Experience would tell me that my garden will yield more weeds than cucumbers this summer.
It would tell me I’ll be optimistic about the little wisps that appear in places other than where than where I’ve planted anything. It says I will wait to see if these little darlings are friendly wildflowers or a developing seed I sprinkled and forgot. And as I wait, the root of some strong-willed, drought tolerant, prickly-stalked invasive species will establish itself as the centerpiece of my garden. fluorescent
Not that I’m speaking from first hand memory or anything.
Experience says I will tire of the endless battle against Mother Nature’s crabby aunt, Rhizome, and will relinquish custody of the 10×15 plot when the mosquitos get too swarmy, the humidity too thick, or my allergies too ridiculously sneezy — like, how many sneezes does it take before you get annoyed with the sneezer and think they’re doing it on purpose? Turns out it’s not that many.
And yet…
Even though the above descriptions may be true, I can’t help but expect great things. This year will be different. This year, everything will work out!
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Someone I used to know is facing the most difficult, heart breaking thing she’ll probably ever go through. And even if it sounds childish, I can’t help feeling like it’s not fair. It’s not right. Her family shouldn’t have to go through this kind of loss, the kind that will forever change the trajectory of all their lives, the kind that will mark them with a scar that isn’t completely healable. How can this be their lot in life? How is this what God has for them? <— this is proof that old beliefs die hard. Once upon a time I thought God had a definitive plan for every one. Every single person. Imagine what that can do to your view of God, especially when everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I’ve shaken that off, but boy it pops up in weird ways every once in a while!
When I first heard the news of this tragedy, it wasn’t at the worst stage. The cancer had been detected, there was treatment ahead, and maybe things would be alright. What does it say that I hoped it would be alright but feared it probably wouldn’t be? Has grief so knocked me around that I’ve lost my ability to believe in the best for people?
People are saying that she has been given this burden to shine for God’s glory.
That sounds like a kind of spiritual abuse to me, and if not “abuse” certainly placing expectations on what grief should look like.
Because what if she can’t keep shining? Sometimes it seems that we’re only allowed to count for God if we say the right verses or smile the smile despite the circumstances.
What if she has to rage and gnash her teeth and spit and tear her clothes? Does that make her shine less?
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Even though there are times when the world too much, when so much evidence points to corruption, greed, and selfishness, there is substantial proof of the world also being beautiful, full of generosity and goodness.
Maybe having a healthy respect for the dark makes you look for and expect the Light.
I hope you don’t mind… I follow you. I know your mom and I knew your dad and loved him as our pastor and our friend. We talked often about death as one of our other dear friends died during our “care group” years. We talked about the why and the how type questions. The wondering about the purpose of such pain.
My own father died 4 years ago. Luckily he was with us for 92 years! We were so blessed. (My mother had died back in 1972 – so I know the other side of loss too… but that is another discussion.) My message I want to share is what my dad shared with me as he learned of his diagnosis and faced his eminent death. He said he’d try to teach his children how to live a good life and raised us up to be honorable people who loved the Lord. He had one final lesson for us… how to die in faith. Faith in a God who loves us and a God who cares. He taught his lesson well. Yes, we could say that he had a full life and one can’t complain when it happens at 90+ years… but we had lost our mom / his wife when she was barely 50 and she too died in Faith. Those lessons are hard taught and blessed to learn. It comforts me on dark days.
Amazing isn’t … after all the years.. there are still dark days and days of missing them… but comfort in know our Father in Heaven is loaning us angels who touch our lives now and then… whisper of his love .. and reminds us that we are not meant for this world… it is a passage to our homeland. Sue
Sue, thank you for taking time to visit and comment here. Of course I don’t mind! I’m glad to know of your friendship with my parents, and I appreciate your message of living a full life from beginning to end. I hope your memories bring continued warmth to your heart.
I come here from Five Minute Friday. I linked up right behind you. A loss is always difficult to handle, some more than others. But God is there for each of us during those times. One of my dearest friends and her husband are today sitting with his brother-in-law as he comes closer to the time of going to be with Jesus. When she called me, I could hear it in her voice. It is a sad time. This cancer has worn out the man’s wife and his daughter. The daughter had to go to work today so she called Uncle Dave and Aunt Martha and ask if they could come stay with her dad and allow her stepmother to get the rest she desperately needs.
Good luck with your garden!! I appreciated your thoughts on this grim situation where cancer is taking someone far too young. I’ve even made the comments of her graceful walk on this journey. I PRAY she doesn’t feel stress of how to display her feelings, but as you wrote that I realized we are watching. Wondering how they’re doing. I struggle with what to say. I don’t expect her to do this gracefully. I think it was the easiest thing to say. To give her credit. Yet, I pray she doesn’t feel like she’s not good enough if her emotions are all over. I think I would totally throw an angry party if it were me and I think that’s okay. Our emotions are not good or bad. They tell us how we feel. I wish I knew how to help someone grieve. Any insight? What’s helpful? What if you’re not a super close friend? How do you not say something dumb? I have all the feels for this family. It feels unfair. Thanks for getting me thinking…
I know you are probably even more familiar with the situation than I am. It really is heartbreaking.
I love the idea of our emotions not being good or bad, simply telling us how we feel. That’s such a key insight especially when dealing with such deep sorrow. There’s really not a right or wrong way to go through it. These situations are intimidating because the last thing you’d want to do is cause more pain by saying the wrong thing, but so often people solve that problem by saying nothing. I guess my two cents would be to acknowledge the difficulty of the situation, wishing you could do something to ease the pain or bring the healing that’s so ardently hoped for, and reaching out more than once to let them know they’re not alone even though they have to go through it on their own. Grief is such an isolating thing.
Love your big heart and sincere care. ((hugs))
Goodness, this is beautiful. Tragedy and pain come, experience says the garden won’t grow, but yet we trust and we plant and we wait. Thanks for sharing this. Visiting from last week’s FMF!