Betrayal
Hung on a cross— the Lord of the universe, abandoned by friends, by some who pretended love— one for greed, for status, a dark agenda for thirty pieces of silver. Hung on a cross— the Lord of the universe; his love pilfered, abused. Should I, should you escape such travesties of loss? No. They come— in jealousies, false words, injustices, that hang in the climate of life, rife odors, that cannot escape, things that rape you wanting to steal, destroy the joy of all goodness. compassion, crucified on a cross, leaving a soul to mourn not able to rise from evil, choking the spirit in life’s wind tossed to and fro till rejoicing is done. Hung on a cross— God’s Son—Won. His victory won. Love lifting all our sorrows wiping away the world’s tears, love burning away all life’s dross. Hung on a cross— The Lord of the universe, so love continues to breath and we can walk rejoicing beyond life’s betrayals to live faithful in the winds of storm gales. Hung on a cross— God’s Son—my Savior, for my life and for yours. Amen. His victory won!
© 2022 by Barbara R. Williams-Hubbard
Father Knows Best
I’m Free by Anne Lindgren Davidson
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free, I'm following the path God laid for me. I took His hand when I heard Him call, I turned my back and left it all. I could not stay another day To laugh, to love, to work or play. Tasks left undone must stay that way. I found that place at the close of day. If my parting has left a void, then fill it with remembered joy. A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss, Oh yes, these things I too will miss. Be not burdened with times of sorrow, I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow. My life's been full, I savored much, Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch. Perhaps my time seemed all too brief, Don't lengthen it now with undue grief. Lift up your hearts and share with me, God wanted me now, he set me free. Visit https://imfreepoem.org/ for more information about this poem.
As I contemplated what to share on grief and loss, I began to think about what it was like to lose two family members unexpectedly and another after a decline due to aging. In all cases, the words I share are, “Father Knows Best,” which I use for my title. My father and my husband had both died suddenly, and I would ask the Lord, “Why?” Well, we are all given days by the Father and He knows the exact time and place when He calls a person home. It’s no surprise to Him!! You say it’s cruel to the one left behind? I heard the Father clearly say to me when my husband died, “I spared you from something you could not handle.” That is NOT the answer I would have ever expected to hear. What was the “something?” I will never know, but it makes perfect sense. “Thy will be done.”
Have you prayed for healing for a loved one suffering health issues? I know we all have. If God chooses to answer your prayer, it is in His will and in His timing that the person still has more days on earth to live. Perhaps your prayer for healing was not answered. God took my mother home to be with Him after a steady decline in her health, and I am sure she rejoiced as she had been anticipating her heavenly home arrival. My friend, whom I’ll call “Amy,” recently lost her mother and a close friend to COVID-19. She had prayed fervently for their healing. But God told her spirit that she was praying for a return to “normal,” but that was not to be, for the doctor told her that her mother had suffered lack of oxygen to the brain and would never have been “normal.” Amy realized that her mother’s going to heaven was God’s plan to restore her, to free her, not to have her continue to suffer on this earth. It would have been cruel to have her mother suffer any more, for she needed that ultimate healing. She misses her mother and her friend so much, but she keeps the sweet memories alive and has the hope of seeing her loved ones again. As believers in Christ we know that God’s plan is perfect: His grace is loving and kind; He is faithful and true to His Word; He is always there to comfort us. Yes, our “Father Knows Best.” Life goes on and He continues to bless me abundantly and I continue to thank Him for His constant love and care. To God be the Glory!
Proverbs 19:21 (NIV) “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.” My verse for 2022: Isaiah 41:10 (Look it up!)
© 2022 by Elaine Fiveland
For Madeleine
(After the death of her son)
You’re doing well. You’re doing terrible. Strong and gentle, wise and intuitive, I watched you sit with pain unbearable. My prayers flew up, pleading that he should live. A tender son, born with pain and with joy, Your mother heart opened and sought his best. A man emerged from that small, trustful boy, Stronger than death stands love as his bequest. We live our lives as a tale that is told; A wind passes over; days cease to be. Christ understands when we cry out so bold: O my God, why have you abandoned me? Guide us waking O Lord, guard us sleeping, Give your angels charge over our keeping. For Madeleine L'Engle
© 2022 by Pamela Leggett
Loss and Sorrow
As I write this it has been almost a year since my close friend Deborah died in March 2021. I have accepted her death from COVID-19, but when I think of her dying all alone in her apartment with only her cat for company, I feel an unresolved sorrow.
My last communications with her while she was alive were some text messages right before the weekend asking her if she needed some groceries from Whole Foods, which I later left outside her apartment door. She had not been feeling well for a few days prior, but had tested negative on the rapid-result COVID test. She was waiting for the results of the more reliable antigen test. Nevertheless, she had been under the virtual care of her Physician Assistant and remained cheerful. Knowing that she was very careful in always masking and limiting her exposure to crowds gave me, perhaps in retrospect, a false sense of her safety. I knew she was scheduled to get her COVID vaccine the following week, but also that she had asthma and was therefore more vulnerable.
That weekend I had an ominous dream and sense of dread. I tried to phone her, but there was no answer. I called her friends who called the police; they discovered Deborah in her bed, dead. Shock and anguish filled me, and overwhelming grief and guilt for not having followed up sooner. I could have called an ambulance and maybe, she could have been rescued. But it was too late. Her only sister, living in Florida, was estranged from her. It was left to her friends to take up a collection to pay for her cremation and to find a good home for her cat, Clyde, a rescue cat who had special needs.
During the ensuing months, from time to time, little reminders of her have come to mind. Whenever I pass her street or go grocery shopping, memories break into my train of thought and I recall her wacky sense of humor, her gutsy independence, her feminist insistence bordering on rudeness.
Through so many struggles in life, she was a survivor. She survived stage-four colon cancer, and then built a new life direction through her studies on holistic health and alternative health practices. She raised her only son alone, only to go through the cruelest heartbreak of his suicide in his early 20s. Throughout her life there was the persistent struggle of uncertain finances. There were so many pleadings with Verizon not to cut off her telephone, which she needed for teaching her college classes virtually. She always paid her rent on time, but that meant she did not have enough food for the rest of the month and had to often survive on yogurt, bananas, or vegetarian soup. She occasionally visited the food pantry in Montclair, feeling too proud to rely on this service all the time. Still, her life was always so close to the edge.
Despite all of life’s challenges, she was hopeful that someday she would be able to get off the treadmill. If only she could find her ideal full-time job of teaching holistic health, especially qigong. If only she could be accepted into the town’s senior citizens’ housing, which would reduce her rent considerably. She could move out of her studio apartment into a larger place. Since she did not have a car, she walked everywhere or took public transportation. She often meditated in Van Vleck Gardens where she found calmness and peace. Her life was buoyed by her dreams, high spirits, and relative good health until…
I’ve thought about my friend, her life, her demise. Life was tough and many times she did complain: the endless stacks of papers to correct; the fear of being evicted; being burned out by teaching too many courses for too little compensation. She was 70 years old and feeling tired. If she were alive and could be asked about her life, probably she would say that she had lived the best possible life under the circumstances. She had faced many obstacles, but she did not give up trying to fulfill her dreams.
What was the loss? An excellent professor who excited her journalism, English, and philosophy students. Some were even inspired to go into teaching careers themselves. A cancer survivor who connected with the colorectal online network of other survivors and advocated for them. A cat lover who supported the rescue work of her PAWS friends. A qigong teacher and advocate of holistic medicine. A sensitive and empathic friend of many years. And yet, all these brief descriptions do only poor justice to say all that Deborah was. Ultimately, the loss of a human being with a life story of suffering and hope is so much more profound than simple words.
What is my unresolved sorrow? While I have accepted the finality of Deborah’s death, I have not fully been reconciled to the unfairness of her death. She was so close to getting vaccinated! If only the COVID virus had waited another week! If only Death had taken a holiday!
Then, her sister knew very well of Deborah’s neediness and could have supported her more. Why didn’t she? How can one family member deliberately ignore the needs of another? Am I so naive to continue to believe in the close-knit family relations found in “Little Women”? Is it just a fantasy?
In the end, death is such a mystery. The reason a person died can be explained scientifically: she died because of COVID. But why that person passed at that time and in such a manner is not so easy to understand from our limited perspective. Why didn’t Deborah call 911? Why didn’t she call her PA or a friend? Did she realize how close she was to the final journey?
As much as we can speculate, the answers to such questions can never be known by us, only by God. For the past year, I have been carrying this burden. But now, I must yield this unresolved sorrow into the hands of God, trusting that someday, He will lift it completely from my mind and heart.
© 2022 by Emy Kamihara
May Third
Oh, wild lilac, you toss up a beautiful purple to strong wind on this cool spring evening the sadness of which one can scarcely capture.
© 2022 by Sandra Duguid Gerstman
Isaiah 43:1–2
But now thus says the Lord,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you. (Isaiah 43:1–2, NRSV)
I have faced many trials and dark valleys in my life. In the course of these, I had to learn of God’s love and faithfulness towards me. I had to get from head knowledge to really understanding deep in my heart that he loved me unconditionally. It had nothing to do with performance. It was freely given and personal.
Another lesson I learned was to trust—not leaning on my own understanding. He wanted me to lean on him and his ways—not to look at my circumstances and then well up with fear. To trust, I had to surrender wanting things “my way,” let go of the illusion of control, believe that he knew best and then trust in his perfect timing.
These are some of the promises we receive when we choose to surrender: serenity, security in His presence, we will be uplifted, relinquish control, be relieved of stress and anxiety, have rest for our souls, be energized, renewed, refreshed, restored, and able to rejoice in His goodness.
© 2007 by Marilyn Cameron
[Editor’s note: This piece was first published in the Grace Presbyterian Church Lenten Devotional booklet in 2007.]
Bleeding Sorrow
Bleeding sorrow drips from his pierced side, sips from my heart’s strength, not borrowing, taking and leaving it dried to pick at, to open and heal a wound that cannot fester forever, left buried in the soul’s ground. Found, bleeding sorrow soothes itself in the wealth of my Savior’s love and above the Cross the universe displays life’s morning light. Bleeding sorrow wipes tears, erases fears and moves the soul into a tomorrow where God lifts the dark of night into heaven’s glory where we see beyond our today’s without sight. Bleeding sorrow we see in His face, grace, mercy and so much more— a face revealing love laid open in the treasures of his story written for you, for me— comfort and joy making ourselves complete
© 2022 by Barbara R. Williams-Hubbard
Beyond Death: My Faith Keeps Me Looking Forward
I hadn’t thought about my neighbor Howie in a long time. But then my sister sent me his obituary, and I spent the next few days trying to construct a story in my head about what life had been like for him. Howie lived down the street from my childhood home, and his family and mine were inseparable. We kids spent the days of our elementary years either running between each other’s houses or investigating the woods behind our cul-de-sac.
Howie was three years older than I, so I mostly played with his two sisters. But the most prominent memory for me is that he was the first person I knew who stuttered.
Stuttering probably became his personal adjective, the first thing people would attach to him when describing him. Not the tall, lanky kid with blond hair, but that kid who stutters really bad.
Now, at 63, Howie was dead from liver disease, after struggling with alcohol addiction most of his adult life. I imagine his stuttering contributed to his descent into addiction. That’s what a disability can do to you. Like a weighted blanket, it can smother your aboutness until you’re only known and viewed by that one difference.
I’m not sure why I became so preoccupied with Howie’s passing, but it reminded me that death is something I will never get used to hearing. The concept seems impossible – the ultimate wrong.
I remember when in 2018, one of my best friends died and I felt like I could hardly breathe. The transition in my mind from a vibrant life to stillness was shocking. And when I learned several years ago that my father was terminally ill, I was gutted. My rational mind couldn’t make that leap from life to not living. Losing someone you love is inscrutable and nothing you can do will change it.
And that’s why I believe in Jesus. Who else can make this life right? As David says in Psalm 103:4, “God redeems my life from the pit.” Exactly. And with Christ’s sacrifice, death — the part of life that makes the least sense to me — is no longer impossible, because it’s not the end.
This is something I realized in seventh grade. Although it didn’t involve death, I felt profoundly alone when my friends simultaneously dumped me by executive decision. I remember sitting on my bed, acknowledging that it was just God and me, and that’s when I knew His faithfulness was all I needed. That awareness turned my loss to a solidness. A rock-like faith. Christ had become my foundation.
As I’ve gotten older, death has become more common to me. I now read the obituaries and sometimes recognize names. I’m grateful that God became my cornerstone when I was so young. It gave me perspective on loss and a way through it.
Death will continue to feel wrong to me. I will struggle with sadness and grief. I will ponder its inanity. But I won’t feel helpless, because my grip is on my ultimate hope in Christ. And I’m holding on tight.
© 2022 by Ellen Donker
Within This Strange and Quickened Dust
O God, within this strange and quickened dust The beating heart controls the coursing blood In discipline that holds in check the flood But cannot stem corrosion and dark rust. In flesh’s solitude I count it blest That only you, my Lord, can see my heart With passion’s darkness tearing it apart With storms of self and tempests of unrest. But your love breaks through blackness, burst of light; We separate ourselves, but you rebind In dayspring all our fragments; body, mind, And spirit join, unite against the night. Healed by your love, corruption and decay Are turned, and whole, we greet the light of day.
By Madeleine L’Engle, first published in Lines Scribbled on an Envelope (Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1969). Submitted by Pamela Leggett
My Life Is But a Weaving
My life is but a weaving, between my God and me; I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily. Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride, forget He sees the upper and I the underside. Not till the loom is silent and shuttles cease to fly, will God unroll the canvas, and explain the reason why. The dark threads are as needful in the skillful weaver’s hand, as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned. The author of this poem is unknown, and there are numerous versions of it in circulation. It is sometimes attributed to Corrie Ten Boom, perhaps because she quoted and referred to it often. Submitted by Barbara R. Williams-Hubbard
