rebuilding and Light

there’s a house with all the Christmas lights

he’s put them up every year except for last

after the trees fell on his house

and he had to rebuild

 

the lights are back this year,

all those lights

delightful

dazzling

enchanting

it’s a winter fairyland

lots of snowmen and Santas

and candy canes and all sorts of joyful scenes

and if you turn off the main road and drive around back

there is a sweet scene of mama and Baby and daddy

and the small group gathered round

along with the cows and sheep

 

and tucked away off to the side

my girl pointed out the sweet angel

and

the

cross

and it took my breath away

 

we see the Baby and the joy comes

only not for all

and I wonder if my heart is heavy

because of those I miss

or is it because all this joy is shadowed by the cross

and all that we know will come

 

and yet each year, after the cross falls

across our hearts

and we are broken,

we rebuild

so the joy and Light can come

again

 

 

some days

some days

it is incomprehensible

that life keeps going

that the world keeps turning

that laundry still piles up

family still needs to be fed

some days

it is beyond my ability

to do more than what absolutely has to be done

even now,

even still

after all this time

always

the missing and the hurting

it ebbs and flows

like joy and sorrow taking turns touching my toes

in the sand of this life

and neither will ever really go away

for without the one,

can there truly be knowledge of the other?

joy for the times that were

sorrow for the times that could never be

joy for the memories made

sorrow for the plans that never happened

in and out of my heart

the sights, sounds, and smell of you

yesterday I cried

when I smelled cinnamon baking

because it made me think of Christmas

when you were still here

and all was okay

contextually speaking, as we used to say

some days the laundry and the cooking

and the pots that need scrubbing

are why I rise and make the bed

and for the little ones of course

for the children they do not grieve as I do

they do not weep over lost moments

they sing songs and speak of you with a smile

and share what they have planned for when they see you again

as they are sure they will do

some days I give thanks for the things that need doing

they fill my mind and my hands

and my freezer and cake plates

some days when I am busy it is easier than

when I am not

but some days

some days

are not easy at all

you are loved and missed and given thanks for each day

love

 

 

Today a friend got the sad news surrounding the words “nothing else we can do” for her Daddy.  My heart aches for her.  Those words bring so much pain and worry and tears, and they require a paradigm shift.  I have friends who have stayed in the hospitals so much lately with those they love.  And I have heard of so many who are sick or grieving, here, right here in the midst of the beauty of the earth shaking off the slumber of winter, and as people call out to each other for the first time in weeks, “Alleluia!”  It is hard to fathom and wrap your brain around the idea that the whole world is not grieving with you.  That is where I have walked on more than one occasion.  It makes you want to cry out to everyone, “How are you still going and doing and functioning?”  Or it makes you want to crawl back in the bed and shut it all out.  I’ve been down both  of those paths.  This is for all of us who wonder why the earth doesn’t come to a screeching halt in its orbit when our worlds surely seem to be falling apart.  Love to all of you.