Mirror, mirror

I found him in the chapel. He was pretty bad off. He was also incredibly young. I don't know exactly how the conversation began, or how it got to where it did...I just sat and prayed, "Oh holy God...what do you want me to do?"

His grandmother's imminent death was triggering a truck load of memories for him. I just went along for the ride. "Oh God, give me the strength to hear him well!"

He talked about his life which seemed like a CSI television show with very few commercials. Seven funerals in two months. He was very clear with graphic descriptions of one suicide after another and then a murder...and so much else. He talked about his nightmares and how afraid he was of things that go bump in the night.

How do I tell him that I hear him? That I understand him? Much of what he said, I knew about from personal experience. But that he did not need to know. Still he needed to be reassured. I told him that all the things he was feeling were normal. He disliked being afraid. I told him he was brave. Fear is normal when you are faced with losing someone you love. Not running away is brave. And tears are not a sign of weakness but of strength. Ah tears, I have cried a lot of them. And in the last month, my shoulders have been wet with the tears of others.

When he was finished with what seemed like a litany of suffering, he rested a minute.

"Ma'am. I really need a cigarette."

And so we went outside and sat on the curb. He began to calm down a bit. He told me about what he was doing now. Good things. Better things. I couldn't stop thinking, he is so young.

We talked about God awhile. Yes, he loved God. We talked about school. We talked about the military. He said he wanted to be a singer. I smiled. He said he wanted to sing gospel music. I told him I thought that was a great idea and that that was what my son most loved to do too.

We talked about important things and not important things. And then, when I thought he might be ready, I asked him if we could go up and pray with his grandmother.

"I don't want to see her like this," he told me. He didn't want to remember it like his grandfather's death.

It will be okay. I'll be be there. You won't be alone again.

So we went to see his grandmother. Lots of tubes, lots of plastic bags with liquids and lots of machines. Walking into her room, he didn't look much over five years old in my eyes. We put on the gloves and the gown. I showed him how to do it.

I introduced him to the nurse, who I had talked with briefly to get permission to come into the room so late at night. She was amazing. I want a woman like her around me when my time comes.

And the three of us stood around her bed.

"Go ahead, Brian, tell her what you want her to know."

He reached under the sheets and found her hand, and he called to her and said a couple of words. The nurse and I stood with him.

He looks at me, "She's not waking up. I want her to wake up."

"I know you do." I tell him it may take time. He knows the doctors have said she will probably not make it through the night. We pray.

More silence.

"Why don't you sing to her?" I think about my dad, and how he woke up from his coma when he heard my grandchildren singing...

He stays quiet, so I start singing Amazing Grace and he joins in but he really doesn't know the words. I stop.

"Sing her a song you know she likes, Brian. I know it will make her happy."

And he sings. And his voice is stunningly beautiful. Stunningly clear. Stunning melodic. He does not sound like a boy at all.

And God just slams me to the ground. This is his gift, I think. God let me see this boy's gift. In the midst of the hits and punches of a hard life, he has a gift and he knows he has a gift. An angel's voice singing to his grandmother. She doesn't wake up. I watch grandma's face. No visible response. I'm thinking they have her deeply sedated...that voice could knock down the walls of Jericho. But I know she was listening.

The nurse smiles at him. "She heard you, Brian. She heard you."

I suppose I should not be writing this down so soon after it happened. I've changed parts of course, but perhaps it is not appropriate.

I've just be present for a deep feelings this fall. Hearing them, being a witness to them is important. We heal one another when we listen to them. Our broken pieces begin to mend. Each time we tell our story, we discover something new about ourselves. Don't ever think that you are boring someone with your witness to life. Yes, there will be people who constantly look at their watch, people who cannot yet be present for someone else, but there will be people who are able to hear...

Those of us who listen are blessed, too. Not just with the story in front of us, but in how God weaves that story into the fabric of our own lives.

You will hear the story of the Resurrection in church when you are small and can smell the crisply iron linen of your new Easter dress and hear the ruffles of two petticoats when you kneel in the pew. That is one Resurrection story. But in another moment of time, you may hear the Resurrection story holding the hand of the woman you love, that you plan to marry...and the story will mean something entirely different in that moment.

And years, later, you will sit in a hospital room with a parent and hear the story again...not because someone is reading to you the Bible, but because you look at what is in front of you and know that in moments, the familiar laughter, the smile, the moments of encouragement, the fishing trips, the hand that gave you strength...is, as expected, returning to its Maker...and you will have to believe and let go...let it happen...and thank God for the gift you had...even if it all feels much too short. It is still a gift.

John 12:
Jesus said to them, "The light will be among you only a little while. Walk while you have the light, so that darkness may not overcome you. Whoever walks in the dark does not know where he is going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of the light."

To live means to die also. That is part of the gift. Find your song and sing it for others while you are here. It is what we were created for. To sing for God.

And remember also the end of John 16, just before the passion begins:
Jesus answered them, "Do you believe now? Behold, the hour is coming and has arrived when each of you will be scattered to his own home and you will leave me alone. But I am not alone, because the Father is with me. I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world."

Sing.

Love, Cindy