ago that even my ways to mark this day feel insufficient.  We can't always fill the empty places.  They are there for a reason.  They point us to the one who no longer fills the space.  

I miss you Mom.

I love you Mom. 

Grace --2021

Grace...my word for 2021.  It's a word where, if tangible, I would, like a warm, cozy blanket, wrap it around my shoulders for the days ahead.  I love this word and yet, it's one that I cannot grasp, something which I am not always generous to give to others and that which I find  seemingly impossible to give to myself.

The biblical definition would define grace as God's unmerited favor.  

Webster's Dictionary would list "the exercise of love, kindness, mercy, favor; disposition to benefit or serve another, favor bestowed or privilege conferred."

Grace covers a lot of ground.  It's beautiful, powerful, deep, lavish and much more.

At times, I wonder if I'm not more like the Israelite's in the Old Testament, trying to keep their 613 laws.  But Jesus brought free flowing grace, so why oh why do I resist?!

As I said, grace covers a wide expanse of territory.  Henri Nouwen writes, "I am gradually learning that the call to gratitude asks us to say, 'everything is grace.'"  Really???  Everything???

I vividly remember my Spiritual Director introducing me to this re-framing of life by referring to circumstances, however complicated or painful, as "a grace of God."  That somehow, God would use even "this" in a redemptive way.

All of this wholly challenges me and reminds me that I am barely at the fringe of understanding, embracing and living out of grace.

So what a beautiful word to grow into as this calendar year begins!

Why wouldn't my Grace-filled God desire to pour out this gift on the pages of my life?!

Onward then, by His grace, into grace.