Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Today Annie is five months old. Last year at this time I was three months pregnant and terribly nauseous. I was also still raw and shaky from Adrian's death; worried that I might also lose this baby.
Looking at this bright eyed, chunky little one today, it's hard to remember those feelings. I feel peaceful now - hypnotized by Annie's smile and extremely chubby legs. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know. I know that more pain and worry and problems lie ahead. I know a little bit about tough times and it freaks me out to think of what may be to come. Thoughts like these make me want to crawl back in bed.
I don't, however. Crawl back in bed, that is. Not today at least. No, I get up and say prayers and drink lots of coffee and thank God for the tasks of the day that distract me from negative thoughts. Dn. Michael Hyatt has a podcast on AFR this week about fear. He says that thankfulness is its antidote - so I'm testing his theory.
It's in this spirit of gratitude that I write this blog. Participating in poetry Wednesday has seemed - well less than appealing up to now. Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed reading your posts more than you know - it's just that locating a poem, picture and actually writing a blog has seemed an insurmountable task. Today, however, I have a poem to share, and I am grateful for this place to post it.
Dn Joshua Lollar and his family serve at St. Elizabeth's. The parish is 45 minutes (at least) from their home in South Bend, but they rarely miss a service. I read an article in The New Yorker once about a father's advice to his daughter. "Go to the funeral," he instructed. He goes on to explain that although perhaps a bit difficult or tedious, people are always worth the inconvenience. He was basically telling his daughter to, "be there" for others.
Both in our painful and joyful moments, people have, "been there," for us. Our friends and family helped us mourn the loss of Adrian, celebrate Annie's birth and experience her baptism. The Lollars are the kind of people that, "go to the funeral," and their support for others is almost tangible.
This beautiful poem was written by Dn Joshua for Annie on her baptism.
Why must birth come through the waters,
Daughter Anya, are you born today where
Darkened depths are met by only
Deeper, running, mind,
Clothing for a glowing body?
Somewhere there are water shapes, for
Nights are days with colors near the edges
Looking in: the center ripe with
Time is running, slowly, silent,
Eyes and waters speaking clearly.
Only waters clothe the ground. You
Woke and there you found the world the face of
God: Adam is his eye and
Eve his eye, right and
Left and sometimes blind or light.
What is air but water in her
Memory? Her breathing winter silence
Thin and sharp and lost in backward
Longing by the seashore’s
What is earth but water’s slower
Life? Always faulting lines to know her
Fluency and shining voice to
Be her own once more,
But the voice is so far faded.
What is fire but water’s fate and
Inward life where death and light become a
Mirror and a silver pool who
Look, astonished, into
One another’s lidless eyes?
Everything begins when motion
Goes to sleep and you at last awake, an
Eye returning to the moment
When the colors were the
Names of faces, hands, and feet.
16 January 2011
video taken by Jane Maddex with instructions to "put it on the blog."