Hermitage Note - Forever Changed

Ticking clocks, the first melody of a Mockingbird, and the hum of the compressor on the fridge break the otherwise silence of this pre-dawn Thursday morning.

I seem to have settled into this new norm that has been imposed upon me as “reality”.

Not so long ago, this silence was debilitating. No. I’m not a stranger to silence. I’m not a stranger to solitude. Silence and solitude are not only meaningful but also a necessary commodity for me. I have always needed them and sought opportunities to engage and enter into them. And especially so after I began to explore and experience Benedictine monastic spirituality.

After Shirli died, I surrounded myself with noise … using it as a distraction … using it [and other things] to keep me from dwelling on the ramifications of this new imposed reality. In just a few days, on March 4th, it will be eight months since the fast-growing pancreatic cancer took Shirli’s physical life. To say that the grief was horrendous would be a gross understatement.

There is no real and effective way to describe its depths and the emotional anguish that accompanied it. Perhaps to say that all I wanted to do was die in my sleep, and even pleaded with Jesus for weeks on end to just come and take me from this world, would begin to describe it. But even to describe it in this way is still terribly shallow and incomplete.

The hard tears of grief are behind me.

Yes. I still have emotional moments that come and go. Now, when they come, the tears are of a different sort. Rather than tears of sorrow, they are more along the lines of tears of thanksgiving that leave me smiling.

I do sorely miss Shirli. How can I not? My mind is full of beautiful memories of her … of the love we shared and still share, of our many strolls and talks. Not only memories. I am surrounded by physical reminders of her … carefully chosen things that I will always keep … at least for now in this little seventy year old cottage of a dwelling here beside this railroad track in this quiet little out-of-the-way community where the Lord planted us.

What a beautiful season life with Shirli was and ever will be in my memories. The Lord knew what both of us needed in our lives as two badly wounded souls trying to make our way through the meanness of this world. My love for Shirli was a healing agent in her life. Her love for me was a healing agent in my life. Love. Unconditional love. We were both forever changed by our love for one another. I am the man that I am today because of Shirli’s love for me.

Life cannot be lived healthily solely looking back. Make no mistake. Looking back is important. Life’s great lessons … those great tutors in our lives … are back there. In looking back we can clearly see our footprints where we wandered astray. Looking back we can see the footprints of our better choices. Looking back we can see the footprints of our Lord carrying us during times when we could not stand on our own two feet or even crawl through the sands of life.

Looking ahead?

Now that can be scary. Looking ahead, even at best, we will always be looking through a glass dimly. Oh, we can see and catch glimmers that give us hope, glimmers that allay our fears, glimmers of the work the Lord has for us to do. But even though we see and catch these glimmers, we cannot force them. We can only live one day at a time as life, and God’s purpose for us in life, unfolds.

We only have today. Looking back and looking forward, we still only have today. Today is all we have. And our great responsibility is to live today in such a way that our today does not complicate the great unfolding that our Lord and our God is preparing for us when tomorrow, and all of the tomorrows of life, unfold before us.