Prayer when Mourning

As I sing this dirge

may its notes be transfigured, transmuted, transposed,

the dissonance of fear and anger

resolving into harmonic chords of grace and beauty.

In your mercy let the melody of my life
echo the voice of your unending song.

Bits and Pieces

Today I preached at a really cool neighborhood church.  The people were welcoming, warm, funny, and eager to listen.

I talked about disappointment with God, and we worked through the story of John the Baptist together.  Good stuff.  

Of course, since this blog is called "Sermons I Never Preached"  I probably shouldn't talk about sermons I actually have given.  Or not.  Hee hee.    

This week also begins the last week of our trip here in the Philippines, we head back for Honolulu on Thursday where our "real life" awaits.  I'm really going to miss being here. However, I will be happy to be closer to our memories of Vincent, be able to easily visit his grave, and Theo will also enjoy starting up his half-time preschool again.  

I'm planning on seeing Irish on Tuesday or Wednesday this week, to check in on how her son with leukemia is doing. I'll let you all know as well.  

Vertigo

Walking down the stairs to get a drink of water last night I experienced a sudden furious attack of vertigo. I've been diagnosed and treated for this before, gone to the ER when the dizziness was so extreme I couldn't keep down enough liquids to stay hydrated.

On the stairs last night I had to stop walking and as I closed my eyes and clutched the railing I envisioned the tile flat beneath my feet and the walls rising straight up to meet the ceiling. When you have an attack of vertigo it's like spinning uncontrollably under water. You have no idea which way is up.

Much of this past year since losing Vincent has been like that - events careening out of control, feeling helpless, submerged, disoriented, powerless. At some point in time I have to believe that the path is smooth before me, that the spinning in my head will stop. I have to trust that my feelings don't have the final say, that it will get better, that one day I will realize which way is up. Until then I'll keep moving, swimming up toward the light, walking slowly while putting one foot carefully in front of the other. Trusting, even when it feels wrong.

Prayer for Help

God,
When words run dry
fill my mouth with your speech
When patience evaporates
flood my will with your strength
And when my faith wavers
pour in your hope
In the name of Him who turned water to wine and calmed the raging sea,
Amen.

Frustrated

I'm so over grieving.

I wish there was something else for me to talk about, think about. I'm tired of hearing myself talk about the same things, go through the same emotions, replay the same tapes in my head.

Frankly, it's annoying me. I'm bored with myself.

But every morning I wake up and realize that our family is still short one person. I freak out at the airport when I can only find 3 passports until I remember there are only three of us here now. I cannot escape or move past this grief. I am fully aware I will live with it for the rest of my life. It is as if I have an amputated limb -- it will never grow back, but with help, I can learn to walk again.

Is there a new song I can sing? A song that embraces my pain yet moves beyond it, a song that doesn't deny my feelings of loss but instead utilizes them, a song shaped by fear but filled with faith?

Hopefully the cavernous hole my son's death left in my heart will become a lake teaming with life.

It needs to happen soon, because my patience is running out.

A Good Tired

Since arriving here in Singapore three days ago we've traveled the city-state by MRT, bus, and taxi, as well as walked what seems to be miles upon miles.  I am now experiencing the bone-numbing sensation of exhaustion.  But it's a satisfying feeling, a happy tired.

Tuesday this week we visited the Jurong bird park followed by the Science Center which contains the world's largest I-max theatre. We saw a show about the Hubble telescope -- its various technical issues and how they were fixed as well as phenomenal photographs it has taken.

I don't really cry in public. But I cried-- shaking my shoulders crying-- as we saw newborn stars in nurseries explode into euphoric light. I cried as I saw mishapen galaxies from the beginning of time. And I cried as I saw this - a butterfly made by exploding gases as a star slowly dies.

I miss my little star, Vincent.   And when I went into the rainforest section of the Singapore zoo today, the butterflies fluttering nearby reminded me of his presence with us.

Running Scared

Being here in the Philippines for these last few weeks has been refreshing, rewarding, relaxing. Having time to not do anything, especially with one's own family, is a hard-won luxury. Yet in spite all this free time we've been having, I don't feel that I've made huge bounds in my grief work. I'm still afraid much of the time. I'm willing to go on medication if that will really help, but I'm also hestitant to add another chemical to my already volatile body. I don't want to choose a medical answer if I really have a spiritual problem. I know most of the time things can't be separated that easily, we are bodies as well as spirits and sometimes our bodies need a little bit of help. And some form of medication may be the final solution, especially if I have PTSD which is highly possible. We'll see.

Too often I feel as if the soundtrack to my life is frightening, foreboding, dark. When that happens I just want the music to stop, or to start playing a Bach minuet or a Mozart piano concerto instead. And then my imagination kicks in with a random thought that ends at the gravesite of another family member. Or something worse. It only takes a few seconds for these vivid thoughts to play themselves out in my mind. It happens so quickly that by the time I realize what is happening and give my fear to God, I'm already viewing something terrible.

How do you trust God enough to let go of your fears, especially when something truly horrible has happened to you? Fear is a hard master. But when you keep your guard up and don't expect much, at least you have the option of being somewhat prepared for when the next bad thing happens. You're not surprised. You saw it coming. (So the argument goes in my head.) I know it's a ridiculous argument. Fear does not prepare for you for anything. The very nature of fear debilitates and disempowers. I know that.

So even though God and I are on speaking terms, I still find it hard to trust Him. After all, how can you trust someone as dangerous as God? He didn't hesitate to send himself to die for our sake. He gives freely, loves extravagantly. It cost him everything to offer us a relationship and the hope of heaven. I'm not like that. I love my own skin more than my neighbors'. I don't want to love everyone extravagantly, just my friends and family. And giving freely - forget it! What if my family needs that? Giving freely requires sacrifice, self-denial, risk. I give stintingly, and that's when I feel I can afford it.

There's a big part of me that just wants to be left alone to grow lazy and complacent. I don't fully trust someone who will love me enough to change me, love me enough to give me his eyesight, perspective, wisdom - his very life. That all comes at a cost, a very high, high cost. It demands of me more than I really want to give. And yet He still calls me, compels me beyond my fears to come and lay down my life in order to find it. To surrender my will for his. And to allow myself be worked into the fabric of his glorious future.