(THE FINAL EIGHT RHYMES)
It’s hard to believe that my dad has been gone almost twenty years. Our family took a trip back east in August 2003 to visit him in the hospital, and then I returned again once or twice to see him in the ICU after radical surgery which left him unable to talk. There was hope of recovery once he began relearning simple tasks at a rehabilitation center, and I was excited to see the improvement. I planned my next trip in early October and arrived at my parents’ house in the late evening, preparing to spend the whole next day reading to him and trying to communicate through a simple keyboard where he could tap out answers to my questions. He seemed genuinely pleased when my sister told him I would be visiting the next day. That next morning arrived, and suddenly another sister got an urgent call that our dad was in distress, and he passed away before I got a chance to visit with him again.
It was rough and disorienting. Although we knew his recovery was a very uphill climb to get back to eating and communicating normally, we still had hope. The hope faded suddenly and grief struck us with a vengeance as the nursing staff announced his death when we entered the facility. Going home and announcing his death to my mom was gut-wrenching. With the help of a local pastor, we sat in the living room and shared fond stories about our dad. We laughed, we cried, and then we planned a memorial service for the following week, where we celebrated his life at the church he attended as a child. After staying a couple more weeks to give away clothing and other belongings, I finally returned home to my family.
The weeks after that seemed strange, and I felt disconnected from my husband and kids. Our kids were ages 11 to 17, and they all had busy schedules of school and sports and music. Mark was heading out to work each morning like he normally did, but nothing felt normal to me. As I forced myself back into a routine of carpools and daily tasks at home, there was a storm brewing underneath. My grief began to manifest itself in slammed cupboard doors, audible sighs, and silence because it seemed no one shared the same level of grief and sadness I did. My neighbors never met my dad. No one at my church had ever known him. We lived so far away from my dad that my grandkids didn’t really know him or have many memories. Life went along as usual. It was a lonely space for me.
One day as I was in the kitchen, expressing my pain through a “brewing storm” of clanging pots and slammed doors, Mark pulled me close, took a roll of duct tape off the counter, and started unrolling it around the two of us, wrapping it layer by layer around our waists as we faced each other. If you know anything about duct tape, you know at that point I was a captive audience. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but the gist was that he was in this with me and wanted to support me in every way he could and for however long it took. So the tears poured out as my grief came to the surface and I was able to acknowledge how lonely I felt over the last weeks. I was really unaware of what I needed at that point, but now I know: I needed a “compassionate witness”, someone willing to stay present in the grief and loss and one who would stop and listen. That memory of Mark wrapping us together with duct tape has served as an important reminder to me over the years that we need those kinds of people in our lives and we need to be people like that for others; people who stay for as long as it takes in the healing process. Ones who don’t find it uncomfortable to sit in silence with another while they work out the tough challenges of life. Ones who don’t feel the need to offer advice like those who offered intellectual or spiritual answers when Job’s world got blown apart.
The word compassion literally means to “suffer with.” Learning to honor people’s stories and hold their truth with dignity, even when the story is messy or uncomfortable, is one of the greatest gifts believers can give to one another. Let’s be long-suffering with each other as we come together to dress each other’s wounds. (We all have them.) Let’s seek His help to be compassionate witnesses to one another.
During the last few weeks, I have had a couple of people serve as compassionate witnesses to me. They came randomly through surprising interactions. But God was not surprised. They weren’t random to Him. I have been grateful for these “love letters” from Him through the people he’s brought into my life from unexpected places.
In Isaiah 49, God makes His heart known through the pages penned by the prophet Isaiah: He is the great Restorer, One with faithful compassion. Verses 13-16 express His steadfast covenant to those He loves. Hear it as a promise to you, especially if you are feeling forgotten: “Shout for joy, you heavens; rejoice, you earth; burst into song, you mountains! For the Lord comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones. But Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.’ Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will never forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
We have a tenacious “Duct-tape God”. He is a beautiful shepherd, comforter, advocate and confidant, of that we can be assured. He understands suffering and He is the way to experience true freedom. We also need “Jesus with skin on”; those who will “rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.” (Romans 12:15)
Wherever you go, make sure you always carry a roll of duct tape! You never know when you’ll need it.
I’ll leave you with my final eight rhymes of Lent. I hope you are finding His abundant treasures in this season of reflection and reconciliation and have been blessed by these thoughts and rhymes.
The purpose of Lent a pathway to content in God's presence, His comfort, His peace. The purpose of Lent finds treasure abundant if you're willing to travel long enough. The purpose of Lent in the solitude and the silent awakens God's reckless and unrelenting love. The purpose of Lent keeps your focus unbent from the "what if's" of worry and strife. The purpose of Lent helps us grow confident to approach His throne of mercy and grace. The purpose of Lent is to stay fluent in the everyday language of love. The purpose of Lent makes the time well spent as we celebrate our resurrected lives. The purpose of Lent is to discover the reverent adoration of Christ.
Photo by Joseph Pearson on Unsplash
