Bridge over troubled water

I drove the six hours to Bismarck, North Dakota this week.  The landscape was lush and unseasonably green, the summer that we never thought would come is stretching into fall. But an occasional yellow leaf reminds me- the seasons turn,  winter always comes, life goes on.

We want life to look like this.

Wide, well marked with easy curves. Yes, there is a horizon but it stretches comfortably in the distance.

Instead the journey of life dips and disappears and our stomach lurches with the rough ride.  We hit potholes that threaten our comfort and suspension. The curves come fast and we can find outselves smashed at the side of the road. Alone.

This week, the spirit of my much prayed for and eagerly anticipated sixth grandchild, Teresa Irene, returned to the full presence of her Heavenly Father.  I love the image of her holding hands with her grandfather who loved babies but has yet to meet any of his grandchildren.  For us left on earth, we still deal with the reality of her lifeless body delivered by a grieving mother into the hands of a distraught father.  The hospital has been wonderful, the community outpour of prayers and help has be comforting...

but this grandmother just wants to breathe life into that tiny, perfect body and into this sad and broken family.

Her life on this earth was short and distant and not in our hands.



This tiny bridge is not easily accessible. It's not on a wide path. I'm not even sure of its purpose.  But it caught my eye, it spoke to my soul's longing for beauty, it is there.  A tiny bridge to nowhere must have a function I don't know. Someone carefully constructed posts and railing and added sturdy metal roofing. They placed it in this quiet spot and they know why.

Ducks paddle on this calm water and find food for their ducklings.  Life  happens here in the quiet, off the busy road.

Teresa is our bridge- inaccesible to our hands but forever perfect and complete in our hearts. Her brief life reminds us of the brevity of our days and heaven awaiting us- she is our bridge to eternity.  But I don't want to leave this little, fragile structure out here in the elements; winter is coming. The ducks will fly and she'll be alone.  But this  earth is all merely a shell, a structure with a function I don't fully realize.  Teresa has shed her fragile  body and is rejoicing in timeless heaven where we are already together. I am left to remember her rosebud lips, to hug the sad children and parents, to pray for comfort and... to anticipate life on earth as it continues on, waiting for the renewal of an inevitable spring.

The Smell of Summer

My friends came into my house almost obscured by the purple blooms- they brought a huge bouquet of lilacs.  The dining room filled with their fragrance and I was back in my grandmother’s bedroom.

It’s spring here in South Dakota and while trees are just greening up near my house, it must be another gardening zone here in Rapid City. 

Here the wildflowers are popping up through the pine needles.....

Even the dandelions are fresh and full of spring. 

the bushes are blooming..... 

Found some honeysuckle! Reminder of Virginia where it is everywhere.

and the lilacs are having a bumper year. 

 The lilac bushes, ten feet high, are rows of lush purples and whites set off by rich green leaves.  The smaller the house, the bigger the bushes. In the older neighborhoods of crowded streets, small houses sit right next to each other on small lots. But the lilacs in those neighborhoods.  A king’s garden has no lilacs to best these. Strong healthy bushes practically dwarf the houses and cast their purple hue over the entire neighborhood.

When I smell lilacs, I’m on  a narrow cot in my grandmother’s bedroom. The room is small and my bed blocks off the one closet but it’s right against the window.  The sash is cracked for fresh air and I lay on the cool pillow and listen to night sounds. Crickets sing and an occasional car passes with a swish.  The dark always puzzles me.  We drive down from Alaska every other summer and even the long drive doesn’t prepare me for summer nights that get dark. Alaska summers have daylight way past our bedtime and now it feels strange to be in bed in the dark.  But I hear the soft breathing of my grandmother and I smell the lilacs.  They crowd the bedroom windows and block the path of broken stones around the house.

Everywhere in Colorado we play we climb under or around lilacs bushes 

but it’s here in grandmother's room, 

the night is quiet, that I breathe in the lilacs and sleep.