Tag Archives: God’s grace

Crashing waves of dark and light

Leave a reply

feb calendar 2

The turning of a calendar page

Such a simple act for most people. For me, the turning eleven months out of the year is no problem. But, there is always a but, the twelfth month is a harsh reminder. A reminder that the waves I don’t see now are swirling out there in the inky abyss and they will come crashing down around us at various times in the course of these twenty-nine days. I am not ready. I haven’t packed any lifelines – other than well-worn knees that ask God for divine portions of his heavenly grace.

I turn the page and see the young man born in this month. As great as my sadness is I can only imagine the dichotomous roller coaster he must feel. Celebrating the day God gave him to us, to the world, but (there it is again) a few days prior we mourn the loss of his best friend – our first born. The world grew darker when our little sunshine was dimmed. In a world where he was perfectly happy to be second to the big brother who was his world, do we now make him feel second even more so as we regroup from our sadness to celebrate his awesomeness.

feb calendar1

The waves start to crash down. I confidently know that we are part of God’s melodic love song. Reed’s verse was shorter than we had hoped. But my heart’s song will always echo more. More. I just wanted more.

Like those waves of grief, I cannot stop the reverberation of more.

The cheerleaders, the well-wishers, the givers, and those on bended knee are still there. Their love carries us forward, even when we know the waves are coming. We prepare ourselves to be beaten into the rocks and to taste to saltiness of the waves. Somehow we are buoyed by those who remember.

Then an unexpected wave comes crashing down. I am caught completely off guard.

Stinging tears fall down. Maybe it is because I know the page turning will commence soon. Maybe the month I dread is on the next page. Time flies when you are having fun and sneaks in when you aren’t ready.

Everyone is gone from home and I sit and cry. I cry remembering all those long ago moments when the holes and scars and battle wounds didn’t fill our days. The days when life was simple, and we would spend half a summer day in our jammies and be filled with the wonders of the world.

Then somewhere deep in the cortical folds I remember the games we made up. The ones we played (momma and kiddos) on the white carpeted floor. The games where we would play for hours and fall out laughing from the joy of our silliness. I long for those days. I want to savor them, hold them in my aching arms and embrace them. The scent of childhood innocence still lingers here.

The memory of the game makes me laugh and smile, but it makes me cry even more. The simplicity of days. The joy of memories of days long ago, but days that God allowed us to have. The memories are too precious to carry alone.

I grab the phone and text the college son.

Having a tough grief day. Missing the days when we played “we are going to make a salad”.

In one moment, the university man remembers his time as one of the boys of summer, Stevens style.

That game was the best and me and Reed always had to be hair ball ingredients.

His response – reassuring and validating – was like manna of grace raining down. The lifelines I hadn’t packed God amply supplied. God’s grace. God’s amazing, providential, all-loving grace seeps into the dark crevices that ache for the time when this month wasn’t painful.

Once again, I am reminded that God’s light shines brightest in the darkness. Through it all – the pitch black of grief and the moments of silliness in our summer jammies and everything in between – God’s love has been in every moment.

And come what may in the tsunamic waves of grief and the turning of calendar pages; this same love will carry us through.

God once said, “Let the light shine out of the darkness!”

2 Corinthians 4:6a (NCV)

 

 

 

 

 

Taking a deep breath

Leave a reply

Growing up, our family did two things almost without fail. Both followed other anchors in my life, as if that was that natural order in our home.  Following basketball games, we often went out with other coaches’ and team members’ families for dessert.  My standard order was hot fudge cake at Shoney’s.  That succulent tower of chocolate cake, ice cream, fudge and whipping cream is still my all-time favorite dessert. The second thing we did rather dependably followed Sunday morning services.  We went to eat at a local restaurant, known as The Varsity.  Growing up, I didn’t much appreciate this second one, because I wanted to go eat at some hip cool fast-food restaurant rather one that served good ol’ Southern cooking.  At that time in my life, I wanted to venture on the edge of dining, and not be stuck in deeply entrenched ruts. Right now (older and wiser), I wish The Varsity was still open, and I could force (I mean, take) my kids to eat there.

There are several things that I vividly remember about both of those old hang outs.  First and foremost, each time we went there I was surrounded by people who loved Jesus (and who loved us).  I don’t know that I can adequately describe that feeling.  Growing up the way I did, there is just something about Southern people who love Jesus.  They have an air to them – full of life, hearty talks, and bellies full from all the tables piled with food. It’s true what the Bible says about Christians having an aroma.  Then and now, my soul senses want to soak up every molecule.   Another thing that defines those memories is the ease of Southern hospitality.  I miss “Yes ma’am’s” and “No sir’s”, and I really miss being called, “Shug or Honey” by just about everyone, including the waitress.  Formal rituals dot every rhythm of society in those memories, but yet those rhythms come with ease.  Finally laughter punctuates every memory. Next to salvation and creation, I think laughter was one of God’s finest masterpieces.

The flavor of my childhood is not something I experience often these days.  It’s not that I live among heathens who also happen to be curmudgeons.  Quite the opposite, I live among wonderfully vibrant and caring people (who also love Jesus and who love to laugh), but that Southern hospitality (and sometimes craziness) is seldom found in my neck of the woods.

Following my talk to the sweetest bunch of Sunday school ladies ever, a group of us decided to high tail it over to the Cracker Barrel for lunch.  There were six of us at our table, but seated at the table directly behind us were fellow worshippers from that morning.  We created such ruckus at our table that one gentleman from the other asked if he could be re-seated  . . . with us . . . because we were having too much fun.  His proclamation reminded me so much of some of Granddaddy’s friends that I wanted to jump up and hug him.

I shared both laughter and tears with sweet Miss C. Love her!

I shared both laughter and tears with sweet Miss C. Love her!

I’ve eaten at Cracker Barrels from Florida to South Dakota, but that day surrounded by new sisters is one I will remember.  A biscuit is a biscuit no matter where you eat it; so, it wasn’t the food that made the lunch memorable.  It was the essence. There were stories swapped, tears shed both in laughter and in awe of God’s amazing grace in trials of life. There were hands held and prayers shared.

Somewhere in that crowded restaurant, God reminded me that the things longed for  aren’t always  that far away because I took a deep breath and inhaled the precious air of my childhood.