On Sam's Birthday

 

Today is St. Patrick’s Day.

Today is also Baby Sam‘s birthday.

Baby Sam was born 11 years ago. 

He, like all babies, had black poop when he pooped for the first time. 

I didn’t know this was the norm, 

So I was shocked.  

Sam’s mom, A, through her post birth pains, 

Laughed at me. 

 

Baby Sam lived a good life. 

He was well-loved by his Mama, Papa, and big sister,

As well as his extended family and friends. 

Baby Sam died when he was just six months old.

His life and death made a huge impact on all who knew him, 

Not the least of which was me. 

 

There are a lot of things we will never understand in life,

Sudden Infant death syndrome being one of them.

There are a lot of things that are sad and unfair and infuriating and crazy making and 

They leave us hurt and angry and lost and confused. 

 

Our tendency in life is to want to control  things. 

But some things can’t be controlled. 

Yet when we’re hurt and angry and lost and confused, 

We want to control things even more. 

We want to fix things. 

We want to make everything better.

We want to make sweeping changes that will put everything into balance. 

And then we get overwhelmed because it seems like there is nothing we can do because the problem is too great. 

 

In the movie Frozen Two, 

At her moment of deepest despair,

When all seems lost,

Anna sings this song: 

 

I've seen dark before

But not like this

This is cold

This is empty

This is numb

The life I knew is over

The lights are out

Hello, darkness

I'm ready to succumb

 

I follow you around

I always have

But you've gone to a place I cannot find

This grief has a gravity

It pulls me down

But a tiny voice whispers in my mind

"You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing"

 

Can there be a day beyond this night?

I don't know anymore what is true

I can't find my direction, I'm all alone

The only star that guided me was you

How to rise from the floor

When it's not you I'm rising for?

Just do the next right thing

Take a step, step again

It is all that I can to do

The next right thing

 

I won't look too far ahead

It's too much for me to take

But break it down to this next breath

This next step

This next choice is one that I can make

 

So I'll walk through this night

Stumbling blindly toward the light

And do the next right thing

And with the dawn, what comes then

When it's clear that everything will never be the same again?

Then I'll make the choice

To hear that voice

And do the next right thing

 

Friends:

No matter where you find yourself today, 

Or in this season of life, 

I pray that you will stop trying to control 

Everything 

And just do the next right thing. 

 

Amen. 

9/11

I’m feeling out of sorts today.

 

I know that some of it is residual memory and trauma

From the attacks of September 11, 2001.

While I wasn’t directly affected by the attacks,

I, like everyone else, have been indirectly affected ever since.

The constant threat of attack in unsuspecting situations hangs over us.

And with gun violence and school shootings become more and more commonplace,

That threat of attack hits closer and closer to home.

 

Some of it is the residual effects of acting out of my comfort zone.

I am an ENFJ.

My natural way of making decisions is filtering everything through my feeling function,

Which is the sense of how everything will affect the relationships involved.

My least natural way of making decisions is filtering everything through my thinking function,

Which is the objective sense of right and wrong.

I recently did something that I objectively know was right,

But it put strain on the relationships involved.

It’s amazing how draining it’s been.

 

Some of it is financial frustration.

I make ends meet,

And I’m able to do most things that I want to do,

But there is no wiggle room.

And recently, I’ve wanted to wiggle into a Myers Briggs training that

I just can’t afford.

And, teachers making what we make,

And me being stuck in the10-year step freeze,

I’ll never be able to afford it.

 

Some of it is the general political climate in America.

The name calling,

The looking for the negative,

The spreading of lies,

And the down-right mean-spirited nature of it all

Sucks.

 

And some of it is having a cold and trying to teach music.

 

And so.

I’m feeling out of sorts today.

 

And yet.

God still is.

 

I’m holding to that fact today.

 

Maybe you are too.

And Then I Cried

 Shortly after finishing Monday’s note,

I realized that I didn’t have a picture of Kay.

As any good 21^st-centurian would do,

I took to the Interwebs to look for a picture of this woman who had come to mean so much.

The thing is?

I found obituaries and old scholarship information,

But I couldn’t find a picture.

As I continued to search,

I came across an article honoring Kay.

At the end of the article,

Kay was quoted as saying:

 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through…I trust that you already know that my heart just aches for you…I know that all things work together for good to those who serve God. So I trust that as I act moment by moment to follow God’s leading, God will work through my decisions. In any event, I know with assurance that God is already working. God’s action is to bring about good things for you and for the body of Christ. There’s no doubt. We just have to wait. As we’ve all figured out for one reason or another, life isn’t fair and justice is hard to find. Mostly I’d like for you to get through it. It happened and requires you to work in order to get through it—but I pray that you get THROUGH rather than remain in it. So I hope you’ll spend exactly the right amount of time processing it all and doing what it takes to attend to it so that it will be well and truly over. I love you very much! You take my love and respect and appreciation with you where you go…I’m proud of you, you’ve been faithful.”

 

I screen-shotted her words.

And then I cried.

 

God: Thank you that our hearts and words live on long after we’re gone. May Kay’s words, today, bless and encourage someone who needs to hear them…seventeen years after they were written. Thank you, God, that you are already working and that your action is to bring about good in a world that seems to celebrate evil. You ARE good. And we ARE trying to be faithful. Amen.  

 

Oh! And by the way—

After thirty minutes of tears and searching,

I found Kay’s picture in a PDF brochure.

It’s not the best quality in the world.

But it will do.

😊

November 12th

 I woke up yesterday morning and noticed it was November 12^th.

At first, I didn’t realize the significance of the date,

But then I remembered:

November 12^th is the anniversary of the day that my friend and mentor, Kay Simpson, died.

 

I went to church with my band that morning in 2006.

We were warming up and preparing to lead worship when

We looked up and saw Kay at the back of the church.

Kay had been sick for a few days,

So we were surprised to see her.

She slowly made her way down the aisle and sat on the front pew,

Listening to us play all along.

She closed her eyes,

Held her hands in a receiving position,

And sat for a few moments taking it all in.

When it came time for her to leave,

We asked if she needed someone to take or follow her home.

She declined the invitation,

Said she’d be fine,

And quietly left before anyone else could arrive at church.

 

That was the last time anyone saw Kay.

She died that night.

Her enlarged heart had enlarged so much that

It finally gave out.

 

The days, weeks, and years following Kay’s death were hard on me.

The sights, smells, and memories often overwhelmed me

And left me feeling such a deep grief that I couldn’t function.

Yet now, 17 years later, while I still feel the sting of her loss and

Still remember sights, smells, and memories just like they were yesterday,

I am finally okay.

 

Grief is an odd thing.

It comes and goes on its own terms

And sometimes it leaves us flat on our backs in tears.

But sometimes, it’s just a tiny whisper about the date—

Telling us that there is something for us to remember—

Someone for whom we should stop and be grateful.

 

I am thankful for grief’s gentle nudge yesterday.

And I am grateful for Kay Simpson

And the impact that she had on my life as a minister and friend.

Amen.

What We Can't Un-See

About a year ago, I found myself drawn to a work of art entitled “Rock With A Hole In Its Heart.” The piece was created by a local artist and hanging at the local gallery where Barb-My-Former-Art-Teacher-But-Still-My-Friend teaches classes on weekends.

The piece is abstract. The movement, the lines, the colors—or lack thereof—and the title all spoke to me. When I looked at the piece, I saw the hole in the rock’s heart. I saw a little person sitting on a rock looking at the horizon. I saw an elephant blowing water. Then Barb pointed out the outline of a woman, faceless, featureless, with the hole where her heart would be. It reminded her of one of her works from high school. That piece is called, “The Womanless Woman.” I have that piece hanging in my room. I also now have the “Rock…” hanging in my room. And guess what I see every time I look at it? Not the rock. Not the little person looking at the horizon. Not the elephant. But the woman: the image that I didn’t even seen until Barb pointed it out. Granted, I don’t mind seeing the outline of the woman. It’s not offensive. It’s just that I can’t un-see it.

…

I was talking to a friend the other day about a mistake I made many years back. I said, “If I could go back, I would probably not do it again.” I suppose that sounds weird, but I can’t definitively say that I would not do it again because I know that I’m who I am today because of the past—good or bad—and I know that everything that I know has been learned from what I have experienced, seen, and heard. I can’t un-know, un-see, or un-hear my life.

Sometimes I want to. Sometimes I want not to feel the sting of regret. Sometimes I want not to remember difficulty, hardship, stupidity, and grief. Sometimes I want to go back and change all things bad. But I can’t.

Thankfully, I can’t forget the good things either.

…

When I got into the car on Monday, Sara Groves started singing. As she sang, I realized she was speaking to me. She was pulling at some heart strings directly connected to the broken hearts of a couple of different friends—a couple of different people who, too, wished that they could un-know, un-see, and un-hear some things. And yet…we can’t. None of us can. Full, broken, or empty hearts. And somehow…that is okay. Somehow, we are all okay.

…

I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it
Something on the road, cut me to the soul

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction
Something on the road, cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
And what I know of love

We've done what we've done and we can't erase it
We are what we are and it's more than enough
We have what we have but it's no substitution
Something on the road, touched my very soul

Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face a memory
Your hope a fire
Your courage asks me what I am made of
And what I know of love