What Remains

aberration (ab-uh-rey-shuhn)

1.  deviation from what is usual or normal
2.  mental unsoundness

How often we get swallowed up by the aberration- the exception;  the one thing that is not going our way.  So much so,  that we lose sight of all that is good, all that is right, all that  is true and just.  If we could somehow stop to view the bigger picture, perhaps then we could see that often,  that  one segment is overshadowing all that is still good.  But--sometimes that is hard to see.

It's true...some things truly are all consuming.  The loss of a child or a spouse, a broken marriage, financial ruin--  all  have the potential to overwhelm.   I have friends who have suffered the untimely loss of  a beloved child.  This is a loss capable of  shattering an otherwise stable life.  There are no words adequate to speak to it-- so much so that the surviving parent is crushed with pain and consumed with their loss.  Sadly, they can, in a sense lose everything that remains, because they cannot see through their tears, that which is still in front of them. I can imagine no loss greater. It is unthinkable-unimaginable and yet--to lose what remains is a tragedy of it's own.  

Why is it that we are so drawn to the pain of our losses?  This pain obscures everything else.  Like a magnet seeking a mate... a  tongue seeking a broken tooth, we are inescapably drawn to it, so much so that we can forget to treasure and nurture what is good...to acknowledge that there are still blessings to count.  The discomfort is so distracting that we struggle to get beyond it.

It is understandable that we may lose sight of the good that remains.  Grief and loss take time to work through.  A lot of time   There are no short cuts.  Even so, we  must navigate through it, with great care.  Most often we are unskilled laborers. We have no experience to compare our journey to.  We have never traveled this road before and we didn't make plans or reservations for the trip we find ourselves on.  Yet, the road must be travelled.

Major loss is a game changer-a turning point, a membership in a club no one ever wants to join.   It has to be an event so breathtaking that it cannot be contained, leaving us gasping for breath yet not wanting to breathe.  Only faith can carry one through such heartache. Only the peace that passes understanding. Because there IS no understanding such things.

Even so, there is no other life to live  other than the one we've been given.  Despite the wake up call that makes you want to throw the clock through a window, shattering glass everywhere, we must press on. And- when others grow weary of drawing near  to us because of the dangerous shards surrounding us,  we must press in.  We must persevere to the other side.

Lord help us, not to shrink back from this pain but to press into it... to be in community, not just with those who have shared a similar grief, but, with each one you place in our lives.  Help us to be grateful for those devoted to walking through this horror with us until we stand on firmer ground.  Comfort us in our loss and help us to not lose sight of what remains.  Remind us that our loss is heaven's gain.  And help us  to never wish back what you have lovingly taken.  Help us to cherish the gifts of memory you have implanted in our brains, but to live the lives you have given us with the companions you have placed in our midst.

Comfort us. Strengthen us. And help us to live wisely and for Your glory.  For  whatever time remains and for all those who need our love and attention while we are here, help us to look forward more and in the rearview mirror less...to cherish every sweet memory but not to miss out on what you have for us in the here and now.

Thank you, Lord, for what remains.

Love That Never Fails

Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of this year which  is now drawing to an end.  Thank you for every dark road I've travelled, for every bump in the road,  for every tear I've shed and every sorrow I've faced.  Thank you for each struggle, each disappointment and each trial along the way.  Thank you for the betrayal I endured, the friendship that was tainted and the courage to forgive.  Thank you for every opportunity to reach out, to press in and to connect with someone who needed a connection.  Thank you for giving me a heart for those on the fringes and for letting me experience what it is to be an outcast myself.  Thank you for letting me be unjustly accused and for allowing me to endure and forgive.    Thank you that you never give up on me and that you are teaching me to never give up on others, because-you love them as you love me. Thank you for the strength to reach out despite being shut out and to trust you for every outcome.   Every heartbreak has been an opportunity and I am thankful for each one, though I would not have chosen any of them. I may fall and I may fail, but your love never will. I am grateful.

Walking through the valley of the shadow of death...

Loss. Sorrow. Grief. In the last week or so, there have been numerous implosions of sadness around me. A high school friend sat at the bedside of her dying daughter who was buried today. A long time friend said goodbye to her father for the last time. Another friend, in Oregon, received a call this week notifying him that his mother had suddenly passed following a hip fracture. At this moment, my oldest and dearest friend's father lies in a hospital in Ohio, demanding to go home. When he does, hospice workers will accompany him in order to provide comfort measures for however much time he has left. I have two dear friends awaiting test results, knowing well the results could bring their worst fears or their greatest hopes. Another friend suffers a different kind of loss. The failure of hope, because someone she loves has disappointed her, again. Sadness comes in all shapes and sizes. One size does not fit all.

We cling so tightly to this life. Most likely when mine comes to an end, I too, will struggle to hold on in order to stay just a little bit longer. We have lives we love, people we don't want to leave behind. I am no exception, but, I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that when I have crossed over to my heavenly home, all the concerns that made me want to stay--the unfinished business, the hopes not yet realized, the goals not achieved, they will all pale in comparison to what I will know there as I sit at the feet of Jesus. We who walk this earth hold so tightly to dreams we want to see fulfilled. A child grown into a man. An education completed. A baby born. A wedding ceremony performed. A family at peace. These are the dreams we live for. They are worthy pursuits and when realized may bring unspeakable happiness. But they are imperfect dreams, and we who travel this planet, cannot conceive of dreams more precious, dreams more exquisite; dreams of heaven, perfect dreams realized.

When my own father was dying in a hospital, I, long before my siblings and my mother were able to acknowledge it, knew that the end was most assuredly near. I knew too much. It's not that sorrow didn't apply to me. It surely rocked my heart to the core. But, I didn't ask why. I know that the same God who gives, takes away. I know that there's never a good or right time. I acknowledge that it's easier to let go when a life has been long and well lived and more difficult when it's early- in what we see as an unfinished life. Still. I cling to the belief that life here is not life in it's entirety. There is more. I believe that as surely as I believe the sun will rise and fall everyday. I honestly don't believe anyone who has prepared for eternity by accepting Jesus' gift of salvation, has ever arrived in heaven and wanted to come back to this life. Heaven is richer, more beautiful and more joyous than our finite minds can grasp. One does not move from the ghetto to the palace and then ask to return the utter poverty they were rescued from.

The greatest sadness for me is not the loss of one's presence here on earth. That, because, I believe there is a life beyond. The greater sorrow is if that one has not prepared for the life beyond earth's borders. One's eternal destiny is the most important goal of all and one that requires our attention now, while we still have time to determine where we will spend it. A life lived only for pleasure and temporal things is a life ignorant of true meaning, a life cut short too soon, whether 16 or 96 years long. To share that truth with those who don't know, is a sacred and critical responsibility. The gift of God is eternal life, available to all who will believe. As one who has gratefully received that gift, I am responsible to share it with others as the Lord provides opportunity.

If you, dear reader, long to know what it is that gives me this hope--the hope that takes away death's sting, I long to share it with you. I cannot tell you you will not face sorrow. I cannot promise that. I still cry bitter tears. I still have a dread of life without those I love most. I still pray for healing and reconciliation and the end of pain. But, in the end, I know. I know that one day, on the other side, the pain will end, the tears will be wiped away and death will be no more. Because Jesus said so. And I believe it.

I do love this life I've been given. I truly do. I am blessed beyond anything I ever imagined. But, when my time comes, don't grieve for me. Don't call me back. I'll wait for you. Be there.

Bittersweet

You have to take the bitter with the sweet. I get that. But sometimes, the bitter IS the sweet. A loss so great that results in a reunion so sweet...this is the story of Edith Marta Donatelli Mandish, and her passing from this life into the next.

I married into a family so vibrant, so intense and so LOUD. The Mandish clan was, from the beginning, part of the attraction. My Slav Father-in-law, Mike...a twinkle in his eye and a penchant for saying things so bluntly that it sometimes took my breath away and othertimes so funny that he made me laugh for days. My Italian Mother-in-law, Edith, whose existence was centered around her family, and who in later years, referred to me as her "Angel" (My husband doesn't always concur) was my biggest supporter. Their family included my husband Mike, his brothers Dan and Gene and their sister Christine.

Family gatherings were always intense...conversation was fast and furious, people talking over each other about politics, religion, news, books and our varied lives. Laughter abounded and voices escalated. One time when our daughter was about 12, she invited her friend Heather to come along for a gathering. We had our traditional dinner with everyone gathered around the table, talking long after the meal was over. When we went home, her friend asked, "Are they always mad at each other?" To which Amanda replied, "They weren't mad, they always talk at the same time in loud voices!"

Through the years, Edith was always an encourager. She often told me that she prayed for us...for Mike and I to be reconciled (we did), for Mike to quit smoking after decades, (he did) for our girls to get good educations (check) and for them all to find good husbands. (two down, one still pending, but we believe!) She had a rich and faithful prayer life. She never gave up. She spend many hours praying for anyone who needed prayer and many of us were the recipients of her faithful endurance on our behalf.

She grew up without a mother, due to the untimely death of her own when she was very young. As a result, she never knew the tender warmth of a mother's embrace, the encouraging words a mother can speak and she faced unusual harshness as a young child. Her father was a good man, but gruff and unsentimental toward his young children. His expectations were high and there was no time for foolishness. Her days were long and hard. She and her sister Norma were expected to cook and clean and iron from a very young age while also going to school. Before she was ten, she had to prepare her grandmother's body for viewing following her death. This was not a fairy tale childhood.

Even so, she raised four children, was the loyal wife of one man and lived a life of extraordinary faith in Jesus Christ. She attended a Baptist church when she was small, but, ultimately was baptised a Catholic and raised her children in that faith.

In her later years, she experienced a healing, which she kept secret for years, uncertain that anyone would believe her. She had cancer and the physicians she saw didn't hold out great hope for her recovery. But, they didn' t know about her prayer life. They also apparently weren't familiar with the Great Physician she had entrusted herself to. Years later she told me that she was up one night praying ...all night she prayed and suddenly she felt a heat come into her body from the top of her head down through her toes. At the same time, she heard the words, "Your body is healed", a healing that was confirmed when she returned to her earthly doctors. That was decades ago. She was given "bonus time".

In June 2007, her beloved Mike died. She missed him terribly. At one point she considered stopping her medications so that she could be with him again. Thankfully, a friend talked her out of that. Her last couple of years, though, every future event was couched with, "If I'm still here." When her most recent great grand-child, Ruby was on the way, she said she hoped to live to see her. She did and in fact enjoyed many visits with the blue eyed beauty she loved so much.
In January of last year, nearly all of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren gathered for a surprise 90th birthday party at our home. Letters and cards came from loved ones near and far, and she reveled in the love that we poured out on her.

January this year, the party was smaller...the local family members gathered again around her table and she blew out candles on the cake I had made her. She was a blessed woman and contentment was hers. She appreciated every opportunity to be with us...to see the fruit of a life well lived and the results of the prayers she had long prayed.

Ironically, she died much the same as her beloved Mike did. A hip fracture, followed by a surgery and then a recovery that didn't come to fruition. But, the difference, the very sweet difference, was that we were given the precious gift of time. To the end, she was cognizant of what was happening...fully aware of those around her bedside and ultimately ready to let go and meet her Maker.

Blessed time. Time to read to her from the Word of God. Time to sing songs around her bedside. Time to talk about her wishes. She spoke to each one gathered around her bed, expressing her thoughts. Time to say good bye...time to talk about the reunion ahead of her, with her Mike, with her own Mother, with her brothers and sisters and with my own dear Dad. The day before she passed, all four of her children were with her all day...five of her grandchildren and one great grandchild was there. She told us she wanted "Wind Beneath My Wings" and "Amazing Grace" sung at her service by her granddaughter Lynne, and she was able to hear Lynne rehearse them for her at her bedside. She was ready and it was on her terms. It was the hardest and sweetest of times.

That night, her youngest son, Gene, chose to stay the night in her room. We all went home and slept, only to awaken to the news that she had crossed over from this life to the gates of Heaven, early that morning. The journey through the valley of the shadow of death, had come to a conclusion. Destination reached.

We planned services. We walked through them. We carried out her wishes. We sang songs, prayed prayers and spoke of what she meant to each of us. We spent countless hours as a family, recounting the gifts she had given us. Gifts of faith and love and acceptance and selflessness. In her apartment we found boxes of cards and letters she'd saved for more than half a century, from all of us. She had no jewels...no possessions of great worldly value. She often said that her children were her diamonds. In the end, it was imminently clear that her family was her treasure. That's where her heart was.

And so, her legacy is a life well lived. A life of faith. A life of endurance. A life of service. We have much to live up to, but, a deep well of example to draw from. It is very hard to imagine that she is no longer with us...that we can no longer enjoy her stories and her company. It is hard to say good-bye. But, she lived for the reward that now is hers and her reward is great. How could we begrudge her that? Still...

Bittersweet.