Joy Comes in the Morning

"Weeping endures for the night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5 (last part).  So many of my family members and friends have endured deep, shattering loss lately.  My heart hurts for them as they navigate the aftermath that can threaten to overwhelm at any given moment.  This text can be taken literally and figuratively.  The night and the morning can mean the here and now, or it can mean the here and the hereafter.

When my father passed away, the only consolation was the morning--not the next morning, the morning after, but the Resurrection morning, the Reunion morning.  Several of the losses have been parents or siblings.  This morning's was a long ago friend who bravely fought cancer for a few decades but has finally taken a rest from her labors and is awaiting that great getting up morning.

Loss can overwhelm us if we have nothing more to look forward to.  Loss can all but take us down without the great power of Salvation.  Maya Angelou reminds us that "we need joy as we need air.  We need love as we need water."  Thank God that His Love can overcome all and bring Joy in the morning--if not tomorrow, then certainly on the Resurrection Morning.

The Remains of the Day

The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. 

Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.  

~ The Remains of the Day

Sunset over Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Rangeley, Maine

Twice in the past few days The Remains of the Day has been on some obscure channel, way up the dial from the regulars that I peruse on any given day.  I've watched it both times, although I only caught the end each time.  I read the book when it first came out and loved it--reveled in the beautiful unveiling of character, the slow, deep contemplation of life.  Looking back on it, though, I don't think I really understood what Ishaguru was trying to say.  1989 was a long time ago.  A few lifetimes ago really.  Then, I had all the energy and ambition of a thirty-something single woman, devoted to her work and her family.  Most of my life was very focused on one geographic location.  I had no idea then how my life and my horizons would expand on almost every level within the next few years:

• 1991--quit my job, go back to school at UNH to work on my PhD, join NEYE (orchestra), begin to travel the world (China-Thailand-Singapore tour)
• 1992--move to Brunswick, Maine to be Kaitie and Christopher's nanny, continue to travel the world with NEYE (Egypt, South Africa, Jordan, Israel), play in Carnegie Hall numerous times
• 1993--move to Boston, take job at GBA
• 1996--continue world travels to England and Russia, begin work as recruiter/fundraiser
• 1998--go to Russia again
• 1999--take spontaneous long weekend trip to Paris
• 2002--take a Western Caribbean cruise
• 2004--take writing course in Aix-en-Provence
• 2005--explore Norway with family, become principal of GBA, take seniors to Peru on a mission trip
• 2010--move to Phoenix to "just" teach
• 2012--go to the Grand Canyon for the first of several times, take on administrative responsibilities at TAA
• 2013--go to Zambia for mission trip, take a cross-country road trip

Sunset outside my back patio

Now, today, I hardly know what it is like to come home at the end of the day and put my feet up.  That is until a couple of days ago when I purchased a rocker/recliner and was literally able to put my feet up at the end of the day.  It was an extraordinarily indulgent feeling, one I've not been familiar with, one I could grow accustomed to. Except that would mean my work is actually done at the end of a day...when in reality, it seems as if it's never done.  Even now, as I sit here writing this, there are so many other things I should be doing--including work.  And the question comes, can I really afford to indulge in what remains of the day?

Sunset over the South Rim of the Grand Canyon

One of my academy schoolmates passed away this morning.  I remember her as a quiet, gentle soul.  One who was so kind and soft-spoken.  It had been many years since I had seen her when I got a call from her a year or so after I moved to Phoenix.  Turns out her mother lived very near where I was teaching and she was here, visiting her.  We met at a school program and enjoyed some conversation.  We said we'd have to get together more often now that we were in the same area again.  I never saw her after that.  Life got busy for me and she got cancer.   And now she's gone.  The lights have gone down for her,  her work is done, and she has put up her feet and is resting.  I, on the other hand, have daylight remaining.  I am determined to make the most of it before I, too, put my feet up and enjoy the evening.

Centennial · 365 Project

Centennial by Rondi Aastrup · 365 Project

Arizona celebrated the centennial of its statehood on February 14th. The only person I know that old passed away yesterday. He was my baby doctor, present at my birth. Now at rest. He was a kind, gentle man--the epitome of a good man. The pastor of his church sent out an e-mail quoting the end of William Cullen Bryant's poem "Thanatopsis" that I have written about here before. They say it very well:

So live that when thy summons comes to join

the innumerable caravan which moves

to that mysterious realm, where each shall take

his chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not like the quarry slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed

by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Love, Death, and Politics

Eleanor Clift, of the McLaughlin Group, was our keynote speaker this evening. She spoke about the changing culture of death in our country, particularly as she lived it when her husband , Tom, died a slow death from kidney cancer three years ago while at the same time she was reporting and commenting on Terry Schiavo's controversial death (which occurred the day after her husband's).

She also talked about how going back to work and writing a book about both deaths was cathartic for her. The book --Two Weeks of Life: a memoir of love, death, and politics-- alternates between these two stories to provide a moving commentary on how we deal, or fail to deal, with dying in modern America." It was a fascinating hour of mostly story, but Q and A as well. Here are some highlights for the latter:

"I wanted to lift the curtain from death," she said. "Advances in medicine in the 21st century have made living and dying a challenge" because our lives are prolonged far longer than they would be if left to natural causes. We live longer, but sometimes our quality of life is diminished with invasive procedures, drugs that diminish our capacities, etc. (Her husband felt guilty for some of the treatment he received and even told one care giver that they could be using their time and the money for his treatment better...which the care giver, of course, refuted.)

"The press on Sarah Palin is appropriate" because we don't know who she is yet. . . . But she's crashed Barak's party . . . It [the campaign] is messy. . . . It depends on who comes to the poll to vote who will determine who wins. Barak needs more young people to get out and vote, otherwise, it may not be enough for him.

"We can't lose" in this election, though. "They're both quality individuals."

This "culture of death" is an interesting thing. Other cultures treat it more openly than we do. We don't have a "grown up" attitude about it. We spend a lot of time and money at the end of our lives because people are afraid of pain and of losing their dignity.

What cautions/advice would she give Joe Biden about debating Sarah Palin? "Don't be condescending." He'll probably overcompensate... but he needs to make clear the contrast between where they stand on the issues. "It's tricky for both of them."

What's different about this election? "There's an excitement about the candidates" that has not been there in recent memory. "And there is a dissatisfaction with the government." "McCain wants to shake things up. Obama wants to find common ground. . . . Whoever wins, they will have to find a way to bring the country together." It's the "seriousness of the election" that has stood out for her.

Crossing the Bar

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell, when I embark . . .
(from Tennyson's Crossing the Bar)

I received word yesterday that a very dear friend of mine passed away Monday night. She was 89 years old, the grandmother of two former colleagues, a one-time neighbor of mine (during college), and one of my aunt's closest friends. She was a sweet, lovely, and loving lady who taught nursing at my college for many years.

It's been some 4 years since I've seen her, as her son moved west and took her with him. But I thought of her many times, including a couple of times yesterday prior to hearing of her passing. She fell asleep peacefully. Her son and grandchildren had been by her side, reading Psalms and other comforting passages. The above quote is from her favorite poem that they also read to her.

Farewell, old friend. I look forward to seeing you again someday in heaven...