This is the day the Lord has made.
And I am sad.
I’ve misplaced my joy today.
I’ve been thinking about my mom again.
And I’ve been struggling to see her face.
Why can’t I see her face?
The box she gave me last summer still sits next to the pine grain bin in the back kitchen.
It holds my son’s framed senior picture, a photo collage, a small book of photos, a folder of printed emails, and cards my children sent her–slipped back into their envelopes.
She said she was running out of room at home–but why these? Why would she give these back and keep others?
There’s also a plastic baggie of canceled checks. Checks written for my wedding expenses over 40 years ago. Checks made out in her handwriting.
I make some of my letters the same way.
My husband tells me of a woman whose children live hundreds of miles from her. She has cancer, and they’ve hired a stranger to come in and care for her. They can’t/don’t come themselves. He says they might not be healthy either.
I ache for her.
I ache for them.
Sometimes I feel guilty because I did not spend enough time with my mom over the years.
Sometimes I feel guilty for getting married and moving away.
Once during those cottage days she said it seemed I liked my inlaws better.
I ache for her.
I ache for me.
This is the day the Lord has made.
And I am sad.
I stand in front of the living room window and watch the birds.
Mom liked watching the birds during those last days.
I snap some pictures all aimless.
But it’s not until I upload them that I see the bokeh effect and the way the light falls.
I am surprised.
It’s an accident.
Or not.
It’s a gift.
This is the day the Lord has made.
And I am glad.
I will rejoice.
Joining in community with Jennifer as we sense His presence, with Bonnie as we think about joy, and spilling crumbs with Emily.
Yes. Memories and reminders, sadness and gladness, regrets and rejoicing. Beauty for ashes. I pray as you rest tonight, you are comforted and refreshed. Hugs to you, Sandy.
Love to you, Pat. And waiting for the in-the-real hug. And laughter. 😀
Beautiful Sandy just beautiful. Thank you so much for blessing us with your words. The light on your photos is not natural — it’s from heaven — I’m sure of it. I pray you feel the love of your mom on your face as the sun breaks through the clouds. I pray God gives you a “glimpse” in some way so you can put the pieces of “peace” together. Loving you from Tennessee.
There’s one thing I really need, Toni. Ice cream!!!
Love you big time, sis!
My three year old, who has juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, had a bad afternoon of pain and stiffness. I was sad, feeling so helpless. It is heavy many times but always, God rains grace down for all of us here. Just like your photo. I recognize it as Him, and I am glad, knowing he sees her pain and cares to show us He’s here.
Beautiful, Sandra. Praying for you as I pray for her.
Oh Christine. I’ve been to your blog. My mother’s heart aches with yours. Praying for Him to just pour down grace. He does see. And He does care. And one day we’ll understand–at least in part–the whole picture. Praying for and with you.
Dear Friend,
I ache for you.
I ache for me.
This is the day that the Lord has made…and I am sad…because you are.
Maybe you cannot see her face, because she is no longer that body. She is so much more!! Having lost my father a year and a half ago, I can so relate to this.
…and then in the midst of the darkness, we are surprised by light. He is glorious!
“Maybe you cannot see her face, because she is no longer that body.”
Wow. Just wow!
I love this, Sandy. Yes, this is the day the Lord has made, and it is sad. And there are birds and light and cancelled checks. All of it together. Amen.
And light overcomes darkness. And joy overcomes sorrow. Amen.
Your post reminded me of this hymn by William Cowper, a man who struggled with deep depression:
Sometimes a light surprises the Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord, who rises with healing in His wings:
When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining, to cheer it after rain.
I wonder if you had it in mind when you wrote this? In any case, it’s true. The grief is real (I saw you appreciated Mark Roberts’ post this morning). It is the Lord who brings healing, surprising photo by surprising photo.
Love you.
I don’t remember ever hearing that! So I had to look it up and found several renditions, including this more contemporary one. Not sure what Cowper would think about it. 😉
Sometimes a Light Surprises
Mark’s posts on Lamentations have been so good. Anything on grief has been catching my eye these days. I recently ordered a couple of books–one called The Mourner’s Dance. I’ll probably be writing a lot about grief in days to come.
This brings tears; your ache is so vivid here. There is nothing that takes away the pain of the “not there.” Waiting with you in that hurt…
Waiting with friends in the hurt. That helps.
I’m sorry for your loss, but you expressed your hurts beautifully. And I love your pics.
My mom still lives, but my mom in law died last year. Please know you are not alone in your grief …
((Hugs))
I remember when my MIL died. Vividly. Such a hard time. But I didn’t write about it. And I didn’t know anyone (outside family) on the same journey. Hugging you back, sweet Brenda.
Your words remind me of well intentioned teenager who promised to take her father to see the ducks. The father spent his last days in a nursing, ducks just outside. And that teen never thought the days would pass so quickly.
That was more than twenty years ago. I’m sad for him. And I’m sad for me.
This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
A teenager. Cheryl, I’m so sorry. Such a tender age to lose your dad.
Oh, Cheryl. There’s so much in those few sentences.
The ache of regret is one of the worst, I think. Sometimes there’s nothing left to do but choose joy. xoxo
There’s no way to be sure of everything… and that’s a real challenge for those of us who always want to do what’s the best for everyone at every place. When I haven’t pulled it all together, I guess it proves I’m not “Jesus”… and grief and disappointment and “lacking” kicks my tail [obviously, yours, too}. It’s nice to know that the our dear Father will break through those heart-heavy times and “show His light”. Bless you.
When I haven’t pulled it all together, I guess it proves I’m not Jesus.
So true, CaryJo. It proves how much we need Him.
My husband’s mother was my mentor. She went on to heaven when she was only 58 and I struggle to see her face. And I am sad. And I am surprised by how quickly our mind loses the details.
I am thankful for the bird watching and the the light captured and a moment of joy in the sadness.
I’m so glad He holds all the details and gifts us with glimpses of Himself in the midst of sadness. She was so young. 🙁
Sandy,
You’re grieving well. These words, these images, they show it.It’s hard work. Rest well.
My parents moved away. I still remember my sister saying, “I thought we were the ones who were supposed to grow up and move away.”
And my dad regrets that distance now, regrets that we had to fly to be by her side, regrets that her grandchildren were far away…I don’t know how to soothe him.
So I ask God to.
I’m asking Him to soothe you too.
It is kind of odd when the parents move. I’m the only one who moved. My brother and sister are still in town. So that sometimes makes me feel guilty, too–but glad that they at least are close.
Your friendship is soothing.
I’m just at a loss for words here, Sandy. This is just a beautiful thing here … A painful thing, but beautiful. I feel like I’ve been invited to witness something very sacred. I don’t take that lightly.
Love you, friend.
Your words are as beautiful as your pictures. I love it and the love you had for your mom will always be there.
No matter how many years, she will be close in your heart.
Thank you, Sharon.
Oh, my. This mother-daughter thread has such tensile strength, doesn’t it? No matter what we do, there is the glimmer of guilt mixed in with the tears. But the guilt doesn’t help much, does it? I pray for peace, for freedom from regret, for continuing reminders of God’s presence, of light, of hope. And I pray that you will see her face, dear Sandy. In your dreams, in your heart. It’s a winding road, this grief-way. And you’ll circle back here again…
I’ve no doubt there will be many circles around the mountain, Diana. But we don’t go it alone, do we?
I know the Lord gave you the photos of the birds with the light shining on them to bring peace and loosening the grip of grief on your heart. It is wonderful that you can connect the birds outside the window with the memory of your mother. May these sweet memories soothe and strengthen your spirit.
I’m believing that, too, Kathleen. 🙂
thank you. for being so very real. for letting the light shine, sandra. you don’t know what this means to me tonight.
Reaching through my screen to give you a hug, Em.
I love so much of what you do here Sandy, the words, the pictures. But most of all I love way your real, honest heart shines through it all. It is what makes it so easy to come along-side and say “Yes, me too.” Thank you.