In the middle of worship this morning, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks: "You give me Beauty for Ashes, and Joy for my Mourning."
Brick.
In.
The.
Head.
I seriously almost doubled over.
I realized, "Hey, here we go--yet again, Cassidy's going to lose it in front of a bunch of people." I started praying, "God, please don't let me embarrass myself like this again. Please..."
I start to see four walls closing in on me...Yes, I'm still singing, but in my head, a tremendous tug-of-war is happening. I felt God say, "Stay. Play it through." It was a whisper...it was clear. "Play it through. Bring Me the sacrifice of praise."
The walls were closing in...I kept singing.
In my head, I see myself put my hands on the walls, and push them back. The heaviness that started to descend on me--the bitterness that began to creep in--lifted, and worship, in my heart, began again. I've been through this process before, but I don't recall ever seeing it quite so vividly in my head. Granted, I have a pretty vivid imagination, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't something I made up. There was a battle for worship this morning, and I don't know that it involved just me.
I really feel like a lot of us in the church struggle with the holidays--we have Missing Persons syndrome. For me, this weekend is particularly hard, true--but the whole season gets affected. It's not "what is"--we know our loved ones are in Heaven. It's "what isn't." The "what isn't (s)" are the things that hit me out of nowhere--would my five-year-old be dancing in front of the church, with the other kids? Ouch. It's a beautiful thing to see, but bittersweet. This morning (and it's happened before), it caught me in the gut--no warning. Grief sucker-punches us, but we can't let it knock us out.
It sounds so easy, when I put it in writing...
We bring a sacrifice of praise...praise when we're going along just fine, when we get what we want, and life is wonderful...and praise when the bottom falls out, the world is pear-shaped, and we can't see any Light through the fog that's buried our hearts. I've always said that for me, worship is when I feel the closest to God. It has nothing to do with singing (thank God); it has nothing to do with the aesthetics. It has to do with the fact that when we worship God, we open up that which we close off to the world. We walk around this grimy, dirty world, and we guard our hearts so closely...We are a jaded, bitter species. But when we worship, we take the bars off of the windows, and we connect, heart-to-heart, in intimacy with the One Who loves us (dirt and all).
This is a really, really tough time of year for many people. Tomorrow marks, for me, the fifth anniversary of my daughter's death, and I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm fine. This sucks. Just because I love Jesus doesn't mean this doesn't hurt--again, yes, I know she's in Heaven. I'm still missing a baby that came from my body--I have scars that are supposed to be reminders of the happiest day of my life...they hurt to look at. This is hard, and anyone who would say otherwise is kidding themselves. He doesn't make the pain go away. I saw a movie tonight where a Rabbi was talking about the death of his daughter. The interviewer said, "Weren't you mad at God?" "Furious!!" the Rabbi replied. "Didn't it affect your faith?" "Absolutely. But, I was thankful--thankful that I had Him to cry to!"
He doesn't make the hurt, the longing, the ache--He doesn't make it disappear, even though He could. I don't really understand why we go through this pain; frankly, even though I know it prepares us for other things in life, anesthesia sounds lovely. What He does do, though, is give us Someone to cry to. He gives us more than just a shoulder to cry on...He carries us in His arms. He shines His light on that "dark night of the soul," and He provides us with a love that handles the worst of our temper tantrums. He understands our grief, and He bears our sorrows.
He knows that if we understood a tenth of "what is" as opposed to our grasp of "what isn't," all of the selfish desires we have to see our loved ones again on our terms, would wash away. I believe in Heaven with every fiber of my being, and I know I'll see my baby girl again. If I even slightly grasped a corner of what it's really like, though, my heart would never ache for her on this planet again. I would be completely satisfied and at peace with where she is.
I don't get that knowledge, though--I don't get to see Heaven. I get to have faith that He knows what He's doing, and that I'll get there eventually. Faith, hope--that's the key.
That's why we worship. Because we have faith that He hears us, that He is, above all, GOOD.
This season, I hope that you see that He's good. Even if you're struggling with a loss...even if what/who you're missing is weighing on you so heavily--please know that He is good. Saying that, in the midst of grief, is one of the hardest things you'll ever say in your life, but it's so true. He is a good God, and you will make it out of the valley. Worship God, even in the midst of it. Praise Him for the extra measure of grace and peace that He'll drop on you if you ask. I know that's my prayer: "I need grace...I need peace. I need a reason to keep hope going, to keep hanging on." That's where I am...desperately clinging to grace and peace, and making myself hang on to hope. I cannot give up. He doesn't allow it, for any of us.
There's a song from the Muppets that I quoted on Facebook earlier today, anhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifd even though I quoted it incorrectly, I was pretty darn close. It's a season of "Saying Goodbye," but it's not permanent. Leave it to the Muppets to make you smile, and cry, all at the same time...
Grace and Peace to you this season...He loves you. He delights in you, even when you feel "un-delight-able."
Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching our hands, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye.
Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.
Don't want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes its better to go
Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart, so until then
It's time for saying goodbye.
Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart so until then
Wanna smile
Wanna cry
Saying goodbye"
--From The Muppets Take Manhattan
La la la la, la la la la
It's time for saying goodbye
La la la la, la la la la
La la la la-la la la.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Driving Blind...
Jesus sits in my front seat.
No, really--I'm not kidding.
Before you run me off to the funny farm, let me tell you a story (as I'm so inclined to do):
I struggle with fear. I have my entire life--it's the secret, paralyzing force that waits until I'm vulnerable, and then it quite literally reaches around my throat and chokes the breath out of me. There is panic, blindness, loss of logic, profanity, and a total lack of ability to focus on the truths I say and believe in. This fear strikes me the hardest while I'm driving.
I hate to drive. I think that I speed so often, just to get the driving part of my day over with the fastest (somehow, I don't think that will ever get me out of a ticket). I drive almost an hour to work each way, and my fear of driving almost led me to turn down this job--this wonderful, blessing of a job that I am most grateful for. This job is part of my calling, it's a gateway to my calling, and for me to almost walk away out of fear is so like me. I'm so glad that I had a powerful force of friends who prayed me through making the decision to take this position, even though it was a difficult transition (hey, nice rhyming!). But the drive--oh, the drive.
A few months ago, a torrential downpour hit as I was driving home. It was sudden, ferocious, and a total white-out. I couldn't see to get off of the road; I pulled over 3 times on the way home, and I went ballistic. Crying, choking, full-blown asthma attack--by the time I finally made it through our door, I practically collapsed. I don't think anyone would ever guess that this is such an issue for me, but it is--I was genuinely petrified.
Dentists make me panicky, nauseous, and irrationally violent...rats/mice/ROUS make me cringe and squeal. But driving/car incidents make me incapable of anything. It's almost a separate personality that comes out. I'm literally unintelligible from the shrieking. I'm petrified.
I've thought of things I could do--I'm spiritually opposed to hypnosis, although it's crossed my mind (especially in regards to the dentist). I've prayed about it; when there's been an issue, though, I usually find myself so scared that I can't make the words come out. Then, when the words DO come out, they're nothing I would ever repeat to anyone (except David, who tries to talk sense into me while I'm freaking out--you should hear his "psychology" tone of voice that he uses when I've flipped like this. In a rational moment, it's kinda funny. I think he tries to sound kinda like my dad, because he knows it works).
My car began acting up on Saturday--we were at a restaurant, and it wouldn't start. We futzed around with it a little bit, got it to a Wal-Mart, and dropped in a new battery. Since I was with him (even though neither one of us is mechanically inclined), I was okay--no freak-outs. We knew that a cable was a little loose, but with some jiggling, it started, so I went off to work this morning (Note: We drove EVERYWHERE Saturday and Sunday without incident). I went to work, ran some errands, went to a visitation, and suddenly, my radio began to go off and on. Not a good sign. I pulled over, jostled the cables, restarted the car, and off I went--and got lost--and my headlights started to flicker. I called David, and said I was on my way home (mind you, he had just left to go pick up a piece of furniture). I got to the top of the hill in my very rural neck of the woods, and realized I couldn't see--when I went to turn on my brights
I got
Pitch
Black
Nothing.
No oncoming cars.
No lights from my vehicle.
And a very deep ditch off of the side of the road.
By the living grace of God, I got the car off of the side of the road without falling into the ditch--about 12" off of the white line--just enough for me to get out of my car.
I didn't even have my emergency lights going...I had no idea it could be that dark outside.
I called David, calmly at first, to tell him that I had a serious issue. He said to jostle the cables, and restart the car, and I'd be fine--except it didn't work this time. I messed with the car alarm--no help. The lights worked for a few minutes, then nothing. I keep a flashlight on my keychain, that I tried to use to call roadside assistance--EXCEPT THE PHONE NUMBER ISN'T ON MY INSURANCE CARD ANYMORE!!!!!--AND AT THIS POINT I BEGIN TO FREAK OUT!!!!!
@#$%@#$%!@#$!@#$!@#$!@$!@#^&^&^t#$tr!$!@#$!$r!%$!
DAVIDYOUHADBETTERSTOPWHATYOU'REDOINGTURNTHATTRUCKAROUNDANDGETHERE!!!!ICAN'TBELIEVETHISISHAPPENINGWHYINTHEHECKCAN'TWEFIXCARSWHATTHE@#@@#DOIDONOW?!@#$!@#$!@#$!#@$@ And that's the highly edited version. '
Oh, the shame...
Wherever he was, I didn't know how long he'd be, so I abandoned my beloved Camry and began a 1/2 mile trek up the hill from Hell. By the time I got to the top, between the panic, the blood pressure, the cold (BTW, thanks, Dad, for teaching me to always keep a light-colored jacket in my car. And for the mace.), the anger, or the very steep incline, by the time I got to the top of the hill I couldn't breathe. Full-blown asthma attack that I'm still trying to shake--and I have no one to blame but myself.
Couple that with the fact that David no sooner comes and rescues me, but he gets to my car and it STARTS RIGHT UP...and now I feel HORRIBLE.
Stupid.
Panicked-for-nothing.
And physically awful, because I know how dangerous asthma attacks/freaked-out blood pressure can be for me, but I still let myself get that bad.
Don't get me wrong-my car was messed up. He drove it to our house (1 mile away--so close!!), and as soon as he turned it off, it wouldn't start again without cranking down the cables. We'll cross that bridge tomorrow, during daylight.
Either way, like the rainstorm, it was another classic case of me being in a pinch, and rather than pausing/being rational (granted, I tried that for like, 30 seconds), or praying it through (which should be the first thing I do), I freaked out. I said mean, terrible things to my husband (which I feel like an @$$ over--especially since the car started when he barely looked at it), I didn't trust God, and I'm not even sure I properly thanked Him for keeping me from ditching my car. I let fear win--I drove blindly, without faith, and without responsibility.
David's already forgiven me, which says something about him, and I've totally forgiven him (I'm sexist--I think that just because he's a guy, he's Mr. Fix-It, which is not always the case). Fear is such a nasty thing, though--it sends you into such an awful tailspin. Grace gets us out of it--if we let it, it keeps us from getting into it in the first place.
I'm such an imperfect creature, and I hate it when I have that reminder shoved so glaringly in my face. Incidents like this are the ones I need to have the sense to reflect on, the next time I'm broken down, to keep me from jumping into that mudpit of fear, blame, and highly-consequential anger.
We are never "driving blind." Jesus is always with us, even when it doesn't look that way--that realization is the only thing that can truly conquer those paralyzing fears. I hope I get that through my thick head before my next driving-related incident!!! For David's sake, if not mine!!!!! (God bless David Cooley--I'm pretty sure he should be nominated for some kind of sainthood after this)...
No, really--I'm not kidding.
Before you run me off to the funny farm, let me tell you a story (as I'm so inclined to do):
I struggle with fear. I have my entire life--it's the secret, paralyzing force that waits until I'm vulnerable, and then it quite literally reaches around my throat and chokes the breath out of me. There is panic, blindness, loss of logic, profanity, and a total lack of ability to focus on the truths I say and believe in. This fear strikes me the hardest while I'm driving.
I hate to drive. I think that I speed so often, just to get the driving part of my day over with the fastest (somehow, I don't think that will ever get me out of a ticket). I drive almost an hour to work each way, and my fear of driving almost led me to turn down this job--this wonderful, blessing of a job that I am most grateful for. This job is part of my calling, it's a gateway to my calling, and for me to almost walk away out of fear is so like me. I'm so glad that I had a powerful force of friends who prayed me through making the decision to take this position, even though it was a difficult transition (hey, nice rhyming!). But the drive--oh, the drive.
A few months ago, a torrential downpour hit as I was driving home. It was sudden, ferocious, and a total white-out. I couldn't see to get off of the road; I pulled over 3 times on the way home, and I went ballistic. Crying, choking, full-blown asthma attack--by the time I finally made it through our door, I practically collapsed. I don't think anyone would ever guess that this is such an issue for me, but it is--I was genuinely petrified.
Dentists make me panicky, nauseous, and irrationally violent...rats/mice/ROUS make me cringe and squeal. But driving/car incidents make me incapable of anything. It's almost a separate personality that comes out. I'm literally unintelligible from the shrieking. I'm petrified.
I've thought of things I could do--I'm spiritually opposed to hypnosis, although it's crossed my mind (especially in regards to the dentist). I've prayed about it; when there's been an issue, though, I usually find myself so scared that I can't make the words come out. Then, when the words DO come out, they're nothing I would ever repeat to anyone (except David, who tries to talk sense into me while I'm freaking out--you should hear his "psychology" tone of voice that he uses when I've flipped like this. In a rational moment, it's kinda funny. I think he tries to sound kinda like my dad, because he knows it works).
My car began acting up on Saturday--we were at a restaurant, and it wouldn't start. We futzed around with it a little bit, got it to a Wal-Mart, and dropped in a new battery. Since I was with him (even though neither one of us is mechanically inclined), I was okay--no freak-outs. We knew that a cable was a little loose, but with some jiggling, it started, so I went off to work this morning (Note: We drove EVERYWHERE Saturday and Sunday without incident). I went to work, ran some errands, went to a visitation, and suddenly, my radio began to go off and on. Not a good sign. I pulled over, jostled the cables, restarted the car, and off I went--and got lost--and my headlights started to flicker. I called David, and said I was on my way home (mind you, he had just left to go pick up a piece of furniture). I got to the top of the hill in my very rural neck of the woods, and realized I couldn't see--when I went to turn on my brights
I got
Pitch
Black
Nothing.
No oncoming cars.
No lights from my vehicle.
And a very deep ditch off of the side of the road.
By the living grace of God, I got the car off of the side of the road without falling into the ditch--about 12" off of the white line--just enough for me to get out of my car.
I didn't even have my emergency lights going...I had no idea it could be that dark outside.
I called David, calmly at first, to tell him that I had a serious issue. He said to jostle the cables, and restart the car, and I'd be fine--except it didn't work this time. I messed with the car alarm--no help. The lights worked for a few minutes, then nothing. I keep a flashlight on my keychain, that I tried to use to call roadside assistance--EXCEPT THE PHONE NUMBER ISN'T ON MY INSURANCE CARD ANYMORE!!!!!--AND AT THIS POINT I BEGIN TO FREAK OUT!!!!!
@#$%@#$%!@#$!@#$!@#$!@$!@#^&^&^t#$tr!$!@#$!$r!%$!
DAVIDYOUHADBETTERSTOPWHATYOU'REDOINGTURNTHATTRUCKAROUNDANDGETHERE!!!!ICAN'TBELIEVETHISISHAPPENINGWHYINTHEHECKCAN'TWEFIXCARSWHATTHE@#@@#DOIDONOW?!@#$!@#$!@#$!#@$@ And that's the highly edited version. '
Oh, the shame...
Wherever he was, I didn't know how long he'd be, so I abandoned my beloved Camry and began a 1/2 mile trek up the hill from Hell. By the time I got to the top, between the panic, the blood pressure, the cold (BTW, thanks, Dad, for teaching me to always keep a light-colored jacket in my car. And for the mace.), the anger, or the very steep incline, by the time I got to the top of the hill I couldn't breathe. Full-blown asthma attack that I'm still trying to shake--and I have no one to blame but myself.
Couple that with the fact that David no sooner comes and rescues me, but he gets to my car and it STARTS RIGHT UP...and now I feel HORRIBLE.
Stupid.
Panicked-for-nothing.
And physically awful, because I know how dangerous asthma attacks/freaked-out blood pressure can be for me, but I still let myself get that bad.
Don't get me wrong-my car was messed up. He drove it to our house (1 mile away--so close!!), and as soon as he turned it off, it wouldn't start again without cranking down the cables. We'll cross that bridge tomorrow, during daylight.
Either way, like the rainstorm, it was another classic case of me being in a pinch, and rather than pausing/being rational (granted, I tried that for like, 30 seconds), or praying it through (which should be the first thing I do), I freaked out. I said mean, terrible things to my husband (which I feel like an @$$ over--especially since the car started when he barely looked at it), I didn't trust God, and I'm not even sure I properly thanked Him for keeping me from ditching my car. I let fear win--I drove blindly, without faith, and without responsibility.
David's already forgiven me, which says something about him, and I've totally forgiven him (I'm sexist--I think that just because he's a guy, he's Mr. Fix-It, which is not always the case). Fear is such a nasty thing, though--it sends you into such an awful tailspin. Grace gets us out of it--if we let it, it keeps us from getting into it in the first place.
I'm such an imperfect creature, and I hate it when I have that reminder shoved so glaringly in my face. Incidents like this are the ones I need to have the sense to reflect on, the next time I'm broken down, to keep me from jumping into that mudpit of fear, blame, and highly-consequential anger.
We are never "driving blind." Jesus is always with us, even when it doesn't look that way--that realization is the only thing that can truly conquer those paralyzing fears. I hope I get that through my thick head before my next driving-related incident!!! For David's sake, if not mine!!!!! (God bless David Cooley--I'm pretty sure he should be nominated for some kind of sainthood after this)...
Sunday, November 6, 2011
"Hold That Baby!"
My Aunt Florence died over the weekend.
Florence Elizabeth Lutz.
She wasn't really my aunt.
My family dynamic is really, REALLY hard to describe (it's harder still when you have memory loss). I'd try to tell you how it all works, but I'd probably get it all wrong. We have adoption, steps, "blood," and a whole lot of "like a ___ to me" that all somehow ties in together; I think I'll truly understand it all only when I get to Heaven. Florence and her husband Gene were a like an extra set of parents to my mom, before she was adopted. Gene and his sister (Aunt Mary?)(or maybe it was his mom), and my Grandpa Myers raised my mom, and then he met Florence (and Grandpa met Marie), and the rest is history...although, in my mind, it's a very confused history.
Florence was funny, kind, sweet, and quite...ahem...round. Her house was always too hot, smelled funny, and TBN was always BLARING on the television. Going over to her little apartment was never something I really looked forward too, but my mom would always remind me how she could die at any time, and "wouldn't you feel bad if you didn't go see her?" Yep--I'm an A+ student of the Pseudo-Italian/Jewish School of Guilt. :)
Gene and Florence were around quite a bit when I was little, although I only remember Gene as being very, very ill--he died when I was really young, and my memories are vague. I knew he worked for Chrysler, and that he and Florence married late in life. They never had any children, and I think that was because of something that happened to Gene as a young man. Mom was as close to a kid as Florence ever had, and she loved her fiercely. I truly believe that the prayers Florence prayed over Mom are why she's a Christian today.
I protected my daughter ferociously. Not many people had the chance to see her at the hospital, and I'm not much for company (when I'm healthy), so not many people saw her in my home. Florence is the only person who's home we visited with Hannah, outside of my parents--mom said she really wanted to "hold that baby!", so on Thanksgiving, 2006, after the meal was finished at my parents' house, off to Florence's stuffy little apartment we went.
She held Hannah, cuddled her...even though she was starting to just dust the edges of dementia, she loved on that baby girl. Hannah, in that weekend, got to meet my Milo and Edna, and Aunt Florence--my favorite "old people."
They're all gone, now...
There's a jealousy that strikes me at every funeral I go to, now...they all get to see my Hannah again before I do. It's so strange...
Florence was ready to go. Nary a tear was shed today, by those of us who knew her. Florence wanted to see her Gene, and meet her Jesus. I've never known anyone who was so ready to go to Heaven. She'd talk about what she'd see when she got there, to anyone who would listen. Heaven was her favorite subject...Jesus, Gene, and to "hold that baby!" in eternity.
Florence was one of the few people that could say those "old lady" things to me, and I would listen, because I knew she meant it. She'd say to me, "I can't wait to meet Jesus! I'm gonna see GENE! And I'm gonna HOLD THAT BABY!!!" She'd smile--but the first time she said it to me, I had to walk out of the room so she wouldn't see me cry. I wasn't ready for that, yet, even though I knew it to be true. She said it a lot, any time she saw me: "I'm going to meet Jesus, be with my Gene, and I'm gonna Hold That BABY!" Florence struggled through diabetes, blood pressure issues, obesity, some weird form of cancer--all kinds of stuff, and never lost her sense of humor. Her favorite saying was "I SWAN!" which I found out today, is the "nice lady" way of not saying "I swear"--'cause that's not Christian. :)
Today, in saying goodbye, I went up to the casket and patted her hand. It's the first time I've touched a body in a casket in 5 years. Someone at the nursing home had painted her nails with tiny flowers on them--something that I know Aunt Florence would have loved. She loved pretty things, sparkly things, glittery things--Mom and I come by it honestly. Apparently, when they painted her nails that way 2 weeks ago, she told her friends with a big smile, "Looky! I've got my nails painted like the YOUNG GIrls! (I SWAN!)" She was so darn funny (but you'd never hear her say "darn!"). She was a down-home girl from Indiana, even though she was 90.
There was a look of peace about her in that casket...something that made me want to go up and pat her hand, even though I know she's not in that body anymore. She was ready to go...ready to leave this world behind, ready to meet Jesus. Who can cry, at a funeral like that? Who can mourn? Not anyone who has that same hope.
They touched up her nails for today, and put her in a beautiful blue dress. Whoever did her hair made it up just right for today, and she looked amazing--but I'm positive that was the peace in her expression, and not her makeup. Florence died in her sleep (like all of my "old people," thank God), and she met Jesus on His terms...
I can't imagine what or who she's seeing...I know she's with her beloved Gene...
And I know she's "holdin' that BABY!"
Florence Elizabeth Lutz.
She wasn't really my aunt.
My family dynamic is really, REALLY hard to describe (it's harder still when you have memory loss). I'd try to tell you how it all works, but I'd probably get it all wrong. We have adoption, steps, "blood," and a whole lot of "like a ___ to me" that all somehow ties in together; I think I'll truly understand it all only when I get to Heaven. Florence and her husband Gene were a like an extra set of parents to my mom, before she was adopted. Gene and his sister (Aunt Mary?)(or maybe it was his mom), and my Grandpa Myers raised my mom, and then he met Florence (and Grandpa met Marie), and the rest is history...although, in my mind, it's a very confused history.
Florence was funny, kind, sweet, and quite...ahem...round. Her house was always too hot, smelled funny, and TBN was always BLARING on the television. Going over to her little apartment was never something I really looked forward too, but my mom would always remind me how she could die at any time, and "wouldn't you feel bad if you didn't go see her?" Yep--I'm an A+ student of the Pseudo-Italian/Jewish School of Guilt. :)
Gene and Florence were around quite a bit when I was little, although I only remember Gene as being very, very ill--he died when I was really young, and my memories are vague. I knew he worked for Chrysler, and that he and Florence married late in life. They never had any children, and I think that was because of something that happened to Gene as a young man. Mom was as close to a kid as Florence ever had, and she loved her fiercely. I truly believe that the prayers Florence prayed over Mom are why she's a Christian today.
I protected my daughter ferociously. Not many people had the chance to see her at the hospital, and I'm not much for company (when I'm healthy), so not many people saw her in my home. Florence is the only person who's home we visited with Hannah, outside of my parents--mom said she really wanted to "hold that baby!", so on Thanksgiving, 2006, after the meal was finished at my parents' house, off to Florence's stuffy little apartment we went.
She held Hannah, cuddled her...even though she was starting to just dust the edges of dementia, she loved on that baby girl. Hannah, in that weekend, got to meet my Milo and Edna, and Aunt Florence--my favorite "old people."
They're all gone, now...
There's a jealousy that strikes me at every funeral I go to, now...they all get to see my Hannah again before I do. It's so strange...
Florence was ready to go. Nary a tear was shed today, by those of us who knew her. Florence wanted to see her Gene, and meet her Jesus. I've never known anyone who was so ready to go to Heaven. She'd talk about what she'd see when she got there, to anyone who would listen. Heaven was her favorite subject...Jesus, Gene, and to "hold that baby!" in eternity.
Florence was one of the few people that could say those "old lady" things to me, and I would listen, because I knew she meant it. She'd say to me, "I can't wait to meet Jesus! I'm gonna see GENE! And I'm gonna HOLD THAT BABY!!!" She'd smile--but the first time she said it to me, I had to walk out of the room so she wouldn't see me cry. I wasn't ready for that, yet, even though I knew it to be true. She said it a lot, any time she saw me: "I'm going to meet Jesus, be with my Gene, and I'm gonna Hold That BABY!" Florence struggled through diabetes, blood pressure issues, obesity, some weird form of cancer--all kinds of stuff, and never lost her sense of humor. Her favorite saying was "I SWAN!" which I found out today, is the "nice lady" way of not saying "I swear"--'cause that's not Christian. :)
Today, in saying goodbye, I went up to the casket and patted her hand. It's the first time I've touched a body in a casket in 5 years. Someone at the nursing home had painted her nails with tiny flowers on them--something that I know Aunt Florence would have loved. She loved pretty things, sparkly things, glittery things--Mom and I come by it honestly. Apparently, when they painted her nails that way 2 weeks ago, she told her friends with a big smile, "Looky! I've got my nails painted like the YOUNG GIrls! (I SWAN!)" She was so darn funny (but you'd never hear her say "darn!"). She was a down-home girl from Indiana, even though she was 90.
There was a look of peace about her in that casket...something that made me want to go up and pat her hand, even though I know she's not in that body anymore. She was ready to go...ready to leave this world behind, ready to meet Jesus. Who can cry, at a funeral like that? Who can mourn? Not anyone who has that same hope.
They touched up her nails for today, and put her in a beautiful blue dress. Whoever did her hair made it up just right for today, and she looked amazing--but I'm positive that was the peace in her expression, and not her makeup. Florence died in her sleep (like all of my "old people," thank God), and she met Jesus on His terms...
I can't imagine what or who she's seeing...I know she's with her beloved Gene...
And I know she's "holdin' that BABY!"
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