In the Pew - Alone

I'd like to ask if you ever really look at those worshipping around you on Sunday morning.

Do you wonder what their lives are really like? 

What are their concerns or cares?

What are their joys and triumphs?

Who's in the pew next to you?

***********************

He slipped into his seat during that bustling moment before the music began, just as he always did now, according to his every-Sunday plan. Finding isolation in the midst of the churchgoing crowd felt safe and tight, and he judged his strategy to be serving him well. It didn't matter what pew he occupied, as long as it wasn't 'their' pew, which he steadfastly refused to even look toward.

When his Marnie had been by his side, the Sunday morning experience had been completely different. It had been a joy to arrive at church early. Every encounter with friends had been an opportunity for laughter and shared confidences, hardy handshakes and stiff slaps on the back. In those days, it had been his barely secret delight to study Marnie over the shoulders of others. How he had cherished the curve of her cheek, and the shape of her neck as it held up the head he loved to cradle in their bed at night. Her form in its loudly patterned Sabbath dresses had been his touchstone; her smile, his homing beacon. As she moved among their friends and reached to greet strangers, he had been her faithful Always Admirer, gratefully savoring the wife of his youth.

Now alone and moving stiffly, he seemed to have aged many years in the few weeks since she had gone on, losing whatever youth he had left to the continually fierce pain which loss had brought along as its partner. There was a hole in his side, a gaping rip like the war wound of his past. His breath was perpetually shallow and sour-tasting with grief, and the trembling hands at the ends of his arms did not seem to be his own as he placed his Bible in the empty space next to him. 

He was unaware of the morning light as it poured through the stained glass, bathing his solitude with shafts of green, pink and blue. The piano pounded to life and obediently he stood to sing, helplessly shouldering the weight of his bereavement.

Just Words - Flying Objects

I've only ever been mad enough to throw something one other time. My Dear Husband was the "receiver" that time, and you might say poor soul, but he is able to hold his own with me. Thanks be to God, in yet another gift of His mercy, He matched us so that when I am overtaken by my emotions (a.k.a. flying into a rage), he is equipped to react calmly and strongly enough that ... I don't know - it's exactly the right reaction to defuse my temper. Because we are so well balanced in this area, we've really had only a very few "fights" during the entire time of our relationship - 27 years!

But I've found that one of my teens has a certain unhappy, and maybe even unconscious, ability to set off a trigger in my more rogue emotions. He certainly seems surprised when it happens, or maybe, probably, it's just perversely satisfying for him to watch the mom lose it. I try to breathe my way through these engagements ... I hear the Spirit coaching me in self-control ... but I failed that time, and what was in my hand gained wings and just flew. Not at him, of course --- not that he didn't deserve it.

***James Dobson's mom threw a girdle at her son, and he turned out just fine! Have you read your copy of "Bringing Up Boys?"***

Just Words - A Dream

Last night I dreamed about my Grandpa who passed over in 2006. In the dream, we were indoors, there were lots of people in a vaguely familiar place, and it was very sunny. I saw him sitting in another room, and went in to him. He was sitting directly in the sun at a table next to the window - just sitting there, as I had seen him many times when he was alive as a very old man. When he was younger, he only sat down to eat a meal, or watch the 11 o'clock news. The rest of the time, he was in constant farmer-motion, a whirlwind of industry straight out of the Greatest Generation. As he saw me approaching, his normally taciturn face broke into a huge grin, and he began to rise to greet me, reaching out for me. The dream is especially vivid here, as he never reached to hug any of us. We hugged him, and he awkwardly responded with stiff and brief returns of affection. As he got older, and I knew the time for hugs was getting shorter, I hugged him longer and more often. But it was always the same sort of awkward, stiff return. In my dream, though, he smiled wider than I had never seen him do and enfolded me in a strong, warm hug.

And I heard his voice near my ear say, "Come here, and let me hug my oldest son!"

In truth, he only had one son, the youngest after two daughters, and it certainly was not me.

Go ahead. Analyze that.

Sans Photos

It's a sad, sad thing. No photos to share, even though my camera is jam-packed with blog photos/ideas. It is very distressing to see the big 'O' on the hard drive display for available memory. I took My Wonderful Husband on an in-camera tour of the most recent photos, so he might be more motivated to buy additional memory hardware. But since that seems to be taking some time (ahem), I'll be needing to share words without photos. Sans photos - great word. So. Some random thoughts, including words - sans photos:

- My house smells like sweet potato casserole and broccoli. (imagine photo of beautiful, fresh and green broccoli)

- I've broken tradition and gotten all the baskets out and let the boys pick which one they want loaded for this year's Easter haul. (insert photo of lovely dyed eggs and various candies)

- Have been listening to Mark Driscoll's sermons on the Gospel of John and focusing on the last few chapters to try to get my head and heart around the account of Jesus' death and resurrection. I'm going to try to get all my boys to listen to this one sermon from John 18.

- I'll be smelling the first cut grass of the green season in only a few moments! (photo of freshly cut grass spewing out of mower)

- I lined an old silver candy stand with moss and put some of my altered eggs in it. (wishing to insert photo here) Best tool to gather growing moss: a Pampered Chef mini serving spatula.

- How have three --- THREE --- bags of Reese's miniature eggs disappeared well before time to fill the baskets? ???

- FYI - six gummi worms will fit into one mid-sized plastic egg. (pic: gummi worms sticking out of egg - lovely translucent colors in this imaginary photo)