A Broken Hallelujah

"I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sink, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep."

~Ann Voskamp~





I saw my friend today. I saw her today and my heart heavied, laden with sorrow for her recent days of struggle. Losing daughter-in-law and mother too close to catch the breath. A young granddaughter, a son and father who need her love, her presence, and her heart is raw too. She said there has been good in all of this, and those words, the proclamation that even in this, there is good, it soothes the soul like an old hymn. Give thanks, even in this. 



Maybe the comforting words we want to speak are, in essence, wrapped in silence, an understanding nod, a prolonged hug. A swiped tear. A card sent in the mail, a mouthed prayer. Some of us have traveled this road, different yet the same, we cloak the hurting with heavenward pleas.

The eyes, they strain to capture glimpses of the good, the beautiful in all the moments, even the most agonizing. Even in this. The opened palms in the midst of howling wind, it eases the sting a bit, bathes the soul with hope. And the beat of the hopeful heart, it pings steady, opening wider with each trial suffered, ticking stronger with each loss withstood.

And it always comes, this conviction that life continues, your feet step forward, a little steadier each day, less wobbly, the spine a bit taller. Perhaps one day a magnificent sunset catches you by surprise, glorious it is, and the hand, it reaches toward the absent one, fingers splayed, palm empty.

 

The footprints, they leave marks in wet sand, just your size and shape. The salty air, it fans the face, it soothes and then you feel it like never before. You gaze into crazy-orange painted horizon, the palm, the life-giving upturned hand, it rests at your side now. The lungs expand, slowly, ever so slowly, the breath releases into the breezy ocean air. Steady. Peaceful. Thankful. It's a whisper now, a hushed unhurried rhythm birthed from cavernous depths of suffering and loss. A silent knowing wells inside and you say it with reverence and awe.

 

 

You heard our broken hallelujahs.

When Chaos Reigns

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines a keepsake as: something that you keep to help you remember a person, place, or event: a memento or souvenir. While granddaughter stayed with us over Christmas I urged husband to retrieve a large plastic storage bin filled with my own keepsakes. I had anticipated unveiling these souvenirs for a few years now having saved my precious items since daughter outgrew desire to spend time with these lovely ladies. And a few men. Lifting the lid, a musty odor wafted in the air and I wondered at the wisdom of stowing away these items, untouched, neglected. Eager to play with granddaughter, musty smell and all, I stifled urge to clamp lid tight.

While digging our hands into piles of Barbie clothes memories washed over me and I barely noticed the dust bunnies hanging off some of the clothes we chose. Will she understand the labor of love? The effort it took my mother to sew many of these elfin dresses, jackets, shirts. We left the box out during her stay, and occasionally she would sit and take a doll out to play with, to dress, to place mismatching boots on. Can you believe Grandma once snapped that shirt together, just so?

She did not seem to mind all that chaos inside the plastic bin; a balding Ken, one headless Barbie, shoes scattered about and hot-pink high-heels that caused small girl's eyebrows to point together, concentrating she was to adorn those arched pointed feet. I tried bringing order to all the accessories, placing them in doll-size bowling bag. She dumped them out, back into bin. Watching her efforts my thoughts spooled backward, to chaotic home of my youth, to crowded dinner tables and untidy bedrooms. If this is product of all that chaos then we are reaping great reward. Song lyrics then, they repeated over and over and I wondered if she heard it too, maybe she will have her own song some day. Mental images of Julie Andrews running over verdant green hills singing about her favorite things alternated with my mother painstakingly laboring over Singer sewing machine, thump thump thump of brown pedal on hardwood floor, six children needing her love. When granddaughter gave a soft pat to sofa cushion, inviting me to play dolls with her a few days before they left, my heart beat wild and I knew the mess under plastic lid did not matter through a child's eyes. And after they left for home, airplane soaring high above in wintry open sky, I bent down to pick up one brown plastic miniature boot; it fit perfectly on my index finger. Who puts the chaos back into order? Underneath all the messiness, all resolutions aimed at perfection lies a truth winged with pristine white beauty. When perfection is tossed aside like worn-out Birkenstock's and messiness is moving forward, maybe eyes can focus clear on the One who turns all things for good for those who love Him, even musty plastic storage bins housing treasured keepsakes.

"Before us is a future all unknown, a path untrod; beside us is a friend well loved and known-that friend is God." -Unknown