WELCOME

 My eyes glance over to the bookshelves that line the walls of the family room in my house. For some reason, they randomly fall on a title hidden among the reads pertaining to nature, flowers, and gardening. It's been on the shelf for as long as I can remember, and it's simply titled Making The Most of Shade. This house has always had a certain kind of charm because of its nestled place in the woods. Surrounded by trees and with a roaring river as its backyard soundtrack, it's pretty idyllic. And practical, too. Because when the stormy weather hits, the woods often act as a buffer to the wind as well as offer welcome respite from the beating sun in summer's heat. Anchored on a huge swath of bedrock, it's almost unshakable when it comes to earthquakes that are a common occurrence here. All in all, this location is pretty perfect... expect for one thing.    

 It had been two solid weeks of nothing but rain, with little breaks in between. 

 "They say the times are very dark; they seem so to us; clouds and darkness are about His throne, but light will in due time shine out. He is carrying on His work by a straight line. If you or I were engaged in a plan which we had much at heart, we would not suffer anything to hinder our purpose, if we could prevent it: much less He, who has all power in heaven and earth..." 

History calls him the mad piper. 

 It was Mother's Day, and my own mom had decided that she wanted to go for lunch at a favorite restaurant nearby that we hadn't been to in awhile. And believe me when I say, this place is unique! It's definitely your old-timey grandma's kitchen, country diner place that just gives you the cozy vibes when you walk in. The food is to die for but what they're really known for is the clever, humorous signs they've got up all over the restaurant walls. The signs refer to everything from food to fishing to marriage to plain stupidity. It's hilarious! Basically, this space is a one-of-a-kind experience, and I totally get why mom wanted to go there. Then she invited a dear friend and widow in our church who was going to be moving soon to be closer to her family. She didn't have Mother's Day plans that day, so we included her in ours. 

One of my favorite authors, Henri Nouwen, once beautifully wrote: "We must learn to live each day, each hour, each minute as a new beginning, as a unique opportunity to make everything new. Imagine that we could live each moment as a moment pregnant with new life. Imagine that we could live each day as a day full of promises. Imagine that we could walk... always listening to a Voice saying to us, 'I have a gift for you and can't wait for you to see it!'" 

Through the pain and the wrestling of trying to break free from the stuff that's held us back or no longer serves us, comes this reminder that the commandments of God are not burdensome (1 John 5:3) and that His yoke is easy and burden is light (Matthew 11:30). So when we feel shackled by something heavy we can't seem to shake or move out of, perhaps our struggle is we are not fully leaning into the better place God desires to take us to. Because the past is what we know (even if it was unhealthy or painful), that is what we'll keep circling back to. Even when we know it's not longer useful to us, the temptation will be to second guess the choice to move on, or to waste our time in the what-ifs, or to question if we heard right that it was time to let that thing or person or experience go. And thus, we'll take it back again. Think some more over whether or not we're ready to turn loose. 

So I've been talking to a lot of different people lately and something that's been coming up a lot is the things that are holding them back. As I have conversations with various individuals of mixed ages and experiences, I keep noticing that much of what they are dealing with in their current season of life is stuff they have struggled to let go of. It's like a lot of folks right now are being brought into a place in their journey where the buried things they've tried to ignore are just coming up to the surface now and begging to be dealt with. And it shows. And it's scary. 

 It's one of those rare moments I'm wishing, as I sit there, that I could bottle up and save forever. Even that I could give out in doses to those who aren't here in this little church in Alaska, allowing them even a taste of what I'm feeling, hearing, seeing in this span of time. There are about two hundred of us gathered here, assembled to honor the life of one of the most well-loved musicians in this area. Janet gave over forty years of her life to music education and involvement, pouring herself into the lives of people all over this place for decades. As someone puts it during her memorial service, "she may not have been the best cook, but she fed us... with her music."   

Let Me

It's a distinction I've never come across before... at least not quite in this way... but one that's suddenly making sense of my entire healing journey and this newly acquired philosophy of living that's become my truth in recent years. And it comes at the hands of a travel magazine I subscribe to, and I'm struck with this revelation as I cozy under my bedcovers and read a little before turning out the lights.   

So they say the number seven represents a sort of completion: a bridge or gateway to a new phase of harmony, divine perfection, and understanding. The biblical and Hebraic scholars believed this and so did ancients of other religions. Seven seems to indicate a season of shifting - a simultaneous ending and beginning all at once that symbolize the fulfillment of a spiritual journey and the start of a fresh chapter of wholeness and balance. But I'm sitting here wondering how that applies to grief. I can understand that significance when it comes to something positive, yet is it even possible that one can experience this transitional movement after carrying deep sorrow for that same length of time?