The beginning is at hand

The beginning is at hand. Cool air sneaks in around the door with a twinge of sadness. The fall is always a time of sadness mingled with expectation. The fall is a time of promises made and promises harvested.  Tomorrow is Halloween. With Halloween begins the season of festivities.  This season is full.

Some seasons are seasons of singleness, times of going out. This season though is one of togetherness, times of gathering in warm safe places. Times of togetherness are times to remember those who are no longer with us.

My grandfather strides along the walls of my memory. Lately, I see him frequently. He is playing his guitar with one strand of hair falling down in his eye. He is sitting in his truck, cigarette dangling, hat cocked just so. He is walking across the pasture, jeans ruffled at the tops of his boots.

My nephew’s bright eyes dance along the walls of my memory. I work to remember the feel of his warm skin in my arms. His little fingers wrapped around mine as the much too old baby rocked and drank his bottle. His sly grin as he reached for the ornaments on the “no-no” tree. His joy as he reached deep into the bags to get his presents.

My grandmother sits in her chair. She is kind and makes a million pies that stretch through her backroom like a memory of a time gone long before we came.

My red headed Ukrainian daughter, who marveled at candy canes and requested crabs for Christmas, smiles at me from pictures on the computer.

They are all no longer here where I can see them and touch them. The season of remembrance and gathering together comes and I’m forced to confront the ghosts.  I miss them. I miss them and so many others.  This next few weeks will be fast. We will run from event to event and group to group.  We will sometimes embrace the cold and other times duck quickly out of the chilly wind.  We will thank God for our blessings. Somewhere during the nights we will hear that we have not done enough. We will hear that the to-do list should have been different than we made it. We will see expectations not met.

Over all of that though, we will feel the joy of being in the embrace of the ones we love. We will see the excitement of the children leaking and filling the hearts of those who almost forgot. We will hear the songs that remind us that death is not the end. Death has lost its victory because our Christ is born.  In the deep night when memories haunt us, we will know that soon we will see those we have lost. Soon, we will hold them once again.  

What is It?

Fear sneaks in and threatens to swallow the moment. The question though is not what do I fear but “what is it?” What is it that litters the ground making my bare feet step so gingerly across the room? What is it that causes my heart to beat in an unsteady rhythm like a fragile falsetto against a deep night sky? Deep breath in and then a word in explanation.

This is the fear that drives: what if, what if my Jesus was here now in human form asking me for a drink? Would I recognize him? Would I recognize the one I claim to speak to daily, hourly even? Would I recognize my Jesus in the alarming cry of a baby? Would I recognize my Jesus in the infuriating slowness of my child? Would I see my Savior or would I see only the troubles of my own annoyance?

And, if I could answer “yes” I can see him, what then?

What does it mean to know Jesus? Does it mean that I can move about in this world of deadlines and bills and real, hard awful facts wrapped in a blanket of faith?  Some take drugs to alter the mind and reach a place where the real, hard, awful facts don’t reach them. Do I take my Savior and swallow all this sadness and not feel it?

No, the feeling of it is still there and still real. The taste of it is bitter and chalky and coats the tongue. The pain is real and the Savior is real.

Think for a moment about that pain. That one pain that wrapped you, squeezed you so tight that breathing felt like knives. Then think about the moment after it was gone. Think about how the air took on a quietness that made you realize your mind was screaming just seconds before. In the pain, you couldn’t hear the screams but in their absence you realize just how loud they were. In their absence you feel the peace but the peace is deepened by the knowledge of the pain.

My friend is hurting now. I could feel her pain from across the room. I could see in her shaking leg well hidden from the rest of the room the fight that she was not winning. In reaching out to her, I had to find my strength. I had to say “yes I know your pain and now you know my secret”. My secret is that we are all the same. We all hurt. We all know what three o’clock in the morning tears feel like, even if we pretend we don’t. We all need the love that is above all loves to come in and wrap us up.

 We need our Jesus to remind us that we are beloved, to remind us that now is not forever, to remind us we are never alone. Sometimes we entertain angels unknowingly. Sometimes we don’t recognize our dearest friends. Sometimes in the midst of our hurry we miss the chance to gaze in wonder on our Lord’s face. Sometimes we hide our eyes from the pain for fear that the pain is more than we can bear but pain is real.

Pray for me today as I pray for my friend. Pray for me that I will not miss my Savior’s face. I will pray for you blessings and strength and peace.