Beauty in the Dying

The fast-dimming sky peered back at me, unmoved and I drew my jacket around me closer, shuddering a little. 

November-brisk days and soon it will be too cold to bring my babies outside before supper. 

The trees seemed to stare at me, emotionless, and the dim, dull ache inside bit away at my sagging spirit. 

I looked above, and there was the great, strong tree in our backyard, stripped bare of almost all of its leaves, its glory quick-departing. 

I felt like that tree as I stared back at it, stared back at it against the backdrop of the unfeeling sky, oblivious to the cries of my soul. 

Felt like that tree stripped of its leaves - felt like it right down to the physical reality of shedding away almost half of my hair in the shower--great wet clumps every time I washed it, my strength seemingly stripped away and my body, tired and drained, all-spent from giving life to one baby after the other. 

Life. . . 

And the leaves lay on the ground, dying, while the world spun and I was lost in my thoughts of sorrow that seemed to swallow all of me up and spin me out there on the cold November ground among the lonely, life-stripped leaves.

Lost in my reverie, a baby sleeping peacefully against me, I could not shake myself from the sorrow-

The sorrow of tasting death there in cold November,

The sorrow that was robbing me of joy in the month of culminating thanksgiving. 

I could not shake away the sorrow, and my very body felt, was weary, drained, seeming-useless. 

Until a breath of warmth spoke, there to my lifeless heart among the fallen glory of the leaves--

There is a beauty in the dying---

And no, no, not in death, not in death itself, because death is cold and harsh and ugly - like the sparrow that I saw lying on the ground outside as I walked into church this morning, wet-washed and spit out of the night into that brisk November morning--

Death is ugly--

He remembers each sparrow that falls to the ground...

Beauty in the dying, in the all-abundant colors of the falling leaves spinning to the ground, their last glory bathing the earth in beauty. 

Beauty in surrender, in the giving, in the seed thrusting itself from the flower, falling, falling, dying, into the ground to be buried during the barren freeze of Winter. 

Beauty in the offering, in the sweet scent of the incense rising from the altar. 

Beauty in the dying. 

Death is swallowed up in victory.

So I sat outside today in November and the Lord spoke to me there where I was, among the dying leaves, into my own feelings of dying, of changing, of growing older, of letting my own life become lost in the lives of my babies, become a seed buried in the ground--

Though the outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day... 

And the sweetness of that truth plucked away the bitter-sadness in my heart -

My outward person is perishing - my body is changing, growing older, slowly losing strength and youth--

But my inward person - being renewed day by day as He grows me in conformity to His dear Son - His Son who died -

Arms outstretched in giving life -

His death birthed my life -

And beauty sang for me in the dying.

I hear a robin. Then, in November, its sweet voice laughing through the pain, into the soon-coming dusk. 

The robin sang for me, for all of creation. 

Spring is coming, the great sweet Spring that will swallow up sadness and fear and death forever -

When every tear will be wiped away, and death will be swallowed up forever. 

Sang for me - beautiful in the dying day -

Sang of life eternal to my soul. 



You might find me on these link-ups:

Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Renewed Daily, Soul Survival, Good Morning Mondays

That They May Have Life ...

The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.
John 10:10

We drove to the animal hospital and I held death in my hands . . . 

A dying grass-blade of God's creation, her white breast quivering in the cavern of her ebbing life. 

A mourning dove, the representation of His peace, in the midst of the chaotic grip of pain and death. 

Her life sinking, he took the box and walked inside. 

And walked out later alone. 


And we had driven silently there; death is not a glib event, and I think of Legolas as he bowed his head and uttered that whispered benediction. 

A benediction of peace amidst the angry cacophony of death. 

I think of this desperate world, and all creation in bondage, and the inside of my soul weeps.

The dove, mourning, dying, attests to the bondage of creation--peace, life, in the grip of death. 

I think of how we choose death--and beautiful, sweet things are so casually mocked, manhandled, twisted.  

What is it about humanity that grips the ugly, that chooses the sarcastic and degrading and the despicable and gnaws on them like a filthy, greasy bone? 


What is it about humanity that chooses death?

That tosses aside the weak, that rejects what is physically or mentally unpalatable--the elderly, the retarded, the unwanted child? 

What is it that draws us to degrading humor and so-called "entertainment"? To 22-words-sardonism and conscience-numbing stupidity, to mindless cartoons that depict sweet, innocent animals and birds (part of God's beautiful creation) as "angry," sarcastic specimens that resemble the worst of what humanity is capable of, what I am capable of, without the grace of Christ? 

Death, clinging to us, clinging to our children, wrapping itself around our hearts through the media that we allow into our homes and lives for the sake of entertainment and a hollow laugh. 

We drain the cup dry like a cheap wine--and our debauchery chains us. 

I read about a man who enjoys photographing hawks in the city of Providence killing pigeons. 

And his "art" is  celebrated. 

Have you ever watched a hawk kill a pigeon? 

It's an ugly, slow process, the hawk's talons kneading the pigeon's body, while he struggles, still alive beneath the death-grip. 

Death is not a celebration--something to be delighted in, gaped at, fascinated by.

Death is what Christ came to abolish, why the nail-thorns were pressed into His brow--why He bled and ached and suffered. 

And hawks need to eat, but does someone need to take a picture of it?--just so that we can gape and gawk at a poor pigeon's agony? 

Gape at death. 

But sin, worketh death . . . 

Death of the conscience, death of the spirit, death of the soul. 

And death makes us callused and raw, manacles our souls--


Manacled my father's soul when he spit us out, rejected us, handed my Mom papers for a divorce. 

Did he care that he crushed us? That he left her with nothing--nothing but the mangled shards of a covenant that she faithfully held on to? 

Did he care?

Death had chained him, and he casually joked with his friends about "missing their lunch" when the court hearing dragged on too long. 

Death; death of the conscience, death of the soul. 

But Christ . . . 

  Came to give life, to free our souls from death--to crush the serpents's head and to silence the hawk's shrill death-cry forever. 

Came to give us life, life more abundant. 

So we choose life. 

Choose it for our homes, for our children, through what we allow into our lives and our hearts--

Things that make for beauty and peace and health of the soul. 

Clean laughter, the fellowship of the brethren, the joy-bliss of pure worship, the ache for our heavenly home, our hands free from clutching this wretched sinful world as our home--

Longing for the new heavens, the new earth--where the lion will lie down next to the lamb and the child put his hand in the viper's nest--unbitten. 

Where glory dwells,

And death is swallowed up in victory. 

The Little Seed--A Poem for Children

A seed is buried in the ground 

And wonders in the deep,

How long will I be kept down here

And in the soil sleep? 

The farmer pushed me down, down here

He must know what is right

So I will stay tucked in the earth

Where it is always night.

I will stay pressed in the soil

And rest here for awhile,

Until the sunlight wakes me up 

And warms me with her smile.

The rain, it will come too, you know

For that, I also need

Until the plant that’s tucked inside

Breaks from my little seed. 

And yes, yes I, will soon sprout up

To flower in the sun;

The day will wrap her arms ‘round me

The time of darkness done.

--Rebekah Neal

You might find me on these link-ups:

Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, Inspire Me Monday, Literacy Musing Mondays, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, SDG Gathering, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, Motivate and Rejuvenate Mondays,, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, Testimony Tuesday, Tell His Story, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Women With Intention Wednesdays, Messy Marriage, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Theology Thursdays, Children Are A Blessing, Imparting Grace, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Thought Provoking Thursday, Count My Blessings, Christian Mommy Blogger, Renewed Daily, Soul Survival, Good Morning Mondays, The Weekend Brew, Blessing Counters Link Party, The HomeAcre Hop, Mommy Moments Link Up, Grace and Truth Linkup, Faith Filled Friday, Tell It To Me Tuesdays, SHINE Blog Hop, Faith and  Fellowship Blog Hop, Motivate and Rejuvenate Monday Link-Up, A Little R&R Wednesdays. TGI Saturdays Blog Hop. Totally Terrific Tuesday, RaRaLinkup, Word of God Speak, Booknificent Thursday

Hope

The earth was silent, still

And all the people, hushed in breath

Looked up into the brilliant clouds

Of heaven, though the ice of death

 Was on their weary hearts-

For hopeful spring’s last shower

Had passed away at last-

And that without a flower

 The time had grown so deep

And many hearts were crying

For hope to be renewed

And many now were dying

 I see the fragrant light

Look now! For through the trees

A fiery chariot comes

To part our stormy seas!