Wait on the Lord

This reflection is a long time coming.  I originally started it at the beginning of Advent last year, and just know have been able to spend time getting my words right.  I finished it earlier this week for a reflection paper, but find these words speak to my soul in this time and place on my seminary campus.  The bold and italicized words are taken from Psalm 27  - a psalm that has been on my heart and mind for quite awhile.  If you are able, I would ask you keep the CTS community in your thoughts as we walk along side our beloved Hayner family during this time of transition.  In the midst of the waiting, we hold on to what we know - that we are Kingdom people - we come together and walk along side each other in times like these - with kindness and love. 

The Lord is my light and my salvation

 - whom shall I fear?

I've been here before - I've done this waiting before.  It's not the waiting that comes with the season of Advent - that waiting in the dark with the knowledge that the light will come - that the darkness will pass - this is a waiting where the darkness is never illuminated - is never brought into question - the darkness is just darkness.  This shadow never shifts, never gleans anything new - it dead ends into the place you know it will.  You try to ignore it - but the fear is there.  The fear of that returning pain of grief -

Wait on the Lord, be strong,

 and let your heart take courage.

I sat with spouses this summer - waiting like this - waiting for what we know was to come.  It was ugly - it was bloody - it was tedious - it was painful to live through - painful to watch... One spouse confessed to just wishing it would be over and than feeling guilt in wishing that of their loved one. "I sound so selfish - but I can't do this anymore - I'm not strong enough!"  What words of comfort do I have to offer in this season of waiting - in this time of transition - in this spring loaded space...

Wait on the Lord, be strong, 

and let your heart take courage.

I walked through this with my grandmother about a year ago. We'd lost her spouse of 60 + years at the end of summer, and we'd known they'd follow each other, even in death.  But as much as you think you're prepared, it still sneaks up on you and grabs at your heart and soul in ways you never expect.

But there it was - she was ill, and not going to get better. I'd received the phone call while on a Global Music Conference Retreat weekend at a ecumenical worship place in Richmond, VA, and I remember walking in circles in their calming garden, feeling my mind reel in circles with God. The words "why?" and "wait" were on repeat in my head and heart and I felt a bit lost. I couldn't make sense of much of anything - walking - thinking - praying in circles. 

Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud - 

be gracious to me and answer me!

  She'd been moved to hospice the week before Thanksgiving, so I packed up early from school and headed west.  With my grandfather, his transition to hospice had been so quick.  I had this fear I wouldn't see my grandmother - wouldn't get to spend just a few more minutes with her.  When I thought more about it, she knew everything I would have wanted to say - I didn't keep that from her. She knew how much I admired her, loved her, and appreciated her.  (Y'all know me - I'm not one to keep silent about my feelings.)  But I knew I wouldn't be ok if I couldn't spend time with her before she was gone.

 “Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!”

    Your face, Lord, do I seek.

 I arrived at the Hospice Center, said a prayer for strength in my car and walked in.  I remember everyone being so kind - most of the staff remembered my grandfather and my family from that time, and they were just so kind to me.  One staff walked with me to her room - I am now so grateful  for that - I didn't realize how anxious I would be. I wasn't sure what I was expecting - tubes - acrid smells of antiseptic - a shell of the woman I treasured so dearly - I did not know what I would see.

The room was warm - cozy - inviting.  The glow of her glass Christmas tree illuminated the space in the way that almost seemed sacred.   She looked beautiful, as she always does. I hugged my aunt who was there, and chatted for awhile, and then she left. I was alone with my beloved Bamma, for our last sleepover together.

And that's when the waiting felt real.  While I knew that was my grandmother, it wasn't.  I spent the night listening to hymns mixed with the sound of her labored breathing.  In the midst of the night, my attitude shifted from one of "why" and "wait" to an attitude of "go home and be at peace". The next few days were exhausting - waiting for the phone call - waiting for the weight of the waiting to be lifted from our shoulders.

Wait on the Lord, be strong,

 and let your heart take courage.

Waiting is hard to do when you know the outcome. When you know the wait will come to an end with a big, gaping hole in your life -you may have to be strong.   When you know it will end up in a funeral parlor, gathered around an open casket - waiting takes courage.  In the midst of darkness and a swirling chaotic mind - you keep on waiting - preparing to greet the familiar face of grief.

Loss of Words

But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.  

- Romans 8:25-27

If you follow this blog at all, you might notice there was quite the gap in my last post up until now. If you follow me on other social media, you'll know I'm alive and well - and finishing up this last year at Columbia.  If we've spent time together in these past four months, you too, might know, I'm still that Chatty Kathy I tend to be. 

So, what gives?

I think I was at a loss of words. More specifically, a loss of words to share with others.  I started my fall semester a bit weary after an amazing and challenging summer serving as a hospital Chaplain. I'd been away from campus about nine months, and I didn't feel like I'd "come home".  I'd had four months of home in Cambridge, four months of home in Texas - and it wasn't as easy just to pick up where I'd left off. 

 And while I gleaned much from my classes, they weren't necessarily the classes that got my heart going - they were more the exhausting and emotionally draining types of classes. There was my Ethics class that focused on Providence and Theodicy, which I quickly nicknamed "Processing CPE" (my hospital gig).  We had good conversations that were so, so, so difficult, and I often left with more questions than I began with.  All good things - but challenging all the same.  There was my Creation Care class which was taught by Professor Doom (I promise, I didn't give him this nickname!), where once again we had good, challenging discussions on scripture and our role in God's good creation.  I'd come home and feel like my composting coffee grounds just wouldn't cut it in our ever increasing polluted and worn out world.  By the time I made it to the end of my week, in my Marriage and Family Counseling class I would be on sensory overload.  I kept waiting for our case studies in that class to become less personable, but in my life, much like many others - I've seen the effects of suicide, infidelity, addiction, mental illness, chronic illness and more. There's a face I recognize for every one of those topics, and it was emotionally hard for me to sit through these discussions. 

 I also was out of practice of writing in my journal and self-reflection which wreaked havoc on my processing.  My heart felt heavy and it seemed to be a season of frustration - of transition - of pent up thoughts and ideas I had no idea how to give words to. 

And then, a shift. 

There's quite a few resources that reflect on the verse above from Romans, but I most like at this time of a new season what this one says: 

“We are not left alone in our waiting and struggle, for "the Spirit helps us in our weakness". Even though we don't know how or what to pray, the Spirit intercedes for us with "inarticulate groans ". The NRSV translation, "with sighs too deep for words," obscures the parallel between our "groaning" and that of the Spirit. Just as we groan together with the whole creation, the Spirit groans together with and for us, interceding for us according to the will of God.

Our grasp of God's will and the future God has in store for creation is limited at best. How can we pray for what we have not seen and have difficulty imagining? The Spirit gives voice to what we cannot articulate but hope and long for in our inmost selves.”  

(You can read more here.)

A shift, where the Spirit has given voice to what I have difficulty imagining. 

A movement in my soul towards new life. 

A time at home to rest.

A time to click submit on all your school work, and be done. 

A time to gather with friends and family around the table (and sometimes do crafts). 

A time to hear words of encouragement and wisdom from mentors in my faith tradition.

A time to bake dozens upon dozens of cookies with the women in my family.

A time for afternoon tea parties with nieces, afternoon cuddles with nephews while reading stories, and of course, to decorate Christmas cookies. 

 A time to recognize this journey called seminary is almost ever, and something new is coming.

A time for exploring your home city with friends from different times in your life, rejoicing in the mutual friendships, and your love for the city.

A time to binge watch the latest Dr. Who with your sister.

A time to visit colleagues who are in new places and beginning new ministries.  

A time to go out and dance with your siblings to an 80's cover band. 

A time to feel how light your heart has become and wonder if the dark shadows of grief have lessened.

A time for the Spirit to intercede in the wonderful and unpredictable way that Spirit does. 

 A time to recognize a season has passed, and a new season is upon us.  A season that is full of light and hope - a season that brings warmth despite the cold, and brings a reminder in a tiny babe that God hasn't abandoned God's people. 

Praise be to God for that Spirit that reminds us in the midst of our weakness and groans, there is a hope for what we cannot see. 

So cheers, in this new year, in this new season, and blessings as you journey along.