Spring birds again. Singing full throated songs lifted to heaven, floating up on air currents, then cascading down. A splashing fountain. All around my broken feet. Heart LONGING for the sun. And for the Son.
This is the day that Mari comes to visit, Bringing precious mementos of a beloved son born into waiting arms of love. Living a full hour of life before slipping away to Jesus. Leaving those same craving arms carved out bare. An empty tomb. But for the grief that fills them.
She shows me pictures of him. Shows me the marks his perfect little hands and feet left on a piece of paper. On her heart. Two blue orbed oceans spill great diamond tears that sorrow down cheeks. Smooth flesh. Faintest pink glass. She is lovely, and I can't stop staring.
Oh, beauty,
From where do you spring?
From dancing petalled flowers?
Or deepest sorrowing?
I am not alone in this carving. For the Master is a carpenter after all. Expert with plane and chisel. He will make us as He wills us. And we will to lie under the pressure of His hands. Trusting His love in it. He carves. We hurt. And we become, like Him. Beauty. Despite great suffering.
Losing little boy makes you wonder how in the all the world you can keep drawing breath. Lungs keep opening and closing on the life tincture that sustains. You wake up. You live. You care for your own. How is it possible that you begin to reach for life again? Even for a full womb? Again?
And suddenly I can't help laughing because, of course! For while the womb may be empty, so also is the tomb! And there is the power of the risen Christ dwelling in her and in the husband who becomes precious seed bearing love letter tucked into the envelope of her love. And there is hope for life because they belong to the Giver of life. And HE resides no more in the tomb. The power of an empty tomb. Isn't that what ALL of this living is about?
We stand on the porch saying goodbye. Dog sniffing all that is just inappropriate and ill mannered. (Oh, Dog!) I feel a sort of envy as we hold and sorrow together. The way HE makes us. Marks us. Carves us. Changes us. She is the most beautiful creature on the earth, and I hold those blue orbed oceans with my own. Simply standing in awe at the miraculous work of Jesus on a surrendered heart. I feel a sort of hope rising. We smile tears, pray that God Himself would open the womb and hem the cervix. Keep the hidden sacredly closed until full harvest. She walks to her car, and I stand staring. Still staring. At the power of the resurrected Jesus and an empty tomb.
The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: 'He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you..'" So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. "Greetings," he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshipped him. Matthew 28:5-9
Bernadette
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