Good morning…
“We heal what we feel,” said Ron Greer, author of The Quiet House. I felt a lot when my dad said last night, “Today, I got a tree at Loews.”
Together, we reminisced about our annual trek around a tree farm as a family, cutting down our favorite Christmas bush (it was always wider than it was high), and having friends stop by to see our unusually large tree, year after year. “Share memories together,” said Ron. “Tell your stories, laughing at the joy of your life.”
I adored the adventuresome Advent tradition, so we carried it forward with our own kids. Trekking around a tree farm. Cutting down our family’s choice, big and wide. Having friends stop by each year to see the misshaped monstrosity. “As we experience a present-hand memory, we work through a bit more of our grief,” explained Ron. In sad solidarity, I told my dad, “On Sunday, we got a tree at Home Deposit.”
“Grief and hope belong in the same sentence,” Ron surprisingly said. “Grief is the path to hope and healing.”
Now, up in the middle of the night, I think of my mom recovering in the hospital and my dad picking out a thin five foot tree alone. The thought brings me to tears. Family traditions we used to love have changed over the years. Life’s new rhythms feel unknown, uncertain, unformed in this quiet moment. “Yet, with God, we grieve with hope,” Ron said. “New life is different, and new life is good.”
Weirdly, I feel a fresh inkling. I am drawn out to our garage. I breathe in the aroma of the waiting pine. I pet a prickly branch. I savor a loving connection with my family, bonded from miles away. “Understand the process,” said Ron. “Loss. Grief. Mourning. Healing. Claiming the new life. Resurrection really does follow the death of what used to be.”
Lying down. Lonely. Still. Stripped away. Empty. Bare.
If wise Ron Greer is right, might this time of honest feeling somehow lead to deeper healing? “Loss, grief and mourning is our path to healing and hope,” Ron’s voice reassures.
May God’s powerfully healing presence take form in us all today.
You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears and preserved them in your bottle! You have recorded every one in your book (Psalm 56:8, TLB).
…Sue…
P.S. After waking from my second sleep, I open the wisdom of Henri Nouwen forwarded to me from a dear, dear friend. How empowering it feels to be mysteriously carried on the same wavelength. God whispers in surround-sound, and we are never alone.
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DAILY MEDITATION | DECEMBER 8, 2023 by Henri Nouwen – Joys Are Hidden in Sorrows!
Joys are hidden in sorrows! I know this from my own times of depression. I know it from living with people with mental handicaps. I know it from looking into the eyes of patients, and from being with the poorest of the poor. We keep forgetting this truth and become overwhelmed by our own darkness. We easily lose sight of our joys and speak of our sorrows as the only reality there is.
We need to remind each other that the cup of sorrow is also the cup of joy, that precisely what causes us sadness can become the fertile ground for gladness. Indeed, we need to be angels for each other, to give each other strength and consolation. Because only when we fully realize that the cup of life is not only a cup of sorrow but also a cup of joy will we be able to drink it.
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