Of Tattered Green Housecoats
He laid upon the bathroom floor at 4 a.m. My own weak stomach mentally fought the need for me to be there, to be with this boy, at 4 a.m., in the bathroom. But, contrary to my wishes, my boy lay upon the bathroom floor at 4 o'clock in the morning. The heaves were starting to settle for this independent child who stumbled into the bathroom several minutes earlier. I'm mentally thankful that he managed to arrive there on time.
But he's writhing on the floor, physically wrestling with this agony that has seized his body. The heaving lessens, but pain screeches across his abdomen. He is restless and he moans and begs me to make it stop. The pain seizes his tummy, racing through his body and he groans and sweats and wonders why he has to suffer. Hasn't it been enough that he has been ill?
There's nothing that I can do to stop this process.
And so he lays upon the floor. Waiting.
I ask him if he needs a blanket and he replies "No, I have this," and he shows me that he has grabbed my tattered old terrycloth housecoat, lime green. It has seen better days. It is so old; I can't even remember when it was new.
Before I even got into the room he wrapped his body in his mother's housecoat, begging it to bring him warmth, begging it to bring him comfort, begging it to deliver him from the ugly reality of the pain that he is bearing at this moment.
Eventually we both stumbled back into bed and sleep fell upon us and we woke again the next morning, the morning light and the new day bringing healing to our weariness, healing to our weaknesses, slowly redeeming all that we've 'lost'.
I set about cleaning the bathroom and my eyes fall upon the lime green terrycloth tattered housecoat that was laid aside after the night was over.
This is just like my year has been.
2013 has been one of the hardest years that we've had in a long time. The highs have been high, but they've been few.
And the lows have been painfully and excruciatingly low. More painful than I could bear some days, some months. So excruciating that at times it seemed that I emotionally heaved everything inside of me, rejecting the realities that had been served to me.
But as I lived many days of 2013 in the darkness of the night, in the it-feels-like-4 a.m.-and-I'm-all-alone moments - something, Someone covered me.
Like the lime green terrycloth tattered housecoat covered my boy in the dark of his night, the presence of God has covered me in 2013. In my midnight hours, my excruciating pain, my emotional heaving - Someone has wrapped His arms around my feeble body, my aching soul, my raging mind that fought my reality.
But he's writhing on the floor, physically wrestling with this agony that has seized his body. The heaving lessens, but pain screeches across his abdomen. He is restless and he moans and begs me to make it stop. The pain seizes his tummy, racing through his body and he groans and sweats and wonders why he has to suffer. Hasn't it been enough that he has been ill?
There's nothing that I can do to stop this process.
It just has to pass.
And so he lays upon the floor. Waiting.
I ask him if he needs a blanket and he replies "No, I have this," and he shows me that he has grabbed my tattered old terrycloth housecoat, lime green. It has seen better days. It is so old; I can't even remember when it was new.
Before I even got into the room he wrapped his body in his mother's housecoat, begging it to bring him warmth, begging it to bring him comfort, begging it to deliver him from the ugly reality of the pain that he is bearing at this moment.
Eventually we both stumbled back into bed and sleep fell upon us and we woke again the next morning, the morning light and the new day bringing healing to our weariness, healing to our weaknesses, slowly redeeming all that we've 'lost'.
I set about cleaning the bathroom and my eyes fall upon the lime green terrycloth tattered housecoat that was laid aside after the night was over.
This is just like my year has been.
2013 has been one of the hardest years that we've had in a long time. The highs have been high, but they've been few.
And the lows have been painfully and excruciatingly low. More painful than I could bear some days, some months. So excruciating that at times it seemed that I emotionally heaved everything inside of me, rejecting the realities that had been served to me.
But as I lived many days of 2013 in the darkness of the night, in the it-feels-like-4 a.m.-and-I'm-all-alone moments - something, Someone covered me.
Like the lime green terrycloth tattered housecoat covered my boy in the dark of his night, the presence of God has covered me in 2013. In my midnight hours, my excruciating pain, my emotional heaving - Someone has wrapped His arms around my feeble body, my aching soul, my raging mind that fought my reality.
"His banner over me is love."
(Song of Solomon 2:4)
His banner, His blanket has covered me, protected me, delivered me, wrapped around me, snuggled me, cradled me; the corners of the covering have risen to my face to dry my tears and wipe my nose. The blanket of God's love has wrapped my arms tightly, holding them close to my body as I have flailed about, preventing me from striking out, stilling me as I fought. "Shhhh. Peace will come. The night will pass. The pain will end." Like my boy, I have been restless, I have moaned and begged for it to stop. But it couldn't be stopped; it just had to pass.
It. Just. Had. To. Pass.
I will look upon 2013 as a year where I had to go deep - mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I had to dig deep to discover what my foundation is. All of those things that I have easily spouted off to someone in need - they don't sound very good any more. My Pollyanna glib wishes on happy occasions feel trite now - now what I really want to say, what I really want to wish you is not "happiness" but God's peace, God's companionship, God's presence.
God's banner.
So that's what I 'wish' for you in 2014 - God's banner. When you experience the good days and the bad days and the in between days and you look around for something
to get wrapped up in
may it be Jesus.
2014 is a new opportunity. I face it boldly, bravely, joyfully and with fresh anticipation.
God's peace be yours, be mine. Amen
Thank you for this Maureen. Your comparisons to the loved tattered green housecoat and God's banner of us is one I will remember. I trust that health has been restored to your home.
ReplyDeleteWe wonder too what this new year will bring. I am reluctant to wish people a Happy New year but rather hope that people go into the year with God as their guide. Wishing you joy, courage and boldness!
Lovely to hear from you, Lovella! We are well again, indeed. God's peace and companionship be to YOU in 2014! It's been nice to have you as part of this blog family.
DeleteThanks Maureen,last year was very hard on us as a family buy I am going to seek Our Lord and "standing on the promises of God," I will work towards repairing that green tattered housecoat with God's instructions looking to see more positive in every-one and every-thing. Thanks again for being a mentor in the back and not even knowing. Jesus loves you and so do I.
ReplyDelete