On March 19th, the phone will ring.

 On March 19th, the phone will ring and I will answer it. The caller will be Bonnie who lives in Michigan. She calls on the Feast of St Joseph every year since she moved away. .She will ask for John and I will  not be able to get the words out.

She calls on this day because John's middle name is Joseph and she choses this date each year to thank him for all the times he took her to appointments when she was unable to get there herself. How comforting to have a strong man by her side as she went in for treatments, a stranger but a kind one.

Somewhere in his mid life John decided to turn the pilot's seat over to the One who he had done without for many years. I have read somewhere that one's life is their Art piece and I think that is so. Here, Dag Hammarskjold speaks of this:

"Thou takest the pen and the lines dance.

Thou takest the flute and the notes shimmer.

Thou takest the brush and the colours sing..

So all things have meaning and beauty

in that space beyond time where Thou art.

How, then, can I hold anything back from Thee."

John held nothing back from the Creator as he shopped for groceries and played chess with an oldster. As he worked any job to keep his family afloat. As he found a final resting place for a dying woman. As he cleaned leaves from the gutters on a tenuous ladder. As he went downtown each year for the celebration of the sobriety of one of his employees. As he slipped quietly into the room where my writing group meets to bring my table out and take it home.

He deserved so many accolades but ducked when he saw them headed his way. He knew what he did was Godly and that was enough.

John, your colors were bright and your gifts many. You were God's best piece of Art. I love you.

My greatest fear ,,,

 Do you see her, this woman walking alone, head bowed?

What does this art say to you? What are the first words that come to mind ? Haunted by this picture in 2007, I wrote her story which I knew was mine. A story of being alone and hoping someone will come into the alley and chat for a while. Maybe invite her for tea by a warm fire. Include her. My first story from art.

My greatest fear came tumbling out onto paper that day so long ago and here I am with her in the alley in the snow.

My daughter says there is no time so I invite you to travel through the graces that had been planned for me as I wrote that story in 2007..

As the woman walked and hoped for something to ease the loneliness, different thoughts danced into her mind:

Sr Faustina's Journal that she had picked up for 50 cents at Goodwill and who urged her to do one kind deed a day, the deacon who visits shut-ins and brings the world into their lives, the kind Grandfather who gave his kids oranges for Christmas. What were those thoughts saying to her? Focus, my darlings, focus. What do you put front and center in your thinking?

How is it that the Spirit put boldly into my mind to look for kindnesses back in June ?I have been gathering them daily since then. And the kindnesses that I have been showered with I am unable to talk about so numerous, so perfect. An orchid, a book, ham dinner, an angel, Masses for John, hugs, tears and love yes, love.

So my "Snow at Louveciennes" which was painted in 1878  and revealed my greatest fear also gave me a way forward. Kindnesses, appreciation .I am not there yet but I know the way. In 1878 Sisley painted, in 2007.a story came. There is no time just a great embrace from the Creator who sees all. 

Valentine nudge and the grief bear...

  

This summer, "co-incidentally", I unloaded a big bin of greeting cards and sorted and bagged them according to the giver. So when the next impossible nudge came, I knew exactly where to go although I fought it furiously for several days. What possible good could come from rereading cards received from the one who wouldn't be offering one this sad year? 

I smiled at the memory of a Valentine's Day years ago when the kids were young. A neighbor popped in to show me the golden heart her husband had given her along with a mushy card. Good for her. That night, John came home late, empty handed. When he saw my face he remembered and dashed off to 7-11 and came back with these romantic items: a pair of stockings and some honey buns. I can smile now only because he never forgot again and the cards in my hand glow with remembrance of all those subsequent years. 

A small note was tucked into the cards from 3-17-13, the anniversary of our first date. It read: " 50 years ago this day it was said: "Owl poop(sanitized) , I think I  love you"....and here today, once again I say:" Owl poop, I love you. " Ever the poet. Can you blame me for falling in love?. His last card said: "It just keeps getting better". And that was so..

During all the reading and weeping over the cards, I heard this question posed to my heart: "Would you trade all those 57 years of companionship, love, laughter, challenges, and adventures to feel normal, sane and O.K. right now.?" And I had to say:  "of course not." In that moment I felt so much better that originally I thought the title of this would be "Turning a Corner on Valentine's Day." But when I sold John's tractor mower that day and it rolled out of the shed heading to another lawn, the grief bear came out of her cave and shook me silly once again.

Nudges part three

 It was a mystery from the beginning, that which I was led to after all these years. 

Sitting in a circle on a retreat in North Georgia, all eyes were closed. It is 1999 and I am in training for spiritual direction. The retreat leader said: "just be with the music.". It was Mahler's 5th symphony. It started with a quiet drifting sound and then it began to build and before I knew it, I was having a vision that to this day, I cannot explain. It was exactly like watching a movie.

A leaf drifted to the forest floor and I crushed it underfoot as I raced through the trees to escape. Someone sinister and frightening was chasing me. Why was I being led to search in my journals for this occasion when I haven't thought of it in years ? All I can recall is that after that "vision" long ago my love for John deepened in a way I cannot describe. I found the poem that tells the story.

                                                               The Leaf

                                      Drifting left, right, reaching the forest floor

                                      trampled underfoot by panicked fleeing woman

                                               woods black ,dark, dour

                                                      will I ever escape?

                                      chased by an evil man, hiding from the man,

                                     Hiding , hidden from the man unbidden.

                               No longer hear the steps, slowly out of hiding,

                                             where am I , where am I to go?

                                                   time and fear abiding.

                                    Suddenly out of the gloom to a rock outcropping

                           Gazing to a home road, heart pounding close to stopping.

                            It's the one I love agreeting,  arms outstretched, enfolding.

                                    Life goes on in beauty and pain, swells, recedes but

                                                   always bearing the imprint 

                                             of that fearful, blessed moment.

Ah, the words ,the words speak to me now.. Where am I, where do I go? Panicked. Will I ever escape from this place where I am? 

At the end of that journey was love and at the end of my journey there will be Love. Arms outstretched enfolding. .

Nudges Part two

  

 I don't recall what triggered the hard day when this next nudge occurred. A memory? A mug? a bird call? Curled in a ball on my bed, I heard this: "Read my letters from Honduras." I remember thinking how could anything that reminds me of you help in this empty, desolate place ? But then I thought, could I feel any worse?

 In 2001,  John went to Honduras to pick coffee beans and work in the fields like the poor of that country. Having made a few short mission trips there, he wanted to experience the life of the people he had come to love. He was gone for a month and wrote home often. Not every letter came to my hand which I regret but I did received a few.

01-11-01 I have a bathroom of my own which I did not expect and I don't have electricity which I did not expect either. I started reading Henri Nouwen's "Gracias" by three candles, just like Abe Lincoln.I have been reading my readings each day and have felt better about being here because of that. 

01-23-01 In Jutigalpa yesterday I managed to get a shoe shine, mail a letter, buy an ice cream cone and have a pizza all without speaking Spanish. I felt pretty good about that.

01-26-01 I'm sick again. I think my liver may have fallen out this morning. The food has been a challenge. I feel like my body is trying to reject my stomach. Get that meat loaf recipe dusted off, bake a potato and broccoli and get some bread. Wheat, white , bread , bread, BREAD! ,

....I'll walk down the street and post this letter , then come back and be with Fr. Tim ( the Jan Karon series that John started reading that begins with  "At Home in Mitford). for awhile. That will be enjoyable. You taught me that. Thank you.

02-31-01 I did hug Jose Antonio and I held and rubbed the back of a young handicapped girl, Claudine. As I rubbed her twisted back, her twisted hand started to rub mine.

....and then this: "I feel very alone and incapable without you. If you were to die before me, I am sure I'd be right behind you.as there really would be no reason to do anything without you to share it with."

I understand completely. Reading these did comfort me. I love you, John Graham.  

Nudges, part one

  

 One of my children experienced something so profound that it is difficult to talk about it. She was alone crying and devastated at my house when she heard her Dad tell her this in so many words: "I am trying to send my love through memories, thoughts and people and if you are feeling sad or feeling regrets then you are missing the point. "She knew that he was telling her that this was the only way he could send his love now that he was no longer here. Since she has shared that I have tried to be open to whatever is being offered. 

I share with you what I have come to see as nudges.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from a young man who is a friend of the family. His wife saw the posting about John's passing and he called. He is one of the few I have been able to talk to on the phone and I didn't do it well. He was part of the family for awhile and his voice betrayed his grief. Later in the day he sent an e-mail with an attachment to a Youtube video of a hymn "O Great Mystery." His last sentence was :"What I do know is that music connects us and is always there to lift us up."

 Immediately, I was nudged to remember a day 40 years ago when our family was coming back from great uncertainty. John and I were hiking Stone Mountain and a passerby's music caught my attention. It was "Woman" sung by John Lennon. For some reason, that day, the song lifted me although when I thought of it I couldn't recall any of the lyrics. I remember the good feeling of that day as if it were yesterday. I went to Youtube and found the song and as I listened to the words,  I knew. I love you, John Graham. 

                                                               Woman

    Woman, I can hardly express ..my mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness...after all I am forever in your debt

and Woman I will try to express my inner feelings and thankfulness....for showing me the meaning of 

success....Woman, I know you understand the little child inside the man...please remember my life is in your  

hands and Woman hold me close to your heart...however distant , don't keep us apart.....after all it is written in 

the stars....so let me tell you again and again. and again.... I love you now and forever....