Ash Wednesday 2012

Another Lent begins.  Another time to clear out the spiritual cobwebs.  Some give up something for Lent.  Others take on a new spiritual practice.  What keeps us from God?  What will bring us closer?

Last year after my struggle with breast cancer I decided to give up suffering for Lent.  I felt I'd suffered enough with all the things that come with a cancer diagnosis.  Suffering found me in ways that I couldn't have imagined. In March, Hazzard, my sixteen year-old cat died.  He had kidney disease and so his passing wasn't a surprise, it was just painful.  He was an old friend.  He didn't want to be alone when he died and so he died in my arms.  That was hard, that was difficult, but I was shocked at the suffering that was to come.  

Losing a pet is like losing one of the family but it doesn't compare to the loss of someone from the human family.  In April Andrew was killed in a motorcycle accident three days from his twenty-fifth birthday.  He was part of our neighborhood's extended family.  He and his sisters and my son and daughters would migrate from house to house, usually the boys at one and the girls at the other.  I watched him while his parents worked.  As a young man he moved into the house next door to me and started raising his son.  He later moved to a different spot in the neighborhood later but I would see him skateboarding with his dog down the street or taking his son sledding.  "Hi Andrew."  "Hi Cheryl".  And then he was gone, dead, abruptly dead.  It was like I had been kicked in the gut.  This year I am not giving up suffering.

The first reading for Ash Wednesday from the prophet Joel tells us:

Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.

I've approached this Lent with a different attitude.  I am ready to do what I usually do.  I am giving up something that I can give up (don't ask me to give up coffee)  and something that is keeping me from spending time with God and from following his command to "love one another".  I am giving up Facebook and Twitter for the duration and plan to use the extra time gained getting closer to God and to my friends.  It's time to do a little face-to-face or telephoning or physical letter writing to get closer to the people that I love.  I guess the old fashioned ways of communicating are something that I will take up for Lent.  I'm going to try to work against the excuses for not spending dedicated time with God.

These actions won't keep suffering from knocking at my door but they will lead to a healthier relationship with God.  Peace be with you this Ash Wednesday.

  

Honoring the Dead: A letter to Dad

Hi Dad,
It's been eleven years since you died at age 89 on November 4, 2000.  You would be 100 years old by now and we'd probably still be driving each other crazy.  Ah, we drove each other crazy but how we loved each other.  Your death was not unexpected.  You had been in and out of the hospital that last year more times than I could count.  After  much deliberation you decided to go into assisted living but you didn't stay there long until you were in the hospital again.  You were to go to a nursing home to get you back on your feet but you knew you were dying of emphysema and you were tired of fighting.  We weren't ready to let you go but had to listen when you decided to go with comfort measures only.

I got the call to come home to Moses Lake to come see you.  I came over on a Greyhound Bus with enough clothes to last me a couple of days.  I ended staying much longer.  I called my manager at my new job at Barnes and Noble in Seattle and told her the situation.  She said, "Take as long as you need."  I began participating in the vigil at your bed.  My oldest brother and I took the day shift.  My youngest brother and sister took the night shift.  My middle brother couldn't come because he had already taken off a lot of time from work during the year and couldn't manage any more.  My aunt flew in to see you one last time.  She had been very young when her father died and as big sister's husband you helped fill the roll. We kept you company on your journey.  On that last night the nurse told us we'd better call everyone because you would probably die that night.  We gathered around your bed, sons, daughters, grandsons, so that we could help you with your journey.  The nurse told us to keep talking to you even if you didn't seem responsive; you would know that you were not alone.  You died.  A young friend of the family and of yours had us make a circle of prayer around you.  You were in a place where you didn't have to labor to breathe.  You were Home.

I miss you, Dad.  I miss talking about the weather on the phone with you.  You often wanted us to send some of our Seattle rain to the dry-lands.  We didn't see eye-to-eye on religion or politics.  It was much safer to talk about rain; on that we could agree.  Oh, I want you to know that we take better care of our car now.  Mr. D and I take it in for regular maintenance so maybe you wouldn't remind us that you told us that the Dodge that died needed looking at.  Yup, we shoulda listened, but you know how kids are.

Love you lots and lots,
C