Sunrise

Most mornings I watch the sun rise in my rearview mirror on the way to work. Each day as I see the sky explode from gray to pink to orange to blue, I can't help but to think of how poetic that moment seems. Even those words "this morning I watched the sun rise in my rearview mirror" seem like they should be part of a country song.

It's funny, because everytime I see that pink orb floating at my back it makes me sad, and I can't quite figure out why. Am I sad because it's early and I wish I was still in bed? Because I've now joined the proverbial rat race? Because I miss my family and friends?

Although all of these statements are true, I don't think they're what's causing this deep-seeded feeling of regret. I think I'm sad because I wish I wasn't driving away from something so beautiful. I wish I was driving towards the patchwork of vibrant colors instead of glimpsing them in that tiny rectable above my head.

But I think the sadness goes deeper. Because I know that too often I only catch a glimpse of the beauty in the world around me because I'm too busy. I rush to work and nearly miss the sunrise. I watch television and ignore the lightning forking through the sky on the other side of my window. I read a book and don't notice the mossy green rocks on the shore of the lake. I clean house and just see out of the corner of my eye a butterfly dissappear out of sight. I miss so much every day.

I'm trying to learn to slow down. To realize that I can and should worship through God's creation. I'm trying not to let so many things pass me by. Just the other day I pulled over when I saw a rainbow stretching over the road. I got out of my car and just stood in a ditch with weeds up to my ankles and waited until the colors had faded. It's a step.

Working through the Grief
(March 22, 2002)

Last night, I was working on my newspaper column, and ended up just kind of working through some of my grief in it. I know so many of you have been praying for my family, so I wanted to share it with you all. Thanks again for everything!

--For the longest time, I debated on what to write my column about. Granted, that’s a
problem I usually have, but this time it was worse. Because, there was really only one
thing on my mind, but for the life of me, I didn’t want to write about it. For the past two
weeks, one emotion has consumed my thoughts. Grief.

I always thought I knew what the word meant until I really, truly experienced it. And
slowly, my perceptions of grief are taking on whole new facets that I never knew existed.
On March 5th, my stepfather, Dennis passed away. His death was a shock, and I was out
of the country when it happened. When I finally arrived home on March 7th, I was
mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. The family night, funeral, and following
days are all a haze. Days blurred into night, and a steady stream of visitors and phone
calls kept us busy.

So, for a while, I didn’t allow myself to think, to succumb to the blanket of grief that
surrounded me. I didn’t let myself experience the emotions that had gathered just below
the surface. When my mind started to wander to thoughts of death, I just distracted
myself.

But a few days ago, I finally gave in. As I sat by myself one evening, I wrapped myself in
my grief and let my heart explore the emotions that I had tried so desperately to keep at
bay.

I was angry. I didn’t understand why he had to die so soon. Why we didn’t have any
kind of warning. Why I wasn’t even there.

I was scared. What was going to happen to our family? How were we going to make it
without him?

I was sad. Sad that my stepdad won’t be at my graduation. That he won’t be able to see
his new grandson grow up. That he won’t be there to take my brother fishing this
summer. That I won’t be able to give him a hug next time I go home.

But most of all, I just missed him. Dennis was my stepfather for 19 years. He never
treated me any differently than his own children. He always introduced me as his
daughter. He loved me completely.

Just a few days before Dennis’ death, I came to a realization about him. What Dennis
taught me the most was about love. Dennis loved me even when he didn’t have to. He
loved me when we fought about father/daughter things. He loved me when he could have
just tolerated me. He loved me when I was unlovable. He loved me in spite of me.
I’m thankful for the years that Dennis was my stepfather--no, my father. I wish those
years could have been longer, but they can’t be.

For Dennis’ funeral, my mother asked me to write a poem to be read. It only took me a
few moments to pour out on paper these words. For those of you who had the privilege
of meeting Dennis, I hope they capture his spirit.

For Dennis-
It’s so hard to believe that you’re gone.
That I will never feel you whiskers against my cheek,
Or hear your laugh so full of joy.
I will forever miss the twinkle in your eyes
And the touch of your work-callused hands.

But I know the lessons you’ve taught me will live on.
You showed me how to love someone,
Not because you had to,
But because your heart was so big,
You wanted to.

You taught me to love without abandon.
How to overlook flaws
Forget the past, and simply love.
Just like you did.

I still feel like you’re here.
I expect you to walk in the front door,
Full of smiles and laughter,
And tell me that you love me.

I don’t pretend to understand it all.
But I do know that you’re in a better place,
And that I will someday see you again
And feel your whiskers against my cheek.

But even now, today, you continue to teach us.
You’re still teaching us about faith,
About the tender touch of a Father,
But most of all, about love.

Thoughts from a Sleepless Night
(July 23, 2002)

Tonight I couldn't sleep. It was one of those nights when my burdens seemed just a bit heavier, my loneliness a little more intense, and my worries were right on the surface of my soul. I tossed and turned for an hour, then grew tired of the confines of my apartment. So, as my eight hours of sleep became a mere memory, I threw back my sheet and got out of bed.

I put on a pair of flip flops and slipped out of the back door, dodging the bugs that had gathered around my porch light and clung to my screen door. I walked accross the dew-covered grass and picked my way down the darkened path that led to the dock.

I took off my shoes and sat down on the damp wood, dipping my feet into the water that was still warm from the day's sunlight.

During the day, the lake is usually full of noisy boats towing screaming kids. The only sounds now were of the water lapping gently against the shore, and the occasional splash of a near-by fish. I don't know what I expected to find there, sitting on that dock. But gradually peace began to creep into my heart like the silver moonlight pooled at my feet.

I didn't have any sudden epiphany. Sitting there, with the dampness creeping through my pajamas and the thick night air caressing my shoulders, I felt loved.

Despite what I go through, despite my emotions, despite the state of the world around me, I know God is present. Sometimes, I just need to know His face is turned toward me. Like a child, I reach out in the dark with clumsy hands, until my fingers finally brush against His features.

I stayed on the dock until my heart grew lighter and my ankles were covered in bug bites. Now, I sit here in my bed, and in five hours I will start another day. I'll probably still worry about some the very things which snatched away my sleep tonight. But I will cling to the memory of the peace that flooded my soul as my human fingers sought comfort in the face of God.