poetry

I knew in college that I was learning a lot of things, but I think I'm still discovering even now just how greatly my college experience shaped who I am today.

One of the authors I was exposed to in college was James Weldon Johnson, particularly his book of poems called God's Trombones, based on African-American sermons. One of the drama students in college performed several of his pieces during chapel, and I've never forgotten those presentations. I checked the book out from the library this weekend and read several of the poems/sermons to Bobby this afternoon.

Johnson took liberties in his poetry, which many black preachers tend to do, but he captured the cadence of the sermon extremely well. I can hear the rhythm and deep, bass voice in my head every time I read one. While "Creation" is probably the most well-known of the seven sermons, it's actually not one of my top two favorites. As morbid as it sounds, one of them is "Go Down Death". I've heard it read at many funerals, though I never realized it was a Johnson poem until I checked out his book. I found it somewhat fitting and comforting that a book I checked out for the poem "The Judgement" also included a piece about grieving and hope. Over Christmas a college classmate lost her husband.  And Welch college alumni (formerly Free Will Baptist Bible College) are still reeling with the death of 32 year old Bethany Atwood Lytle last week, missionary to Peru, wife, and mother of 3 very small children. I find assurance in the reminder that God has allotted all of our days, and he knows when the time is up, even if it takes us by surprise. I still ache for those families and her close friends. I doubt they'll ever know how many people have taken them before the throne of grace this last week, and will continue to do so in the year ahead. It won't make their grief go away, but I pray it will at least be a little more bearable.

And in case you've never read anything by Johnson, here's one of my two favorites:

Go Down Death

James Weldon Johnson 

Weep not, weep not, She is not dead;  She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.  Heart-broken husband—weep no more;  Grief-stricken son—weep no more;  Left-lonesome daughter—weep no more;  She’s only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,  God was looking down from his great, high heaven,  Looking down on all his children,  And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,  Tossing on her bed of pain.  And God’s big heart was touched with pity,  With the everlasting pity.  And God sat back on his throne,  And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:  Call me Death!  And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice  That broke like a clap of thunder:  Call Death!—Call Death!  And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven  Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,  Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.  And Death heard the summons,  And he leaped on his fastest horse,  Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.  Up the golden street Death galloped,  And the hoofs of his horse struck fire from the gold,  But they didn’t make no sound.  Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,  And waited for God’s command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,  Go down to Savannah, Georgia,  Down in Yamacraw,  And find Sister Caroline.  She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,  She’s labored long in my vineyard,  And she’s tired—  She’s weary—   Go down, Death, and bring her to me.  And Death didn’t say a word,  But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,  And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,  And out and down he rode,  Through heaven’s pearly gates,  Past suns and moons and stars;  On Death rode,  And the foam from his horse was like a comet in the sky;  On Death rode,  Leaving the lightning’s flash behind;  Straight on down he came.  While we were watching round her bed,  She turned her eyes and looked away,  She saw what we couldn’t see;  She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death  Coming like a falling star.  But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;  He looked to her like a welcome friend.  And she whispered to us: I’m going home,  And she smiled and closed her eyes.  And Death took her up like a baby,  And she lay in his icy arms,  But she didn’t feel no chill.  And Death began to ride again—  Up beyond the evening star,  Out beyond the morning star, Into the glittering light of glory,  On to the Great White Throne.  And there he laid Sister Caroline  On the loving breast of Jesus.  And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,  And he smoothed the furrows from her face,  And the angels sang a little song,  And Jesus rocked her in his arms,  And kept a-saying: Take your rest,  Take your rest, take your rest.  Weep not—weep not,  She is not dead;  She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

never ending

We've not seen a lot of our newest neighbors, which surprised us. When they were preparing the house and working towards their moving date, they always honked their horn when they went by, waved, or stopped to talk. Then they moved in, and it all stopped. Bobby tried to call their cellphones, only to find they had been disconnected.

Yesterday we walked up the hill to say hello, and found out that his wife was diagnosed with cancer right before they moved, is now taking treatments through Duke, and is not doing well. I cannot imagine moving to a new place without knowing anyone (although her daughter does live in Raleigh) and facing a life-threatening illness at the same time. I thought he'd lost a lot of weight since this time last year, and he admitted the heat is killing him this year. (They're from Michigan.) Last summer he shocked me by how long he'd stay outside and work in the yard (he'd come and work for a week at a time), even on the hottest days. He laughingly said that this year he's gladly retreating from the heat. And I don't blame him one bit.

Sometimes we choose areas of service. Othertimes they quietly present themselves to us. And I think those are often the greatest needs.

#2

This past Saturday Cordova High School Class of 1991 lost its second member.
Jermaine Cook was 40 years old, has two children, and served our country in the US Army for 15 years.We knew him as "Wormy".  I don't know how he got that name, whether it was because he was short and wiry, or from his football skills, or from constantly moving, but it stuck.I remember him laughing, the group of guys he hung out with, and his rap performance in the school talent show (he did quite well).And those days still seem like yesterday.So this Saturday while I'm at a family reunion in North Carolina, my heart and thoughts will be in Alabama with my classmates as they cross the tracks to Mt. Zion church and weep and reminisce. I wish I could be there with them, to chat, to hug, to speak to his Mom. The night of our graduation, our principal challenged us to look around the room at everyone before we marched out, for that night would most likely be the last time we saw some of our classmates. We thought that was just dumb. But Mr. Cooper, once again, you were right.  We started out that school year with 55, by graduation we had 52. And since that night, we've lost two more. I guess sometimes ignorance truly is bliss. 

sunshine

Last night on the news there was another clip about how tanning beds cause melanoma and how the cancer numbers on the rise among women in the 20-30 bracket. I've heard this all my life, and my parents were never thrilled the summers I had a nice tan (and I used sunscreen, most of the time).  My younger sister started visiting a tanning salon once she got a job, and had been doing so for several months before my parents found out. My mom was apoplectic.  Fast forward 20 something years, add two more melanoma bouts for Mom, and she's just as vigilant about how dangerous a sunburn can be. Every time my sister has to have a spot removed to be checked, my Mom starts preaching a sermon to all us girls about getting too much sun (or for my sister to get rid of her tanning bed).

But there's a catch. My Vitamin D levels are scary low. As in, last year I had to take rickets medicine for several months and I now have to take a Vitamin D supplement in addition to a multi-vitamin. It makes me feel old. So this spring/summer, my goal is to spend at least 10-15 minutes outside, in the sun, in hopes it will help. My arms and face are getting tan (or else my freckles are finally meshing), my legs aren't, and my neck just seems to stay red. I know that when I see my Mom, she's going to have a fit.

And that's okay. I can bear in mind that she loves me and is concerned, is fearful of what may come, and patiently smile and listen. Until she spots a red highlight, which I get from her and the sun, and she'll start to mess with my hair and offer to put in a perm for me which drives me absolutely insane.

So I'm enjoying the sunshine, checking all moles periodically and reviewing my ABCs of melanoma pamphlet, and rejoicing in today and the breeze and sunshine. If you've not ever seen what the ABCs of melanoma are and you a) have someone in your family with skin cancer or b) have a skin type the freckles or burns easily, then I urge you to google it (or visit wral.com).  It is one of those things where ignorance is not bliss.

a good but crazy week

Since my last post, a LOT has happened.

On Wednesday we received word that a friend of ours lost her husband. I've never met him, but we were among many who prayed for his salvation. He grew up in a pastor's home and wanted absolutely nothing to do with faith. His wife didn't grow up in church, and found Christ, after marriage, to be the missing piece in her life. Within a few months of his cancer diagnosis, he came to Christ. So I hurt for my friend and her loss, but am rejoicing that we know where her husband is today. His funeral is tomorrow, and I can assure you that the wife's church will be rejoicing to an answered prayer of over 20 years.

On the other hand, my heart is still hurting for a family in our church in a similar situation, but with a different outcome. It's definitely a double loss for them.

Thursday - the insanity began. We returned to healthy eating (by our standards - making sure we eat the required amount of fruits and vegetables and less meat and bread, and for me going back to myfitnesspal and counting my calories). I am giving myself official holidays and birthdays off, and that's it. It's not been easy. At all. I don't have a timeline, but I need to lose 110 pounds. That will still have me overweight on the charts, but since I've never matched the charts, that doesn't bother me. The longest I've ever lasted on this journey has been three months, but I'm trying not to think about the future and just worry about today.

That night at our ladies book club at church (we're reading Respectable Sins by Jerry Bridges), I found it SO applicable to the day (not being thankful for my healthy vegetables, anxiety over whether or not I'll fail again, etc) and I love being able to laugh with the ladies in our church. I love their openness and the honesty, and the fact we can talk about areas in our lives that need improvement without fear of condemnation. That is such a blessing.

And while I was at the meeting, Bobby's last remaining aunt (the youngest of his Dad's siblings) was at the hospital undergoing a partial hip replacement. We had seen her Saturday and she could barely walk, so I wasn't terribly surprised to hear she broke her hip. I'm thankful for the care she has received where she lives (and I'm making myself a note to blog about it soon). I don't know what the future will hold for her now, but as I watch her I often wonder will I one day be in her shoes (she doesn't have childen and never married...totally on her own).

And today is my Dad's birthday. I got to talk to him this morning, though I don't think his card will make it to AL today. It's hard to believe I have a parent who is 71. I think my younger siblings will get together Sunday for lunch to celebrate with them. I don't think his cake will be as cool as mine that my sister got for me (see below), but if my 8 year old niece and 11 year old nephew have any say, it will be uniqe.

And now I need to sign off before I start craving chocolate chip cookies again. Bernina quilt sampler information will have to wait for another day.

jehovah-jireh

On Wednesday nights we've been studying the names of God in the Old Testament. Last night was one I knew, Jehovah-jireh (The LORD Will Provide), and yet it couldn't have been a more timely reminder or study.

Bobby and I have two close friends who are both fighting cancer right now, one terminally. I also have a cousin and a blogger friend going through the same battles.  After eating lunch with Wendy yesterday, I knew why she had been SO heavy on my heart last week, and my heart still grieves for all she and so many others are facing.

So it was quite comforting last night to be reminded of God's provisions. As Pastor Mike threw out scenarios at the end of class and we responded with Scripture that supported those claims, it was nice to hear and think of verses that remind us of His presence in the times that aren't the best.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; ~ the first line of Isaiah 43:2.

A man’s heart plans his way, But the Lord directs his steps. ~ Proverbs 16:9

 

and Psalm 23... and on and on and on.

 

So this morning, my prayers are going up: that God will provide clarity of thought when the pain is so bad that life seems pointless, for medicine to actually work in the CORRECT way and not have the opposite effect intended, for doctors and nurses with compassion instead of heartlessness, for emotional strength for close family and friends as they undergird and build up, for the freedom to cry and that "peace that passes understanding", for wisdom as a friend to know how to best help and pray, and THANKFULNESS that we serve a God who can bring "beauty from ashes" and loves my friends and their families even more than I do.

 

I know God's ways are not mine, and how He provides and answers prayers are not always in agreement with my wants. And I think that's why I can grasp the passage that talks about peace no one can understand. It's hard to explain how your heart can be at peace and yet hurt at the same time. And yet it does happen. He does provide, even if it's not in a Santa claus fashion where a wish is his demand.

 

 

a day late

Yesterday, in honor of Melissa Lewis' one year cancer anniversary (typed that several ways and still can't find a way that doesn't sound odd or horrid), it was "eat ice cream for breakfast" day. I had mentioned it to my healthy-minded husband, who did smile, but wasn't for the idea. So I told him I was going to get up early and make biscuits and chocolate syrup (an Alabama special occasion breakfast dish), and that he could just eat the biscuit. I must have really been looking forward to it, because I dreamed about cooking biscuits ALL NIGHT LONG! I even woke up at 5am, but decided the biscuits would be cold if I made them that early, and by the time I got up, it was the normal no time to waste kind of morning. (I should add that we had a very late night Thursday.)  So on the way home from the many errands I had to run, which included the grocery store, I picked up some ice cream, the kind that mixes my favorite junk foods, and I had one this morning. It's a day late, but I think Melissa would understand.

So here's my celebration to life, and I hope all of us are still celebrating this way 50 years from now.

the gift of mercy

I have been weighed and found wanting. (No, certainly not on the physical scales!)

Several years ago Bobby got two puppies as an early birthday present. One of them was injured when we came home one night, though I'm not sure how. I took the pup to the vet, fully expecting them to put it to sleep. Instead, I came home with a 6 week old puppy that had a cast on its right front leg and a cast on the back left leg, along with instructions to keep the dog inside. If there's one thing my mother instilled in me, it's the principle that animals are outdoor animals (with an exception of goldfish). I shocked myself by putting the pup in the laundry room, and during the day I would even let him hang out in the kitchen. Week one was okay. Week number two he became a horrible toddler. When I closed the door to the laundry room to go to the grocery store, he went crazy. He peed on his cast. I came home to the screen on the window totally shredded. At night, he would howl until I got up to check on him. The minute I left the room, he would start back. And of course, the other adult in our household could actually sleep through it. Since the dogs often slept with the cat we had at the time, I tried letting him sleep by the garage door. He would howl and the cat would meow. So stupid me let the cat in thinking they would both calm down. It worked long enough for me to go to sleep, then wake up to a crashing in the living room. They tumped over a table, two plants, and scratched/shredded the couch. I was livid. The cat went outside, the dog got locked in the laundry room, and we went back to the vet the next day. She gave me a syringe holder and told me to fill it full of children's benadryl and squirt it in the dog's mouth about 30 minutes before I wanted to go to bed. It worked. A year later, that dog became the craziest dog we ever had. Bobby claims it was the Benadryl. We eventually had to put him on a runner (he had a crazy fascination for anything on wheels, from Bobby's chair to the lawn mower), which he eventually broke and ran away. I must confess I never once looked for him nor mourned him. On Bobby's birthday when he called me from work to inform that he didn't see the other pup and accidentally backed over him and I needed to bury him, I laughed. (This was the pup that put holes in EVERY SINGLE PAIR of hose I owned from nipping at my ankles.)

So when a friend of ours talks about taking a gosling and wrapping it up to make sure its warm and holding it in the bed, it's almost as if she's talking about caring for an extra-terrestial. I just don't get it.

I would like to assure friends (such as Rich) that when it comes to people I am much better. But I can't. I am some better, but some people like my husband claim I am missing the gift of mercy. When his close friend had prostrate cancer, he would call Bobby several times a day to review his symptoms and his "problems". It was starting to become a slight problem, and one day he needed to talk while Bobby was in a meeting at work. So he called the house, hoping that Bobby was out of the office and maybe home sick. I listened to him for about thirty minutes, then offered what I thought was encouragement.

One of his symptoms from the treatments was swelling in the legs. He had no pain nor discomfort, they just looked bad. So being the merciful, kind person that I am, I told him about my Mom's melanoma and how that leg stayed swollen and would for the rest of her life, but how she was able to do most everything she wanted to do. And I told him that Bobby, due to his paralysis, has swollen feet every night and we have to elevate his legs during the night (and sometimes during the day) and it's just one of those things we have to live with. It's not pretty, but as long as there's no pain involved, we've got a lot to be thankful for. He quickly got off the phone, and didn't call either one of us for at least two weeks. When Bobby was surprised he hadn't heard from him in a while, I told him about the abrupt end to our conversation. A relative of mine heard about it, and asked me why I didn't just tell the man to go jump off a bridge.

I was horrified. This man had an unpleasant, but manageable problem. I shared of people who are going through the same thing and have positive, active lives. What is so unmerciful about that?

So for my dear friend Hippo the Magnificent, should you get sick I won't discuss euthanasia with you. I will make you chicken soup and bite my tongue lest I attempt to join your wife in offering you encouragement that things aren't all that bad. I won't even tell you about the tombstone where the man had engraved "I told you I was sick." on it. I will use what little mercy I have in me and buy a card. Just hope my husband is with me when I pick it out.

And for those of you wondering "What on earth?" we've had two families in our church lose dear pets in the last two weeks, prompting conversations about animals in heaven, and the merciless comforting the comfortless. Or as our Pastor so bluntly put it to a ten year old girl, "For an animal, it's not in heaven. It's just in the ground."

my memory flower

When I was small, my grandfather would come and cut part of our grass while my Dad was at work. It always irritated my mother that he would just mow down all her flowers. She would point them out every time; he would nod his head, and the minute she went inside, he'd mow 'em down.

When I was 8, the night my Dad was to preach his first sermon, my mother was diagnosed with melanoma. They had to cut a spot out of her calf that was a little larger than a softball, as well as take a skin graft from the opposite leg to cover the opening. My grandfather, who didn't have a lot of money, bought these HUGE pillows so she could keep her leg elevated to eliminate swelling. And he also bought a whole bag of bulbs and planted where Mom had her flowers. Mother about croaked when she saw the receipt in the bag; she said he paid a fortune per bulb. I don't know what he paid, but I do know that everywhere we have moved, we have transplanted half of the bulbs. They multiply, and we have left some and taken some from every parsonage or house we've lived in. A few years after Bobby and I got married, Mom and Dad showed up with several plants in the back of the truck. Every time they bloom, I get excited. It's my reminder of a family who loves me, and that home is truly where our hearts are. I guess these red & white amaryllises are beautiful to me in more ways than one, and I post them today as a tribute to my Mom.