Holocaust Remembrance Day

April 20-21 is designated as Holocaust Remembrance Day.  Please watch the following.

German citizens are visiting Buchenwald Concentration camp

where they see what happened

About 5 minutes long. Watch it.

Not much to say.

A Man after Your Own Heart

One statement was made to me 1997, when my brother Robert died. "Oh, it will hurt less and less as time goes by." It was said with love and with the intention to comfort me.  

I knew that they meant to reassure me, but I always wondered if they knew what he had been through. Robert had continued to drink coffee and smile at the local cafe. He shared jokes with friends. So, they could not see what had been his last months.

Robert had an anaplastic astrocytoma brain tumor, an aggressive incurable tumor. He was diagnosed September, 1995, and died May 1997. People knew this was a 'time was short'. His community knew him well, some prayed for him.

In 1996, one of the times I was visiting, I walked to his house and found daughter Amy washing dishes. She was angry. "Dad's listening to this CD, searching for a song to be played at his funeral."


Robert gave me his characteristic crooked smile, but didn't say anything. This was the song.

Man after Your Own Heart, sung by Gary Chapman

We listened in silence while Amy and I cried silently. Then we listened to one other song. Neither was played, but that's the way it was.

Sometimes He Comes in the Clouds, sung by Steven Curtis Chapman

In truth, I do not think of Robert every single day, but I do think of our family when we were all together with Robert. 

Hurt less? Grief never stops or goes away, but hurt less? I don't know yet.

Made sharp by Faith

Front: Robert, Mary, Mom and Dad; Back: Susan, Bill, and Don   about 1967...oh, the hair-do's of the day...

Originally, the family had five children, who became five adults.  Once a year a few of them would manage to meet together from the reaches of Pacific to Atlantic.  Robert was the stalwart lynch pin who lived near the "folks", told the stories, and looked forward when the others returned.

Then Robert died, at age 46.

"Coming home" was now a different matter.  The siblings felt the absence of this brother.  

There was one who never came home; never--well, seldom.  Once in ten years, and then another time a few years later.  That was Bill.

When Bill died, there were only three left: Donald (the eldest and now only brother), Susan (the pushy middle child) and Mary (the youngest and most stubborn).  Don was the one who helped Robert in his last days, since he lived only 90 miles away.  He helped the folks in their grieving.  He flew to Louisiana to bring Bill "home" to be buried.

When our mother was dying, Don was there almost every day, holding her hand, taking care of her wishes.

Don is now the lynch pin.  This is what he recently wrote to me, and he has given me permission to publish it.  God bless this man, my oldest brother, my friend.

Sis,

Had an emotional day which started three weeks ago with (grandson) Aaron’s confirmation service.  If you saw my Facebook entry, there is a picture of Aaron kneeling at an altar wearing a stole he made in the course of class activities.  His pastors have their hands on him, and he is surrounded by his mom and dad.  What a moment; they call on God to bless Aaron in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Grandson Aaron

I worship with them after my (ministerial) time at Loami Church.  I constantly hear from my friends of the contributions of Jeremy and his family to the community of faith.  One senior citizen told me of a conversation with Aaron, which was closed with Aaron saying, “I will pray for you”.  Jeremy plays his trumpet in the praise band.  During the sermon he sits with me.  This is no play-acting, but real discipleship is lived out in their lives.

Three weeks ago I wrenched my back at the lumbar 5 and 6.  This time was the worst pain I have ever felt.  I got meds for pain and still went to the hospital for relief.

I became depressed.  Every move hurt.  Muscles spasms kept relief at bay.

I suffered through our Loami Church breakfast, only to have a slight mishap on the way to the platform.  A church member helped and moved a chair to the center of the platform from which I led the service.  After my concluding blessing, a member gathered everyone to the front and then “laid hands” on me, with voice supplications for healing.  What a moment!

So I went straight home, and with an hour to kill, I read your blogs.

Your description of grief over our brother Bill, and the consolation offered by your granddaughter really overwhelmed me.  All I have experienced in the last month was felt in that verbal visual of a child holding you until you feel better.

We wonder why we suffer, and theology gives me the answer.  The difference between being a victim or a victor is defined in the moments you and I have shared on this page.  Somewhere in the experience is an awareness of LOVE, ill-defined by language, theology, or any human description.  But it is made sharp by faith: we have seen the face of God.

Don

The Lynch Pin

Random Acts of Kindness: Anniversaries of Tragedy

Random Acts of Kindness Blog Fest May 27-31

Anniversaries of personal tragedy are the hardest days for me.  The first year anniversary or the fifteenth year—time does not change the depth of grieving for the death of someone beloved.

 

Bill when he was in high school with his horse, Sonny

December 12, 1999 was the day my youngest brother Bill died, at age 44.  It was 11:30 at night, Sunday night.  His fiancée had phoned from Louisiana that afternoon at 2 PM to tell me that Bill was very ill and would be going into surgery to correct problems from surgery done earlier that week. 

Very ill.  May not make it.  Doctor says….

The rest of the day was spent in pacing around the house, calling the nurses’ station, pacing some more.  Until 11:30 that night.

On December 12, 2009, I sat, watching my granddaughters playing.  The oldest, five year-old Bright Eyes noticed how quiet I was and how sad my face seemed.  She climbed up on my lap and asked in her little sweet voice if I was sick. 

I told her about my brother and how he had “gone to heaven” ten years ago.  Bright Eyes listened solemnly and nodded.  She knew about heaven since their dog Shelby had recently gone there, too.

“Well then, Grandma.  I’ll hold you 'til you feel better.”  Then she settled into my arms, laid her head upon my shoulder, and soaked love into my very being. 

I have never been given such a kind gift like this before, or since.

Source: xymonau

November 17: In Memory of....Bill. My Bill.

This post is written to honor a small baby, Zeke, who died at age of 2 1/2 months.  His precious mother, Elisa, has written a wonderful book, The Golden Sky, which will be released tomorrow.  Please click on the image above, or on the link below to go to her site.  There are many bloggers sharing their losses today.  God bless them all.

There have been so many people whom I 

 have loved, treasured even, and who then died.  It is a long list.  All of these people touched my life and others’ lives, then left. 

Bill.  My brother Bill.  That is the person whose life and then death hit me the hardest, leaving the biggest achy grief that never leaves me.

I was 3 ½ years old when Bill was born, still a very little girl.  I recall clearly standing at the crib, with my eyes even with the crib mattress.  Staring in at this red-faced baby, with his blond sticky-up hair, I didn’t know if I liked this change or not.

 I reached my hand through the bars of the crib, and put my hand on the diapered butt.  It was warm, in a wet way.  Just then, he turned his face toward mine; he wrinkled up his nose and yawned.  I decided I liked him.  In fact I was going to be his protector, and take care of him his whole life.

Being his protector was not easy.  Bill was an active boy, with long legs and a short fuse.  The distance between seeing something to do and then doing it was split seconds.  The most impulsive, charming, adventurous boy in existence: that is what I decided Bill was.  Soon I gave up on the protection business.  It would never work for Bill.

Oh, Bill.  I find myself saying that several times a day, even now.  Those two words say everything.  He grew fast, ran fast; he ran away.  One day Bill was still in high school, and then it seemed, the next day he was gone away somewhere.

To chronicle Bill’s life would frustrate the writer and the reader.  Let’s just say that Bill had many adventures, all of which involved danger and helping people.  All those adventures broke hearts, but his charm and impulsiveness were his way of leaving behind other people who sighed, “Oh, Bill.”

Bill died at age 44, the result of blood poisoning following a botched surgery.  The surgery was necessary—all those adventures left behind damage in his long lanky cowboy body.

Add caption

My role of ‘protector’ still haunts me.  I think back at the phone calls Bill made to me over our adult years, and wonder if I could have said something that would have brought him home.  I think of that final week, when he was dying but I didn’t know it. 

If only, if only…the regrets of a protector.
  

My brother Bill with 'Sonny'

I am thinking that someday in heaven, I will chase Bill across the clover fields he loved so much, and actually catch him.  Boy, will I give him a hug or two, or a million.

In honor and memory of a little boy who died on November 18--Little Zeke
Click here! to see the release of 'The Golden Sky'