Coming up on 17 / Mom It seems impossible that I will soon be "celebrating" your 17th birthday. Of course, that's because I won't be celebrating. I will observe it, in my own special way. Celebrate is a word that doesn't much apply to me anymore. And then, just two days after this quiet remembrance, I will again "observe" another major milestone. Your memorial date, or "Angelversary" as my dear grieving mothers call it. What a wicked week that is....and the holidays, which one mom calls the horrordays. Yes, I too have collapsed in WalMart over Christmas music my ears were not prepared to hear. How can they ever hear Christmas music with the same appreciation again. They cannot. How can a mother who has buried her child ever again celebrate anything? Especially me, the mother of the most exuberant child ever created. The mother of the child who was the absolute best gift-giver ever. You were so thoughtful in selecting gifts that not just delighted the recipient, but so precisely reflected their personality. One of the things I discovered after your death was your Christmas list. There it was, on paper, the people who would be gifted and the specific gift for each. How can a Christmas list evoke both euphoria and despondency. You were such a thoughtful gift giver in fact, that you had already arranged for my gifts. So after your funeral, there were my gifts. Perfectly thought through because you knew me so well. You paid attention to what I liked. You saw me. Under the Tuscan Sun, a movie that I loved, was your gift. The KBCO studio C compilation CD of the year, not easy to obtain, was the other gift you arranged for your mother. I cherish those gifts more than my own life. They are just another reminder of what an amazingly thoughtful and insightful young man you were. You are. I love you so very much, Eric. I miss you more than you'll ever know. Perhaps you do know. Because you do continue to give me gifts every day. The gift of memories of motherhood, to the most amazing kid God ever created. Happy 17th birthday, my son. You are a wonder.
Daughter of Richard, Mother of Eric / Teri Today, I honor my father, Richard Murrah Groft, a man of great character, to whom I owe my own.
Eric, a writer of great talent yourself, I think you will appreciate the deep, deep meaning in these lovely and very thought-provoking excerpts from Amelia E. Barr’s “The Measure of a Man.”
Amelia E. Barr, The Measure of a Man
It was the blood of generations of good men and good women that roused in him a passionate protest against the destruction of their race. His private sense of injustice and disloyalty came later. Then the iron entered his soul and it was on this very bread of bitterness he had now to feed it; for on this bread only could he grow to the full stature of a man of God. His heart was bruised and torn, but his soul was unshaken, and the hidden power and strength of life revealed themselves.
This incident, though so natural, shocked him. He arrested such evident grief at once and very soon he stood up to pray. So prayed the gray fathers of the world, Terah and Abram, Lot and Jacob; and John stood at the open window with his troubled face lifted to the starlit sky. His soul was seeking earnestly that depth in our nature where the divine and human are one, for when the brain is stupefied by the inevitable and we know not what to abandon and what to defend, that is the sanctuary where we shall find help for every hour of need.
But a past that is buried alive is a difficult ghost to lay,
The Unknown fulfills what we never dare to expect, so we will leave the door wide open for Faith and Hope." Then a prayer leaped from his heart to the Everlasting Mercy, a prayer we too seldom use, "Father, forgive, they know not what they do."
And to suffer, to be wronged and unhappy, yet not to cease being loving and pleasant, implies a very powerful, Christ-like disposition.
Towards dusk John rode slowly down the hill. Somehow he had missed the usual tonic of his mother's company, and Harry's unexpected expenses troubled him, for it is the petty details of life rather than its great sorrows which fret and irritate the soul. Indeed, to face simple daily duties and trials bravely and cheerfully is the most heroic struggle and the greatest victory the soul can win. That it is generally unwitnessed and unapplauded, that it seldom gains either honor or gratitude, that it is frequently despised and blamed, is not to be regarded. It is the fine tooling or graving on the soul capable of bearing it, of that supreme grace we call character; that grace that makes all the difference between one human being and another that there is between a block of granite and a reach of shifting sand. Every person we meet, has more or less of this quality, and not to be influenced by it is to belong to those hard blocks of humanity whom Carlyle calls formulas and phantoms.
"After you, John," she said with a pretty seriousness, "after you, John, all othe men look so small!" And what man wholly devoted to his wife, would not have been intoxicated with the rapture of a love so near and yet so far from understanding him?
AMAZING/ Becky (Aunt) Eric you are so missed by your mom and the rest of us. It is amazing though that your stepmother continues to stalk her. It is not doing anyone any good. I created this site for your mom and OUR family to visit and honor you as WE see fit. Maybe that doesn't fit into her ideas or plans, but then again it doesn't have too. Maybe as a solution they could honor you on THEIR website created by them. I'm pretty sure that we would allow them their opportunity to greive, honor or visit with you as they see fit, yet we are not awarded that priviledge without negative interference. This site was bought and paid by the Groft family to vent, honor, grieve, visit or express ourselves in any way necessary without negative feedback from someone that really isn't family. As you stated before Eric, she stole you and your mother's lives and still continues to destroy the healing that your mom desires and needs.
What You Taught Me / Momma Melodie Beattie:
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into
enough,
and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order,
confusion into
clarity.... It turns problems into gifts, failures into success, the
unexpected
into perfect timing, and mistakes into important events. Gratitude
makes sense
of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.
I always taught Eric about the importance of seeing one's cup as half
full. I taught him about kind words and a good attitude. He taught
me how to ACT on these. After the divorce (four years prior to E's
death and a heinous, shocking, terrible event that complicates my
grief still), we made friends with all kinds of "unlikely" people.
We had a big home, and my home-based business had suffered due to
9/11 and my inability to focus on work due to Eric's health decline;
so we took in renters. Eric was such a little ambassador of love.
He wanted mom to branch out in making friends. We had experiences of
people who were fun, but used us, wouldn't pay the rent, had
addiction problems....people I would never have associated with if
Eric hadn't let me see the beauty of extending a hand. What an
amazing journey we had taking in Francine, who had lost a child, and
my heart bled for her, but she had a hidden Coke habit; and then
Doug, who couldn't rub two dimes together but had amazing stories
about his life as a nomad and how he loved his grown daughter. And
Ted, who divorced his wife while having an affair with a new woman
and couldn't seem to parent his own two girls but taught Eric all
about bows and arrows and Eric in turn took great care of his big dog
while Ted continued to look for love in all the wrong places. We
created for ourselves one big disfunctional family and Eric was at
the center of it all. Gratitude. I am grateful to have had a son
that was just like Jesus. How I miss my little Eric.
Dear Eric: Such a handsome young man you are.I hope you have found the peace you so sought here on earth. You are so missed by your MOM but she is going to live on for you so make sure you let her know from time to time you are on her shoulder. I wish for you to met my son Ralphie, he is a great guy and he always loved to help out youth so if you need some thing know he is there. He loved to be the big brother. Your MOM has done a great site here for you and I am glad to get to know you. Smile down always. Argia Caines, Mom of my beautiful Raphael-------My Healer, My Angel, My Baby 66-96
Your cousin Chase / Mom You see how great a man your cousin Chase has become? He was your idol, his big heart and accepting nature have led him to the field of teaching. Can you imagine what a great teacher he will be. How guys like Ian and Keith and Cory and Dustin and Tim and all the boys who are where you are, are rooting for more guys like Chase to be the "authority" figures on Earth. Guys with great big hearts that don't judge other boys, unruly boys, as freaks, but as raw masses of great human potential. Just take all that masculine energy and point it in the right direction. That's what Chase is doing with his life. How proud I am to be his aunt. I just know he's going to change the lives of young people. He sure had a positive influence on you!!!! Keep sending cousin Chase the angels, he seems to be absorbing the light and using his power for good. Remember when you were little and all the teachers and counselors would tell me and your dad that you were a born leader. And I would tell you that, and I would say "you have power to influence people Eric. You need to use your powers for good." Boy, did you take my advice on that. Of course, being your bull headed self, you did it in the way of the "oppositional". But you are doing it still---using your power for good. So is cousin Chase. Yippee! Much love and laughter, momma
Eric's Memorial Web-site has touched my heart / Erna Gay-Craig's Mom Wells -Craig's Mom (SAOCS) Dearest Teri, After reading your memorial web-site for Eric, my heart has been touched, like no other memorial site I have viewed. I pray for God to wrap you in His arms, and give you the comfort that can come, only from Him. May you continue on with your new found knowledge, peace and understanding of Eric's tragic and untimely death. I know the pain of losing an only child, a son also.
Your sister in grief, Erna Gay -Craig's Mom
Kindess from a stranger / Mom Yesterday, Jessica Bates, someone who didn't know Eric very well, made me a very happy grieving mother by remembering my son.
On the bus, I had a lovely conversation with a stranger, who amused me with stories about her four nieces and nephews whm she adores. At the end of bus trip, I said "I had a child but he died." She replied, "I had a baby who died at 18 weeks. He took a breath and then died." We both had tears in our eyes. We connected in a way that only two mothers with dead children can connect. I thanked God for the healing of a stranger and felt that I was part of the world again.
Today, because of the kindness of Jessica and the nameless person on the bus, I wrote this:
Forgiveness is the hardest thing we are called to do as humans. In grief, denial is one of the emotional responses to death. I think it’s not just a response to death, but for many a way of life. Denial. It is a defense stance. A way to cope with the incomprehensible cruelty of life. I think many people in my life have never moved beyond denial to accept and eventually forgive. Forgive themselves and others for being human and for making mistakes. I think women who are abused frequently are in denial that they are better than their abusers. In denial that they are actually abusing themselves by allowing another human being to abuse them. I think abusers are in denial that they are broken people. That they are themselves abused and that they are spreading their disease of abuse by abusing others. To me, denial seems like a very dangerous place to settle into. Of course, the more advanced level of grief is acceptance. In order to get there, one must past through denial and experience all the pain and shame and guilt and remorse that is required to shed the comfortable place of not having to confront these difficult feelings. Difficult because it is painful to feel. Denial allows for feeling to be avoided; for thinking to be the only force that rules. Thinking does not advance the soul. Feeling does. Before advancement occurs, the psyche is tested. Mind battles heart. Heart battles body. Mind battles body. Illness can ensue. Mental and physical illness. Depression, suicidal thoughts and actions. Heart disease. Many illnesses can be brought forward when denial begins to chip away at the soul’s need to be seen. Acceptance is a tough road to plow. I am now convinced that it is our purpose as human beings to break down the walls of denial; to feel and to suffer because there’s no doubt at all that feeling does hurt. It hurts the mind and the body. But the soul, well, it is healed through feeling. If a person can survive the pain of it, she can be healed through it. Faith must come in to heal. Faith in knowing that God is inside you; God can blend mind, body and soul. Even Athiests can have faith. If an atheist believes in conscience, then conscience can be faith. Every person has a conscience. As a person of faith, I think conscience is God. An atheist might believe it is simply an ingredient that separates humans from animals or plants. In either case, our conscience can be the ruler of breaking down denial to get to acceptance. God, or conscience, can put the salve upon the illness and save the soul and heal the body and tame the mind so that acceptance occurs. Acceptance of whatever situation deprives a person from being “well”-- from experiencing life as a beautiful journey, and not a test of endurance. We live in difficult times. Fearful times. It is my opinion that God has placed us all here on the globe at this precise time in history because we are each capable of experiencing this time in joy, as difficult as it seems when we read about the world’s suffering and experience it firsthand through our own individual tragedies and traumas. I have experienced so much pain, so much suffering through the loss of my son that I have felt that God left me. I abused myself through self hatred, which led to depression, which led to suicidal attempts because I felt I could not survive my own pain. I could not stand to hear about or see or read about any other person’s pain that I believed was less than my own. I could only get inspiration from reading about people in history who suffered worse pain than I. People like Gandi, or Jesus, or other grieving mothers who had to discover their children dead. And then had to feel personally responsible for their child’s death. And then had to live through it anyway. This was my path out of denial and into acceptance. I had to be filled with rage, at everyone in my life who ever hurt me. I had to then hate myself for not being stronger. Hate myself for not preventing what surely must have been within my power to prevent: my own son’s death in my own home, not 50 feet from where I was. I had to hate God for allowing my life to end with the death of the person who had given my life meaning. The person who taught me how to love unconditionally. Without any conditions at all. I had to feel such pain, such suffering, such complete and total lack of love, self love, love for others, love for anything other than my innocent pets, to break down the walls of denial that it nearly killed me. Because guess what? I don’t control anything but my own response to what life dishes up. How insulting this discovery. In the end, how freeing. I didn’t control anything accept my own flawed self my entire life. I Controlled Nothing that came from the outside, I only controlled what came out of me. Through this personal revelation, I learned that I am not just OK, I am loved. And if God can continue to love me through all this self-hatred, I guess I can love myself too.
Harmony within oneself being the final outcome of the stripping down of denial. Forgiveness being the key element of acceptance. Forgiving the people who have abused you: emotionally, physically, sexually. Forgiving yourself for self abuse; through drugs (prescription or street or alcohol or whatever substances a person in pain ingests to make the pain more tolerable) through casual sex, (i.e. when sex is treated as something other than sacred, again, just another method of attempting to alleviate pain); through cruelty inflicted upon others, by remaining silent when compassion is needed, by judging someone else’s behavior as unacceptable when no one should ever, ever judge another person, or through leaving a friend or family member behind because it is easier than listening. All of these methods of denial have been used by me, and levied against me, and I felt the pain of it all. Until I just couldn’t tolerate it anymore. And so I decided, with the help of God, to accept that I can’t change any of it. I can only change my response to it. So I decided to forgive myself and forgive everyone who ever hurt me at any time in my entire life. Just as Jesus had to do on the cross, when he said about his executioners, “Forgive them God, for they know not what they do.” How freeing. And how utterly impossible. Even Jesus got to die and return to love; we have to continue to live; continue to forgive our executioners (who are often ourselves, in the case of depressive individuals who hate themselves the most) while we continue to live. So aren’t we then, those of us who live, even more courageous than Jesus? I think so. I think human beings who forgive are even stronger than the son of God. Because guess what: we are all God’s children. None of us are less special to God than even Jesus our savior. I don’t know about you, but that line of thinking gives me a lot of power to continue to live. And not just to live, but to love, to laugh, to feel joy, to experience life as an adventure that is exciting. Perhaps most importantly, it helps me to see that I am safe and protected, no matter what happens to me. I may experience more trauma. I may lose another person I love and then what? I may get a dreadful disease that inflicts even more pain and suffering upon me and then what? I will endure. I will again feel. I might even suffer again. But I am a child of God, no less important than Jesus. So I will survive until I am called home. I will endure until I get my reward of death. Afterlife, however each of us imagines it will be, will be unimaginably beautiful. Because I dared to feel. Because I decided to break down the walls of denial.
Complete and total forgiveness of others who have hurt you. Complete and total forgiveness of yourself for not believing that God is inside you. Accepting yourself as you are: a work in progress. Just as God intends. For when you can finally and utterly accept that you are flawed, but that you recognize what your flaws are; you can begin to improve yourself, every day, every hour, every minute. Kindness then can rule your existence. Joy can then begin to show itself, and love for all things, all people, all flawed and perfect existence can and will be yours. It is mine too. Mine to be had. As long as I don’t live in denial anymore. As long as I don’t deny that I was a flawed child; a flawed young adult; a flawed wife; a flawed employee; a flawed mother; a flawed grieving mother; a flawed person. Because what is flaw but life. What is flaw but art that is imperfect. What is a flaw but a nod to being human, and therefore imperfect. What is perfect but God. God made flaws for a reason. God made each of us for a reason. To learn about each other. To respect each other. To treat each other with dignity. To love life. To love each other, despite and because of our individual flaws. We are all art to God. I am art. I am flawed. I am perfect in God’s eyes. And so are you.
All this insight due to the kindness of a couple of strangers. How beautiful life can be.
Eric sweet child / Jessika Bates (friend) ERIC, hi i hope you are doing ok i am sure you are GREAT you always were. I didnt know you that well but the few times i meet you, you made me so happy. i wish you were still here so many people miss you and love you still. i have dreams about you some times. i was at your house the day after the funeral. Kelly and i saw you out side the window with your stake board and your animal you looked shiny and glowing!!im sure you know but your mom misses you lots. you gave me strength so much after you died. i love you eric and miss you! i hope soon i will get my memorial tattoo of you !! rock on dude keep up the tricks and have fun with your pets. miss you sweetie love you forever!
P.S please give your mom all the strength she needs!!
RIP Eric Donald Grove (1991-2004)
love, Jessika bates
Talk Less, Listen More / Mom Talk Less, Listen More
May 12, 2008
I made it though another Mother’s Day without you. That makes four now. Still feels like yesterday to me. And also like an eternity since I last heard your voice or saw your gapped tooth grin.
I like this verse from Psalm 13 (13, you were just 2 days into your 13th birthday when God called you home).
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, my enemy will say “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love, my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.
King David really knew how to write a verse. Remember when I went to Italy after you died, lured there by some strange magnetic force that told me in Italy I might find you. Remember when I gazed upon the statue of David, how overcome I was with emotion? How beautiful and real Michelangelo made David. And then, when I saw the Pieta (Michelangelo’s statue of the crucified Jesus held in the arms of Mother Mary), you pinched me in the neck, hard, and said “pay attention, Mom, this is us.” I had to run outside the Vatican and catch my breath. Do the same breathing that I was taught to do when giving birth. Because in Italy you did speak to me, Eric. And I have heard you speak to me many times. And I feel your presence in so many works of art. I know you are still with me. I am so glad of that, because it proves to me the biggest question of the Universe….what happens when we die? I know that Love survives. I don’t know much more than that, although I certainly have undertaken quite the quest to find out. I guess we’re not really meant to know any more than what is revealed.
Which brings me to my original reason for writing to you today. I wasn’t a very good listener. We both were aware of this character flaw about mom….remember joking that my “assignment” from therapy never changed, it was always, “talk less and listen more.” Well, I’m still trying to listen as hard as I can. And not to talk. I’ve learned that advice is really a stupid thing to attempt to give anyone else. One can only share their feelings. One can never really advise anyone else on what to do….not even a mother to her son.
I love you so very much. And I will continue to appreciate art, other people’s feelings, and listen with my entire heart, mind, soul and two ears.
Mom
Momentos/ Mom Over the past weeks, I have been going through all your things, from birth through death: photos, videos, artwork, baby clothes, school work, medical papers, birth certificate, death certificate, coroner's report. Crying into Hedgie and the liittle stuffed bear you got me. I don't know why I do it, it hurts so bad. But it hurts worse to pretend like life goes on. It doesn't. It stands still. Each item brings a memory, and there are so, so many Eric. Your life, while much too short, was so well lived. Animated and at fast forward. How I miss you, and all your youness. I think the last full-on belly laugh I had was your riff on the Funky Family. Remember? I doubt I'll ever laugh like that again. Or love like that again. But I want you to know that I treasure every single memory. I don't just think of you daily Eric, I never stop thinking of you. It is constant, just like when I was pregnant with you....I never for one moment forgot that you were there, waiting to be born. In a hurry to get here, and in a hurry to leave. Consistent little guy, aren't you! Keep making miracles, 'cause I know that's your job now. I'll keep tending to the Lucy and Yogi...they're great company. Much love and light and laughter and magic. Mom
A Long, Long Journey / Mom It’s been awhile since I’ve written. It’s because I can’t make sense out of the lesson of E’s death. I go in circles. Reading books to again acclimate myself to my circumstance; and to try to construct some meaning. And to try to return to love and surrender my rage. To attempt to regain my joy and zest for living...in the present.
My mind takes it in; and my soul has heard it before; in fact, that’s what makes my life’s current circumstance so difficult. Because I was, I believe, in tune with love and forgiveness. I believe I had mastered that to the degree that I was using all my love to work with Doug even though he would not work with me. I tried to teach Eric about his dad in a way that would make him understand our different personalities and our different ways of maneuvering in the world. I tried to help Eric understand that it was OK that his mother and father were so radically different. That it was OK and that we both deserved to be honored.
Did I succeed? Well, I can’t know. Don’t know. Really need to know. But I don’t know.
It seems that actually communicating what one feels is still verboten in this world. It is not a good idea to express one’s feelings unless those feelings are in harmony with the community. And the community does not want to dwell in darkness. Not even for a moment. That makes it difficult for people who are surrounded by darkness. Where is the light, if not in the people who can provide a flicker?
I remember Randy trying to console me on the initial days following Eric’s death. I was tormented; and I couldn’t believe what Eric had done. I couldn’t believe that as much as I felt I knew and understood Eric, that this could have happened in my home on my watch. Randy said “you did understand him better than anyone else, but you could never know how Eric felt.”
That hurt. But it was so true. You can never know how someone else feels, unless they tell you.
And that has been my life’s quest. To speak clearly and without undue damage about the way in which someone else has made me feel. It is what I so desperately wanted to give to Eric, the gift of words, of communication. The gift of words to help heal the soul. It is what I need today. The gift of others words to help heal my soul. But silence is the method in which the community chooses to handle Eric’s death. Silence, or worse, complete withdrawl. It hurts when people just withdraw from you, just disappear. It is as if they have already held the trial and I was found guilty and the punishment is solitary confinement. Forever. It hurts so bad to be banished from people’s lives because my son took his own life; either intentionally or accidentally.
It feels like they are blaming me. But is that the reality? In Marianne Williamson’s Return to Love, a book I first read when Eric was just a baby, it says that only Love is reality. All else is an illusion that must be forgotten. That in Heaven and in the eyes of Jesus, it is forgotten. The past is completely forgotten except the love that was given and received. That remains. It sounds so simple and really beautiful, and I should admit that I bought it hook line and sinker when I initially read it. The book is taken from a Course in Miracles, a Christian-centered psychological approach to living life the way that Jesus instructed. But I guess it doesn’t really address death. And the loss of the greatest love in the worst possible way.
It does banish guilt and remorse and blame and shame---all of which have no place in the teachings of Jesus. But how does one get to that place, without the benefit of conversation? Through prayer and meditation and constant counsel with God.
God has been a constant presence in my life; especially since Eric was born. As I told my sister, it was Eric’s birth, coupled with my mother’s death, that initiated my spiritual awakening. I have never been the same since. In a good way. I have been more connected to my soul and my Love purpose and it wasn’t an overnight transformation. It took work. Reading, journaling, praying, and making conscious decisions each minute on how to behave more like Jesus. I did not always succeed. Raising Eric was a challenge, because I had not yet purged my anger---and so my anger sometimes was levied at poor little Eric. Who was just a kid who wouldn’t comply. And why should any kid comply? Who are we to insist that children behave a certain way. Didn’t God make each child individually so that each parent could in turn learn about how to be a parent to that specific child?
It took me awhile. And it took some fixing of myself. Anti-depressants and really the death of the marriage are what finally freed me to be me. Was it too late then? Had too much damage already been done to Eric’s soul to survive the trauma of his broken family, even though it liberated his mother to be free to the extent that the anger was completely gone and all that remained was the unwaivering belief that Eric and I would be OK, more than OK, that we would be splendid. Where was the error in that?
Where was the miracle in that? The miracle was in the memories that were created through my determination to be a very good single mother. Against a lot of prejudice and oppression, either served up directly by God, or delivered through some malicious staging by Katie and Doug. Does it really matter how my persecution was orchestrated?
It doesn’t matter, because the only thing that survived my persecution, and even Eric's death, is Love. The love lessons and the loving talk and gestures that sprang from it. If I am to believe the lesson behind Course in Miracles. And I did believe it before this horrendous tragedy.
So I must believe it now, right? Otherwise, I am a hippocrit and I was teaching Eric lies. And I don’t believe I taught Eric lies.
I think that the hardest “truth” about CIM is that the past must be forgotten. It is the past and it doesn’t matter. I guess that is what is so offensive to me about my “community” of friends that immediately forgot the past. To the extent that they also forgot me. No time for the past, especially when it involves pain and tough questions. No time to remember Eric, for he is dead, and that is the past anyway, and all we can control is the present, so JUST MOVE ON you stupid cow. That is how it feels when people live in the present. That’s how it feels to those who are suffering so mightily from their past. So where is the miracle in that?
Essentially, grief should always be handled alone. That’s the modern day Christian view, although they would never admit it. That is what I’ve leaned from my exhaustive attempts to reach out for some solace, some human kindness. I have found that it doesn’t really exist at all. People cannot open their hearts, or especially their ears, to the pain of the past. And I think this is the reason that so many people cannot overcome their grief. Their pain is so real because they have not been able to reconcile it with only God as their audience. They need people. And people can’t be bothered to hear anything negative for which they have no ready advice. Not having answers is the worst position a person can be put into. Not having control. And yet, we have no control over anything. None. So why this giant chasm between us when tragedy strikes. Why? It is not God-like, or Jesus-like, or at all Christian to deny a suffering person a shoulder to cry on; ears that will listen and a heart that will hear. And yet, this is what I have discovered is the response that one receives even when he dares to open up and tell his story and lay down his shame. Nothing. This is what I have found. Emptiness.
So, God, it is up to you. It is up to you and your son Jesus to turn me around in my life. To take what is left of my soul and my heart and my mind and to heal me. To use whatever is left of me to live in love and to do good with what I have left to give. To love and to be loved. This is what I need from you, God. It is what you have created me for, and it is my birthright. Please deliver to me love, and from me, love.
Amen.
Happy Valentine's Day / Mom Why are we attracted to the people we are attracted to? Is it fate? Is it a huge experiment in psychology-----like Freud said, always looking for the love of the mother and father? Is it really that simple? I don’t think so…..love’s “chemistry” is mystical---there are generations of blood behind it; wars of the family history have been fought for it. To be seen, to be heard to be understood. That is love. And its “energy,” as Einstein knew, is unknowable with the mind. The mind that created the mess of a world in which we inhabit. But love, it doesn’t flourish in the mind alone, and that’s why it never leaves us. Love flourishes in the soul---which is fed by the mind and the body and the spirit. Love is that atom-smashing mystery that solves all of mankind’s problems. Love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, E. Eternally E.
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