God is Love

Photo by Amber Iragui

So My friend Amber took this photo a few months back, when we were on our nightly walk to feed the horses down the street. The photo doesn't exactly fit with what I want to say--but it is so lovely that I couldn't resist posting it.

God is love. I am always trying to rearrange my thoughts around this idea, because if God is love, than one can't help but see things differently. If nothing else, the thought helps me back to a place of gratitude, helps me to look for something good again, in the midst of all my struggles.

Sometimes it's harder than others to remember this. Today marked the second week of the flu infestation at our home. Both kids are still sick, my husband is limping along, and I seem to have developed a sinus infection. I've been seeing a naturapathic doctor lately, who has put me on the most vile set of potions--herbal antibiotics and sinus relief. They taste like ear wax, only worse.

Add to this the fact that our disposal has a serious clog--and neither it or nor the dishwasher are working as a result, and last night, a log came crashing through our fireplace door and shattered the glass.

These are just the kinds of problems I was hoping to have, he first week of lent and on auction eve, the day before our house is supposed to pass back into the hands of the bank.

Anyway, I was still in that dark place, trying to figure out how to fix the fireplace door and the dishwasher and disposal, when my neighbor Cory sent a text message, saying, "I still haven't 4got you. Lentil soup in the crock pot." Just this small act of kindness was enough to begin to tug me out of despair.

But before I had a chance to pick up the lentil soup, another neighbor drove up the driveway, with a lovely meal of stirfry and rice and a bag of lemons from her tree. I could not believe that on this day, when I was still so sick, both physically and in my heart, two different neighbors thought to make dinner for us.

So I decided, tentatively, to entertain the possibility that God, might after all, be love. I drove down the hill in the pouring rain to pick up some treats for the girls at the store and it seemed more plausible, although still not entirely convincing in my current mental frame.

In the midst of life that often feels like an endless series of problems to solve, some of the unsolvable, God is Love. He comes to us unexpectedly, through two wonderful meals and some dark chocolate chili covered dried mangoes, through a reassuring phone conversation. Through the hope I feel faintly tonight, that His love, will see me through clogged drains, shattered glass and all the loose ends in our lives that we're still struggling to fit together.

ashes to ashes

Photo by Amber

Yesterday I did something that I'm probably not supposed to do: I took my friend Ludmilla to a funeral parlor to select an urn for her husband's ashes. Cremation is not generally practiced in the Eastern Orthodox church because we cherish our bodies as images of the divine. We believe that even ever they've been laid in the ground, they still have something good ahead, a soul reunion. Cremation doesn't honor this belief in the same way. Plus, why make things more complicated for God? What an awful lot of work to send him scouting for our precious ashes on the bottom of the Pacific. Not to say He isn't up to the task, but doesn't an earthen burial just keep things simpler?

At any rate, there's the ideal somewhere out there, and there is the reality of parish life, and the choices people have made long before we came to the mission, choices they embrace with all their heart and soul. And all this leads me back to the funeral parlor, with Ludmilla, who didn't have such a hard time picking out the urn after all.

While we were there, the funeral director explained to Ludmilla that she didn't owe a penny for her husband's services. She'd paid into an insurance policy all these years, and now she was in the clear. Ludmilla couldn't believe this gift, after all she'd been through caring for Rolf in his final year.

So we climbed back into the car with Rolph's ashes on Ludmilla's lap. As I backed out of the parking lot, her face was radiant. "The God is merciful" she says, "He takes care of me!" I glance over at her, sitting there, cradling her husband's ashes, and everything falls back into perspective.

It has been an intense few weeks. We have received news that the home we've been living in as caretakers is going to auction on March 6th. The owners have been unable to keep up with the mortgage, and we, like thousands of other Americans, are now living a home that is moving toward an uncertain end. We are just waiting now, not quite sure how concerned we should be about the impending auction in light of how slowly everything is unfolding. We are waiting, I should say, and hoping that it will somehow be possible for us to stay awhile longer. We don't feel done yet.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In light of all this uncertainty, it helps me to remember how transitory everything is, how every home we've ever inhabited is just a tent after all, this one a little more glorious than the others, still just a temporary dwelling as we ache toward a more permanent home. And it helps to think of Ludmilla, luminous, with Rolf's ashes on her lap, reminding me that everything turns to ash, eventually. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, everything moving toward impossible hope.