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Wednesday, December 20, 2006

That which waits patiently

As Christmas nears and my pain distances itself, I keep thinking about the nature of God. (Moroni 7: 47... "But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.")

Anger, resentment, bitterness, sadness, sorrow and hopelessness have marked my last two weeks. I said I wanted hope and optimism but I refused to be consoled. I really just WANTED to be left alone with my weight.

Three days ago, upon patiently listening to me express my reluctance in opening up and refusal to hope because of fear of "becoming vulnerable to pain and disappointment again" my husband paused reflectively and then said "I can understand that".

It was something about the way he said it, like he was experiencing the same thing. I had for a moment looked up from my grief to see his. I felt some of the protective metal scales drop from my heart to the ground at my feet.

I pondered over this: Everyone else around me is being vulnerable just by virtue of living; They become vulnerable to pain: emotional, physical, mental, social. And I am OK with that. I felt safe in dropping a few more scales becoming vulnerable again.

Just this morning, I heard the same pain and hopelessness I had been carrying echo in a friend's voice as he barely spoke. He sounded so weak and empty. I flashed back to the torment I had recently been experiencing and was GLAD. Glad because I could actually feel his pain instead of just dole out pat responses. I was just there with him and acknowledged his real pain and did not try convince him to snap out of it. (Mosiah 18: 9... "Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God")

This is part of the human experience: To sorrow so we can sorrow with others, To have joy so we can be joyous with others. These and many other shared experiences bond us to each other, and they ultimately bond us to God who created us and who knew we'd fumble through this Earth so he sent a Savior to make up the difference.

Love is the nature of God. It's not the fluttery pink feeling of glee. It's the power that makes it possible for us to pick ourselves up after mourning and wailing and give it another go at trust and joy.

We can be angry, but we are not anger. We can be sad, but we are not sadness. We can be sick, but we are not sickness. We come from a God whose nature is love and so we too are love. A fluffly yellow chick may not look like it's mother but it's still a chicken.

Love is the nature that waits patiently for us to allow it to fulfill itself.

Merry Christmas, may your days be filled with a measure of Love.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 ... "Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all thing. Charity never faileth"

Sunday, December 17, 2006

"Letting go is one way of saying I love you."

Among the most difficult things I have ever had to do, one of the hardest was saying "goodbye" to a dear friend indefinitely. The reasons are mixed, muddled, vague-- whatever. The emotions are painful, certain, haunting-- everything.
I cling to hope that we will meet again under better circumstances, but for now, this is the most helpful situation for us both.

Have you ever had to bid 'adieu' to someone you loved? How did you do it? Why did you do it?