Through These Glistening Tears

Not long into my morning 

I learned the news 

That my friend was gone. 

More than twenty-four hours later

My brain still can't assimilate it;

My heart still refuses to take it in.

She wasn't sick - that I knew of.

She was young - always young. 

Always so much younger than her decades

Would attest. 

We loved her. 

We didn't see her daily, 

But she was daily a part of us 

As close as the phone, 

And how I loved to call her,

Her concern and understanding 

And availability

Always as dependable 

As her unforgettably rich  

"Hello?"

Somehow as the morning ebbed 

We wrung out our tears

And marched on, 

One numb foot after the other.

I spent a little while with her family,

Sat in her house and soaked up 

Her absent presence - 

The whole thing made just as much sense 

As that contradictory line of print. 

How could she not be here, 

In this home that still breathed her personality in and out? 

I could see her in the faces of the ones

She'd emptied herself to fill up

- As she had for me and mine. 

I saw their tear-streaked,

Stricken cheeks, 

Felt their utter disbelief.

I touched her car outside,

Sat near the places inside 

Where she'd been 

When she was called away. 

I watched the tiniest ones 

Who were part of her, 

As one lay on the couch 

Confused

And the other crawled, 

Blissfully unaware, 

And laid his head down 

Peacefully

Only a few feet from where 

She had lain hers down

Hours before

As though, even then, 

He was soaking her up,

Just as she'd held him 

And breathed in his scent 

So many times

In the ten months she'd known him. 

My heart struggled, 

As did the hearts of her bereaved,

To make heads or tails of it

To believe what none of our hearts 

Wanted to accept: 

That she was gone. 

And after I'd imposed, perhaps, too long, 

I left them to their 

Sacred grief 

Left them to reorder their world

As I drove on, reordering my own. 

When your heart is on your sleeve 

Skinless, raw,

It feels everything it brushes up against. 

Your ears hear things they might have heard a day before, 

But they sound different. 

Such was the rest of my day. 

Nothing was normal, 

Nothing ordinary. 

I stopped at the store 

And ran from one end to another 

To gather my few things,

Headed to the front

And got a call from home

That sent me scurrying to the back again

And there, wanting to soothe the ache in me

With something easy, I looked for favorite chips

And couldn't find them.

And somehow, right there,

I had an unlikely conversation with a caring woman

Just about her age

Someone I'm pretty sure God put there 

To open up to me in ways you 

Just don't 

When you're standing in the snack aisle. 

Her number is in my phone now.

I didn't tell her about my day

Or my loss

But still she was there 

An unmistakable friend -

The kind you don't meet every day. 

And I walked away wondering if that 

Was why I couldn't find the bag of Fritos. 

I hurried to the check-out 

And ran my few items through

Partway

Until

Frustrated 

I realized my card was nowhere to be found,

And the cashier froze my sale 

As I went and combed the store 

Corner to corner 

To over in this corner

Head down

Looking

Praying:

Lord, I know that sometimes small things seem big

And things that are really big seem small

But this seems big to me

And I know You have better things to do 

But will you please help me find it? 

And when I'd looked in every aisle I could remember traipsing

Kicking myself

For my carelessness

I knew that there was only one thing left to do: 

Go to Customer Service - 

And if they didn't have it

That was it. 

I envisioned the wearisome drill - 

Having them put the groceries back

Calling the bank

Stopping the card

Ordering a new one. 

At Customer Service

An associate was standing outside the alcove

And I asked her

Did anyone turn in a bank card? 

And she looked at me and said

Were you over at that check-out? - 

Motioning over to where my groceries still sat - 

And I said 

Yes. 

You put your card in the payment machine. 

We tried to catch you. 

What??

I'd run away, my card right there 

Where it was supposed to be.

And I remembered then

Slipping it in. 

I laughed and told her 

That I didn't even mind feeling dumb

Because I was so relieved to have found it

But even as I went back and finished my transaction

I knew 

It wasn't really stupidity;

It was the kind of thing that happens 

When my brain gets overloaded

And mine had had a day. 

So I gave myself a break

Thankful the situation was resolved. 

As I headed to a different store

To find the chips I still thought I needed

My heart's microphone was still on loud - 

The mundane things I heard all vibrant with meaning. 

As I walked through the parking lot, 

I saw a young mama

Carrying her child to their car 

The little girl apparently let down because they'd

Put the cart back

And the mama told her, patiently, 

Honey, we can't keep it. 

We only borrow the cart

And then we have to put it back. 

That's just how it works. 

And my soul heard it clearly: 

That's just how it works. 

You only got to borrow her. 

We only have the people we love 

In our lives for as long as the Lord allows. 

You were never going to get to keep her. 

And as I came back out 

A recently-dropped pacifier lay on the asphalt.

I motioned to the car beside it,

But the driver had seen it too

And it wasn't her family's. 

Somewhere a baby is sad, I thought,

But that's just how it works. 

Pacifiers, like so many things,

Are temporarily in our lives,

And some little child may be adjusting

To life without something he thought he needed to keep

Forever

Just like we are

Today. 

It was one thing after another - 

Reminder after reminder to my grieving heart 

That God knew 

That He knew and understood

Better than I did 

And was hovering close to help me see. 

Off and on throughout the day

I thought of our pastor's sermon

The day before:

How he had impressed upon us that 

We need to make more of Christ

And a lot less of ourselves 

And, with my self filled up with hurt, 

I wondered 

How? 

What do I do with this sorrow?
How do I use it to make much of Christ? 

And as sure as He is God and I am not

He made the answer clear: 

By pouring myself out as she did.

She touched so many lives 

Not just touched 

But undergirded - 

Invested herself

Long term

In her family

In others that she made family.

She simply loved. 

She didn't try to impress anyone. 

She just gave 

As naturally as she breathed

Without apparent thought of whether 

She could keep it up.  

She prayed and cared 

And lived out her faith

In the most real and humble 

And unadvertised

And sincere ways. 

It's who she was,

And I am made better for knowing her. 

Once home I sat at the piano

Where I'd sat so many times

With her

Where she'd gently and patiently taught us.

I opened my hymnal 

And played a few hymns. 

I don't play well; 

I started learning as an adult 

And seldom spent enough time practicing,

But she never gave up on me. 

She cared about so much more than my technique

My amateur ear

Or my often-uncooperative fingers. 

Oh, she could hear each errant note I played 

- And she let me know. 

But as she sat beside this student 

Whom many teachers probably would have found not worth their time

She always found encouraging things to say. 

She kept from cringing at my mistakes

And found successes shining out in my stumbling efforts. 

When I first came to her, I loved the hymns - 

They had taken root in me in childhood - 

And in her I found a kindred spirit 

Who helped me learn to play them better. 

Flipping through the pages,then, 

I found this, 

One of many favorites, 

Written by Frances Havergal around 1874, 

And there in its ancient verses

I found her. 

Take my hands and let them move

At the impulse of Thy love.

Take my feet and let them be

Swift and beautiful for Thee, 

Swift and beautiful for Thee.

I remembered her hands, 

Moving effortlessly across the keys; 

How her tireless feet 

Driving her van 

Brought her all the way out here to our house 

To teach us. 

Take my voice and let me sing
Always, only for my King. 
Take my lips and let them be 
Filled with messages from Thee, 
Filled with messages from Thee. 

I could hear her joyful voice

Lilting spontaneously as she showed us

How to play a song, 

How her lips spilled out gentle encouragement

During the hardest of times. 

Take my silver and my gold,
Not a mite would I withhold. 
Take my intellect and use
Every pow'r as Thou shalt choose, 
Every pow'r as Thou shalt choose. 

How she gave of her money, 

Her prayers, her time, and her wisdom

To help my children in so many pursuits

Through the years; 

How she gave us lessons at low rates 

Out of passion and love

For music and for people. 

Take my will and make it Thine, 
It shall be no longer mine. 
Take my heart, it is Thine own, 
It shall be Thy royal throne. 
It shall be Thy royal throne. 

Her will? I only remember her wanting to serve. 

Her heart? His.  

Take my life and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee. 
Take my moments and my days, 
Let them flow in ceaseless praise,
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.

I'm not implying she was perfect, of course; 

She'd have never let me say that, anyway.

But looking back on the two decades we knew her, 

I can see that her life was one of consecration to Christ; 

And the minutes and hours He gave her,

Their number known by Him from the beginning, 

Truly flowed in steadfast praise. 

Up close, my family witnessed it.

Take my love, my Lord, I pour
At Thy feet its treasure store.
Take myself and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee,
Ever, only, all for Thee.

Now my friend,
Having given so much,
Is ever
Only
Wholly
With her Lord.

And my family
Her family
Those hers by blood
And those kindly taken in
As we were

Are left
To remember the things she did
Daily
Humbly
Quietly

And to carry on
In making much of Christ
And less of ourselves,
Deeply investing ourselves in others
As He has
So deeply invested
Himself in us.

The Shy Little Girl

Born on the Blue Ridge
In Depression Days -
To my mind she was like
Elizabeth-in-braids,
Wispy Walton child
Swinging hard and free -
Soaking up books
In the crook of a tree.

As the youngest of eight
(The eight who survived),
She played in white clay,
And the time soon arrived
When she walked off to school
Clutching sister's hand fast -
The shy little girl
Who wore the hand-me-downs last.

Like a duck with a pond,
She made reading her friend
And dove in head-first
When they gave her a pen.
Even math didn't ruffle
Her feathers too much
Until they mixed letters in
With the old numbers bunch!
 
Somewhere in there
They moved to the city;
Her Girls' High yearbook
Showed her poised and pretty;
Left behind, the summer nights
When she'd walk on her hands
Outdoors - and up stairs!-
With her closest of friends.

Outside of Girls' High,
She met lots of young men,
But not all to-swoon-for;
Some no more than friends.
Growing up, we cringed
And giggled to hear
Of the one who stashed gum
Back behind his ear!

And while such behavior
Might have served to astound,
Soon a more dapper suitor
Began hanging around.
She'd met him at church;
Then he'd gone off to war,
So she'd written him letters
And letters galore.

Then one day, back stateside, 
He happily chose
On a Stone Mountain outing,
To humbly propose.
Her answer was ready -
A resounding yes! -
She would follow him
For worse, better, or best.

It was nearly Christmas
When they spoke their vows
Before God, pastor, family,
At her brother's house.
Things had to get better,
Since he'd just quit his job;
But they had each other,
And that was enough.
 
Then follow she did!
Crossed oceans and brooks,
To states and countries
She'd known only through books.
As they journeyed together,
Their family grew,
As God blessed with a son
And then three daughters, too.

Through thickest and thin,
They were bonded in heart,
While wars sometimes placed them
Many time zones apart.
With prayers, letters, phone calls
And memories replete,
They counted days 'til reunions - 
And reunions were sweet.

At graduations and weddings
They witnessed and beamed;
And their family grew larger
Than ever they'd dreamed.
As grandchildren came,
Grew and multiplied,
Their hearts swelled with love,
And their eyes gleamed with pride.

Still, she loved that dear man
Through better, through worse:
Help meet, best friend, 
Caretaker, nurse.
And one gentle April
As God called him away,
She bid him go on;
Pledged to follow one day.  

And oh! - the reunion 
They'll have over there:
No sickness, no sadness,
No worry, no care!
His smile will be wide
When he sees her again,
And Heaven will chime
While sweet praises ascend.

She's on her own now,
But not really - ever,
For her Lord who is with her
Will leave her side never. 
She's loved by her children,
Her grand and her great, 
And she's strong! 
Who knows what roads still await?
 

She's come a long way
From the mountains she knew.
Who could have foreseen 
All she'd grow up to do? 
Who'd have thought she'd grow bold,
Wise, and strong - those years past -
The shy little girl
Who wore the hand-me-downs last?

Power, Grace, Sand, Sea

Before we'd even showered off outside the beach house
The waves had come and demolished our sand sculptures, 
Erased our footprints.
No one else would even know we'd spent four days there. 

But look at us, three days later: 
Red faces, peeling skin, a multitude of freckles, 
Sunscreen notwithstanding. 
Four hours from the beach and home again, 
And our bodies still proclaim the story of the sun 
And the ocean

And our mighty Creator God.

And Jesus said, “Who touched Me?”
When all denied it, 
Peter and those with him said, 
“Master, the multitudes throng and press You, 
and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’"
But Jesus said, 
“Somebody touched Me, for I perceived power going out from Me.”  
Now when the woman saw that she was not hidden, 
she came trembling; 
and falling down before Him, 
she declared to Him in the presence of all the people 
the reason she had touched Him 
and how she was healed immediately.
And He said to her, 
“Daughter, be of good cheer; 
your faith has made you well. 
Go in peace.” [Luke 8:45-48]

It would seem that the power that freckled us, 
Burned our faces, 
And still shows its marks on us today 
Did not escape from Him unnoticed. 

Unimaginable perception.
Unfathomable strength. 
He could dissolve us 
With a glance.

And yet - 
(Thank you, Lord, for those two words) -

And YET: 

The clouds burst forth with His mercy!
Oceans swell up with His grace. 

All that I can comprehend of His love, 
Scoop into my tiny pail and take home,
Is but a thimbleful - 
A few grains of sand from rolling dunes
Eight drops of sea from the great deluge.

And yet - 

And YET: 

He. knows. my. name. 
I am etched on the palms of His hands. 
Nail-etched.

Such greatness
Has stooped down to pick me up -
A dull, dead, sandy shell - 

To wash me off, 
Give me life,
Make me HIS.



 

One More Promise

I nestled today against your solid chest

And felt the strength flow through your arms.

I am not much bigger than one of your hands,

And with you I felt safe, loved and warm.

You looked into my eyes as you held onto me

But I couldn't see you clearly yet.

Still I knew you were there as you stared down at me

Because my face felt a small splash of wet.

And as you pulled me back in to the smell of your shirt

I could sense each beat of your heart:

It felt like a promise that you’d always be there --

That no one could keep us apart.

Well, I’m very young and I don’t know a lot

But I was born reaching for safe

And I felt it today in those gentle-strong arms

And that first tender kiss that you gave.

It felt like a promise -- that short nap we shared --

That I can always lean heavy on you;

That when I close my eyes because the world seems too bright,

I can trust you, though you’re resting, too.

I heard how you told my mother today

That you’re proud of her courage and grace;

How you marveled to witness her selfless toil

And then the joy that spilled over her face.

I know that I’m new, but it seems clear to me

That the kind of day that we’ve had --

If it lit up the room so that now she’s a mom --

Would also have made you a dad.

So if I’m hers forever and you want to be

A most faithful father to me,

Then may I ask for one more promise from you?

Could my eyes make one wordless plea?

If you want to give me all you can give,

To model manhood at its best,

Then will you take the hand of my mother and hold it in yours?

Will you choose her over all of the rest?

Will you marry my mother, for better, for worse?

Can you match her courage somehow?

Will you walk the floor with her, long nights and long years?

Could you teach me the strength of a vow?

If you feel that God brought me to you on this day,

If your heart is full from the gift,

Then can you pledge to love us as God wants us loved

Each moment, each year that you live?

Summer School

Last July and August, we traveled up north and then out west. It was a lot of fun, and it did our hearts good when we were able to spend time with family members and friends we hadn't seen in too long.  We also spent a lot of hours in the van, and one day, after some spontaneous stops, I tried to jot down some emotions that were flooding my heart. I just ran across the pages, and I present them here, with occasional corrections, the incredulous question in my mind of "Why did we even TAKE math books??" and a guess or two in places where my penmanship got messy. I was writing quickly that day, trying to catch the impressions before they escaped into the busy-ness of our plans.  Re-reading the lines now, this verse comes to mind: My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; My tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe. - Psalm 45:1 Summer School by Dee Dee Rauscher Today Day 4 of our cross-country drive As we (Husband, our younger 4/8, and I) Drove through a prairie citylet, We had to stop And take pictures at An old-fashioned, Legitimate "Holland Mill." There it stood Majestic and white Looking to all the world Like it was guarding Delft Instead of Milbank, South Dakota. The road we turned on Ran between the Surprising, pristine mill (Looking like it had sat there for A century - but it hadn't) And a cemetery - Also surprising - With gravestones Interspersed in a grove of trees, Strange in this tree-sparse state. The choice was ours, really: Visit the cemetery (Lovely, but we barely considered it) - Stay in the car and keep to our Schedule as we made our way to Aberdeen Or stop. The timeless setting - as this and that Family member snapped photos, Climbed on surrounding platforms, And peered through shading hands At the quiet windmill blades And through dark panes to see the Inner room - Made my own mill cease its turning. Realizing every time we drive out west We have a different arrangement of children with us - Last time we had five, From age twelve down to nearly one - I could suddenly see the need to breathe the moment in Before it's milled away, Lost to the wind, And all that's left are photographs And the cherished memories My net of a mind can keep. I've lost too many of them, I realize now With tears burning my eyes. Forgive me, Lord, for all the Days I waste. Against counterpoint graves on the other side of the road, I am reminded that This is life - As young people frolic and laugh And sit pensively on grass to Frame a windmill in a Viewfinder, As he tells us that the blades Work like a helicopter's, As she lifts her brother up to See better, As they form human windmills And read South Dakota history On the mill's historic marker. This is life. And this is school. Not watered down in textbooks, Not in hard, wooden desks, But in vivid colors And warm breezes, Amidst familiar smiles. An hour earlier we stopped at a Playground - Our one room schoolhouse Out to recess (not a daily event). Four of them - nineteen to nine - On seesaws and Monkeybars Not because the recess hour came But because In the midst of a long drive There was a great Place to play. A couple of hours later We were back in the car, Chasing the bright sunset With at least one notebook on a lap - Math begun, Vacation timeline tended (a voluntary project), Eyes scanning the vast Expanse of Dakota Country. It's been a day of Giggles, silliness, questions, And - In the front seat - Deep thought and realization Of how very Blessed I am; A reminder to my Hurried, greedy spirit - That it's here - To stop grasping for more, To take in The wealth and fragrance Of the moment Instead of running past it, Instead of stepping down the roses To find some imagined path, Shushing the music because in My misjudgment I think It is static, Rushing through the exquisite Moments Because I don't see their Value. Help me to see, Lord, that The evenly hemmed and seamless day My steps keep running toward Is a mirage - That the world would steal from me The perfect, unkempt moments That will too soon Be milled into Memories.