Recognize the earth in me

"How often have I seen the reflection of Thy glory in the faces of the dead. How resplendent they were, with beauty and heavenly joy. How ethereal, how translucent their faces; how triumphant over suffering and death, their felicity and peace. Even in the silence they were calling upon Thee. In the hour of my death, enlighten my soul, too, that it may cry out to Thee: Alleluia!" - from an Akathist of Thanksgiving

No grass yet covers my aunt's grave; and although the clods of dirt enveloping her earthly remains are not newly dug, they give testimony to the recentness of her death. Fresh. Fresh as the tears unexpectedly coursing down the cheeks of her youngest daughter on this day as her one-year-old son receives a gift bearing the mark of his departed grandmother. I embrace her shoulders with my arms, my cousin six months my elder, and offer comfortless words, "She is with us, but not how we would like." Later the seven of us, my husband, mother, children, and I kneel and stand at my aunt's grave as the sun begins to set, and we place fuschia colored roses upon the earth. Russell launches into a prayer, and from his innocent lips arises a mixture of "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us," and "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." Lucia dressed in an outfit as pink as the flowers she offers, prances around the graves of my Aunt Margaret and my cousin Sheri. From her lips emerge kisses which she unhesitatingly places on their headstones. "I love Aunt Margaret," she lilts, and we smile at her purity of heart. 

It is Chuseok, Korean Thanksgiving, and as part of the holiday, we pay homage at the graves of our family members departed this life before us. And in that tiny country cemetery, there are many of my relations: Aunt Margaret; cousin Sheri; my paternal grandparents, George and Anna Swanson;  my father's cousins, Margaret and Frances, who spent countless Christmas Day dinners with our family, issuing forth a cacophony of chatter which once caused my Uncle Russ to remark that the following year he was determined to bring a whistle to indicate when someone's turn to speak was finished. I kneel again at the graves of these loved ones whose paths mysteriously interweave with my own, brushing off the dry grass from the stones, placing a single rose on each. As the leaves fall around me and the warmth of the day submits to the chill of the autumn evening, I turn to leave my kin. "Grant them rest, O Lord, with the place of Thy saints. May they dwell where the light of Thy countenance shines. May their memory be eternal. Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy."  

Testament

Wendell Berry

And now to the Abyss I pass

Of that Unfathomable Grass...

1.

Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath

Grows large and free in air, don't call it death --

A word to enrich the undertaker and inspire

His surly art of imitating life; conspire

Against him. Say that my body cannot now

Be improved upon; it has no fault to show

To the sly cosmetician. Say that my flesh

Has a perfect compliance with the grass

Truer than any it could have striven for.

You will recognize the earth in me, as before

I wished to know it in myself: my earth

That has been my care and faithful charge from birth,

And toward which all my sorrows were surely bound,

And all my hopes. Say that I have found

A good solution, and am on my way

To the roots. And say I have left my native clay

At last, to be a traveler; that too will be so.

Traveler to where? Say you don't know.

2.
But do not let your ignorance
Of my spirit's whereabouts dismay
You, or overwhelm your thoughts.
Be careful not to say

Anything too final. Whatever
Is unsure is possible, and life is bigger
Than flesh. Beyond reach of thought
Let imagination figure

Your hope.

That will be generous

To me and to yourselves. Why settle

For some know-it-all's despair

When the dead may dance to the fiddle

Hereafter, for all anybody knows?

And remember that the Heavenly soil

Need not be too rich to please

One who was happy in Port Royal.

I may be already heading back,

A new and better man, toward

That town. The thought's unreasonable,

But so is life, thank the Lord!

3.

So treat me, even dead,

As a man who has a place

To go, and something to do.

Don't muck up my face

With wax and powder and rouge

As one would prettify

An unalterable fact

To give bitterness the lie.

Admit the native earth

My body is and will be,

Admit its freedom and

Its changeability.

Dress me in the clothes

I wore in the day's round.

Lay me in a wooden box.

Put the box in the ground

4.

Beneath this stone a Berry is planted

In his home land, as he wanted.

He has come to the gathering of his kin,

Among whom some were worthy men,

Farmers mostly, who lived by hand,

But one was a cobbler from Ireland,

Another played the eternal fool

By riding on a circus mule

To be remembered in grateful laughter

Longer than the rest. After

Doing that they had to do

They are at ease here. Let all of you

Who yet for pain find force and voice

Look on their peace, and rejoice.

Photos taken on two subsequent days, first at Blackhawk State Park and then at Stones Apple Orchard.

Melkam Meskel, Melkam Lidet

It is near time for Jared and me to head upstairs and retire for the evening. The lovelies are snug in their beds asleep, the kitchen is near clean, and the remainder of the house, minus the laundry spewed across the dining room table, is more or less presentable for the beginning of a new week. There will, of course, be one or two more pieces of birthday cake eaten before bed. A perfect way to end a perfect weekend, from our impromptu attempt to celebrate the Feast of the Elevation of the cross Ethiopian-style on Friday evening to the lazy Sunday afternoon celebrating our Ethiopian princess' third birthday (If asked, she will undoubtedly tell you she is the queen.) at my mom's with family and friends, where an atmosphere of peace prevailed as the adults sipped coffee, basking in the beauty of the afternoon, and the kids ran a muck, launching heroic and daring adventures in the depths of the ravine, thwarting devilish sea creatures alive and unruly in the creek. There is much to be grateful for - unlocked doors at the Oaks of Mamre Catholic Worker House even though no one was home; our dear friend Chris, a lovely soul, born with cerebal palsy, whose singing of the words "Praise ye the Lord" in our pre-communion hymn today took my breath away; being humbled while watching our friend Carol gently place a piece of chocolate into Chris's mouth during coffee hour; Elliot proclaiming that "there were lots of mommys at the birthday and two daddies, Jared and Grandpa Swanson." (I don't doubt that my father was amongst our group - after all, there was cake and ice cream!) And as I drove home from the grocery store and viewed a magnificent sun, enormous and red and amazing, I was reminded again how good this life is: "Glory to Thee for the feast day of life." A peaceful and good week to you all.

Meskel: Johnson style

Building our tiny bonfire, an integral part of Meskel festivities

Celebrating the cross - this pair is from Ethiopia

Of course there had to be cake on her actual birth day

And more celebrating...she loves her new dollhouse 

Thrift store find. ("I'm so happy," she said upon seeing it.)

Mommy made the cake but Daddy saved the day with his frosting expertise.

My sweet and oldest friend Julie reading a very special book. Julie and I have been friends for 36 years. This book is special because it reminds her of how we played together as children. So thoughtful.

Everywhere present

O Lord, grant us to greet the coming day in peace. Help us in all things to rely upon Thy holy will. In every hour of the day reveal Thy will to us. Bless our dealings with all who surround us. Teach us to treat all that comes to us throughout the day with peace of soul and firm conviction that Thy will governs all. In all our deeds and words guide our thoughts and feelings. In unforeseen events let us not forget that all are sent by Thee. Teach us to act firmly and wisely without embittering and embarrassing others. Give us strength to bear the fatigue of the coming day with all that it shall bring. Direct our will, teach us to pray, pray Thou Thyself in us. Amen. -Orthodox morning prayer

I will give thanks for the infection which intruded upon our day, leaving me and my weak and confused mother solitary and vulnerable in the antiseptic confinement of room number four in the ER for countless hours; a room whose artificial lights and plastic chairs, innocent enough, threatened to dull the senses as I sat near motionless awaiting my mother's diagnosis, tempting me to dispel my fears with the push of a television button, to use the virtual outside to distract me from the present moment, to crowd the void with noise; a room silent, silent as a hermit's cell, removed from the visible and pressing mundane cares of my ordinary life; a space in which grace was offered anew, the choice to be still, to quiet my heart, my mind, and to listen, and to truly see.

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner." Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on the young man with mussed, blonde hair and khaki shorts I saw as I stood in the hallway while a nurse drew vials of blood from my mother's vein.  He is weeping, his face is flushed scarlet as he cries out in anguish. O God someone he loves must have been badly hurt. But no. His desolation is his own. Have mercy on the two men walking behind him, their faces are blank, expressionless; they turn, their handcuffs hang listlessly from their belts, their guns thrust behind their backs are made visible and the young man's wails of desperation continue as he is led into room number three, the room adjacent to our own. Grant him, grant them, Your peace.

Have mercy dear God on the young CNA with the blonde hair who was one of the many flitting in and out of room number four (because my mother is not known by her name but only by her room number). She entered our room with a face marked with boredom and issued a vague greeting, without meeting our eyes, without extending a smile, performing her job like an automaton, and then exiting, her role in our drama exhausted. The door is slightly ajar, and I watch her unnoticed as she goes about the mundane tasks of her ordinary life. She appears disgusted as with gloved hands she rapidly wipes cloths over the seat and lid of a used commode, casting off the bacteria left behind from an all too human body. Words come to my mind, a joke to perhaps elicit a smile, of our shared solidarity in the banality of daily sanitizing toilets, but I do not speak. Help us, the girl with the white shirt and blonde pony tail and me with the black shirt and brown pony tail to remember that even the most ordinary things, even washing off human waste, can be something beautiful for God. 

Have mercy on us and all those in this place, our crucified and resurrected God. Pray for us Man of Sorrows acquainted with our grief. Quell our fears and save us with Your love.

Life is this simple. We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and God is shining through all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. If we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes, and we see it maybe frequently. God shows himself everywhere, in everything-in people and in things and in nature and in events. It becomes very obvious that God is everywhere and in everything and we cannot be without him. It's impossible. The only thing is that we don't see it. - Thomas Merton, "Life in Solitude"