Yesterday taught me lots. Of course every day of our lives can teach us so much, can't it? But going down, down, again, and seeking the Lord, in the midst of my day, brought me deeper and also allowed me to come up again. I am familiar with that journey, but it is always painful, but when joy comes in the morning, then there is even greater rejoicing from the pain. Not that I am bouncing with joy, but I feel so much better. But I would like to share some of the pieces that made a difference yesterday. Of course, the continuous thread and undergirding is always God's unfailing love for me, and His continuous presence with me, whether or not I FEEL it. As the title of a book I have reminds me, I am "Always Loved, Never Forgotten"(Roy Lessin). I will quote from that later in this post. Whatever He allows me to go through is for my good ultimately, and can produce great fruit.
A friend who read my blog posts lately and is herself an Anglican priest and Spiritual Director sent me an email in the midst of my tears yesterday. Since she has known me for over twenty years, I wrote back very honestly to her right in that moment. I guess she happened to be on the computer, for she wrote right back, suggesting that in this aftermath of my mother's death six months ago, and with her being my last contact with our family history, other than my sister, that likely her death had stirred up a lot of other grief. As I pondered her words, I agreed with her. I realized that my going over remnants from other family members recently has also stirred up that grief. I have been looking lovingly at a particular photo of my Dad, and realizing even more than I have in the past few years that I haven't fully grieved his death twenty years ago. Then there were my grandfather's papers and contacting various archives of dioceses in which he served as bishop and professor. I had been both excited and overwhelmed by the interest in having his papers from each of those places, and had to make a decision about the best place to send them. I was excited actually at the decision I did make, to send them to the college where I did my first degree, Huron College, in London, Ontario. He had been Assistant Bishop in Huron diocese at that time, and professor at the college, and there has always been a Bishop Hallam Theological Society there and an archival collection about him. In my talk with the new dean of theology there I found out that they "keep his name alive". On reflection with a cousin I realized that this was the obvious place to send the papers, not to the General Synod of the ACC, or out west, or to Wycliffe College, all of whom were interested in his papers, and all having a reason for that interest because of his service in relation to them. It was a joy to me to realize that my choice of Huron would have pleased my father, but that brought up a lot more tender feelings of grief. And in the midst of all that my daughter found a letter in my mother's old purse from my uncle who died at Vimy Ridge. We figured it was his last letter, and somehow more precious to her or my aunt, and carried around separately from the packets of letters I have elsewhere, and must plan to eventually send to a museum near Owen Sound. Sarah was delighted to read this dear letter from a relative she never knew, my namesake, Selkirk, and it was so precious to her she took it to her room.
Something clicked in a moment a little while later. It was as I was walking across the back yard in the encroaching cold, having just deposited the last box to store for the spring garage sale. I put together all these experiences with my friend's words. My grief was largely about letting go of all these people in my past. Or about grieving them. That with my mother's death I was having to say goodbye to them more completely, and they had been such a huge part of my life. That realization was freeing.
At the same time I recognized that all of these relatives had so much to show for their lives. Many of them were public figures. Archives about my Dad in the Windsor Public Library, lots of women in Windsor eager to have a memento of my mother, members of many groups she was part of, Uncle Selkirk going out in a blaze of glory and gunfire as he led a battalion over Vimy Ridge in his early twenties, Mum's dad being a well loved sheriff in Owen Sound, the list could go on and on. Yet here I was blubbering in my struggle to deal with a high school class in Muskoka who could get under my skin in such a way that I can feel I never want to go back to that school. ( It comforts me to remember that my mother was a supply teacher in the 1930's and found it miserable too.)
I was pondering again how here I am working on my second master's degree and I am having trouble finding work I like to do. I get passed over for full time teaching jobs for which I am well qualified and the jobs go to people without my education and training. I am stuck in between, my past as a missionary not forgotten by the people we served with, but otherwise an anomaly back in this fast paced and expensive world. It's been hard to add it all up. I am years from the end of my program to train as a counsellor, I don't have the money or the freedom at the moment to study full time to get it sooner, and I am still trying to clean the basement!!
But - a very big but - and a great one - I have a personal hot line to the creator of the universe, my heavenly fate is already sealed. Why should I worry?
He says to me:
I see the things no one else can see.
I see your dreams and all you long to be,
I see your faith - I've seen it from the start.
I see the love you carry in your heart.
(Roy Lessin)
I make all things beautiful.
Put your faith in Me, not in a timetable.
Wait on Me and wait for Me.
When I am ready, you will be ready.
In My perfect way,
I will put everything together,
see to every detail,
arrange every circumstance,
change every heart,
and bring to pass what I have for you.
(Roy Lessin)
So, I choose to trust again, with joy.
Something else that has come out of this, as a sort of footnote, but actually it is very big in a human way, is the choice to savour the past, to continue to grieve in a gentle and beautiful way. After all, God is making all this beautiful, isn't he? I think I feel another blog coming for my devotional team one next week. In my choice to not send Grandad's papers off immediately, I chose to savour them, and give myself time to ENJOY going over them. In Sarah's reading of Uncle Selkirk's letter, and my celebration of that, I chose to read them myself, when I have time, and then we can see about sending them away, if we do...maybe not til all the grandchildren have had the time to read them...In loving the picture of my Dad in front of the school where he served from 1931 to 1973 I chose to keep it, and just send the newspaper version of the picture to the archives. In looking at the old clothes from the 1870's I can choose to keep the paisley shawl instead of just sending it to the museum, where they already have enough of those. I can take the beautiful things out of the past, and treasure them, and also trust that God will make all of it beautiful in my memory and His.
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