Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Category: Devotional Writing

December 16, 2023

Grief revisited

 

winter sun pierces
my paralyzed heart waking
frozen grief at will

The last few years have been difficult in ways I never anticipated. For whatever it’s worth, I’m not wired to be a happy-go-lucky woman. Nor am I eager or able to ‘get over’ what my body and spirit can’t let go of.

How might I make use of grief I’ve experienced for 80 years as the female I was and now am? Not because it will make me feel better, but because grief acknowledged and shared can build bridges with people we never dreamed we would meet.

Due to ongoing health issues, I struggle with daily isolation. Still, I’m a people person. These days tears come quickly. They’re often followed by anguish and anger at how isolated I feel, and how many things I can’t count on anymore.

When I was in my late 40s, I did five years of personal work in AlAnon. I attended meetings three times a week. I learned quickly that what triggered my desire to fix others kept me from tending to my own pain. For the first time ever, I learned to listen. I also learned when and how to seek help from trusted friends.

Naming my issues and being accepted for the woman I am created a bridge of trust that gave me hope and courage to keep going. I don’t know exactly where this will take me. Still, I’m grateful for your visit today. Especially now, as things seem to be falling apart wherever we look.

Praying you’ll find peace and hope during this holy season.
Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 December 2023
Photo of Northern Lights at edge of Boreal Forest, Manitoba, Canada taken by David Marx, found at pinterest.com

21 Comments
May 20, 2023

Crossings of No Return revisited

Well, I can’t say this was the most exciting week of my life. Nor is next week looking great. Not that there aren’t high points. Rather, it’s the other stuff that’s sitting there waiting for resolution of some kind.

These days, it’s all about food. Not what I’m eating, but what I’m not eating enough of. This past week I’ve been awash in information about how to get my potassium level up. Given my strange history with food, this isn’t a slam dunk.

Perhaps you already know about hypokalemia. I didn’t. Last week I saw my cardiologist. This coming week I see my kidney doctor. I’m hoping we can get on the same page, and that I can keep up with the challenge.

In the meantime, this poem from Without a Flight Plan caught my eye. I first published “Crossings of No Return” in April 2017. I don’t have any more answers today than I had back then. In fact, we seem to be spiraling out of control without any clear commitment to living differently on this aching planet. Not just as citizens, but as individuals dealing with unknown or unanticipated health and welfare issues.

Crossings of No Return

Crossings. . . .

The word resonates with finality
Hints of danger and uncertainty
Sorrow and desperation
Weary clothes and
Hungry faces

One foot in front of the other
Backs burdened with life’s necessities
Bodies and bellies heavy
With tomorrow’s children
Silently pleading

They say our world is disappearing
Melting and boiling away before our eyes
Erupting into a chaotic crisis
Unknown in modern times
Are we ready for this crossing?

Bottom line: Many of us face heart-wrenching sorrow and terrifying uncertainty in today’s world. It isn’t new. It’s in our faces. We can’t ignore it or pretend it will go away following our next election. Nor can we set ourselves apart in a ‘special’ category of human beings who for one reason or another are doing fine, just fine.

As for me, my own sense of security has been carried for decades on the backs of people who never asked to be treated as less than fully human beings. I used to think my family of origin was poor. It was not, all evidence to the contrary. It’s a bit like potassium. If I’m not getting enough of it, it’s because I’m turning my attention to other things–hoping against hope that I’ll make it through in spite of my blindness to reality.

Praying you’ll find small ways to make a difference in the lives of people around you. Not in big, bold ways, but in small ways–maybe half a banana?

Thanks for stopping by!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 May 2023
Photo found at morningchores.com

11 Comments
May 1, 2023

Thou dost not fall | a prayer from Iona

In 2015 D and I visited Scotland to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary. Ever since then I’ve had a small card on my desk. I picked it up when we were in Iona. The island itself is beautiful. A place that might pass as one of many ‘gardens’ that remind us of reality — gorgeous vistas and displays that capture the good and the not-so-good realities of history both then and now.

The front of the small card shows a vista of Iona basking under a rainbow. Lovely and serene.

The other side contains a small poem/prayer. It captures the realities of everyday life.

As the rain hides the stars,
as the autumn mist hides the hills,
as the clouds veil the blue of the sky,
so the dark happenings of my lot
hide the shining of Thy face from me.

Yet, if I may hold Thy hand in the darkness
it is enough,
since I know that, though I may stumble in my going,
Thou doest not fall.

Note: The author of this prayer is not identified.

I would be lying if I thought this were about life today in the USA. We seem to be disintegrating. Falling apart. Too often refusing to face reality. Or afraid to do so….

In any case, I love reminders that come with rainbows. We haven’t been forgotten. We don’t and won’t have easy ways out of problems created by way of climate change, easy access to firearms, addictive drugs, angry citizens, blood-thirsty leaders, and too many officials intent on putting themselves and their families/friends first.

Which leads me to the prayer above. Not a prayer for everyone in the whole wide world, but a prayer for each one of us. A small reminder that “Thou doest not fall.” No matter what happened yesterday or may yet happen today.

Thank you for visiting, and reaching out your hand in the darkness. Not just to our Creator, but to neighbors and strangers within our gates.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 May 2023
Photo taken by DAFraser, 2015, Iona, Scotland

7 Comments
April 29, 2023

Blessed saint francis | Dorothee Soelle

What is happening to us and to this planet earth? Why are we enamored with the latest gossip or ‘news’ about things, people, governments and countries falling apart?

Questions like these flood my mind from time to time…including questions about my own place and role in this slow/lightning fast descent into…what? I don’t know what to call it.

Here’s one of Dorothee Soelle’s poems from our not-distant past, the 1970s (Vietnam War era). It rings eerily true, given today’s madness that seems to have a life of its own.

Blessed saint francis
pray for us
now and in the time of despondency
your brother the water is poisoned
children no longer know your brother the fire
the birds shun us

They belittle you
popes and czars
and the americans buy up assisi
including you
blessed saint francis
why did you come among us

In the stony outskirts of the city
I saw you scurrying about
a dog pawing through garbage
even children
choose a plastic car
over you

Blessed saint francis
What have you changed
Whom have you helped

Blessed saint francis
pray for us
now and when the rivers run dry
now and when our breath fails us

Soelle’s poem published in Revolutionary Patience, pp 40-41
Revolutionary Patience © 1969 and 1974 by Wolfgang Fierkau Verlag, Berlin
English translation © 1977 by Orbis Books

Yes, the only thing I can do is be who I am right now. Hopefully doing what I can to help address horrific conditions in our cities, suburbs, towns, and government. Still, I wonder what it means to be ‘ready’ for whatever is coming next.

I’m praying we’ll find ways to address today’s loneliness, hardship, and lack of security. Not as a grand ‘solution’ to everything, but as immediate ways to connect with neighbors and strangers alike. We need each other as much as we need food, clothing, and a safe place to sleep.

Blessings to each of you today and tomorrow.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 29 April 2023
Photo found at istockphoto.com

5 Comments
December 3, 2022

This weariness of mine | George MacDonald

For several months I’ve been up, down, and all over the place trying to figure out who I am now, and why I feel so weary. To things that fell apart years ago, new things arrive unannounced, no matter how long or short the distance may be from here to the end of life as I’ve known it.

On January 1 of this year I began reading one of George MacDonald’s sonnets each day. It’s my 3rd or 4th time going through them. This time, however, I’m finally beginning to hear MacDonald as he was when he wrote them. He was living through a slow, painful death following many years of chronic tuberculosis, the loss of five of his children (4 to tuberculosis), and ongoing debates with church officials who didn’t find his brand of Christianity fully acceptable.

My life has been a lark compared to his. Yet even as I write this I know it’s not the truth. My life has NOT been a lark. I have often not been fully accepted as the person I am, beginning with my upbringing and continuing through my adult years. I must also say I wouldn’t have made it without unnumbered friends and strangers along the way.

These days, weariness is a constant companion. Some of it because of new and old health issues; other pieces because of what it has cost, and still costs me to be the woman I am. I’m often tempted to feel sorry for myself, or angry because of what I inherited the day I was born.

This sonnet, however, isn’t about the past. It’s about the present and the future. It’s about the wonderful gift of accepting weariness as a sign that I’ve done what I could do. Like fruit past ripe, I too am waiting to drop wearily into the good earth. Finally at rest.

Here’s the sonnet I didn’t understand until today.

3 December, from George MacDonald’s The Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul

This weariness of mine, may it not come
From something that doth need no setting right?
Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily
A day before it perfected drop plumb
To the sad earth from off its nursing tree?
Ripeness must always come with loss of might.
The weary evening fall before the resting night.

© 1994 Augsburg Fortress, page 120

Thanks for reading and listening. I couldn’t ask for a better audience.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 December 2022
Tanbirul Islam, photographer; photo found at http://www.pexels.com

10 Comments
May 30, 2022

Thou answerest the lamb | George MacDonald

Most mornings I read one of George MacDonald’s sonnets while I’m eating breakfast. I’ve read through them more than once in the last three decades.

However, life has changed since then. I’m approaching death (as I always have but didn’t feel so keenly). In addition, churches and religious leaders, state and national leaders, and educational institutions (to name a few) are often addicted to choosing politically ‘correct’ sides. It’s costly to acknowledge our failures and blindness in order to listen to the least protected and vulnerable among us, and act accordingly.

Violence and tragedies are in the news these days. My first response is often outrage. This sonnet strikes a chord in me. It helps me get focused yet again on who and what I am and am not.

My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;
I think thy answers make me what I am.
Like weary waves thought follows upon thought,
But the still depth beneath is all thine own,
And there thou mov’st in paths to us unknown.
Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought;
If the lion in us pray–thou answerest the lamb.

From George MacDonald’s The Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul, 1880
Sonnet for May 26
The text is in the Public Domain.

I’m not suggesting all I have to do is remember I’m a lamb. Instead, though I’m not a lion, prayers that flow from my distress and anger won’t be discarded. Instead, answer to our prayers will come from One who understands today’s “strange strife” better than we understand any of it.

This sonnet isn’t about being disciplined by our Creator. It’s an invitation to be a lamb, letting my prayers be what they are and knowing our Creator works behind the scenes, moving “in paths to us unknown.” It isn’t magic; it’s a partnership.

Thanks for stopping by, especially today.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 May 2022
Photo found at edgarsmission.org

11 Comments
April 13, 2022

Gaping Holes

With apologies to
Chinua Achebe—
So quickly
Thing fall apart

Not once
Or twice but
Like broken records
No one wants to hear

Past promises
And dreams teeter
On the brink of
Desolation

Hearts bleed daily
Racing from one scenario
To the next Big Thing
Basking in false glory

Only to fall apart
Helpless to recreate
What can never be
repaired

Nothing but truth
Can fill gaping holes
Born yesterday
Buried today

I highly recommend Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart. It’s a slow-paced examination of what happened to a community in Nigeria, Africa. It’s still happening today–the takeover of people and systems in order to assuage the insatiable hunger of those at the top.

Easter is also on my mind. Mary Oliver’s poem about The Donkey reminds me that choosing to follow the way of Jesus of Nazareth was and still is no picnic. Apart from the donkey, there weren’t many heroes in the crowds—whether they shouted Hosanna, took delight in seeing this man tortured and lynched, or ran away in fear.

If I were asked about today’s scenario in the USA and the nations of this world, I would admit to very little hope for the world as it is today. Except for this: Every day, somewhere, I know there are people doing what needs to be done. Not for themselves, but for others. It’s a sign that we haven’t been abandoned—if only we can keep our eyes on what’s close at hand. Without running away or giving up hope.

Thank you for your visits! My life has been a bit unsettled recently. I’ve missed posting as often as I would have liked. I have not, however, given up, thanks to the joy I have when I’m able to post something from my heart.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 April 2022
Photo of book cover found at en.wikipedia.org

5 Comments
March 30, 2022

remember then thy fear | George MacDonald

The sonnet below blows me away. Not because it’s beautiful, but because it’s timely, true, and thought-provoking. Especially now, when we’re surrounded on all sides by friends and strangers haunted by dismay and death. The possibilities are endless: suicide, warfare of all kinds, bombing, Covid, lynching old style or new style, aging….

George MacDonald (1824-1905) dealt with his own incurable tuberculosis, witnessed the early death of six of his children, and was not well received by many church leaders. He also wrote amazing novels such as Lilith, and books for children such as At the Back of the North Wind. Dismay and death were regular visitors in his life.

Here’s MacDonald’s March 24 sonnet from The Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul, also known as The Diary of an Old Soul.

O Christ, have pity on all folk when they come
Unto the border haunted of dismay;
When that they know not draweth very near–
The other thing, the opposite of day.
Formless and ghastly, sick, and gaping-dumb,
Before which even love doth lose its cheer;
O radiant Christ, remember then thy fear.

George MacDonald (1824-1905), author
First published in The Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul
© 1994 Augsburg Press, Diary of an Old Soul
Sonnet for March 24 found on p. 36

The last line of the sonnet says it all. MacDonald is praying on behalf of human beings “haunted of dismay.” They know death has moved too close for comfort. Too close for cheer.

This is what moves me. Instead of asking the “radiant Christ” to restore their cheer, he asks Christ to “remember then thy fear.” In other words, he’s asking Christ to accept and thus honor their fear, anguish, and anger. Including, I would add, MacDonald’s and that of our friends and family, plus our own.

Thanks for visiting, and for remembering friends and neighbors dealing with their own deaths.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 March 2022
Photo found at amazon.com, Kindle

6 Comments
March 14, 2022

Sometimes…I cannot pray | George MacDonald

The news from Ukraine and neighboring countries is more than grim. No matter who ‘wins’ this obscene standoff, too many have already lost. How, then, am I to pray?

Today I read this sonnet from George MacDonald. His life was full of unwanted tragedy, death, pain, and strife.

Sometimes, hard-trying, it seems I cannot pray–
For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife.
Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest
May fall, flit, fly, perch–crouch in the bowery breast
Of the large, nation-healing tree of life;–
Moveless there sit through all the burning day,
And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.

From George MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul, p. 13
© Augsburg Publishing House (1975) and Augsburg Fortress (1994)

It seems not knowing how to pray isn’t the end of the world. Perhaps it means we’re in touch with reality. And what then?

I hear George MacDonald, whose life was filled with strife, pain, anger and doubt, suggesting it’s OK. I don’t have to know what to say. In fact, not knowing what to say might be the most honest way to approach strife such as he endured, and many are enduring right now in Ukraine and beyond.

In the middle of seeming chaos, do I have the courage of the half-fledged prayer-bird to “sit through the burning day”? Waiting, watching, staying close to the “large, nation-healing tree of life” until this little bird brings a “fresh leaf” to cool my troubled heart?

May our Creator have mercy on us all.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 March 2022
Photo of young fledgling found at birdguides.com

10 Comments
March 7, 2022

Life on the edge

The world is on edge. Refugees, weather patterns, political maneuverings, pandemic puzzles and outright war.

I hear an invitation to look into the mirror and take stock of where I am in the middle of all this. The church calendar invites me to look inward. It also invites me to ‘give up’ something between the beginning of Lent and the celebration of Easter.

For most of my early life I gave things up routinely. I was taught to live frugally. My family didn’t have much money. In fact, they considered not having much money a virtue, though we were clearly better off than our neighbors living in colored town.

That was then. What about today? We’re in a mess of gigantic proportions. So what am I to give up for Lent that both challenges me, and brings me closer to others living in this world that’s seems to be spinning out of control?

Several years ago I posted a challenging prayer that fit the spirit of Lent. It challenged me as an individual. Not once, but many times. Today, it’s challenging me as a world citizen and follower of Jesus of Nazareth. Am I willing to live as an undocumented refugee? As part of a family broken up by war, lies, and powermongers?

Everything in me wants to rage, fight back, make sure I’m on the ‘right’ side, shout back at the TV news, and run for cover. Instead, this simple prayer invites me to take another approach.

I let go my desire for security and survival.
I let go my desire for esteem and affection.
I let go my desire for power and control.
I let go my desire to change the situation.

Quoted by Cynthia Bourgeault in Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening, p. 147 (Cowley Publications 2004)

Will this solve everything? Of course not. It will, however, keep me centered. Not on myself, but on Jesus of Nazareth who showed and still shows me how to do this. One day at a time.

It also occurs to me that my life is the only thing I can ‘give away.’ But only if I’m not struggling to keep it and my privileges alive at any cost.

May our Creator have mercy on each and all of us.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 March 2022
Image found at pixabay.com

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