Ramsy loved birds. We had a bird book kicking around for years, one that had been in his bookshelf before we were married. We would occasionally look up a bird that we saw, and eventually he took to jotting down the date and location beside the picture of whatever we had seen. I was surprised many times by how challenging it was to distinguish between species. There are a ridiculous number of types of sparrow, for example, some only differentiated by a stripe above their eye or a bar on a wing. And sometimes we would glimpse a bird perching on our deck and rush to get the book, only to have the bird fly away before we could turn the pages. What shape was its beak? Was that white patch on its cheek or its neck? Did the folded wings extend down below its body? Shoot.
Driving the country roads, Ramsy would often point out the window, excitedly indicating a hawk spiraling over a field, or a flock of snow geese glittering past, or a snowy owl biding its time on top of a hydro pole; but the best one, the one he most loved to see, was an eagle, and particularly a bald eagle. Something about their power and wildness and the graceful way they move never failed to move him, and therefore me. If I saw one while I was driving alone, I would always let him know later, confident that he would be really excited with me. But seeing one was quite a rare event that might only happen twice a year or so.
So... it was a profound gift to me that, on the day of his funeral, when our family was all arriving at the cemetery, I looked up from beside the limousine and saw something flicker over the trees that line the north side. A hawk, I thought, and then saw the flash of white. A bald eagle circled several times over this borderline and then wheeled away north again. It felt like God was letting me know in a very personal way that Ramsy was okay, maybe like Rams was coming for a glance at what was happening at the cemetery, coming to say hi. It's difficult to explain what I mean- I am not talking about a sense that Ramsy was in the eagle, but that the eagle somehow represented him. Anyway. It made me happy.
That was October 6th, and the 15th would have been Ramsy's 50th birthday. On the 15th my sister and I drove into Winnipeg together, and partway down the Number 1 highway I glanced out my window towards a field and saw a bald eagle circling over the loam. How cool is that? A birthday eagle!
But wait- again at the end of November, on one of those anniversary dates of which there are so many- the day of his first seizure, the day of his biopsy, the day of our first trip to Cancer Care, the day of his first treatment- I was driving to church with the kids. Our church is about 7 miles away from our town, down a gravel road through fields and trees and farms. Just before we got to church, as I was feeling the pressure of sadness over this day which was significant only to me, another eagle- this time, flying across the road right in front of our windshield. The kids were excited along with me: Look, look! and I bet Dad gets to see all the eagles he wants in Heaven. I bet they fly all around him. I bet he can fly with them!
Three eagles. Three significant days. Three times when I needed to be reminded that God sees me, that he is looking after me, that he hears me. And then another one:
A couple of weeks ago the kids and I spent some time at a ranch in Colorado with one of Ramsy's sisters and her family. It was wonderful to be with them and make a ton of fun memories; but, as I had expected, being on a family vacation without Ramsy showed me new ways of missing him and feeling his absence. And then it was my birthday, too, and everyone was so kind to me, but it just increased my wish that he could be there. That morning, while they all went on a trail ride, I went for a walk with just my iPod for company. Down the dirt lane, over the cattle guard to a meadow with a huge pond, set in the valley. I was listening to the songs that say how my heart is broken, and realizing again that this thing that is wrong, wrong, wrong can never be set right in this lifetime, and I was weeping and praying Kyrie eleison as I looked up towards the mountain. There was the eagle, soaring high above the meadow, a message for my heart: I see you, I hear you, I'm listening. Only for a minute, but that's all I needed.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Gifts: words plus music
Can it really be three weeks since I last wrote something here? Appointments, volunteering at school, trips to Winnipeg and Portage and Morden and Carman, chauffeuring my kids to events, and a week away with some family have filled up the days. Now back at home, it feels a bit weird to have some undesignated time. I feel a bit in-between, not yet ready for full-time work, but no longer completely occupied by my own mental activity. Wanting to be with people, but sometimes impatient with conversation and eager to get home when I am out. An odd space. But really, there's not much about this stage of life that is not odd, so I'm not sure why I'm surprised.
A few posts ago I began talking about things that are helping me along this crazy road. I'd like to add music to the list. As I have mentioned in other posts, music is enormously important to me. It draws feelings out from under the surface, or focuses my thoughts, or expresses my emotions in a way that words alone cannot. And the combination of words and music is unbelievably powerful for me.
In particular, I have been listening to a couple of CDs over and over during the last three months. One is The Story, a collection of songs written by Bernie Herms (music) and Nichole Nordeman (words). Each song is a person from the Bible telling part of their own story, often from a slant that I had not considered before. And every single song on this album contains at least a line, if not a whole verse or more, that resonates with me where I am at this place in time: Abraham wondering how his dreams can be fulfilled in the face of seemingly impossible facts, but knowing that he only sees a piece of the story; Ruth and Naomi speaking about beauty being rebuilt in their lives in a way they didn't expect; Paul feeling fired up about what he has to share but determining to wait for God's direction; Job's agonized, sacrificial hallelujah; and throughout the album, the assertion that Love wins in the end, that it is winning right now, that death and evil and pain will have to lie down and be quiet in the end. I know that in a year, other parts of the songs will be important to me, because one of the things I love about the Bible- and about art- is that the exact same element will hold new significance at different times depending on what the reader/viewer brings to it from their own experience.
The other CD which has been on repeat in the last weeks is Fernando Ortega's latest album, Come Down O Love Divine. It is beautiful and pensive. I wept when I heard the first song, which consists of a set of words that has been a gift to me in these last months, my favourite prayer when my thoughts are so confused I can't verbalize on my own: Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison (Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy, Lord, have mercy). This ancient prayer, which was not part of my faith vocabulary growing up, has come to me in a video of Ramsy rehearsing with one of his grad recital choirs, in a favourite Christmas CD, and in this new CD. It feels like God gifted me the words I needed to express myself to him. Sometimes it means This is too hard, don't make me do it anymore. Sometimes it is Please help me, and other days it is a prayer for comfort for other people I know who are suffering. Another thing I love on this album is the addition of a gorgeous choir, soaring and plaintive. And he does a beautiful, vibrant piano arrangement of "Of the Father's Love Begotten", which became the song I chose to play for offertory in church in January- the first time I had played there since Ramsy's diagnosis. I had missed being able to express myself through music, but had not been ready. Singing is still sometimes- well, I won't say difficult exactly. What I often find during our corporate singing at church is that when the words express so exactly what my heart is saying, my voice doesn't always work. I'm afraid I'm not one of those people who can bawl and sing at the same time. But my heart speaks through the music anyway, even if my voice is silent right then. Another reason why it's so good to have the music in addition to the words.
I am looking forward to a concert I'll attend in a few weeks. As you may know, Ramsy had a significant connection with choral music. When he was in college in Winnipeg in the early 80s, he sang in a production of Brahms' Deutsches Requiem under Bill Baerg. I have never heard this piece of music, but in sorting through some boxes last fall, I found Ramsy's copy of the score, full of his markings and notes and reminders from that performance. I was very excited when I stumbled across a notice of the WSO doing a performance of this piece in April, with Bill Baerg as guest choral conductor. It feels like another gift arranged just for me. (But everyone else is welcome to attend as well.) :)
I'll close with words from another song I found recently that says just what I feel: "Beautiful Things" by Gungor. All this pain- I wonder if I'll ever find my way, I wonder if my life could ever change at all. All this earth- could all that is lost ever be found? Could a garden come up from this ground at all? You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us.
A few posts ago I began talking about things that are helping me along this crazy road. I'd like to add music to the list. As I have mentioned in other posts, music is enormously important to me. It draws feelings out from under the surface, or focuses my thoughts, or expresses my emotions in a way that words alone cannot. And the combination of words and music is unbelievably powerful for me.
In particular, I have been listening to a couple of CDs over and over during the last three months. One is The Story, a collection of songs written by Bernie Herms (music) and Nichole Nordeman (words). Each song is a person from the Bible telling part of their own story, often from a slant that I had not considered before. And every single song on this album contains at least a line, if not a whole verse or more, that resonates with me where I am at this place in time: Abraham wondering how his dreams can be fulfilled in the face of seemingly impossible facts, but knowing that he only sees a piece of the story; Ruth and Naomi speaking about beauty being rebuilt in their lives in a way they didn't expect; Paul feeling fired up about what he has to share but determining to wait for God's direction; Job's agonized, sacrificial hallelujah; and throughout the album, the assertion that Love wins in the end, that it is winning right now, that death and evil and pain will have to lie down and be quiet in the end. I know that in a year, other parts of the songs will be important to me, because one of the things I love about the Bible- and about art- is that the exact same element will hold new significance at different times depending on what the reader/viewer brings to it from their own experience.
The other CD which has been on repeat in the last weeks is Fernando Ortega's latest album, Come Down O Love Divine. It is beautiful and pensive. I wept when I heard the first song, which consists of a set of words that has been a gift to me in these last months, my favourite prayer when my thoughts are so confused I can't verbalize on my own: Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison (Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy, Lord, have mercy). This ancient prayer, which was not part of my faith vocabulary growing up, has come to me in a video of Ramsy rehearsing with one of his grad recital choirs, in a favourite Christmas CD, and in this new CD. It feels like God gifted me the words I needed to express myself to him. Sometimes it means This is too hard, don't make me do it anymore. Sometimes it is Please help me, and other days it is a prayer for comfort for other people I know who are suffering. Another thing I love on this album is the addition of a gorgeous choir, soaring and plaintive. And he does a beautiful, vibrant piano arrangement of "Of the Father's Love Begotten", which became the song I chose to play for offertory in church in January- the first time I had played there since Ramsy's diagnosis. I had missed being able to express myself through music, but had not been ready. Singing is still sometimes- well, I won't say difficult exactly. What I often find during our corporate singing at church is that when the words express so exactly what my heart is saying, my voice doesn't always work. I'm afraid I'm not one of those people who can bawl and sing at the same time. But my heart speaks through the music anyway, even if my voice is silent right then. Another reason why it's so good to have the music in addition to the words.
I am looking forward to a concert I'll attend in a few weeks. As you may know, Ramsy had a significant connection with choral music. When he was in college in Winnipeg in the early 80s, he sang in a production of Brahms' Deutsches Requiem under Bill Baerg. I have never heard this piece of music, but in sorting through some boxes last fall, I found Ramsy's copy of the score, full of his markings and notes and reminders from that performance. I was very excited when I stumbled across a notice of the WSO doing a performance of this piece in April, with Bill Baerg as guest choral conductor. It feels like another gift arranged just for me. (But everyone else is welcome to attend as well.) :)
I'll close with words from another song I found recently that says just what I feel: "Beautiful Things" by Gungor. All this pain- I wonder if I'll ever find my way, I wonder if my life could ever change at all. All this earth- could all that is lost ever be found? Could a garden come up from this ground at all? You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us.
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