'Wherever You Go, God Got There First.' A Note From Jan.

A beautiful sunny wintry day. Fresh snow fell in the night, covering the gray banks and mounds like frosting. “So why so downcast?”, I chide myself. “Get a grip. Where’s your ‘tankful’ heart?”

Darkness. A battle rages in my mind and spirit. Wrestling with numbness, lethargy, care-less-ness. So much longing for what was. Overwhelmed by responsibility that’s more than doubled. Darkness sucking out life, nibbling at what is, grabbing what was and shaking it like a dog with a rag. And I, the rag.

Rag doll. Dressed in grief. What is this thing some call “GOOD grief”?

Got out of the house. Good to do. Booked a pedicure, a Christmas gift from Kristina. Soothing kind of gift…great for my feet but the rest of me wanted Jud. Does this ever go away? What’s left if it does?

Back home, I shout, “Play music!” (My neighbors are in Chile.) And from the Bose, notes fly in every direction at the darkness. From somewhere I hear, “Let my people go!” As in, “Go down, Moses…way down to Egypt land…tell old Pharaoh…let my people go!” And I wonder … What am I a slave to? Bound by? O God, be merciful.

I cry to you for family, friends, Gordon, this world. I know, God, to you darkness is as light. But… “God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all.” But…

“Do your assignment for tomorrow!”, I urge myself. The Lenten lassies meet tomorrow and I need to read chapters 3 and 4. For me, courage, perspective and strength often come from doing the next thing. Even Belichick motivates his Patriots players with, “Do your job!” So I pick up CHRIST MY COMPANION, meditations on the prayer of St.Patrick, written by Marilyn Chandler McEntyre and begin reading Chapter 3, “Christ Behind Me,” instead of crawling into bed and sleeping away/escaping like Jonah in the bottom of the boat.

Dr. McEntyre, professor of English at Westmont College, writes, “Behind us, Christ follows and gathers, he watches and protects, he waits for us to find our way… and he carries the heaviest part of the crosses we may think we carry alone.”

O Christ, what do I really know of you? I look over my shoulder. Not really expecting to see Jesus…just wanting a sense of what it means to have Christ behind me. Maybe it’s a little like Jud standing behind me on a steep escalator at an airport…ready to catch me if I fall. Or like me keeping an eye on the grands by urging them to walk in front of me.

In chapter 4, “Christ Before Me,” she writes,” Wherever you go, God got there first and is waiting for you.” Great idea, God! Thank you.

Strange this force called gratitude. It hurls fiery darts at the darkness. Pokes holes, spreads light. And on one beam of light I whisper, “Thank you for carrying my cross today, Jesus. I think you lugged the whole thing.”

It’s dark outside, nearing midnight. Better inside. A bit of Light Enough for now. Rag dolls can’t handle much.