I've always had a hard time with death. Growing up in a Christian family, there seemed to be a lot of talk about death and heaven and hell and salvation at church and Sunday school. I couldn't ever quite get my head around it. I thought it just be something that grownups understand and I just wasn't big enough yet.
In my twenties, I had the terrible realization that I had grownup and I still didn't really have answers.... certainty about this terrible eventuality.
Worse, I probably never would.
It was a matter of faith.
Something we can't understand.
Something we have to believe but cannot know.
I had panic attacks in the middle of the night. Every year, I felt myself growing older felt like a helpless march towards inevitable suffering. I was so frustrated that even as a person of faith I couldn't get my head around something that seemed like everyone else had some sort of peace about. I wanted something more concrete than they taught in Sunday school. But there were just lots of ideas. This wasn't a place we can study. It was beyond reach.
I finally surrendered. Faith, I realized, was not fully knowing something that you believed but trusting fully into the unknown. God was ever present in life. Would God not be present in death? It was like marriage. Unspoken leaning into love. God promised to be there. My job was to believe.
I decided to lean into faith. To admit, I wasn't ready to face death right now, but that I would trust that God would journey with me and prepare me to let go into the unknown when my time came. I don't need to know exactly what or how. I just need to have the grace to surrender. Doubt and questions and struggling are all a part of the journey. But I choose faith. I trust.
With that, I had words to speak back into my panic attacks when they came:
"I choose faith. "
I looked for God to show up in moments that put me in touch with my mortality:
The passing of my grandparents, church members, friends, colleagues, strangers.
Explaining death to my children.
Comforting them after nightmares.
The inevitable pain of labor.
A diagnosis.
Covid.
Lent.
Staring down moments that bring me face to face with a deep fear. I allow God to whisper. I don't need answers. I just listen. I trust. I remind myself of the heart of faith.
Last night, one of our little chicks was struggling to keep up with the others. I scooped it out of the box and held it to my chest. I looked up how to care for a struggling chick. Feed it some sugar water to boost its energy, then give it some egg yolk for nutrition.
Gently I held it near my heart. Keeping it warm. Feeding it drops of sugar water. Slowly, I felt it slip further and further behind. At some point I knew I wasn't going to save it. I stopped trying. But I couldn't put it down. I held it. I rocked in my rocker tenderly. The same way I rock my babies to sleep.
It labored for breath. It closed its eyes. I held vigil. I allowed moments of death return to me. I allowed feelings about death return. I allowed God to teach me.
Matthew 10:29: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care.
God was there. Present with each labored breath of that tiny bird. I was nearly crying.
Don't we kill and eat chickens every day?
Why does this one matter?
Why do I care so much to give it this vigil?
Because God shows up in death.
Stupid chicken. Precious chicken.
One more small lesson.
One more moment to remember.
One more time God taught me.
Still, I choose faith.
No comments:
Post a Comment