Today I
found myself sitting on a dock in Tupper Lake, in the northern Adirondacks. My
youngest was reclined against me as we waited for his lake water-soaked feet to
dry so he could put his shoes and socks back on. It was quiet, the sun made the
water sparkle. Our view was a panorama of forests and mountains with the
occasional sound of a fish making ripples in the otherwise still water. We had
been talking the other day about past vacations we have taken and the kids
shared the things that make them feel “nostalgic” in the summer. On that quiet
dock I decided to softly break the silence and said, “I think one day you will
feel nostalgic for this moment.” My son said he thinks that too and said in
that moment he felt like “life is really great.” We were squarely in the moment
and it felt really good … even if the future would involve putting sweaty socks
on not-completely-dry feet.
The more
life experience I gain, the more I realize that living in the present moment is
the challenge, that when accomplished brings peace, even if only for a moment. One
of the ways to do this is to practice acceptance. Accepting what life is, what
life isn’t and that this life and this moment is all we have. In my roles as a
hospital chaplain and as a pastor, I have come to see that the outlook,
frustration-level, tolerance, ability to experience joy, and hope level of many
people is often closely related to whether or not they have accepted their
current situation. When patients are so focused on getting out of the hospital,
getting answers, finding certainty, or lamenting the fact that they are in
their current situation, they are in a very different level of spiritual distress
than the patients who have accepted that this is their current situation and
they can only live in the present moment without trying to replace all of the
uncertainty with guesses and horrible possibilities. I think many of us can
find ourselves in either of those two states on any given day. Acceptance is natural
and easy because it’s really our only option, but it’s also excruciating and
difficult because life can be so hard and uncertainty and lack of control can
feel terrifying.
Eleven
years later and I still marvel at how Laura handled this. Many of the people
who read this knew her and know that she was the first to name her flaws, that
she got frustrated and struggled and got angry that she couldn’t have more time
with her kids. And yet, what so many of us also saw was this amazing wisdom and
tolerance she embodied, even as her body began to shut down. I remember asking
her once how it was that she wasn’t freaking out, and she said that she had to stay
strong for her kids. That love kept her in the present moment. She chose to
model unrelenting faith in God, steady presence with her family and a tolerance
for so much awfulness at such a young age. Because she loved, because her heart
was so big. She chose love, that was what guided her and what we all got to
experience from her.
The week before
last, I got to see my friend Mark Miller. He was up here to lead the music for
a service. I talked to him before the service and even though it’s not exactly
easy conversation (those who know me, know I am never shy about breezing right past
small talk), we talked about that weekend when he came to the church I was the
pastor of in Woodville, Ohio. I told him about my friend Laura and how much she
loved his workshop and singing with him. I told him how much she loved his song
“I Believe.” I told him how it wasn’t too long after that when we sat down and
planned her funeral and she said she wanted that song sung to her as she died
and sung by a choir of her friends and family at her funeral. I told him I sang
it to her in the Hospice room as her breathing slowed. And how beautiful it was
when that big group of people with broken hearts but determined love stood up
at her funeral and sang it together so beautifully and how her 10-year-old
daughter sang the last verse. He was touched and so grateful to know this.
That
evening at the worship service we sang another Mark Miller song. And my heart
filled and my eyes watered as I thought about how much Laura would love it. And
as I sang the words, I hoped they might catch the air like incense and somehow
travel to that mysterious space where the souls of our departed loved ones
peacefully dwell. I felt so grateful that I knew her, grateful for the ways my
time with her moved me and changed me and deeply inspired by how she chose love.
Even in the depths of pain, she chose love.
In
the midst of pain, I choose love.
In
the midst of pain, sorrow falling down like rain,
I
await the sun again, I choose love.
In
the midst of war, I choose peace.
In
the midst of war, hate and anger keeping score,
I
will seek the good once more, I choose peace.
When
my world falls down, I will rise.
When
my world falls down, explanations can’t be found,
I
will climb to holy ground, I will rise.
In
the midst of pain, I choose love.
In
the midst of pain, sorrow falling down like rain,
I
await the sun again, I choose love.
(“I
Choose Love” by Mark Miller and Lindy Thompson)
The video of "I Believe" at Laura's funeral
No comments:
Post a Comment