Photo: Wikipedia Commons
but the Lord was not in the violent wind
1 Kings 19:11
whisper to me, gentle breeze
breath divine, speak love
heart me now, creative word
paint me strokes of wild color
float me high above fluffy clouds
wandering, wispy, wondering
where you hide
play me strings of harmony
lull me into grace,
oh, gentle breeze
I’ve been MIA due to a family issue. My 95-year-old Mom is now receiving hospice care and I was able to spend 10 meaningful days with her in Southern California. We were able to say the things we need to say to those we love to one another. Though she has been in the throes of dementia for a number of years, God gifted us with moments of very lucid sharing.
After ten days, I needed to return home, but left with a sense of peace that, whatever happens next, it will be as God wills. The day after I left, Mom decided it was not quite time to die and asked for a Big Mac and French Fries! Now she seems to be back to where she was before I flew down to be with her.
When I worked as a hospice nurse, I often had time to help family members say those precious things that help both the person moving on and the one left behind to deal with the reality of life. I’d like to share them with you.
Of course, it’s always good and wise to say those words (and mean them) long before death is at the door, but it is a great comfort to do so when a loved one is actively dying, if possible. In reality, this opportunity is not always offered to us. People die suddenly. People refuse to allow another person back into their lives after a lifetime of animosity. Sometimes, a person cannot feel what they are saying if there has been a history of abuse or ill-feelings, but that doesn’t mean we can’t WILL to forgive or love.
What if you don’t have the chance to say those words? One healing way I’ve seen put into action is to write a letter to the deceased loved one. Go ahead, and put it all out there. Be specific about that forgiveness thing, looking at both side of the equation.
I’ll end with a short anecdote. The religious order I was a part of cared for the elderly and when a patient was dying, we watched and prayed with them 24/7, sharing 3 hour shifts in the middle of the night. It could be quite a challenge, especially if a person took their time letting go.
One time, a woman seemed to hang on forever. Her daughter came by off and on during the day. Because the lady appeared comatose, the younger woman just sat with her. After a week or so I asked the daughter to step outside for a moment. I asked her if there was any unfinished business between her and her mother. The woman took a deep breath, sighed and admitted that her mother had been abusive to her throughout her life. I asked if she had ever been able to tell her that she forgave her. Her eyes filled with tears and she just shook her head. I explained that, even though her mother was unconscious, the sense of hearing often remained with a person and suggested she go in the room and say what she needed to say, as best she could. She hugged me and went into the room alone. What was said, I have no idea, but moments later she called me back in and we watched as her mother, seemingly peaceful, let go.
This is not what I expected to write about when I logged into my dashboard, but who am I to question? Here is the quote I chose to reflect on. We can’t be afraid to journey with another at the end of life. God will be with us.
Note: I wrote this post at the beginning of the month and didn’t realize I had left it in draft form. I believe the message is still meaningful, so here it is. My mother is still holding her own. The process of letting go is as unique as every person.
Photo: David Slotto
Resurrexit sicut Dixit, Alleluia
An empty nest lies underneath
a flowering Bougainvillea—
a sign of promises unkept
or fledgling flight?
An empty tomb that’s nestled
in Judea’s rocky hills—
another failed prophecy
or hope transcended?
The Latin title translates as “He is risen, as he said.”
Artist: Lesley Oldaker
Labeled for noncommercial reuse
Good Friday Dirge
an Octain Refrain
Upon the pond a cry of loons
begins its mournful, plaintive song.
I think of how it all went wrong.
Darkness still reigns ‘neath this full moon,
this early morn a mood forlorn
recalling loss, a cross rough-hewn.
And now in Belgium, hatred strong
prolongs the tragic cries of loons.
Written and Posted for my prompt at dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar. The form, developed by Luke Prater, is a High Octain, which I explain at dVerse. Tomorrow, Christians observe Good Friday as we deal with yet another tragic, cowardly act of terrorism. I’m also sharing this here.
Zagreb Gospel Book: John
Wikipedia Commons
Labeled for Reuse
The Gospel According to John
Time passed slowly that afternoon.
Blood flowed like lava into my cupped hand.
The man who hung upon a rough-hewn tree
should have reigned over lush gardens of creation.
The night before I’d struggled to remain awake,
but now I stood by the mother until he passed
into the boiler room of hell. We remained there
to receive his body, returned it to the earth,
sealed the tomb with the clunk of a massive boulder.
After the Sabbath, the Phoenix resurfaced from the ash-pit.
Now I write his story, dipping the nib of my pen
in the sanguine ink of eternal mysteries.
Copyright 2012 Victoria Slotto
Photo: yala-lala via Deviant Art
Labeled for Non-Commercial Reuse
In the tender compassion of our God,
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death
and to guide our feet into the day of peace.
Luke 1, 78-79
Photo: touch the flame
Deviant Art
Labeled for Non-Commercial Reuse
May the light and peace we need so much be with you, your loved ones and our troubled world. Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year.
Victoria
Photo: Labeled for non-commercial reuse
Christmas Advent is My Favorite Time of Year
(Flash Fiction)
Amy waited, none-too-patiently, in the interminable line at Walmart, drumming slender fingers on the handle of her cart, wondering what the hold-up was and questioning the wisdom of attempting to shop the day after Thanksgiving. Especially since she abhorred the commercialism of the season, not to mention, she wasn’t at all fond of crowds.
She ignored the queue forming behind her, and a glance to the left and right informed her that it was the same throughout the store. Impatient customers sighed, complained and even argued about who got to the checkout counter first.
The teenager manning the cash registered wore a Santa Cap and, incongruously, a scowl. Frustration oozed throughout the crowd. The cart behind her was loaded, Amy could tell without turning around, and she thanked her lucky stars that she had gotten there before whoever wielded that wobbly thing on non-compliant wheels.
A small voice, almost a whisper, spoke to her. Turning she saw a wizened little lady who had to be in her 80’s, if not her 90’s.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “Were you speaking to me?”
“Yes,” the elderly patron said. “I just said that December isn’t like it used to be. In my day, Advent came before Christmas, we gave up candy like we did for Lent. We prayed together, waited for the Wonder that was to come. Gifts just weren’t that important.”
Amy nodded, waited for the woman to go on.
A younger voice, a man, from an adjacent line joined in. “That’s how my mother made us prepare for Christmas, too. It was about what was to come. I don’t know, but for me, that made the anticipation all the more exciting, and Christmas day, we couldn’t think of even looking under the tree before Church.”
The conversation continued and Amy mostly listened, adding only a few “I see’s.” The overhead speakers blasted songs totally devoid of anything suggestive of the spiritual meaning of the holiday, more often chanting masked messages of “gimme, gimme, gimme.”
Amy became strangely aware of the emptiness of her own life. These two people had an entirely different perspective from her own. She told herself she would try to learn more about what made Advent, waiting so special to some people. After all, she was alone in this city. Her boyfriend had dumped her a month ago and it wasn’t that easy for her to make new friends.
She surprised herself when she reached the check stand. Those last few minutes in line had slipped by so quickly. When she was next-in-line she did something a little crazy—she stepped behind the lady with the cart loaded with children’s toys. She could see her wise teacher was exhausted and a little wobbly after standing for so long.
When her new friend thanked her, she said, “I can see you wondering why I have all these toys. Oh, they’re not for my grandchildren—I have none. They’re for the collection the Marines are taking up for homeless children. You see, that’s how I celebrate the birth of Jesus now that I’m alone. His coming was all about love and…well, I’m sure you understand.”
Amy realized that she wanted to do just that.
Photo: V. Slotto, 2014
I assure you, unless you change and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of God.Whoever makes himself lowly, becoming like this child, is of greatest importance in that heavenly reign. Mt. 18, 3-4 (NAB)
Photo: Crayola Crayons
I remember a couple of lines from a poem I read a long time ago from a book published in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s. It was written and published by a teacher from St. Mary’s of the Lake, a sister college back then of Notre Dame University–the college my grandmother attended. I tried to recall the exact phrasing, but the book is not available to me right now, so I will just give you the gist, in my own words:
I have a very little song to sing,
I have a very little game to play,
I play alone, except for One who is with me always.
And they are beautiful.
Whenever I read or think of this poem, I think of the ever-loving presence of our God and the fact that God cares about the littlest things in our life.
Yesterday, I had a delightful morning with a dear friend, someone with whom I share faith-talk. We went Bible shopping, as my sight is not so good anymore (one of the non-perks of getting older). I would like one that is large print. Most of the ones we saw were enormous study Bibles. None was in the translation I am used to. But we saw a shelf of coloring books for kids and started talking about the meditative fad that’s popular now of adult coloring books. Kerry told me they have them at Costco, just across the street from where we were. So we went, and both found one…but no crayons.
Now, in my early years, my mom and I lived with my grandparents on a very meager widow’s pension. Mom was not able to give me most of what I asked for, so I still carry the pure delight of the times she would take me to get a new coloring book (or any kind of book, for that matter) and a box of crayons…eight of them, if I recall correctly. Even now, when I pass crayons in the grocery store, I can taste that joy, the scent and colors of a new box of crayons…and so in the afternoon, I took off to Wal-Mart and bought one with 120 colors! I colored two pictures last night.
Jesus asks us to become like little children and I believe that is an invitation to trust and unquestioned belief in His Word. But I also suspect that God delights in us when we find joy in the simple things of life (and in the beauty of His creation.) Perhaps you would enjoy it too–or maybe you will rediscover one of those little things that gave you happiness as a child.
Image: Pinterest
Image: Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son
Wikipedia Commons
Let’s continue reflecting on the wonderful story Jesus told of the Father’s immense love for us. Trying to share the conferences I heard on the parable of the Prodigal Son became a daunting task that stalled me, so I’ll just take a few moments to share my own thoughts about the elder son–the son who stayed faithful, who stayed home with his father and did all he could to do what he believed the father expected of him. I suspect that, if you are visiting this blog, you may be among those who still remain (or, like me, who have returned) home.
What Jesus is asking us to do is to stand back and take a look at ourselves…an objective look. The elder son remained with the father and worked hard–but look what happened when the younger brother returned home–that kid who had demanded his inheritance up front only to go and waste it on dissolute living. Big Bro was really ticked off. No, more than that, he allowed resentment to consume him.
Doesn’t this make you wonder why he bothered to hang around. I suspect it was because he wanted to get something from it. He expected a return on his investment and just couldn’t come to understand that the love of the Father is not based on what we do to earn it, but rather is a gratuitous gift, overflowing with love. Dipping into the Old Testament, I’ve encountered how the loving kindness of God shows up, again and again, in spite of the total infidelity of the Hebrew people, the people he chose for himself. So it is with us.
There are other sins, too, that those who are “good” sons, or “good” Christians may be guilty of–gossip, judgmentalism, pettiness, ignoring the needs of others, perfectionism…it’s darn hard to measure up to those demands of the Beatitudes. Yet, they too need the Father’s forgiveness.
Jesus doesn’t really tell us the rest of the story. Did the elder son catch on and come inside and join in the celebration? I wonder. He would surely be missing out on the Father’s abundant love if he stayed outside and moped.
Note: In Rembrandt’s portrayal of the parable, check out the elder son. He’s the one standing way in the back, in the shadows. The artist really had a deep understanding of Jesus’ story, didn’t he.
Last month my faith community offered a Parish Mission–three evenings of “retreat” preached by Rev. Pat Mowrer of Flagstaff, Arizona.
The theme of his talks centered on the parable of the Prodigal Son–a gospel I’ve read and heard treated in sermons so many times, The saying, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears,” comes to mind. These three evenings gob-smacked my spirit–it was one of those moments when one can see something so familiar as though for the first time.
Using Rembrandt’s stunning oil of the Prodigal Son, Fr. Patrick divided his talks over the three days by person: the youngest (wayward) son, the older (faithful) son and the Father. My goal is to focus my next three posts on each of these. But for today, let’s just look at the underlying message of each sermon:
Image: Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son
Wikipedia Commons
URLoved
In case you’ve tucked the Luke’s account back in the recesses of your archives, let’s take a look at it.
11 Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
To prepare for the next few posts, I invite you to sit quietly with this gospel and adopt “beginner’s mind.” Read it as though you were there in the crowd when Jesus told the story for the first time.
In the next post, I’d like to share a few insights a la Father Pat…a new look at the wild child, the younger son. I’ll venture a guess most of us will be able to identify with him to a degree–and yet we are loved!
Be Still and Know that I AM God Ps 46:10 