Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Hot dogs, raspberries & Rowan
Foremost on my heart is still Rowan and her family. When I think I'm all out, fresh tears flow again. I don't feel the need to stop crying, this is God's way of washing away our grief to plant the seeds of peace so I just sit here and do the ugly cry until the peace settles. This morning after a few minutes of crying the old song floated gently through my mind...Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, there's just something about that name. How sweet the peace of God is, passing all understanding. Christians need to be careful that they don't try to skip the grief part of loss, falsely believing that if we are people of faith we should just claim the will of God and move on as though our hearts don't break. God is the author of every emotion including sadness. So I am on, what, two weeks of crying every morning? I've cried throughout the day, but certainly my mornings have started with prayer and tears. Even in pain, prayer and tears is a good start to the day.
Yesterday afternoon (pre-hotdog) was the first time in a week I felt well enough to spend a few minutes in the back yard. Lord help my gardens! The Mr. was in charge of the watering and I am not sure he saturated the ground quite enough. I also suspect the adorable chipmunks around here of eating my flowers and shrubs. Do chipmunks do that? I don't want to accuse them unfairly. Of course, having a 65 pound hound dog take naps on top of your petunias and dig holes under your baby shrubs to sleep in probably doesn't help. And the weekly Weed & Feed watering that happens on Saturdays didn't happen. Oh, my poor gardens. It's ugly. I'll just admit it, it's ugly. I did a little pruning, a little deadheading and a lot of watering yesterday evening but I think there are some plants that are just goners. I started to get frustrated but then I decided to get some perspective. The evening was cool and breezy and I was well enough to enjoy it and let's be honest; there is loss in our lives worthy of tears and there is loss that is worthy of a shrug of the shoulders. A six month old beautiful baby girl has printed that lesson on my soul.
After pruning and deadheading and telling Donny he was ruining my flower garden I headed to the berry patch. I think the strawberries are done, no more fruit to be found under the leaves. But! This is very exciting, the raspberries and blackberries are budding! This made me stand there with my garden hose and cry some more! Why? Because raspberries and blackberries remind me of Rowan's grandma, Mrs. Mac. Mrs. Mac and I had a lengthy FB conversation last week as we prayed for Rowan about my raspberries and blackberries and their disappointing lack of fruit over the last few years. Mrs. Mac & I take great stock in all things involving playing in dirt. Last night, the in cool calm dusk, there they were, beautiful baby raspberries and blackberries. So on one side of the yard, dried out ugly half dead flowers and shrubs but on the other...beautiful fruit is growing in the sunshine. I'll let you decide if there is a metaphor there. I've decided to rest my mind from such deep thinking and just let God's creation place patches of joy over the wounds in my heart. As for the casualties on the other half of the yard, I'll worry about that on another day. No I won't, I won't worry about it at all. If I cannot revive them by the weekend, I'll just go look at my berry patch and smile.
Thank you Rowan.