Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Miracle of the Carpenter
The Miracle of the Carpenter
by Max Lucado
Loretto Chapel took five years to complete. Modeled after the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, its delicate sanctuary contains an altar, a rose window, and a choir loft.
The choir loft is the reason for wonder.
Were you to stand in the newly built chapel in 1878, you might see the Sisters of Loretto looking forlornly at the balcony. Everything else was complete: the doors had been hung, the pews had been placed, the floor had been laid. Everything was finished. Even the choir loft. Except for one thing. No stairs.
The chapel was too small to accommodate a conventional stairway. The best builders and designers in the region shook their heads when consulted. “Impossible,” they murmured. There simply wasn’t enough room. A ladder would serve the purpose, but mar the ambiance.
The Sisters of Loretto, whose determination had led them from Kentucky to Santa Fe, now faced a challenge greater than their journey: a stairway that couldn’t be built.
What they had dreamed of and what they could do were separated by fifteen impossible feet.
So what did they do? The only thing they could do. They ascended the mountain. Not the high mountains near Santa Fe. No, they climbed even higher. They climbed the same mountain that Jesus climbed 1,800 years earlier in Bethsaida. They climbed the mountain of prayer.
As the story goes, the nuns prayed for nine days. On the last day of the novena, a Mexican carpenter with a beard and a wind-burned face appeared at the convent. He explained that he had heard they needed a stairway to a chapel loft. He thought he could help.
The mother superior had nothing to lose, so she gave him permission.
He went to work with crude tools, painstaking patience, and uncanny skill. For eight months he worked.
One morning the Sisters of Loretto entered the chapel to find their prayers had been answered. A masterpiece of carpentry spiraled from the floor to the loft. Two complete three-hundred-sixty-degree turns. Thirty-three steps held together with wooden pegs and no central support. The wood is said to be a variety of hard fir, one nonexistent in New Mexico!
When the sisters turned to thank the craftsman, he was gone. He was never seen again. He never asked for money. He never asked for praise. He was a simple carpenter who did what no one else could do so singers could enter a choir loft and sing.
See the stairway for yourself, if you like. Journey into the land of Enchantment. Step into this chapel of amazement and witness the fruit of prayer.
Or, if you prefer, talk to the Master Carpenter yourself. He has already performed one impossible feat in your world. He, like the Santa Fe carpenter, built a stairway no one else could build. He, like the nameless craftsman, used material from another place. He, like the visitor to Loretto, came to span the gap between where you are and where you long to be.
Each year of his life is a step. Thirty-three paces. Each step of the stair is an answered prayer. He built it so you can climb it.
And sing.
by Max Lucado
Loretto Chapel took five years to complete. Modeled after the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, its delicate sanctuary contains an altar, a rose window, and a choir loft.
The choir loft is the reason for wonder.
Were you to stand in the newly built chapel in 1878, you might see the Sisters of Loretto looking forlornly at the balcony. Everything else was complete: the doors had been hung, the pews had been placed, the floor had been laid. Everything was finished. Even the choir loft. Except for one thing. No stairs.
The chapel was too small to accommodate a conventional stairway. The best builders and designers in the region shook their heads when consulted. “Impossible,” they murmured. There simply wasn’t enough room. A ladder would serve the purpose, but mar the ambiance.
The Sisters of Loretto, whose determination had led them from Kentucky to Santa Fe, now faced a challenge greater than their journey: a stairway that couldn’t be built.
What they had dreamed of and what they could do were separated by fifteen impossible feet.
So what did they do? The only thing they could do. They ascended the mountain. Not the high mountains near Santa Fe. No, they climbed even higher. They climbed the same mountain that Jesus climbed 1,800 years earlier in Bethsaida. They climbed the mountain of prayer.
As the story goes, the nuns prayed for nine days. On the last day of the novena, a Mexican carpenter with a beard and a wind-burned face appeared at the convent. He explained that he had heard they needed a stairway to a chapel loft. He thought he could help.
The mother superior had nothing to lose, so she gave him permission.
He went to work with crude tools, painstaking patience, and uncanny skill. For eight months he worked.
One morning the Sisters of Loretto entered the chapel to find their prayers had been answered. A masterpiece of carpentry spiraled from the floor to the loft. Two complete three-hundred-sixty-degree turns. Thirty-three steps held together with wooden pegs and no central support. The wood is said to be a variety of hard fir, one nonexistent in New Mexico!
When the sisters turned to thank the craftsman, he was gone. He was never seen again. He never asked for money. He never asked for praise. He was a simple carpenter who did what no one else could do so singers could enter a choir loft and sing.
See the stairway for yourself, if you like. Journey into the land of Enchantment. Step into this chapel of amazement and witness the fruit of prayer.
Or, if you prefer, talk to the Master Carpenter yourself. He has already performed one impossible feat in your world. He, like the Santa Fe carpenter, built a stairway no one else could build. He, like the nameless craftsman, used material from another place. He, like the visitor to Loretto, came to span the gap between where you are and where you long to be.
Each year of his life is a step. Thirty-three paces. Each step of the stair is an answered prayer. He built it so you can climb it.
And sing.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I think I've found the "New Normal"
The realization hit me recently that I have reached the "new normal". About two months ago I actually began to "function" again to almost full capacity. I don't know that I will ever again be able to throw myself into life and work the way I did before Josh died. I have, however, found a slower, steady pace...............one that does not involve as many dreams of a beautiful future (on this earth) and one that recognizes that nothing in this world is permanent. With this new normal, so many things that seemed to matter before, just don't matter anymore. This new normal brings with it the realization that this hurt in my heart is just not going to lesson. In some ways, yes, it's true, I learn how to deal with it and grow stronger. Still, I find myself suddenly panic at times and cry out, "This just can't be real. Josh can't really be gone." Yet, I know he is and I must deal with the loss because I have no other choice. It's really very unfair but what sense would there be in fighting it? It's a fact whether it's fair or not and I have no choice but to deal with it. The reality that everything I love can be taken from me in an instant causes me to wonder what is going to be next. The frustration in knowing that nothing I hold dear is immune from suddenly being snatched from my life causes me to sometimes view life as futile. Yet, my heart filled with love for those who remain within reach of my touch and voice keeps me from giving into despair and causes me to keep trying. My memories of my precious son and the desire to make him proud and be the strong mother he would want me to be, gives me just enough strength to go on. This new normal is just so hard.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
17 Months
Seventeen months today since Josh left this world. I cried a lot of tears last night and today.
I explained in my grief support group tonight that some folks think that grief is something that can just be "set aside" and then "picked back up" from time to time. The truth is that grief is now a part of me. Just as I could not possibly cut off an arm or a leg, I can't just cut off the grief. For the grief is me. It is a part of the whole. To accept me, one has to accept the grief that I own.
I explained in my grief support group tonight that some folks think that grief is something that can just be "set aside" and then "picked back up" from time to time. The truth is that grief is now a part of me. Just as I could not possibly cut off an arm or a leg, I can't just cut off the grief. For the grief is me. It is a part of the whole. To accept me, one has to accept the grief that I own.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Mid Month Ramblings
I knew this would be a hard day. It always is. You know............the day before the monthly anniversary of Josh's death. Try as I might I still can't ignore it. It's there looming in the back of my mind always creating a darkness over those days in the middle of the month until I finally reach the 16th. Funny thing is, the 16th brings tremendous amounts of sadness but also brings a sense of relief. I've made it through one more month. Tomorrow will mark the 17th month anniversary of Josh's death. In case you think I am obssesive about the date, I might point out that I know of those who have lost loved ones who count the days...........not months, not years but days. They know exactly how many days it has been since their loved one died.
I do feel a great sense of relief at having separated my two blogs and feeling like I can come to this blog and share my feelings. It's funny that I felt so stifled on the other blog because I did not want folks to think that I was constantly down but also needed an outlet to express how I am feeling. Grief is a part of me and to deny it is to deny who I am. I don't think the sadness ever goes away but it becomes a part of who we are and somehow, I think we have to learn to make friends with it. To always be "fighting" it, avoiding it, denying it, or masking it does nothing to deal with it. I think acceptance that the grief is part of me............it is who I am..............gives me the ability to embrace the rest of my life with all the passion that I can possible muster. No longer does anything really matter in this life except those things that are of eternal importance and to me that boils down to relationships.
I do feel a great sense of relief at having separated my two blogs and feeling like I can come to this blog and share my feelings. It's funny that I felt so stifled on the other blog because I did not want folks to think that I was constantly down but also needed an outlet to express how I am feeling. Grief is a part of me and to deny it is to deny who I am. I don't think the sadness ever goes away but it becomes a part of who we are and somehow, I think we have to learn to make friends with it. To always be "fighting" it, avoiding it, denying it, or masking it does nothing to deal with it. I think acceptance that the grief is part of me............it is who I am..............gives me the ability to embrace the rest of my life with all the passion that I can possible muster. No longer does anything really matter in this life except those things that are of eternal importance and to me that boils down to relationships.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Update on my Journey
Recently, I have found myself less and less willing to post about my grief journey. I am not sure exactly why. The pain is still there just as intensely. As someone said to me, "The pain does not go away, but we get stronger and more able to deal with it." I still cry when I least at expect it.....................and when I do expect it. I still can't figure out how I am suppose to get through life without the child to whom I gave birth. However, I know that each day I will find the strength I need from the One who never leaves or forsakes us. I know that I will complete this journey some day and see Joshua again.
Perhaps, we finally get to a point in our grief where we realize that the rest of the world is ready for us to "move on" because our pain is beginning to make them feel uncomfortable. That's ok. Perhaps that is what gives us the ability to grasp the reality of what our life has become and make the best of it. Joshua is never out of my thoughts and always in my heart. I am just learning to talk about him without crying (so much) in public and I save the tears for when I am alone.
The grief support group has been a big help to me. In our small group, it's ok to let those tears out and to talk about all of the emotions associated with our grief. Most recently we talked about anger associated with grief. I didn't want to address the anger because I have worked very hard to not be angry and to be forgiving and loving to those I needed to show grace.
For that one night I faced the anger I didn't even realize I had, and expressed it verbally. I have never been angry at God. I know that He is a God of love and that He does not inflict evil upon His children. Rather, I believe evil is a result of this fallen world in which we live. I, however, do have anger towards those folks responsible directly and indirectly for my son's death but was unable to admit that to myself until recently. Even though I pray for them and want them to find direction in their lives and become better people, I have anger over what they did to my precious son.
I will admit, when asked to share what I was angry about, I thought it was a bunch of "hog wash" because what was that going to do? It wasn't going to change anything. But much to my surprise, it did change something. It changed me. It took that place where all that ugliness has been brewing in my heart and cleaned it out. Then I had a choice. I could let all that ugliness slowly seep back in, or, I could fill it with something good. By being able to express the pain in detail, in person and find support and acceptance within the group it left a place in my heart that I could fill with happiness and laughter once again.
Those feelings of anger and disappointment will return. I will have to deal with them again. It's part of life. In the mean time, I am truly learning to live more in spite of my grief. My life is becoming more productive again and my thought process more clear. I don't believe I will ever be the same as I was before Joshua died. How could I? But just as someone who loses the capability to walk and has to learn again step by step, I am learning slowly how to live again. It is a long, painful journey but I know that Joshua would want me to make the best of it. I know that he would want me to be happy. I find myself more sensitive to the things that he was sensitive to and try to honor him in that way. He loved family, peace, animals and gave sacrificially to others who were in need. I find myself drawn to those ideals even more than I ever was, knowing that by promoting them, a part of Josh lives on through me. I hope that when this life is over that this grief journey has made me a better person and that I have truly earned that smile that awaits me in Heaven both from my Heavenly Father and from my precious son.
Perhaps, we finally get to a point in our grief where we realize that the rest of the world is ready for us to "move on" because our pain is beginning to make them feel uncomfortable. That's ok. Perhaps that is what gives us the ability to grasp the reality of what our life has become and make the best of it. Joshua is never out of my thoughts and always in my heart. I am just learning to talk about him without crying (so much) in public and I save the tears for when I am alone.
The grief support group has been a big help to me. In our small group, it's ok to let those tears out and to talk about all of the emotions associated with our grief. Most recently we talked about anger associated with grief. I didn't want to address the anger because I have worked very hard to not be angry and to be forgiving and loving to those I needed to show grace.
For that one night I faced the anger I didn't even realize I had, and expressed it verbally. I have never been angry at God. I know that He is a God of love and that He does not inflict evil upon His children. Rather, I believe evil is a result of this fallen world in which we live. I, however, do have anger towards those folks responsible directly and indirectly for my son's death but was unable to admit that to myself until recently. Even though I pray for them and want them to find direction in their lives and become better people, I have anger over what they did to my precious son.
I will admit, when asked to share what I was angry about, I thought it was a bunch of "hog wash" because what was that going to do? It wasn't going to change anything. But much to my surprise, it did change something. It changed me. It took that place where all that ugliness has been brewing in my heart and cleaned it out. Then I had a choice. I could let all that ugliness slowly seep back in, or, I could fill it with something good. By being able to express the pain in detail, in person and find support and acceptance within the group it left a place in my heart that I could fill with happiness and laughter once again.
Those feelings of anger and disappointment will return. I will have to deal with them again. It's part of life. In the mean time, I am truly learning to live more in spite of my grief. My life is becoming more productive again and my thought process more clear. I don't believe I will ever be the same as I was before Joshua died. How could I? But just as someone who loses the capability to walk and has to learn again step by step, I am learning slowly how to live again. It is a long, painful journey but I know that Joshua would want me to make the best of it. I know that he would want me to be happy. I find myself more sensitive to the things that he was sensitive to and try to honor him in that way. He loved family, peace, animals and gave sacrificially to others who were in need. I find myself drawn to those ideals even more than I ever was, knowing that by promoting them, a part of Josh lives on through me. I hope that when this life is over that this grief journey has made me a better person and that I have truly earned that smile that awaits me in Heaven both from my Heavenly Father and from my precious son.
More Homework
That grief support group I mentioned...............it meets tomorrow.
Every other Tuesday, we get together and talk. There are seven of us in the group plus the counsellor. Sometimes there are fewer because someone in the group has other obligations or someone just doesn't feel like coming. We all understand when someone just doesn't feel like coming.
We have homework this week. I put it off to the last minute. I have had two weeks to do the homework, but have put it off, and tomorrow is the big day.
Seems we are suppose to write out what we are angry about. "Oh, we are not angry" we all proclaim. It's not right to be angry even when it's associated with grief and loss, right? So, our wise counsellor says, "Well, write about the things are are disappointed about." Ah, we all can write about that. We all have disappointments associated with our grief, right?
So, I began writing. Bringing up all those negative emotions and putting them down on paper is exhausting. Not sure how it's all going to turn out because I am too tired to finish it tonight. I will have to find time to finish it tomorrow.
Grieving is such hard work.
Every other Tuesday, we get together and talk. There are seven of us in the group plus the counsellor. Sometimes there are fewer because someone in the group has other obligations or someone just doesn't feel like coming. We all understand when someone just doesn't feel like coming.
We have homework this week. I put it off to the last minute. I have had two weeks to do the homework, but have put it off, and tomorrow is the big day.
Seems we are suppose to write out what we are angry about. "Oh, we are not angry" we all proclaim. It's not right to be angry even when it's associated with grief and loss, right? So, our wise counsellor says, "Well, write about the things are are disappointed about." Ah, we all can write about that. We all have disappointments associated with our grief, right?
So, I began writing. Bringing up all those negative emotions and putting them down on paper is exhausting. Not sure how it's all going to turn out because I am too tired to finish it tonight. I will have to find time to finish it tomorrow.
Grieving is such hard work.
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