When Snow Days Bring the Light

Light 

Snow falls deep into the night

Surprised after a week of ice

I grin 

Let the silence of a white 

New day

Dazzle my heart, I light a candle

Sit in the dark...alone

Kids wake, I grind wheat

Toss in frozen berries

Knead & roll & bake buttery scones

Powdered sugar on top

Candle flickering on the table

Amazing how the stillness,

The crunching into snow,

The crafting of Olf & a snow ramp

Makes light 

Trickle into my heart

Softly

I gather fresh eggs

In a sled 

Pulling their way to the kitchen

Where I whip up burritos

Singing 

Through the messes

Inhaling the fullness of it all

Wet gloves, dog that ate the liner

Boot straps that won't stick

Hungry bellies

Dirty pans neverending

Den scattered with books

Attitudes that need shaping

Emails to be sent, words to be written

I plunge

Into the pool 

That is my life

Becoming

All flame

Because death teaches us to savor...

I live with a man.  

I didn't know just how selfish I was till I married him and dove into crafting a life with and raising children with him.   And then I awoke to how cold & nasty I could be over time with the blessed glory of raising kid-o's with him, of long nights, illness, fussy babies, dirty dishes and clothes, with cross country moves and job changes.

He has put up with the whole of me.  And never let me slip away.

When I birthed our son dead and howled the night my milk came in, he held me tight and let me fall apart not speaking a word.

When I went into overdraft, again, on buying gifts for others he just shook his head and went on.

When I kicked the nerf gun into the oven and shattered the front glass to shreds he hugged me and went to Lowes to fix it.

He's a Chemical Engineer turned Pastor turned Executive Director for an assisted-living facility.  He's a summa cum lade graduate, an Eagle Scout.  A man of few words and wild dance moves who loves God, good beer, U2 and can speak Hebrew.  And recently after 7 years in Brevard he has become an avid waterfall photographer.  He has tromped all over this land, alone and with us, leading us down steep banks and deep into glory land.  He comes most alive in nature.  I treasure our memories walking along paths, making up songs, just 'being' with one another.  He has had to drag us out of the house at times but I and they are always so glad he did. 

James is sharp as a tack with a heart deep as rain, after losing his Dad to leukemia at 16, after a college experience of God's total acceptance of him...not based on performance or anything else.  He listens with eyes and heart.  He rises in the dark and drives to Crossfit as I sit with candles and coffee and words.  He works hard and never complains.  

Sometimes I wonder how we ended up together and just how we stay there, but mostly I know we will be this way till one of us dies. 

He robbed the cradle in marrying me, 8 years younger than he.  He was raised an only child in a wonderful stable home that was not  touchy and with few words.  Said he fell in love with the way I hugged and held hands and the way words of life poured fourth from my soul.  

And now I find myself remembering why I fell in love with him and choosing to love despite his lack of getting a new bar of soap and putting it in the shower for me this morning, despite his lack of words which I crave, despite his warts and quirks which no man is without.

We fool ourselves thinking others have it figured out.  And we miss the gifts in front of our noses when we strive and compare.

Because life is fragile and uncertain and hilariously beautiful all in the same breath.  

Because this past week we were passed by a pickup truck that wasn't going all that fast, swerved off the road and back on then flipped multiple times.  The dark night enveloped us as terror struck our hearts.  

We were planning on spending the night in Hickory but had decided to come home because the dog, chickens & lizard needed us.  I was driving because James had worked a 15 hour Saturday the day before.  

Our 13 year old cried out deep gutturals as James called 911, jumped out of the car and ran over to the truck now on its side.

It was an hour of sitting, heart in my toes, knowing that was someone's special someone.  Someone's daughter or son.  An hour of  comforting my 13, 10 & 8 year old talking of kind rescue folks, of 911 use, of  asking "Is he okay?" But mostly.....we sang.  Amazing Grace was all I could mutter and the kids joined in loud and clear.

I texted my Mom and Dad, my sisters and four friends asking them to pray.  Just pray in this space of a life hanging in the balance.

James returned to the car white faced, hands shaking as they reached for mine.  "He is gone."  

And we waited together and exhaled waiting for the state trooper to have us fill out forms.  At home around 10pm in our kitchen James leaned back against the counter tears filling his eyes.  

Josh, our oldest, stayed in my embrace for a long while finally saying, "It makes me feel so vulnerable in this world."

"Yes, son...me too."  

"Me too."

And just like that our hearts have been ripped open for this young man and his grieving family.  And just like that in a fraction of a second life can disappear bringing to a halt a story that wasn't even half written.

My husband has struggled hard this past week.  I see it in his eyes, in the way he lingers in my arms, in the way he is slowing down.  He has sat with many a resident in his buildings as they passed from this world to the next, spoken at funerals even.  So I asked him why this death was shaking him up raw.  "Amanda, I was 31 when I held our firstborn.  This man was 31 when he died."

James is seeing the gifts more clearly as he grieves a man he wishes he'd known now that stories of his life trickle forth. 

James read to us at the breakfast table that this man has a baby girl.  My 8 year old daughter gulped hard and dripped alligator tears into her grits.  

The older I get the more I realize I don't know.  And the more I ache that to taste the sweetness of life one usually has to taste the bitter, the pain, the trauma.  And I know my heart is going to break a thousand times to watch my children experience this in whatever way their story unfolds.  But as I read recently and I am coming to understand, the two main paths for transformation are great love and great suffering.

And so I light a candle in the morning for Mike and pray for his Mom and Dad, his partner and daughter.  And I sit with the weight of loss and of gain.  I sit with all the endings and things yet begun.  I sit knowing God's great kindness in putting a nature loving, soul awakened, praying man like my husband on the Rosman Highway to be with Mike as he breathed his last breaths.  

And I pause to let the sadness shape me without fixing it.  And I pause to say, 'Thank you, Father of Lights for the gift of the here and now and the beautiful imperfection of it all.'  And I say thank you for the 'word' that is now James's guiding word for the year.  He has never adapted this concept with me but as we crawled under our quilt and found each other in the dark the night of Mike's death, I asked him to consider asking Jesus for a word for the year.  He said, "I think I already have it."

"Savor."