Denver Seminary

I’ve been absent from the blog-o-sphere. Not that I’ve checked out or that I’ve run out of things to say. I’ve been emotionally cocooning, I think.

My mom died in February. My sister and I were with her when she left us behind and entered into an eternal dance. The realities of life and death, the strange, circuitous path of grief, have taken me into an odd time with unfamiliar, yet strangely very familiar, experiences.

I’ve been at home; I’ve been working and interacting with friends and family. I’ve still done laundry and washed dishes, listened and companioned students. But the odd experiences are beneath all these. It is in peripheral vision, just beneath the surface of consciousness, somewhat formless in character, yet I’m confident it is there. I can almost hear it, almost feel it. And, so, because I can’t turn to it, grasp it with my hands and engage it with intentional focus, I continue working and interacting with friends and family. I still do laundry and wash the dishes. I still cherish the privilege of listening to and companioning students.

What else can I do? Spiritually, I tell my Companion that I am willing to engage the peripheral. And He has said, “When it is time.” So I continue on with what I can see and seek to stay attentive to what is elusively, invisibly present.

The Sanctuary

Today is a grand day in my life. Today is the first day that I’ve retreated to my Sanctuary. My Sanctuary is under my deck on a concrete pad. There are two robin’s egg blue Adirondack chairs overlooking the flowerpots now planted and the grass and trees that are beginning to grow. This is my summer place of devotion. I leave my living room chair for these months and settle here.

My journal entry for today written this morning while seated in my robin’s egg blue chair: May 12, 2009

Mother’s Day weekend just passed. We went to church and I was so thankful for the sensitivity and focus of the day. Childlessness was acknowledged and honored just as motherhood was honored.

Then we went to Denver’s Botanic Garden. Toward the end of the walk, I felt myself becoming increasingly sad; I wanted to cry.

I took mom to the Gardens, shared that with her. I can’t remember exactly when, I can’t really “see” her there in my memory. I wish I could. But David confirmed that I had indeed taken her there. And, I know she loved it like I do.

Today I’m sitting in my sanctuary for the first morning this year. I am even more passionate this year about spring, green, leaves, birds and birdsong. It’s like I need them. Something deep inside me is craving these in a way I’ve not known before. My senses are peaked, attentive, sensitive. I’m “enjoying” being here among it all. But there is also some part of me that can’t take it in. Strange.

What is this, Lord?

Is the name of this “grief”?

I am yours, Lord. Enable me to embrace all you have for me here. The birds -- finches, chickadee, robin, dove -- all sing creation melodies. The lilac is beginning to bloom spreading its fragrance across the yard. The grass is green and growing, ready for a fresh mow. And, the leaves on the trees -- the sound of their singing in the breeze goes deep into my soul. Deep, so deep.

They sigh and something hidden in me sighs a great moan. At last, the tears come.

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

Asking The Three Questions

Who is God?

Faithful. Oh, so faithful.

Who am I?

Dependent upon God to reveal Himself, and to reveal to me what I need.

How am I living?

Stumbling along. My eyes on You, my hope secure.

©2009 Vine, Vision & Voice
Nancy R. Buschart