William Wordsworth & Garth Brooks

Tim and his cousin Jordan, July 2003

Someone I love very much once asked me the following question: "If you had the chance to do it again, to have Tim again, knowing you would only have him that short time, and how he would die, would you?" (It's been a long time, those perhaps were not the exact words, but you get the idea). I didn't hesitate, I said, "of course!". I was not offended by the question, or put off by it in the least, but the answer was a no-brainer. Still is. Yes, we only had Tim for 15 1/2 years, but we had Tim for 15 1/2 years! I would not trade that time for anything. His death hurt so much precisely because we loved him so much, and it would be worse not to have that love, that boy. William Wordsworth, in a favorite quote of my husband's, said;

 "I loved the Boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me—yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it.."

We could not say it any better than that.  And that reminds me of a Garth Brooks song, "The Dance" (written by Tony Arata)

"And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance

 I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance"

As I write this, I am thinking of dear friends of ours. Their oldest son has Duchenne's MD. It is very rare for children with this disease to make it to 30 years of age. They know that every day they have is a gift. 

Peace

At the Cross Her Station Keeping

At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul of joy bereavèd,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

Oh, how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that mother blessèd
Of the sole begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
Of her ever glorious Son.

Who, on Christ’s dear mother gazing
Pierced by anguish so amazing
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ’s dear mother thinking
Such a cup of sorrow drinking
Would not share her sorrows deep?

For His people’s sins chastisèd,
She beheld her Son despisèd,
Scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till His Spirit He resigned.

Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart fresh ardor gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
May with Thee acceptance find.

Indeed, how can we not share her sorrows? When I saw The Passion of the Christ, which came out the year after Tim died. I was overwhelmed by the whole thing. And what affected me most deeply was Mary, his Mother. I was still new in my grief, and I very much related to her as a mother, her sorrow and her pain. The way she rushed to him when he fell as a child, and the sorrow all over her face as she watched her son die. To her, He was more than God incarnate, more than the Messiah, more than Jesus the Christ. He was her son. So much did she have to suffer. 

Looking forward to saying the Hallelujahs tomorrow, and savoring the joy and the hope of the resurrection, and  what that means for me in my own journey of grief.

Peace.

Faith the size of a mustard seed

A hillside near my home starts to bloom with wild mustard after winter rains.

Jesus told his disciples, If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it will obey you." Luke 17:6 NIV

I am often at odds with myself over faith. It is a constant struggle, but I know I am in good company. I question, "why did this happen?"  "Why me?" "Why us?" "What have I done to deserve this?" I wish I could recall who said this, but I once read about a woman with the same questions who finally said, "why not me?"

Sometime after Tim's death, we watched the movie "House of Sand and Fog". A teenage boy was shot and was in the emergency room. The father was on his knees pleading with God for the life of his son, making promises, etc. I found myself thinking, maybe I should have done that. I was not on my knees pleading, though I was pleading, in my head. And the only thing I could think of to pray was "Out of the depths I cry to you, oh Lord". I don't recall even being able to articulate, in my head, or aloud, what I wanted. I am sure I thought more than once, "please don't let him die".  Of course, he did die. And that led me to all sorts of doubts and concerns. Was my faith not enough? Not big enough, not strong enough? How could it be smaller than a mustard seed? I never was angry at God, though I could have been. I feel I would have been justified in ranting and raving at Him, and He can take it. But I never did. Instead I questioned myself, how was I lacking that I had to lose my child? What did I do wrong (plenty!). That period was its own special hell. What I came to realize, and perhaps it was my faith, or my understanding a little more about my faith, that helped me see this; perhaps God did save our son, just not in the way we would have wanted. And I have found I can live with that. Though I miss my Tim terribly.

I still run hot and cold as far as my spirituality is concerned. There are times, when I am feeling unhappy about myself, for whatever reason, that I tend to distance myself spiritually. I recall quite clearly, as recently as a year ago, not wanting to go to church. More than once I used the fact that I had hospitality duties, as an excuse not to sit in the church during service. We got there plenty early enough that I could have the coffee and everything ready to go, and still sit in most of the service, but I wouldn't. I didn't want to be there. I quit doing my daily prayer and bible, I just kind of shut myself off. Because mostly I didn't feel worthy. And certainly not deserving. But I made myself go, and tried to open myself back up to God and the church again. I told someone recently that I have a hard time with "let go, and let God". I am a hoarder of my regrets, my pains (self inflicted or other inflicted), and I hold them to me and stew over them. And with that, I will leave you with the words from one of my favorite hymns we sang recently in church. It all pretty much sums up what I was feeling at the time. So undeserving.

Ah, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,
That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon Thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee.
’Twas I, Lord, Jesus, I it was denied Thee!
I crucified Thee.
Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.
For me, kind Jesus, was Thy incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life’s oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.
Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,
I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee,
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.

Peace.