Blessed Are Those Who Grieve

It has been three and a half years since my mother passed away.

A few weeks ago my father wanted to visit my mother’s grave. In the first year after she passed, I had tried several times to get him to go.

His way of dealing with grief was avoidance.

I would ask him if he wanted to bring flowers to her grave. He wouldn’t hear me.

I would ask again. He would change the subject.

I would ask again. No response.

On the first anniversary of her death, I bought a small pot of pansies and asked Bud to drop my father and I at the cemetery before church. Slowly we started down the path, but when it came time to turn towards the Columbarium, my father picked up his pace and headed straight for the church.

Alone I set the flowers I had bought for her at the base of the Columbarium,

The Columbarium

Blessed are those who grieve.

Jesus said, Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

The difference between grieving and mourning is this: grief is private, but mourning is the outward expression of grief that allows a person to move forward.

Grief is the emotional reaction to a loss, while mourning is learning to live again.

Grief muddles the mind, but mourning begins to put things back in place.

Grief is the raw emotions that say things will never be right again.

Mourning reflects on what was and what will never be again, and then works to  deal with that void.

About a month ago, my father asked to bring flowers to my mother’s grave.

“Can I see where she’s buried?” he asked.

He didn’t remember ever going there before, so I showed him pictures from her interment.

The avoidance had finally passed. He was ready.

I purchased a bouquet and tied an orange ribbon on it. My mother always liked orange.

We drove to town and I parked as close as I could to the Columbarium. He picked his way along the dirt and gravel path that led there, struggling with his walker, while I struggled to hold the bouquet and keep my arm supporting him.

Silently we stood before the gray granite corner of the Columbarium.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and showed him my mother’s name carved in the granite.

He wept.

“Can you take a picture of it?”

I did.

 

Blessed are those who grieve, for they have loved deeply.

And blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed Are Those Who Forgive

Blessed are those who forgive
who seventy times seven turn their cheek

Blessed are those who hold no records of wrongs done to them
who run the tally sheets through the shredder
and then burn them
just to be sure they are gone

Blessed are those who let go of anger
and frustration with others
who hold people with open hands
like the fragile beings that we are

For they shall see God
in the faces of those
they have forgiven.

Blessed are the Devoted

Blessed are the devoted,
the dedicated,
the dependable,
the ones who, driven by love,
have the daily dogged determination to show up.

The seeds sown and tended by their actions
will bear much fruit.


My father was a model of devotion.

Twice a day, every day, he visited my mother when she was in the nursing home.

On sunny days, he pushed her in her wheelchair into the courtyard where they sat, often in silence, because my mother had lost the ability to converse.

2015

Some days, he pushed her in her wheelchair through the halls to the planned activities — the concerts, the sing-alongs, balloon baseball, or bowling.

Every day, he sat with her for her meals, making sure she ate.

When his driving became such that people spoke to me about it, I drove him there. Or my brother drove him. But he always went.

His example that made a deep impression on me.

Blessed are the devoted.

Blessed also are the witnesses to such devotion.

Blessed are the Calm

Blessed are the Calm
the ones who keep their head
and assess the situation,
for they will be able to make a plan
where chaos reigns.

As the smell of baking bread
permeates the house,
so the aura of a calm person
can soothe those around them
in times of turmoil.


Man with a chain saw — photo by Anne LaBastille

Recently my brother-in-law had an unfortunate interaction with a chainsaw. He was cutting wood a short distance from his house when the chainsaw hit a knot and kicked back into his face.

Dazed, he walked back to the house. My sister-in-law looked out the window and saw him coming, his face buried in the crook of his arm. She saw the blood on his shirt and thought, “Oh dear, he has a bloody nose.”

Their daughter was outside.  She looked at her father and immediately called, “Mom! Come quick!”

My sister-in-law is a nurse and used to work in a NICU. She hurried down and asked her husband to take his hand away from his face so she could see what had happened. He did.

“Okay,” she said, and smiled sweetly. “Put your arm back up there,” she told him.

As she told the story to me, she added, “I knew it was important that I stay calm and upbeat. I didn’t let him know how terrible it looked.”

They called 9-1-1.

“Wouldn’t it have been faster for you to just drive him to the hospital?” I asked.

“I was worried he would go into shock,” she replied.

A calm head. A calm assessment. A calm plan.

A few days after the accident, they sent out an “after” picture — meaning after the reconstruction and the gazillion stitches. We passed the phone around the dinner table and looked at the photo, everyone having the same reaction — a nod, and a it’s-not-that-bad.

Bud asked to see the “before” picture, and his brother sent it to him.

When Bud got it, he asked me, “Do you want to see it?”

“Uh — no,” I told him. “You can’t unsee things.”

He looked at the photo.

“Good choice,” he said to me.

My sister-in-law stayed calm after seeing the “before.” It helped everyone, from her husband and daughter, to the volunteer ambulance crew.

Blessed indeed are the calm.

For Those Who Work Behind the Scenes

Blessed are those who work behind the scenes —

the dishwashers,
the line cooks,
and the sous chefs,

the delivery truck drivers,
and the shelf-stockers,

the shut-ins who pray,
but say, “I wish I could do more,”

the gardener who weeds
and weeds
and weeds,
making the garden beautiful
by removing the unsightly,
knowing most people will only notice
where he fails to do his job.

Blessed are the set-changers
and the prop placers,

the page-turner for the pianist,

the proof-readers,

the collaters
and assemblers,

the trash emptiers,

and the little man with the push broom
who sweeps the last of the refuse in the dust pan
before shutting off the light
and closing the door.

Each person
Each small act
Is seen
And noted
by the One who sees all.

All work can be an act of worship.

One of my mother’s gardens

Blessed are the Advocates

Blessed are the advocates
and the whistle-blowers
for their shaky-kneed courage.
They shall hear the words,
“Well done, good and faithful servant.”


A week or two ago, a friend posted an urgent prayer request. She had reported an abusive situation and was summoned to a meeting with the higher-ups of the organization.

She had posted her prayer request the previous night but I didn’t see it until early in the morning.  I had just finished my prayer and reading time so the Beatitudes were fresh in my mind.

I prayed for my friend, and for the abused and the abuser, for the meeting. I felt overwhelmed with emotion for what she had ahead of her that day.

In a comment to her post letting her know that I was praying, I wrote the beatitude above.  I knew that if I was in that situation I would need to be reminded why I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s so much easier not to stick your neck out.

But God calls us to care for the least of these and to advocate for the person who can’t advocate for themself.

I’m sure He will someday say to her, “Well done.”

Both the young and the old — and even some in between — need advocates.