A Prayer for Hospice Care

Listen to me read this prayer.

Father of mercies, Comfort of the afflicted,

Walk with us through this dark valley

As we walk our loved one home to You.

Strengthen us to bear up under the dual weights of caregiving and grief.

Receive the service we render her 

As an oblation poured out at the feet of Jesus.

Let Your compassion flow through us

In care that honors her dignity as Your child,

Made in Your image.

Make us know Your presence in our most secret hearts.

Catch our tears in Your bottle,

As we grieve what we have lost and are losing

And we anticipate the loss to come.

Give us Your Spirit of gentleness with each other

Despite nerves frayed by sorrow and fatigue.

Bless the helpers You have sent us for their kindness and care.

Let Your presence and peace settle upon our loved one too, Lord.

Grant her a painless transition to Your presence

When the tally of her days is complete.

Thank You for the hope of the resurrection

And the life of the world to come.

Mercifully hear our prayer through the name of the risen Christ our Savior.

Amen.

Caterpillar Sanctuary: A Sacrament of Hope

In defiance of the death, disease, dissension, and disaster
On every screaming front-page headline,
In the name of Christ, the Risen Conqueror of death,
In the living resurrection hope to which we have been born again,
For the glory of God,
As stewards of His creation—

 
I have bugs on my kitchen counter.

Queen caterpillar

No ordinary or random bugs though:
Only caterpillars may enter without their lives as forfeit.

A fortnight past,
This year’s crop of milkweed
Crawled with an admirable array of caterpillars,
Queens and monarchs, to be exact.
Every time we ventured to the back garden,
We played our own ever-changing custom game
Of “Where’s Waldo?” in the plants.
Yellow, black, and white caterpillars,
The queens with red antenna tips,
Concealed themselves remarkably well
Amid green leaves
And gold and saffron blossoms.
 
As July burned to embers
And August caught fire,
We counted thirty butterflies-in-waiting,
And what a joyful waiting!
 
In a single day,
Nineteen disappeared.
Our next visit to the plant revealed the cause:
A wasp caught in the very act
Of killing, dismembering, and devouring one.
Amore executed the murderous creature.
 
The next morning
We only counted six.
Another wasp of yellow and black
Was feasting on more butterflies.
 
Helpless we may be to stop the headlines racing past,
But we could help these caterpillars,
And we did:
We reassembled our butterfly habitats
From five years past,
Filled them with milkweed stems,
And placed the three monarchs in one,
The three queens in another.
 

Except the passing days revealed not three queens,
But four,
The fourth too small to see
Until it grew.
 

The monarchs shed their caterpillar skin,
And three gold-and-jade chrysalides
Clinging to the jar now,
Awaiting resurrection
Wings.
 
The four queens have joined them,
In identical but petite versions of their monarch cousins’ caskets,
Clinging in a ladylike row
To the ceiling of their shelter.
 

Now we await in hope the translucent transformation
Of the chrysalides, the peek of orange and black
Wings developing within,
The bursting forth of butterflies from the caterpillars’ tombs,
The four remaining monarch caterpillars
Soon to follow suit.
 
Oh—
Didn’t I mention that?
Four additional eggs stowed away
On the milkweed provisions.
Our own loaves and fishes marvel
(or so it feels),
We rescued half a dozen caterpillars
And now have a dozen, less one
(And counting? Or is that asking too much?).
 
We wait for so many things, beloved:
For test results,
For school schedules and team rosters,
For financial news,
For home repairs,
For medical appointments,
For hugs, for comfort, for healing,
For the plague years to end,
For our own emergence from cocooning,
For the Lord’s return,
For resurrection bodies.
 
But today,
In defiance of the death, disease, dissension, and disaster
On every screaming front-page headline,
In the name of Christ, the Risen Conqueror of death,
In the living resurrection hope to which we have been born again,
For the glory of God,
As stewards of His creation—
I have bugs in my kitchen,
A sacrament of hope.

COMING SOON:

Female monarch butterfly

Queen butterfly

Metamorphosis {A Poem}

To watch the process described below, please visit the previous post, Monarch Metamorphosis.

Burgeoning butterfly bursts the bonds of its caterpillar skin,

Writhing and wriggling out of its old creepy-crawly self,

Exposing soft shimmer of green-gold iridescence beneath.

Blind, paralyzed, vulnerable,

Burgeoning butterfly contracts and hardens

In filigreed jade casket.

Days creep. Casket hangs still,

No visible change, no growing girth,

No crutch of evidence upon which faith can lean,

But burgeoning butterfly forms within.

Jade fades to grey, then black as death.

Then shadowed, black-veined rust

Shines through death’s veil

Like first orange gleam of sun in eastern sky.

Hours pass; then

Burgeoning butterfly breaches,

Blooms out backward,

Wings limp and ruffled as hibiscus petals,

Body swollen, a polka-dot capsule.

Carefully it crawls up translucent shards

Of chrysalis casket.

Clinging there, it sways side to side,

Burgeoning butterfly body pumping life

Into wings spreading and filling like a kite

Catching a breeze.

Proboscis furls and unfurls

Like the tongue of a cat as she grooms.

Burgeoning butterfly drips golden tears,

Rocking, rocking its newborn self.

Burgeoning butterfly comes to rest,

Labor-wearied from burst bonds.

Hours harden wings.

Burgeoning butterfly finds a blossom;

Sips nourishing nectar;

Leaves behind shed skin,

Empty tomb;

Presses forward to what lies ahead.

Burgeoning butterfly takes flight.

Prayer and Thanksgiving on Easter Tuesday

I do not cease to give thanks for you,

remembering you in my prayers,

that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory,

may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him,

having the eyes of your hearts enlightened,

that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you,

what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints,

and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe,

according to the working of his great might

that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead

and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places,

far above all rule and authority and power and dominion,

and above every name that is named,

not only in this age but also in the one to come.

Ephesians 1:16-21, ESV

Hallelujah! What a Savior! Crumbles, whatever faces you this week, may you find hope in knowing that the same power by which Christ was raised from the dead is at work toward us who believe. More than that, may the Father of glory enable you to know Him better. That will keep us going even when the "immeasurable greatness of His power" is veiled to our sight.

Thanks be to God for His kind gifts. His love endures forever!

~The Resurrection of Christ! He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

~A lovely, energetic visit from our young neighbor, who played hide and seek with Ebony's bone and told me how Jesus died on the cross for our sins and rose again on Easter. When asked if she learned that in Sunday school, she said, "No, at dance class!"
~Her display of her frog hops down the length of my physical therapy mat
~Lovely fellowship again at ladies' Bible study, even though we were talking about the not-so-loverly book of Judges
~A huge sigh of relief this week in studying Ruth

~Empathy and hugs from my primary care physician at my annual "well" (ha!) check-up
~Waiting for test results
~Mezzo's success on oral exams
~First poem of 2013
~Easter worship and hymns
~"And then one day... I'll fight life's final war with pain" from "Because He Lives"
~Starbucks with my Amore after church

~Boisterous, happy family time Easter afternoon
~Three small pairs of cowboy boots

~Rain Easter morning
~Blue sky and sunshine Easter afternoon
~Dad's birthday cake for dessert

My mother's and her mother's coconut cake

~Lunch with Nonni and my parents Monday the real dessert
~First bluebonnet sightings of 2013 on the way
~Courage to travel across town for the day despite pain
~Easy supper afterward (Trader Joe's Chana Masala and whole-wheat naan, yum!)

~The life, writings, and example of the late Edith Schaeffer (also here: http://www.worldmag.com/2013/03/edith_schaeffer_1914_2013)
~An opportunity to meet her at a conference and have a book inscribed by her
~Her grace in kissing me on the cheek when I impulsively hugged her at that one and only meeting
~My first acupuncture appointment this Friday to see if Dr. Al can help me heal
(Still counting God's gifts, #9888-9912)

Easter Lily {A Poem and a Repost}

In unseen Saturday silence
Petals unfurl,
Mute trumpets crying out
With rolled-away stone:

"Take hope!  Take heart!
Why do you seek the living among the dead?
He is not here; He is risen!

"Your trust, your toil, the promise are not vain.
Death will be swallowed up in victory.
This body of death,
This broken life,
This night of tears are not the end.

"At last trumpet's fanfare
Dead shall be raised,
Dustless,
Deathless,
Glorious."

White heralds soundless sound:
"Christ has died;
Christ is risen;
Christ will come again."
Hallelujah!


  When [Jesus] came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:
  “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”
  “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”
  Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”
  “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”
(Luke 19:37-40, NIV

Silent Saturday

In silent Sabbath after Cross,

Disciples hid themselves away

For fear they’d share their Rabbi’s fate.

How little did they dream the hush

Was prelude to defeat of death

And their salvation by His life,

Just as He promised: Christ would rise,

Defying unbelief—locked doors,

Blocked tomb, locked hearts no obstacle

To Resurrection, Life, and Light.

N.B. That the disciples had already hidden behind locked doors on the Saturday immediately following the Crucifixion is an extrapolation. The Scriptures say clearly that they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment and that by Sunday they were sequestered behind locked doors for fear of the Jews (Luke 23:56 and John 20:19). The suggestion in the poem seems at least plausible, but in truth the Scriptures are silent about that Saturday, so take the idea with a grain or two of salt.

That said, dear crumble, if you await resurrection in some grave sorrow (groan.. pun not intended) in your life, take heart. God's apparent silence does not denote His inactivity or His intention not to bring about eucatastrophe in your dire need. If we learn anything from the silence of Holy Saturday, let it be that. May you and I find strength to persevere in trusting God in the waiting.

In Defense of Bodies

Snow Barista in Temple, Texas, Easter 2007

Four years ago, my husband and I held our Easter worship driving north on I-35 through snow-covered bluebonnets.  We had left his parents' home before church to detour to my grandfather's hospital room.  He had just been diagnosed with kidney disease that would require dialysis.  That visit on Easter afternoon was the last time my husband saw him and the last time I saw him strong enough to engage in dialogue.  It turned out that lymphoma had caused his kidneys to fail.  He passed away Tuesday, April 24.

This year Easter coincides with the anniversary of his death and Holy Week seems more than usually haunted by words and ideas of death in my reading and listening (not intentional on my part).

Yesterday on the phone, my grandmother said that after she goes to Mass Sunday she will go to the cemetery to see him.  "When we used to go visit [the graves of our neighbors], Nonno would always say, 'They're not here, you know.  These are just shells.' I know he's not really there either, but I go anyway."  She spoke apologetically, as though needing an excuse for her actions.

The strands of my thoughts were too entangled to respond the way I wanted to at that moment, but upon reflection this is what I wish I had said to her:

It's okay.  Bodies matter.  His body matters.

It is with our bodies, largely, that we sin.  With our bodies and not only souls or spirits we serve God and neighbor, obey or disobey, comfort or wound.  With our bodies we love.  It is our bodies we are called to present as "living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship" (Rom. 12:1, ESV).  It is my grandfather's gruff, smoky (though he never smoked) laugh that I miss, his broad, square hand patting my shoulder as I left, the leathery feel of that brown hand in mine, the strong feel of his barrel chest against my face when I hugged him, his form standing in old slippers in the doorway as we drove up.  Even in the case of my little dog Steinway, gone almost two years now, it's his smell I miss, the feel of his fur, his specific gravity in my arms, not some amorphous essence of Steinway-ness.  Bodies matter.

It was in a body, a real body, that the eternal Son of God, second Person of the Trinity, Jesus Christ, was born and lived; it was His body which suffered, bled, thirsted, accepted nails and thorny crowns; it was His body which cried out, breathed His last.  His dead body laid in a new tomb rose again the third day.  Mary wept in the Sunday dawn because His body was missing; she tried to cling to His risen body when He said her name.  The risen Christ was no disembodied spirit being but spoke, ate, could be touched, and still bore the wounds of nails and spear.  Because of His Incarnation, Passion,  Resurrection, and bodily Ascension to the right hand of the Father, our bodies matter even more.

Because He died and conquered death in resurrection, the remains filling the cemetery my grandmother visits, the remains of all who have died in Christ in all the world, will someday rise again at the last trumpet.  They will rise again, renewed, redeemed, reclothed with resurrection flesh in the likeness of the risen Christ.  If I understand the Scriptures correctly on that (and always, that is an "if"), in the new heavens and earth yet to come, we will not be disembodied spirits but like Christ will have new bodies, untouched and untouchable by death, disease, and decay (see 1 Corinthians 15).  Bodies matter.

The Good Friday Christians around the world observe today is only good because Christ "himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; 'by his wounds you have been healed" (1 Peter 2:24, NIV1984, emphasis mine).  Without His death and resurrection, I would still be in my sins and my own death would be without hope.

I don't know if my grandmother would understand this; for that matter, I'm not sure I do.  But if the subject arises again, this is what I would tell her:  "It's okay to visit the cemetery.  The remains in that grave do matter. Bodies matter.  They matter to God as well as to you."

Besides, what better place to look back to Jesus' resurrection and forward to ours?  Cemeteries are quiet now, but they will be a sight to behold on that "great gettin' up mornin'."  I don't know about you, friend, but I can hardly wait.

For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ; who will transform the body of our humble state into conformity with the body of His glory, by the exertion of the power that He has even to subject all things to Himself (Philippians 3:20-21, NASB, emphasis mine).

an edited repost from the archives, shared with these lovely communities:

He Arose!

...God, who has saved us and called us with a holy calling,

not according to our works,

but according to His own purpose and grace

which was granted us in Christ Jesus from all eternity,

but now has been revealed by the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus,

who abolished death

and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel...

2 Timothy 1:9-10, NASB

Up from the grave he arose;

with a mighty triumph o'er his foes;

He arose a Victor from the dark domain,

and He lives forever, with his saints to reign.

He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!

Robert Lowry (1826-1899)

That chorus by Robert Lowry, with its trumpet-fanfare melody, supplied the soundtrack in my head Sunday morning. I mentioned it to my beloved on the way to church and commented that I didn't even know where I'd sung it last. Lo and behold, it had been chosen as the closing hymn for our worship service as well.

The resurrection of Christ has given so many gifts that we mortals can never plumb the depths of them or count their number. Even the fifty days from Easter to Pentecost prove insufficient for preachers and poets to enumerate them all.

Christ's victory over death and the grave strikes me especially this year as I consider all the bereavements sustained among family and friends. His death and resurrection disarmed the devil and liberated His children from the fear of death:

Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives (Hebrews 2:14-15, NASB).

His death and resurrection assuage our grief with the sure hope of reunion someday, reunion not only with our Lord Christ, but also with all we love (even those we have never met in this life but love through their writings or examples), when He gathers His saints to Himself at the last trumpet:

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. ¹⁴ For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. ¹⁵For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. ¹⁶ For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. ¹⁷ Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. ¹⁸ Therefore comfort one another with these words (1 Thess. 4:13-17, NASB).

For those suffering in body, Christ's resurrection prefigures our own and so strengthens us with the hope of a new, better body like that of His resurrection, which the Gospels testify could eat and be touched and walk and cook and enter locked rooms. Whatever aches and pains beset my loved ones or me today, they will have an end; one day I will have a body that works perfectly, not bound by the shackles of sin and the fruit of fallenness.

For the trumpet will sound, 
and the dead will be raised incorruptible, 
and we will be changed. 
⁵³ For this corruptible must be clothed 
with incorruptibility, 
and this mortal must be clothed 
with immortality (1 Cor 15:52-53, HCSB).

But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, ²¹ who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself (Phil. 3:20-21, ESV).

Most important of all, the resurrection of Christ demonstrates publicly, once for all, that He is who He said He is and did what He said He would do. The empty tomb assures us that the death of the God-Man on the cross was indeed sufficient to cover our sins. Paul told the Corinthian church, who were apparently uncertain whether the dead could be raised at all, "And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins" (1 Cor. 15:17, HCSB). Thanks be to God, He has been raised, and forgiveness is available to all who believe in His name.

For I [Paul] passed on to you as most important what I also received:

that Christ died for our sins
according to the Scriptures,
that He was buried,
that He was raised on the third day
according to the Scriptures (1 Cor. 15:3-4, HCSB).

 "He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!"

Because He lives, I continue to give thanks to God for all things:
salvation from sins, past, present, and future::hope of physical and spiritual transformation
::comfort in grief::hymns in my heart::Messiah on the radio Easter afternoon::
unexpected, perfectly timed professional encouragement for my husband
::babies at the park::crossing paths with an old friend::encouraging words in person and in print::
in prayer, sharing the burden of a friend's prolonged, complicated cancer treatment
::answered prayers for no life lost in the 15 tornadoes that swept through our area Tuesday::
finding kind notes from a decade and two ago::worshipping in community on Easter Sunday
::celebrating the Resurrection with family::friends who check up on me::
"Christ is risen; He is risen indeed. Alleluia!"
(gratitude list #5420-5435)