I lost track as I counted the
Deer lying along the Highway, no match for The vehicles that struck them Down. I saw a squirrel, raccoons, and Other carcasses, too, some so Mangled I couldn't identify what They had once been. Each one gave me pause, A moment of sadness that An animal, God's handiwork, had Died. I wondered how He felt About the road kill. Jesus said He sees each Sparrow that perishes, so I Assume He sees the dead Deer too. Does He count them like I do? Does He feel sad, reminded Of the "Fall" that caused His Creatures to fall forgotten along The roadway? Is He eager to begin again, To create a new world where Death is obsolete, Where it will die too?
I wonder whether the hymnist
Had any idea that after 265 years Her poetry would still be remembered. I wonder what burden she was Bearing to produce the deep Thoughts that reach deep into My soul too. "Bear patiently the cross of Grief and pain...in every change He faithful will remain." Did she know that just as she Learned to be still despite her "Disappointment, grief, and fear" That I could learn stillness in my Upheaval too. I wish she could have know that I would sing out in church this morning With joyful sorrow knowing just as she Did, that one day the sorrow part Will be "forgot." If she had known that her words Would still ring, sing true after All these years, could She have contained the joy? (Katharina Amalia Dorothea von Schlegel wrote BE STILL MY SOUL in 1752.) When his son died, the grief
Stricken father was told to "Choose happiness." It was a dilemma for him. In the early throes of grief, we Have lots of choices: To be bitter. To be angry. To despair. To mourn. To weep. To sing sorrow. To dig deep for meaning. To worship. To be comforted by our Father, To trust Him and carry on. But happiness isn't even on Our list. Driving past the beautiful building,
The name sounds so inviting: "The Inn at Olentangy Trail." But the title can't disguise the fact That it is a facility specializing in Memory care. (Dementia) How similar to the way we Describe death. We say, "He's departed. He's deceased. He's passed, or slipped Away," terms we use to Try to soften the impact of The words, when in reality, The hard truth simply is He's dead.
The man had experienced lots
Of heartache in his years, but This pain was a new one. Fighting back tears, he Told our little group that His son was in prison. "It's possible he could be in For life," he said, "And I'm old. I don't know how to Handle it. I've never done This before." We didn't know how to handle The tragic news either, So we just listened as he Poured out his mourning, adding A thought now and then hoping He could sense our love and Concern for him and his Beloved, captive son. We huddled and prayed. The men circled him in, helping Him to fend off the flaming Darts of despair and defeat that Tried to take him down, Bolstering him up to give him The courage to go back home And bear the burden again.
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Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
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