Mission Incredible

"If you surrender completely
to the moments as they pass,
you live more richly those moments."
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Elly and Bob, married February 1, 1946
Honeymoon at The Elms

People are unique. Like leaves on a tree, no two are exactly alike. One size definitely does not fill all. Why, then, should we adhere to rigid customs pertaining to death and dying? 

Funerals and mourning rituals used to be rigidly set and were not to be taken lightly. The rules of etiquette pertaining to  mourning reached ridiculous proportions in the Victorian Era. If you'd like to read more about the rules for veils and calling cards and gloves and jewelry and such things, read this.

I'm happy that the rules have eased since then, for according to Harper's Bazaar, I'd be wearing a long dress of "black Henrietta cloth (whatever that may be) or serge trimmed with crape, complete with a deep veil" worn at the back of my bonnet for the next year.

That sounds hot, uncomfortable, and itchy to me.

I'm pleased that people have begun to buck the system and make their own plans for ceremonies, services, or "going away parties" after their deaths.

My mother was one of those people.

She left explicit directions to her brood telling us the plan. No fussy funeral for this Parkville farmer's daughter. No expensive show, and no grave, either. Her letters to us have turned her memorial into a Mission Incredible.

You know by now that Eleanor married Robert Floyd in 1945 and they spent a short but happy honeymoon at The Elms Hotel in Excelsior Springs.

Now fast forward fifty-two years through six children, about as many homes, several careers, more than a dozen grandchildren, a few great grandchildren, and to the death of her loving husband. Now go even further...about fifteen years further without the love of her life.

Elly wanted us to make sure she spent eternity with Bob.

Elly's request to her children was for us to gather together for a party  at The Elms in our parents' honor. That seemed simple enough. We knew that the hotel still existed, though what an additional 65 years might do to it, none of us knew. A quick search told us that the historic hotel has had several incarnations through its century of history, but that it is now thriving as a resort and spa, capitalizing on its proximity to Kansas City, and to the healing mineral water springs for which it was created. Here's what it looks like today.

And so, on Friday evening, April 22, 2011, thirty members of Elly and Bob's family from several generations will gather for a party at The Elms in their memory.

The second request was for us to find the wishing well on the hotel grounds, which held deep sentimental value for the couple. In fact, the wishing well was so significant that Bob created his own replica of the well in the backyard of their home in Oak Grove as a gift to Elly for their 50th wedding anniversary. Here's what the replica looks like....

We had a Spruce up Grandma's Yard party on Mother's Day just last year, and my husband found a commemorative coin in the wishing well while sprucing it up. It turned out to be a coin from the Las Vegas hotel where Bob and Elly had spent their 25th wedding anniversary.

We were dismayed when a thorough search of The Elms website failed to show any photos of the wishing well, but thanks to facebook (yes, you can 'like' them if you want to), The Elms facebook page was a treasure trove of photographs. Look what I found...

Yep, that's it, covered with snow, but it's still there. Whew!

The final request from Elly was that we mingle their ashes together (yes, Elly had hidden Bob's ashes away to await her return to him) and to deposit them in and around the wishing well.

Wehhhll, now it gets tricky. And a little funny. We may have to call Agent Thuenemann in for this mission on Saturday .  To be honest, we're not really sure what The Management might think about people doing that sort of thing to and around their well, so it may be necessary to make this one a covert operation.  Did anyone bring the maps? We'll need recon to assess the situation, then maybe a diversionary tactic to distract The Management away from the suspicious-looking group of people skulking around  in the garden. Ah, yes, an Easter Egg Hunt should be just the thing.

Team Floyd is on the job, Mom, and we won't let you down. Reunited now, rest in the embrace of your loving husband on your eternal honeymoon.

Today, I wish you success in all your missions.

 Music today is "Gabriel's Oboe" by Enrico Morriconi from the visually and musically stunning movie, "The Mission."Carlo Romano is the oboist, playing with the RAI National Symphony Orchestra in Italy . Enjoy.

Journey Through the Storm

"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm."

- Willa Cather

The Storm - Pierre-Auguste Cot, Oil on canvas, 1880,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, New York

Violent storms swept through Weldon Springs last night and into the morning. Vivid lightning, crashing thunder, and bursts of noisy hail joined torrents of rain in the assault. What a crazy night.

I felt as though the storms were a sort of manifestation of the storm that's lately been passing through the family ethos here, as well. As we prepare for the family to caravan to Kansas City in a couple of days for a weekend celebration of my mother's life, we seem to have entered a phase of conflicting, sometimes downright warring, emotions. We're a household of crazy people.

It can't be helped. I know this. I just don't know if the rest of the family knows it. We'll get through this...we have before and we will again. They don't seem to remember this, though.

It's stressful. Planning for any trip is stressful these days, even if it's just for one traveler. Multiplied by nine (with two of those travelers being small children), things that would normally be small issues seem to cause storm clouds to gather quickly. If we factor in the reason for the journey (the anticipation of a difficult goodbye to a dearly loved person), those storm clouds are bound to burst open.

Some in the family are focusing on transportation issues. Cars need repairs and cleaning and expensive gas in order to make the trip. Airline travel has been arranged for The Graceful One to fly into Kansas City. Hmm. I guess someone should plan on picking her up at the airport.

Some are focusing on keeping children occupied for hours in the car...handheld video games and players seem to be the saving grace for today's parents. Hmm. No more "Billboard Bingo" I guess.

Some are focusing on clothing for the occasion. Does everyone have socks? How about jackets? What will the weather be like (heaven knows!)?  Hmm. What does one wear to a memorial service to be held at a resort/spa?

Yes, that's what I said. My mother's memorial will be held at the hotel/hot springs resort/spa where my mother and father spent their honeymoon over 65 years ago. It's called The Elms in Excelsior Springs, and is about 40 miles north of Kansas City.  Here is a picture of it...

The Elms Resort and Spa

The Elms is over one hundred years old and is famous for the healing mineral waters that used to draw thousands of visitors each year back in the early days. One of its most famous guests was President Harry S. Truman, who stayed there on the eve of his re-election in 1948.

He must have heard how much my parents enjoyed it.

But I digress. I'll tell you a bit more about the plans for the memorial tomorrow. If I have time between the cars and the video games and the clothes shopping.

Now that the storm has passed through, the morning is cool, the air is clear, and the light is returning. Let's hope the family can manifest that, as well.

Today, I hope you can see past the storm.

I've selected a favorite song from a favorite genre of my parents' day, the Big Band Era. The inimitable Les Brown and his Band of Renown plays "Sentimental Journey" with the divine Vikki Carr singing the vocals.  Enjoy!

Sacred Presence

"If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give."
- George MacDonald

Today I cannot help but think of a friend who has been like a sister to me for most of my adult life. We've raised our children side by side, and together we've laughed a million laughs and cried a million tears by now.

She is in pain today, and I am reminded of the sacred gift of her presence in my life, and mine in hers, when we've needed it.  She has cast many loving thoughts into my heart, and today, I wish to give her a gift "as the angels give."

You are loved, sister/friend. You have more friends than you can count. May you feel each one cast a loving thought into your gentle heart today, and bring you peace.


Weeping? And why? And why?
Ah, 'tis faith you are lacking
Hear me
One fine day we'll notice
A thread of smoke arising on the sea
In the far horizon
And then the ship appearing
Then the trim white vessel
Glides into the harbour
Thunders forth her cannon
See you? Now he is coming
- Exerpt, "One Fine Day"
from Madame Butterfly, Giacomo Puccini



This is the beautiful Renée Fleming singing the aria, "One Fine Day" from Puccini's "Madame Butterfly" as part of the "Power Opera" series.

The Art of Listening

"Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Flaming June, Lord Frederic Leighton, Oil on canvas, 1895
Ponce Museum of Art, Peurto Rico

Last night another round of thunderstorms rolled through Weldon Spring. They were not frightening, as the ones that rolled through Oklahoma yesterday had been. They were comforting.

Distant flashes of light and soft rumbles filled the quiet night air. The rain tip-tip-tipped steadily, and Brother Wind swayed the trees quite gently. My window was cracked and the cool breeze crept in, but I was wrapped in the comforting warmth of loving arms throughout the night.

Morning came amidst the dark cold rain, the sun deeply subdued and barely perceptible. The birds must know that the rain will continue all day, and are filling the morning with song. Brother Wind is still passing through the scene outside my window, creating the most pleasing rocking motion through the trees. Even he (who enjoys taunting me at times) seems to offer comfort, saying, "The week ahead will be difficult. You will need strength. We've created this gift for you...take it and rest."

I'm trying to listen more carefully these days. It's an art...one that I hope to improve.

The week ahead includes a memorial celebration for my mother, and will be very special, yet difficult, I'm sure. Today I have no work that can't wait until afternoon. I have darkness, and light rain, and breezy cool inside and out. I have this been offered this gift, and I am listening...

I think I will accept it. I'm going back to bed.

Today I wish you the pleasure of nature's gifts and the ability to listen.

Music today is the familiar and beautiful "Méditation from Thaïs" by Jules Massenet. ["Thaïs" is a beautiful opera, but one of great difficulty, and as such, is not part of the standard repertoire of many opera companies. "Méditation" is actually not a part of the opera per se, but is an entr'acte, played between the scenes of Act II.]

The legendary violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter performs with pianist Lambert Orkis in this 2008 recital. Let the music wash over you as you listen.

What do you hear? Longing? Sorrow? Strength? Peace? Only you can say what the message truly is for you...just remember how important it is to listen carefully. Please enjoy.

 

Let There Be Light

"Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in."
- Leonard Cohen


Girl with Pearl Earring, Jan Vermeer, Oil on canvas, 1665
Louvre Museum, Paris, France


What makes this painting so special? Most experts will tell you it's Vermeer's understanding of light, using it to highlight the earring with such intensity that he pulls the observer's eye toward the center of the painting filled with darks and lesser highlights. What an impressive mastery of his subject and the observer!

The great masters of Chiaroscuro like Raphael, Caravaggio, and Vermeer began to explore concepts of light and dark in the Renaissance era, and today the concept of light remains as provocative as ever.

Blues Come Through, Alice Dalton Brown

I looked at a print of the painting above, and nearly couldn't believe it wasn't a photograph. (I don't know the original medium used, but I suspect it's a watercolor.)  Dalton Brown, a Contemporary Realist who was born in Pennsylvania in 1939, studied art at the Academie Julian in Paris. She's known for her attention to detail and, like most great artists, "finding the sublime in the everyday." I'm simply amazed at her understanding of the interplay between light and shadows.

The dark, murky shadows of the light-deprived winter season have finally given way to the crisp, clear shadows that accompany the bright spring sunshine.  As the sunbeams came streaming into the house this morning, I couldn't help but reflect on the power of light and how deeply it affects us all.

Physically and metaphorically, I'm letting the light in today. I've opened all the shades and thrown up the sashes on this perfect spring day. (A high of 75 F. is expected today. How perfect is that?) As the brilliant Leonard Cohen tells us, I'm going to try to accept the cracks in my world and understand that it is through those very cracks that the light will enter. 

Today, I wish you light through the cracks.


Wow. Leonard Cohen. He is one of the greatest poets of our day, to my mind, and certainly one of the most gracious performers to ever live.

Of course the music selection today is his brilliant "Anthem" from which the quote above is exerpted. Many versions are out there for you to explore (here is a very unique version posted by my friend, Steven, over at his blog, the golden fish), but this one is filled with the grace of Cohen's soul from beginning to end. Please watch his face as he performs, allowing the music and the poetry of his lyrics to enter completely into him, and so, into us.

As much a I enjoy the beauty of the music and the words, I enjoy the final introductions of the people with whom he shares the stage, given and receieved with such reverence for one another. Enjoy. 

Grace Notes

"I do not want the peace which passeth understanding, I want the understanding which bringeth peace." - Helen Keller

Fantasy Bust of a Veiled Woman (Margeurite Bellanger?)
Albert-Ernest Carrier-Belleuse, c. 1865-1870, terracotta
Chester Dale Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

The last two weeks have been extraordinary, profound, and healing.

Just days after my mother's passing, I traveled to Maine to meet a dear friend and see my daughter perform in a ballet there, and then with only one full day in between trips (barely enough to unpack and pack again), I traveled east again, this time to spend a few days with two friends in D.C.

I struggled mightily with the decision to continue with my plans for these two trips. I had just suffered a significant loss. I was in pain. I wanted to curl up and hide under the covers. I was wrapped in grief.

In fact, when I saw the bust pictured above at the National Gallery a few days ago, I was covered with chills and thought to myself, "That's just how it feels." Veiled. Swathed in yards of heavy sadness. Grief, thy name is Margeurite.

Two weeks ago, I thought these two trips might be inappropriate or ill-adivised. I wasn't sure I could physically go. Could I even find the energy to pack one suitcase? Two seemed impossible. I wondered if I could make it emotionally. Tears come at unexpected times when we're grieving. Would I completely embarrass myself? What if I burst into tears in the middle of the airport? Or worse, in the midst of happy friends?

What I understand now is that there are no accidents. These trips that were planned well in advance of my mother's death had been scheduled at the perfect time with the perfect people in the perfect settings for the purpose of healing. I am in awe, and I am so very grateful for having decided to make these two trips. 

They were grace notes in grief's symphony.

[Grace notes are extra notes 'suggested' by the composer (they are indicated in classical works by printing a note that is much smaller than a regular note, sometimes with a slash through the note stem) for extra embellishment, but not necessary for the harmony or melody of a composition.]

They aren't necessary...just rather special and really appreciated.

As I progressed through the last two weeks, the layers of weighty sadness fell away slowly and gently, removed tenderly by family and friends who care for me.  The heavy veil was lovingly replaced by a weightless armor of understanding and peace.

If you offered a word of comfort, a hug, an act of kindness, or a smile to me in the last few weeks, know that I heard and saw and felt it. Each act is a grace-filled note in the poignant symphony of grief.

It isn't exactly necessary to the process, but very special and deeply appreciated.

I will share more about these trips, but for today, I want to leave it here...in grace.

May you have added grace notes to your symphony today.

Music today is Mischa Maisky playing the Prelude to Bach's Cello Suite No. 1. Enjoy.

Cherry Amour Therapy

"Every now and then go away, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer." -  Leonardo Da Vinci
 

 

Fleurs De Cerise (Cherry Blossom) - Oil on canvasEmile Vernon, 1916, private collection

I'm heading to Washington, D.C. this morning to catch up with two friends, Reya and Linda, and fill a prescription for a little Cherry Amour therapy. That's Reya's way of describing the effects of the Cherry Blossom Festival this time of year in her corner of the world.

The Japanese cherry trees were given as a gift to the city of Washington, D.C. by the mayor of Tokyo, Mr. Yukio Ozaki exactly 99 years and two days ago, March 27, 1912.

That is so cool.

This trip has been in the works for several weeks now, and I thought it would be a fun frolic with a couple of girlfriends, laughing and walking in the warm D.C. sunshine, and taking hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures of the annaul spectacle of spring.

I had no idea what was in store for me.

I see now that it is no coincidence that these two trips, one to see The Graceful One perform last weekend, and one to dance among the cherry blossoms with my friends, were perfectly arranged to follow the death of my mother.

What was to be a celebration of a great performance turned into a chance to hold my child and grieve with her for the loss of her dear grandmother. To be able to be with her, see her for myself, and share tears and hugs and memories with her was healing therapy for myself as well.

And now, to have the chance to be among the trees and friends and art and music and all that is a part of Reya's city is healing beyond belief. Cherry Amour therapy, it certainly is.

In truth, the weather forecast calls for rain, but that's of little consequence to me. I feel that the three of us will be given all that is needed for our time together, be it rain, or snow, or sun.  I'm extremely grateful to Reya for coordinating this.

I'm not bringing my laptop, and I won't be posting until I get home late Saturday. Instead, I'll spend my time marveling at the wonders of nature (in whatever form), the wonders of friendship, and the wonders of these great synchronicities we all get to experience every so often.

Today, I wish you your own version of Cherry Amour therapy.

The music selection today was very difficult. Should I go with something Japanese? (Truthfully, most of it grates on my nerves.) Something about cherry blossoms? (There are a few, but they're mostly love songs...too trite.) I finally decided to stop wrestling and choose something from my go-to guy, Chopin.

In honor of the predicted rain, I have chosen Chopin's "Raindrop" Prelude in D flat Major, Op.28 No.15. It's the longest of all his preludes, and is a lovely study on the comfort of rain. 


Chopin wrote this while he was staying at a monastery, convalescing from what we now believe was most likely tuberculosis. Chopin worried constantly about his wife and son, but playing the piano offered relief from the anxiety.

He was reportedly hypnotized by the sound of the rain on the roof one day, and wrote this prelude as a result. It's quite beautiful...listen for the repeating constant A-flat eighth notes pitter-pattering in the bass, sounding like the rain on Chopin's roof tiles and downspouts.

This version is played by my favorite pianist, Vladimir Ashkenazy. I love his tempo, his expression, and the way he allows the rain to wash over us all. Enjoy. 

The Convalescence of Grief

''Healing,'' Papa would tell me, ''is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.''
- W. H. Auden

The Convalescent (Zeffy in Bed) - Oil on canvas
 Lillian Hale, 1906

It’s been one week since my mother flew away on the supermoon. At least that’s the way I like to think of it, her soul lifting up out of her now-unnecessary body, soaring upward to alight on the gleaming giant moon, looking down at the glory of Gaia’s earth, then moving on to realms unknown.


Or maybe her departure was more like the explosion of fireworks, with tiny sparkling shards of her soul arching out in all directions , lighting up the heavens, some of them piercing into her family and friends’ hearts as the true “final resting place.” Who can know for sure?

What I do know with certainty is that I have barely begun the grieving process, and I need to be gentle with myself. I’ve been through the process before (who at my age hasn’t?), and there is no set time frame for healing to occur. I have no expectations but to allow the process to unfold as it will, feel what I must feel when the feelings arise, cry the tears I must cry when they erupt, and endure the pain that I am sure to encounter along the way.

Already I have reached for the phone several times, thinking it’s time for me to check in with Mom, when I remember that she won’t be on the other end of the line. It’s a strange and sad feeling.

When my husband insisted soon after our marriage over 35 years ago that we move to his hometown (ancient, pre-cell phone days), I acquiesced, though secretly I felt as if he was moving me to the other side of the world, rather than the other side of the state. I had not, at that point, traveled much in my entire life, and my roots had grown deep and spread wide and set firmly in the soil of my hometown. I agreed to yank myself up, roots and all, on one condition. He could not complain about the long distance phone bill. Ever. To anyone. Especially to his family. He agreed.

To my knowledge, he never did. I spoke with my mother frequently…not every day, but at least once a week at first. Then, as I went through pregnancies and childbirths and illnesses and injuries and birthdays and first dentist appointments and first soccer practices and first days of school and such, I was calling more frequently.

By the time I found myself with three little boys under the age of five, I was speaking to Mom every day. Of course I would. After all, she had raised four boys of her own, so there wasn’t much that she didn’t know about these feral beings and how to tame them. Oh, yeah. She was so wise. [If you want to read some of her “mom-isms” you can read them HERE.]

Mind you, she rarely called me. In fact, she rarely called any of her children. If the phone rang and her number popped up on caller ID, I was sure that either it was my birthday, or there was an emergency. She was the kind of mother who never meddled in her children’s business, never inserted herself in their plans, and never played the martyr. The truth is, she had a busy, productive life of her own outside of her children, and so maybe…now that I think of it…just maybe, she enjoyed her freedom from us!

At any rate, I never felt pressured to call her. I simply loved her company, her great good humor, her sage advice, and her attention. After all, I was one of six children, so it was with no small measure of satisfaction that as an adult I discovered that the best way to bask in my mother’s undivided attention was to speak with her on the phone.

As her health declined and my trips to check on her increased, our phone conversations waned (she never could get the hang of her hearing aid), but we still laughed a lot during our conversations. I loved making Mom laugh, and she certainly knew how to tickle my funny bone.

Even in the final weeks of her life, I would regale her with stories (complaints) about my routine experiences (problems) with everyday life (family), and soon we would both be laughing. She looked at me once on a recent visit, held my hands in hers, and said to me, “you are such a funny girl.”

“Funny, “ha-ha”, or funny, “odd?” I asked, which set her laughing again.

“Funny, “ha-ha,” she assured me, to which I asked her, “Now where would I get that trait?”

She released my hands, put both her thumbs in the air, and pointed them at herself, which of course, tickled me pink.

Yes, I think I will need some time to adapt to the quiet mornings without the phone conversations with my mother.

I guess I'll do what we usually do while healing...lie in bed a while longer than usual, get fresh air, breathe deeply, and carefully nourish my body.  Like caring for a convalescent, I'll give myself a little extra TLC.

It'll be nice...it just won't be as fun.

Today, I wish for you a great conversation with one you love.

Today's music selection is the aria, "Song to the Moon" from the opera "Rusalka" by Antonin Dvorak. I'm sorry to say that this beautiful version has no English credits to share with you. I assume this singer is Korean, though I may be mistaken, but there is no mistaking the gorgeous talent she holds.

In this aria, a water nymph, Rusalka, sings to the moon that the moon might hear her desire to find the prince she loves.  I especially love Dvorak's lyrics beseeching the moon;

Silver moon upon the deep dark sky

Through the vast night pierce your rays

This sleeping world you wander by

Smiling on men's homes and ways

Oh moon 'ere past you glide, tell me 

Tell me, oh where does my loved one bide?

 Enjoy.

Angels Among Us


I'm feeling much better about the world today. Well, I really could have used one more snow day with my grandchildren, but we can't have everything, right?  While everyone else seems to be complaining about the inefficient snow removal in their municipalities, I find myself extremely disappointed at the ridiculously effective snow removal here in Weldon Spring. Really? Six inches of snow, and all we get is one lousy snow day? Something's got to be done about this.

But back to the subject at hand. The encouraging sighting of angels all around us during this dark time. As Martin Luther King, Jr. reminded us, darkness can only be overcome by light, and the light shining from these angels is brilliant, indeed.

I'm referring today to earthly angels...like the community activist in Tuscon who has gathered a small army of angels to protect a grieving family from an army of hate-mongers intent on disrupting the burial of their precious little girl. These angel/people, nearly 300 as of last night, will dress in white and line the streets and entrances to the cemetery. About thirty of them will be equipped with 'wings,' poles of draped white fabric meant to shield the immediate family from the "protesters" from Westboro Baptist "Church." These angel/people will not wave banners, hurl insults, or make threats. They will not get in anyone's face to thrust their opinions upon them. They won't get loud, angry, or malicious.

They will not inflict hate upon the hate-mongers, for hate only begets hate.

They will simply, peacefully, beautifully, stand in loving solidarity with the family, forcing the darkness out with the light. 

The message is this; "Do what you will. Darkness will always be overcome by Light. Hate will always be overcome by Love."

I hope this message reaches extremists everywhere who are intent on spreading fear and hate.I'm counting on lots of angels to deliver it.



These thoughts sent me on a quest to find how angels are portrayed by great artists...here's some of what I found. (Angels in art can be found in all cultures throughout history.  These three examples just appealed to me today.)




St. Francis and the Angel – Orazio Gentileschi, 1613


Early 1600's we see the portrayal of angels as guardians of the saints and martyrs of early Christianity. Note the use of contrasting light and dark (chiaroscuro) on the angel.



I love the angels in the painting below by French painter Bouguereau. Who wouldn't love to be serenaded by a trio this heavenly?


Song of the Angels - William-Adoph Bouguereau, 1881

 

Finally, we have the noble archangel Michael. Michael is often depicted armed with a sword, though I don't think he needs it. I guess it's more of a "walk softly but carry a big stick" metaphor. Michael is also depicted with a face of great peace and beauty, confident in the knowledge that love will always conquer evil. Note one more common theme...Satan under his foot.

St. Michael the Archangel, Scipione Tadolini, 1865

 
Wishing you a day filled with hope for the future.

The Artist's Reply

‎"This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.” - Leonard Bernstein


From the tragedy of the African slave trade, to the heartache of the Trail of Tears...from Auschwitz to Northern Ireland to Normandy, Tripoli, and Tibet...from every corner of the world, music and art have arisen from the depths of despair to comfort and redeem the human race.

Thanks to my friend, opera soprano Christine Brewer, for this poignant quote. Thanks, also, for the great contributions she and other artists have made to our collective soul.

Today I take comfort in the music of Jules Massenet's opera, Thais. This particular portion is called "Meditation," and is played by the incomparable Israeli/American violinist, Itzhak Perlman.

I wish you Peace.

Hope to Heal.....

by Nancy Kotsifakis
I was inspired by Linda's Promise post to share a bit of my journey and also the stereo whispers are getting louder from Dubby and Jo. This is such an encouraging group of writers that we meet in a message thread (or two...) and some of our exchanges actually make it out to the open air of this blog.

Hope

Healing is always around when you know someone cares....even distant 'someones'. I remember my mom waiting with all of my family for my dad (on his 3rd heart bypass operation). He had gone in weak, and we were so afraid for him...we held hands in a circle in the waiting room and just said silent prayers to ourselves - nothing vocal. We were so 'internalized' - then, a lady walked alone into the room. I was the only one that noticed her as she looked straight at the back wall and headed for an isolated spot - EXTREMELY upset, sobbing and crying as quietly as a heaving kind of sob can be. I was stunned between feeling lucky that I had my family with me, yet feeling so much for this lady all by herself - she was probably in her 50's. I elbowed my mom, and I swear the instant my mom saw her she simultaneously stood straight up and hurriedly walked to catch up with her. I was still - as if on Phaser Stun mode, and a thought crept in - 'what is my mom going to SAY to this lady?'. I saw them speak for a bit, then my mom returned with a gentle smile. She had merely given this lady hope....that is all. Hope...after hearing that the ladies husband was in a serious operation my mom had merely said, 'well, he hasn't died yet has he?' the relief in that ladies whole essence started to unfold...she could cope with the help of hope. It was a simple, quick conversation that healed....someone cared...someone gave hope....we each have in us that gift we can give each other.

Faith forever...

I did NOTHING to earn it, did not even seek it and spent most of my childhood running away from anything that couldn't be proven in front of my eyes today - visible at this moment. I grew up in a family that went to church every Sunday - and I noticed that I could skip much of this by joining the choir. I started out memorizing all of the things I needed to progress in church, such as the books of the bible, and would pray for things I felt other people wanted - a better car, a better job, etc. However, I never felt the connection between the rituals and the meaning. For instance I knew that the wafer of bread and wine were representations of the bible events - but ritual was just that - a thing to do every year. I can't say that I even tried to place a meaning on them - and I will spare you all the arguments I used that I thought were logical.
Fast forward to about 6 or 7 years ago - I found a coworker, Teresa to car pool with on the 55 minute drive to work. The very first thing she said when she got in the car was, 'I HAVE to listen to my favorite reverend!'. I gulped thinking...I am NOT going to like this (imagining Garner Ted and rantings), but I can do this... her program is in the morning, and I said 'I HAVE to listen to Dr. Laura in the afternoon!' and we struck a deal. Now, the ride to work was very early - we had to be at work by 6am. She turned the radio on Walk In the Word, and I started to shrink in my seat as I heard the compassion of James MacDonald's booming voice....I was almost embarrassed for him at first....but then I listened. He started making sense...he brought in background period information, he never talked DOWN to people and he constantly gave reference verses...faster than I could keep up while driving - believe me I would check them out. I found myself understanding....UNDERSTANDING. Teresa told me to start in the New Testament - that basically the Old Testament was history (later she told me that reading the Old Testament really gave her a feel for God's heart). The New Testament is the one that gives us Jesus, and I knew that but hadn't grasped the meaning of the difference. I had previously gotten lost in the begat, begat, begat part of the Old Testament without really understanding that it was leading up to the lineage of Jesus.
Between the 'Rev in the Morning' and Dr. Laura we struck up a wonderful friendship and I went out to buy my first bible. I was overwhelmed by the rows and rows of options, but remembered that the NIV was one of a handful that James MacDonald mentioned. I chose a study bible version of the NIV because half of each page is chock-full of archeological findings, history notes, and when the verse is not well understood the study bible version gives you the top 3 or so interpretations adding the background to each. I would like to say that I have read everything in the bible - but no - I listened to people I trusted, and then looked up the passages and interpretations in my study bible. Why is it when God writes a book (as MacDonald uses for a title), and I can't seem to find the time in my little life to READ it??! It's only been around - how many thousands of years, and pretty much unchanged (7 words mostly in spelling have changed in that entire time from the book of Isiah - they checked today's version with the Dead Sea scroll version).

It didn't come instantly, but I sure felt the difference between one day questioning (as we are encouraged to do) and eventually - I had to be honest with myself - knowing that I had the gift of faith in Jesus and the bible. Conviction is probably a better word than 'had'...it is as if I always knew this, like knowing what the color green looks like. I would like to say that I have since learned not to sin - only now I am aware of how easy it is to sin - such as the hurt careless words can cause, and I am also aware that God knows we are incapable of being sinless....'no not one'. That is why we need Jesus to truck us over to the other side....we are all in one boat headed for the other shore, dancing and enjoying life - making good and bad choices, hurting and healing each other - but this boat is going to dock on the other side and our bodies will die no matter what we do.

Listen - he will probably embarrass you too at first, but if you make it to the end tell me if it touched you in a positive way.
Here is a Walk In the Word Podcast.