Steve's book of hours

Steve has two red bookmarks in his Springtime Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle.  They are cutouts of the celtic cross from the old Red Mountain Church bulletin covers.  The first one holds the place at Thursday, March 3, the day after we found out he had cancer.  The other one holds the place in early May, right before we were admitted to the hospital for the last time.

At the place of the first cross is a gospel reading from Luke 17:22-25 and a Refrain.  Steve has circled it with his midnight blue uniball vision elite pen.  He has written the word 'wow' to the side of it.  He has underlined certain words.

I imagine him now, opening back to this page throughout the lenten days to follow, and being heartened.

The Reading
"He said to his disciples, 'A time will come when you will long to see  one of the days of the Son of Man and will not see it.  They will say to you, 'Look, it is there!' or, 'Look, it is here!'  Make no move; do not set off in pursuit; for as the lightning flashes from one part of heaven lights up the other, so will be the Son of man when his Day comes.  But first he is destined to suffer grievously and be rejected by this generation."

The Refrain
"Send forth your strength, O God, establish, O God, what you have wrought for us."

The Morning Psalm
"O Lord, what are we that you should care for us?  mere mortals that you should think of us?
We are like a puff of wind, our days are like a passing shadow.
Bow your heavens, O Lord and come down, touch the mountains, and they shall smoke.
Hurl the lightning and scatter them, shoot out your arrows and rout them.
Stretch out your hand from on high, rescue me and deliver me from the great waters, from the hand of foreign  peoples,
whose mouths speak deceitfully and whose right hand is raised in falsehood."

and then Steve underlined the prayer:
O God, who before the passion of your only begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain;
Grant that I, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear my cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ my Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

(the words in italics are the ones he noted.)

February 5

from my journal:

"I walk to the den, the upstairs den where we sat so companionably for months into years.  We would sit parallel and one of us would bring the other their coffee and some 'Jesus toast'  (Ezekiel bread) or oatmeal.

The room is full of books and papers and mail in need of sorting and remnants of laundry to be folded.

The morning feels pregnant and like the meaning will overwhelm me.  The kinds of sounds that come from too much air being held inside that come out like a heave, escape my mouth from my chest.

I am looking for the springtime book of hours.  It is Sunday, February 5 and I am entering something that will be hard and precious.  It will be too much to wake to each new day that will be a 'this day last year' kind of day.

Of course, I will use his hours book this time instead of my own weathered one.  Of course, I will open the book he held so reverently and hopefully for all our springs together.

But just the holding of it now feels like the more.

Brennan comes in and asks me to play words with friends - it is my turn and i have not played in 3 days or more.

I say yes, but would you read the hours to me and he does.

"Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day.  Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord.  Amen.

"I imagine the dead waking...."

“I imagine the dead waking, dazed, into a shadowless light in which they know themselves altogether for the first time. It is a light that is merciless until they can accept its mercy; by it they are at once condemned and redeemed. It is Hell until it is Heaven. Seeing themselves in that light, if they are willing, they see how far they have failed the only justice of loving one another; it punishes them by their own judgment. And yet, in suffering that light's awful clarity, in seeing themselves in it, they see its forgiveness and its beauty, and are consoled. In it they are loved completely, even as they have been, and so are changed into what they could not have been but what, if they could have imagined it, they would have wished to be.” 
― Wendell Berry, A World Lost

friends

I am attending a grief support group.  It did not enter my head to attend one until a grandmother of one of our students came to me and suggested it.  She attended and found it helpful.  I remember thinking that I could not believe that the love I had for Steve and the loss of him now made me a widow.

I have been attending for over 6 weeks and I now look forward to it.  I am in a room full of people that I would most likely not ever meet otherwise. Time there feels outside of time.  The aesthetics of the atmosphere are bad.  Those uncomfortable sunday school room chairs, life zapping lighting, a room with no windows, but glass that opens to a even drearier hallway.  Lots of plastic nametags and binders and handouts.  But the stories of grief  are dense and raw and current.  And each of us is accepted and free.  And there are many commonalities to our losses.

Last week we ended up discussing the awkward things people sometimes say to us.  We began to notice what kinds of things people did or said that brought comfort and what kinds of efforts were draining.  One of the woman mentioned that a group of  people that she didn't even know wanted to use their service hours at a local christian school to 'serve her.'  We commented on how hard it was to feel people's pity.

We all agreed that the most palatable comforts were the notes or gestures that did not ask alot of questions, but instead said, 'I am thinking of you and I care.'

I received an email this weekend that said, "I don't ever want to intrude on your solitude, but I want you to know you never have to be alone."

I am pretty sure that our families survival is directly linked to the wise care of the friends in our community.  As much as bread and water.

And i am grateful.

one of Steve's lenten meditations, maybe 2010?

Roman’s 1:28 to 2:1

The words of this reading have a very unpleasant hook in them.  I took the bait when I read this list of malefactors and evil doers- how enticing to jump on the bandwagon and lambaste those who seem to be the root cause of our cities woes and moral decay.  There has to be a way to get rid to clean out these people.

But the hook was set when I rounded the corner into chapter 2.  “You, therefore, have no excuse.”  What?  Somehow this reading just turned on me.  It turns out that it wasn’t a political speech about ridding our town of evildoers after all.  It wasn’t an indictment of “them”.  It was an indictment of me.

Wasn’t it God’s kindness that led me to repentance (whatever repentance there is in me, anyway)?  That’s what the passage asks a little later.  So, kindness leads to repentance, which leads to judgment?  That can’t be right.  Mercy, it seems, was supposed to make me more merciful.  When I rail harshly against others, I wonder if something hasn’t short-circuited in my faith.

“Lord, this may be your hardest work, but would you, year after year,  Lent by Lent, make me a little kinder?”

more Rilke

So, we have started the 'this day last year we were....' remembering.  This must be a universal practice among those who grieve, reliving where and what you were doing this time last year.  I am reliving them now with space to imagine all that Steve might have been feeling, the work he was doing internally while his body was giving out.

We found out on Wednesday, March 2.  On Thursday morning, March 3 Steve and I drove to the city courthouse for him to file bankruptcy.  I remember that it was a fresh crisp morning and we parked our car on Third Avenue.  The flowering pears were all in new bloom, lining the courthouse.  Filing bancruptcy involved simply walking up and saying, 'yes' to a few questions but I remember how packed the room was and wondering about the lives of those in the room.

We walked to 'Mix' a savvy, relatively new bakery in town and had coffee and a danish.  Steve had an apple one and I had a chocolate croissant.  I remember how easy Steve talked to the guy at the counter, asking him how business was and if he felt like they would make it there.  I remember being comforted by how the week's news had not altered the way Steve spoke to people.  Still leaning in to them, quietly really caring about them.  We told the children on this day.

I return to Rilke often....this poem found me in January:

"Only he who liflts his lyre
in the underworld as well
may come back
to praising endlessly.

Only he who has eaten
the food of the dead
will make music so clear
that even the softest tone is heard.

Though the reflection in the pool
often ripples away,
take the image within you.

Only in the double realm
do our voices carry
all they can say."