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.