I've been running around, trying to get ready for Cappy's homecoming after two whole months, and getting things done in preparation for Mr. Ed and Jean's visit. I'm not sure I'll be able to pull it all together by Thursday; painting, planting, pruning, purchasing, planning, and, practicing my music. (Our group will play for the nine o'clock A.M. Easter service.) In the midst of all the rushing, I made certain one thing I concentrated on, above all, was Peace. I'd never, until this year, spent the forty days of the Lenten Season in daily quiet, thoughtfully considering each day in the Life of the Lord that led up to what we call Easter Sunday.
During this season, too, I think of my beloved mother. I'm still shocked that she'd be 80 this year. Not my Mom...she was always so young. I'm still shocked that she's GONE. How can that be?? My Dad, too. My oldest son.My Grandma. Cappy's Dad, who was his best friend and only true ally in this world, as my Mom was with me.I really, really want to see them again. I long to see them now.
When I was in lonely pain awhile ago, I wrote this to the Lord:
We think of this time...when your badly bruised body was taken down from the rough cross, and you were placed in isolaton inside the dark tomb. The jeering crowds were gone, the sound of whips and tormenting howls were silent. In the darkness was no sound of breathing. As when you were born bloodied, you were planted, once again bloodied...a Naked Seed planted in the earth.
I reflect on times of having to give You, Lord, those that I love, and trust in Your Wisdom, as they, too, were placed back in the soil from whence they came. When all the fervent prayers seemed to go unanswered, when all the medical equipment and staff had stopped, after the mourners had gone home, and I, too, my retching sobs now quiet, had to leave them; my son, parents, grandparents and friends, each alone in their cold silent tombs.
I think of a particular seed that I like to plant each year. Before I can plant it, I have to take a sharp knife and score the skin of it, cutting into it's flesh. For all intents and purposes, it appears dead, a useless off-cast of some thing, not resembling anything of consequence, really. But because of someting akin to faith, I plant it, hoping for something more glorious.
Dear Lord, we know not much about the mysteries that take place in the deep silent places. We know that God's Hand is working at those times. Babies are born after growing in the silent places. Morning Glories arise up out of the soil after spending time in the silent places. You, Lord, rose up Victorious from Death; and from knowing that, which breeds Faith in the deep silent places in our hearts, we trust in You, that not only will our loved ones be changed and raised more beautiful than ever, so shall we.
Faith is like a whisper...