Dedicated to my dear friend who has so graciously allowed others to experience with her how she has processed the religious environment in which she was raised. She is smart and witty and writes so articulately about how she has grown and changed through the years.
I was also raised in this sort of religious environment and can relate on many levels to her story of deconstruction and reconstruction. It is here I find myself in wild-waters, the waters difficult to navigate with grace.
All the stages of grief live in this space of deconstructing and reconstructing—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They don’t follow a natural progression and sometimes even after I think that acceptance has settled over my bones, denial and anger can revisit.
You know, just for old times sake.
I didn’t follow a prompt today, instead I let my spirit wander over words until they settled into a poem. This poem and life is a process of growth. My only hope is that I continue to grow and change until I take my last breath.
She looked as certain as the sky without a cloud never questioning life, never doubting God. Her life was as settled as her eternity, and she liked it that way— without a glimmer of mystery and brimming with the loveliest of certainties. After all, on what could she rely if not that certainty?
She found out unexpectedly that it wasn’t the destination. it was the journey that mattered most. When the unthinkable happened,. the restorative property of a palliative remedy moderated more than mere words. In the middle of her misgiving, she plucked some half-dead daisies and put them in her favorite vase while she quietly waited for certainty.
She found instead the pull of the undertow was so much stronger than the weight of her will. In the end it was the absence of nothing and everything that was the final blow to her certainty. It seemed the questions came, all at once, wrenching and pulling her apart before slowly reconstructing her heart. All that remained certain was the presence of uncertainty and a lingering regret for years lost.
A “golden shovel” poem is a poem within a poem—like a puzzle or a mystery. Oh and puzzles and mysteries are challenges that I love.
A poem within a poem? How does that even work? I’m so glad you asked.
First I had to choose a poem to “hide” inside my poem. I chose David Whyte’s poem “Enough” because I love it.
You can check out my “golden shovel” like this: first, read my poem as a complete unit. Then read it again using only the last word from each line and you will read David Whyte’s beautiful poem, “Enough”.
After the week (or three) we’ve been experiencing over here I really felt the need for rest because somehow I can never seem to get enough rest.
Trace is walking really well. We are both amazed at how straight her shoulders have become. She can raise both arms straight up high (she hasn’t been able to do that in years) and her shoulders are even and no longer slumped.
Another benefit since surgery is that her CRPS foot pain has subsided a little. She is so grateful for that!
Lizi is still struggling with pain and trapped gas in her body from the surgery. We are praying it is absorbed into her body or released out one way or another. Ev has been staying with her to help with Little E, and she has been really grateful for his help.
The dogs are finally home, and we are continuing on with their training.
As for me…well…
I. Am. Exhausted.
Well, you get the idea.
Perhaps you feel the same?
It’s ok to not be ok.
It’s ok to decide to rest.
I find it enough. moments like these when sounds are few and fewer still are words these moments are enough.
no space for what if or worries about what not to do or say. Yes, in these moments I find soul words, I find space within this time to catch my breath.
if only, if only this time were not just like this life--a fading breath
if only this space for sitting for being here and present in this life of wondrous opening would allow me to receive the joy of living life in the present. we know the places we have said no--where we refused to live again; where we struggle and strive again.
I find it enough until pressures of the now rage against the still; until again I rest in the still now.
Today Trace was moved to inpatient therapy in Rochester. She will have three hours of therapy per day, and unfortunately can only have one non-clergy visitor per day.
Because children are not allowed, I am not able to go and visit her with Evan, so we are counting on some friends to head over and cheer her on.
This is a hard season.
But we’ve been here before, and we know how to do hard things.
So sweep away the clouds and let the sun shine in.
On another note, I completed my take on a Trijan Refrain form poem today with the final and third stanza. You can read it in its entirety below.
Peace to all of you, you have been so very encouraging to us over these last days.
walking in the light
friendship unpacks a history rich with joy and sorrow, and days unfold with mystery—- surprise of tomorrow. walk in the light when days grow dark and life seems bleak and rather stark. walk in the light walk in the light rejoicing in each tender spark.
friendship unpacks a new season that’s not at all thrilling; I know things happen with reason without our request or willing— walk in the light when times get tough; walk in the light when times are rough. walk in the light walk in the light finding hope when life seems enough.
friendship unpacks love at the root, the core of each new bud; love is the base—the root absolute— an overwhelming flood. walk in the light hold your head high love carries the weight of your cry. walk in the light walk in the light sweep the clouds out of the sky.
On the upside, Trace was able to be given a shower of sorts today. First one in a week, and boy did she feel better.
Keep praying for the miracle of RIM to open up.
walking in the light
1. friendship unpacks a history rich with joy and sorrow and days unfold with mystery where twists and turns abound walk in the light when days grow dark and life seems bleak and rather stark walk in the light walk in the light rejoicing in each tender spark.