Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Life and Death

November 18, 2017

In the Driver’s Seat | A Nightmare

Here’s a short version of a response to my recent nightmare, beginning with two uncomfortable facts.

  1. I’m the leader of this group.
  2. This nightmare is primarily about my voice, not a musical program.

In addition, I can’t ignore these realities:

  • Human body parts lying around the house
  • Men sitting on the sidelines, not at the table
  • The atmosphere: Sullen, Passive, Disengaged, Heavy, Disconnected, Disinterested, Bored, Dangerous

Here’s what I would do differently, as of today:

  1. After I see the first body parts, I consult with D. We’re in agreement. This is not a safe place.
  2. I ask D to contact the proper authorities immediately. He might need to call my contact person for help with this. Tell the proper authority that there are human body parts lying around this house and that we need someone to come immediately, without a siren.
  3. Introduce myself briefly to the group, and begin circulating a sign-up sheet to include everyone present: name, address and contact information – printed legibly.
  4. Read names aloud, connect them with faces, and welcome them to this meeting. (There are less than 20 people in the room.)
  5. Invite men sitting on the sidelines to join us at the table, or leave now.
  6. Tell the remaining group what I’ve seen in other areas of this house, and that D has contacted authorities. We won’t work on a musical production at this meeting. Someone will be in touch with you about whether another rehearsal will be held, and where.
  7. If and when we reconvene, we’ll create our own musical program, drawing on input from everyone. I urge you to think and write about what you’re thinking and feeling right now. What music, poem, or other creative writing might respond to and honor the bodies and lives affected by this tragedy?
  8. If you’d like to stay until authorities arrive (assuming they haven’t arrived), you’re free to stay here with D and me. If you need to leave, feel free to do so.
  9. For those who remain, we’ll be thinking and talking about how we’re feeling right now.

I’m not sure about letting the men and even group members leave—perhaps before the authorities arrive. But I have no grounds for keeping them, and have collected their names and contact information.

Perhaps this seems morbid for Sabbath reading. Nonetheless, it puts things into perspective for me. This is about giving up my need to survive, or to change situations. It’s also about speaking truth in a clear voice. A spiritual skill each of us needs in today’s world, whether we identify ourselves as followers of Jesus Christ or not. Even a nightmare can lead to productive reflection and dialogue.

Thanks for reading and commenting if you’d like.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 November 2017
Daily Prompt: Atmospheric

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November 16, 2017

Fleeting reminders | Photos

God our Savior,
hope of all the ends of the earth
and of the farthest seas,
You formed the mountains by your power,
having armed yourself with strength;
You stilled the roaring of the seas,
the roaring of their waves,
and the turmoil of the nations.
The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
Where morning dawns, where evening fades,
You call forth songs of joy.

Psalm 65: 5b – 8 (New International Version)

Psalm 65 lifted my weary eyes and spirit this morning. Below are photos that remind me of the seasonal wonders our Creator has woven into the fabric of this earth. Which includes each one of us, precious and vulnerable. D took the photos at Longwood Gardens in late October.


 




Where morning dawns, where evening fades,
You call forth songs of joy.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 November 2017
Photos taken by DAFraser on 27 October 2017 at Longwood Gardens

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October 12, 2017

Evening Prayer

I’m weary this evening, Lord —
All I want is Your smile.

Daylight faded hours ago —
The choir sings to a congregation of one.

I jotted down these words last night while listening to an old hymn, “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide.” The end of a slow day, quiet and unimpressive with the exception of two encounters.

One was with a neighbor when I was out walking. She was standing on her front porch, waiting for a taxi. We talked about her recent illness, her cat, and the woman who died across the street and down the lane just last week.

Later during my walk I saw a couple I’ve known for years. They were out walking, too. About my age, both retired and in good shape with the exception of her fractured ankle and torn ligaments still on the mend months later.

I’ve been focused on prayer lately. Especially since my friend Margie died and left a huge void when it comes to prayer for others. My list grows daily. Not in leaps and bounds, but in small increments. Everyday people with difficult challenges and heartaches.

I haven’t figured out how to pray in a pointed way for the big stuff that hits the news every day. Not that I don’t know what to say. It’s more about not having a personal connection, or being so incensed that I don’t want to pray ‘for’ this or that. I just want to rage against it.

Perhaps things aren’t really worse than they used to be. In some ways, I’ve seen this country in worse shape than we’re in now. Yet in other ways we’re simply reverting to what I’d hoped we left behind. This, too, is a great weariness.

Maybe that’s where I need to begin. With things like the opioid crisis, the result of fraud on multiple levels over many years–perpetrated on people in chronic pain. People just like you and just like me. I wonder where in my neighborhood it’s making its mark today?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 12 October 2017
Photo found at HopeLutheranChurch.wordpress.com
Daily Prompt: Fraud

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September 18, 2017

Monday Morning after Margie

Bent on a mission from God
Not derailed by frivolous sidetrips
One painful step at a time
Thoughtfully paced and ordered
You showed up at God’s doorstep
Right on time

Too early for me and for your friends
Left gaping at the huge sinkhole
In our hearts and in that pew
where you were not sitting yesterday
Our breath sucked into silence
at the news of your death
I will not call glorious

In memory of a friend, one of the Angels in my life. She died Saturday afternoon.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 September 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser, Longwood Gardens, Sept 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Glorious

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September 15, 2017

before the sun goes down

unexpected tears sting my eyes
as I walk through the churchyard
my spirit inhales the bittersweet taste of home
beneath this sanctuary of towering trees
standing watch over silent gravestones

parents hurry past me
toward the grade school open house
across the street
oblivious to the invitation to stop
and rest a while before the sun goes down

yesterday evening, on my way home

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 September 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser from our home, November 2014
Daily Prompt: Finite

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September 8, 2017

We don’t marry disaster

We don’t marry disaster
It marries us
Unrelenting drought
Genocidal ethnic cleansing
Polio and opioid epidemics
Avalanches of pain and anguish
Wild fires breathing fury
Hurricanes and floods of destruction
Nature’s fury turned inward
Human fury turned outward
Multiplied exponentially

See the pictures in my scrapbook?
Like pages of a newspaper
Good news one day
Disaster the next
See that man who’s smiling?
That beautiful woman over there?
Those precious children looking your way?
The young people who think no one is looking?
There they were just yesterday
And now…..

What’s to become of us?
The ‘us’ that doesn’t exist anymore
Families torn apart
Friends for life now foes forever
Enemies within and without
In whom do we trust?
In whom do we place our hope?
False saviors arise from glowing ashes
Snake oil dealers hawk their sleazy wares

I get up in the morning
And look outside, up toward the heavens
Where the bright face of a newly waning moon
Reflects the light of a new day just dawning.
Two birds swoop silently together into an oak tree
High overhead a silver airplane leaves a misty trail
Fluffy clouds drift beneath a deep blue sky
Signs of hope and reason enough to get up
And live yet another day in my small corner
Of this world filled with small people,
Large hearts and infectious smiles.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 September 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompts: Finite; Crescendo

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August 21, 2017

restless energy

restless energy churns
from here to nowhere
searching for answers
without clear questions

Loneliness has been a companion ever since I was a child. Most days it doesn’t come sneaking out of nowhere to grab me. Today was an exception.

Memories from my past haunted me, especially memories about my spiritual formation. Not because of what I did or didn’t do, but because of things done to me, whether knowingly or unknowingly. I felt old, lonely and unprepared for what might be coming in the future. And whether D would be there for me.

We’ve just returned from afternoon tea and conversation with our next-door neighbors. So right now I’ve put aside my memories and my restless search for clarity and reassurance. Instead, I’m going for a walk outside. In the company of trees, grass, birdsong, cicadas, dog-walking neighbors, and the setting sun.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 August 2017
Photo found on Pixabay.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Lurch

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August 15, 2017

Late summer walk

Walking this morning before clouds burst
shoes squish on wet pavement
The voice of a young child
protests briefly behind me
My breath flows
even and relaxed
Vacant parking spaces
wait by neighbor’s houses

The school yard is silent
covered with soft green grass
Along its perimeter
mushrooms rise from wet soil
Large glistening white platters
appeared overnight
Burnt orange cups with rusty upturned sides
hold remnants of last night’s rain
Tiny flat-tops of brilliant red-orange
decorate the ground next to
lime-green mossy tree roots

Crickets and cicadas fill the air
with nonstop late summer music
Small acorns plop to the asphalt drive
forerunners of thousands yet to come

Beside the cemetery linden trees
heavy with yellowed pods
release small round seeds
hanging from thin stems
Here and there weathered headstones
display small American flags
Remnants of wars past
and the birth of yet more sorrow

The sweet song of a Carolina wren
floats through the air
A train whistle echoes in the distance
Blue jays protest
Robins sing
Catbirds defend territory
Squirrels chatter

The end of summer approaches
Am I ready?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 August 2017
Image found at davesgarden.com
Response to WordPress Prompt: Willy-nilly

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July 28, 2017

hanging on for dear life

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hanging on for dear life
gnarled roots exposed
soil sifts away with
each new flash flood
no rock bottom in sight
turbulence guaranteed
in more than the air
reeking with harbingers
of hard times ahead
soil ill-prepared
for these upheavals
brittle dry sinews of our
vulnerability on display
slow motion relentless
yesterday disappearing
before our eyes can adjust
in this foreboding present

Every day my eyes are pulled to headlines and news articles that sometimes offer more than they can deliver. Instead, they leave me without comfort or enlightenment. Sometimes they destroy any iota of clarity I thought I’d achieved. It isn’t laughable; it’s tragic. Not because of the news industry, but because of what passes these days as news.

So here’s the news I’m counting on these days–good for me, good for you and good for the animals and mother earth!

Your love, Lord, reaches to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the highest mountains,
Your justice like the great deep.
You, Lord, preserve both people and animals.
How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!
People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast on the abundance of your house;
You give them drink from your river of delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
In your light we see light.

Psalm 36: 5-9 (New International Version)

Psalm 36 was written during politically troubled times filled with those who flattered themselves “too much to detect or hate their sin.” So-called leaders were failing to “act wisely or do good” and did not reject what was wrong.

The only antidote to evil and falsehood is truth. Speaking it, yes. Even more potent, living it. Daring to live each day in the light of our Maker—the only light in which we see light, whether we live and whether we die. The unseen source and goal of our dear lives.

Praying this day will bring moments of deep calm and clarity.

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 July 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, October 2012, Hoyt Arboretum, Portland, Oregon
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Shallow

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July 14, 2017

It’s early Friday morning

It’s early Friday morning. Rain arrived
late yesterday evening breaking a short
oppressive heat wave. I have one hour
for a walk outside before the rain returns.

Morning smoothie safely tucked away,
I put on my rain gear and open the back door.
The rush of dense humid air assaults my lungs,
my face, and any part of my skin not covered.

It’s mid-summer. No rush of passing traffic
greets me as I turn left from our driveway.
No sidewalk here. Just a curb
and the sound of occasional tires
squishing over dark, damp pavement.

Quickly I turn left down a narrow side street
lined with neighborhood houses,
away from the flow of traffic to and from
wherever people go at this time of day
in midsummer.

I hear the sound of my shoes on wet pavement,
a few muffled voices inside a house or two,
and birdsong filling the air. Invisible waves of
of warm damp air magnify the chorus of bird calls
surrounding me from branches and treetops.

At the end of this short street I turn left
again headed toward more open spaces.
I’m now on a sidewalk, next to the grammar
school playing field on my right, and a church yard
just beyond. A white spire and white headstones
gleam beneath towering trees.

Turning right, between the school yard and
the church yard, I walk beneath trees still
filled with birdsong. Leftover rain and dew drops
fall rhythmically hitting damp ground
and empty parking spaces behind the school.

Circling around the school, toward a public park,
I start up the hill through another deserted parking lot.

My pace slows a bit. I notice
the dying hemlock now marked
with a large white X signaling the end
of its long fight against invasive insects.

Will it receive a proper burial?
A gleaming white headstone?

I circle another tree at the top of the driveway
then turn down a small path through
the park, back toward the school.
Tiny drops of water glitter on tips
of fir needles and low-hanging tree leaves,
brushing my face with cool water.

I turn left to walk behind the school, past
the athletic field on my way home. In the distance
I see the churchyard with its lush green trees.
The weeping beech towers next to rows
of white headstones rooted in earth,
soaking in summer’s gift of life-giving rain.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 July 2017
Image found at pinterest.com

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