Saturday, April 3, 2010

A Dark Saturday

I wonder how they made it? How did they actually make it through to Sunday?

Sometimes I wonder, frankly, how we make it still.

I spent much of the week in my attic. Mary and I are headed for another move, and frankly it is like fingernails on the chalkboard time for me. I detest moving. I'm filled with fears of the next place and the one after that and all of that. I moved once that I remember when I lived with my parents, and it too was horrible on me.

Mary and I have already moved five times in 25 years of marriage and each time was like I was being water-boarded. (*did I create a verb?)

So spending time in the attic, looking through what could be thrown away and then actually throwing it away, looking at my family in its formative years, as the kids grew up and Mary and I grew older and more feeble by the day it seems, was so very taxing on me.

Then I do this blog, and inside I wonder why. I wonder if these words are being read and I wonder if I made the right decision in retiring from journalism and I wonder if this is the right church and I wonder why I'm researching this Easter tale so deeply that I'm darn near depressed over what we did to Jesus.

And somewhere in there, my heart goes out to a group of men and women who loved the Lord so dearly and spent Saturday apart from him in the deepest of depressions.

I'm not them. I will get through this, mainly because I truly do believe the Jesus is real, he is alive and that each time we've moved it has been for a better time, a better reason, a better day.

Here's how I know: I was going through things and I came across an old bulletin from a previous church from Jan. 1, 2006. This is the year everything changed for us. We were just getting past Katrina. I had been told a month earlier that we had to move from our home in Terrytown of 16 years to the northshore because of job related things.

I was losing my appointment, my nearness to my children and grandchildren and my, well, my feeling of home.

I didn't know where we would land. I feared for our selling our home. I fear for our buying another. I was going through boxes and throwing out stuff I didn't need.

And this is what I wrote in that bulletin: Man, aren't you glad the new year has begun. Hadn't you had enough of 2005? Now that it's done, let's talk about what is really important.

Years ago the Turners moved from a little block house in Meridian to a little block house in Lizelia. I was mortified. Either years old and mortified. My life was ended. There was no way I could go on with my life. I was leaving my friends.

Turned out I found the best friends I ever had after I moved.

Then I graduated from high school with them. I was mortified. Eighteen years old and mortified. My life was ended. There was no way I could go on with my life. I was leaving my friends behind.

I found you guys and others like you.

See, the thing about new beginnings is this: You can't see what God can see. I can't see what God can see. He provides in his own way at his own speed in his own time.

Believe me, I know how hard it is to see that right now. But I know what He has done for me in the past. I know what He's going to do in the future, which is to take care of us, all of us.

Take care might not mean what you think it will, but that's the beauty of blessings. You get surprises all the time.


I write to myself from the past, huh?

The thing about dark Saturdays is there is always a bright Sunday to come if we can just wait.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I read every day and it brings me joy and peace. Love, June