 Last week there was a day I stayed home from my studio and waited all day for a delivery. We’d ordered a credenza for the office. During this quarantine, people have been doing a lot of jigsaw puzzles. This credenza was a puzzle on steroids. It came in four huge boxes and it took some time to put together. I put off assembling it, but Mike (my hero) took the bull by the horns and spent a day (and all night) putting it together. Now I have one less excuse for getting the office put back in order.
Excuses. So many excuses for not engaging life. When I think of two of my dearest friends - Jan and Cindy, both gone now - I realized that both women really engaged life. In different ways and in different things, but they both really explored the world and various interests. Instead of engagement, I’ve used excuses. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have enough money and that I needed any spare dime put into my art career. While that was true when I was starting out, I now have a well supplied studio and I have more than enough. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have enough time because I was caring first for my mother and then for my in-laws. Sadly, they are gone. I did take good care of them but now my time has opened up yet I still hang back. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have anyone to do things with anymore. When you lose a friend that’s almost like a sister it does leave a gaping hole in your life. There is no getting around that. And life will never be quite the same again because each of us is a unique poem. In fact in scripture we are called God’s masterpieces. The Greek for that word is poema. We are each a poem and there’s no replacement for a truly lovely poem. But I’m well aware that there are other lonely people out there who have also experienced loss that I could reach out to and start to build relationships with. All these excuses are basically a way to mask anxiety. What if I fail? What if people hate me and reject me? What if I can’t figure out what I’m “supposed” to do? These questions sound ridiculous when I write them on the page. Of course I’ll fail. I’ve failed before and it wasn’t fatal. In fact, it’s a way to learn and grow. Of course some people hate me and reject me. You can’t please everyone. And I know what I’m supposed to do…walk justly, love mercy, walk humbly. Add to that to open up my training and experiences to God and let him run with it. It’s not rocket science so it’s time to stop making excuses. During the quarantine, our church has been doing a study of Psalm 91 and I decided to do a calligraphic meditation on it. So for a couple of weeks, I would take one verse and write it out to try to create a cohesive block of work on the theme of that passage. Writing it this way, slowly and carefully, made me ponder it in ways I haven’t before. I tend to read quickly and when doing this particular writing style, I had to slow down and really meditate on what I was writing. While I was doing that, two women from our church have been writing thoughtful, daily devotionals about their meditations of each verse. If you're interested in it, you can find it at this link: http://lakeeffect.church/91-for-91/. I have known people who claim this psalm for themselves as a good luck charm…that if they recite it enough and believe hard enough that nothing bad will happen to them. That is not what the scriptures promise. Rebecca Sytsema, author and co-pastor of Lake Effect Church in Grand Rapids, is one of the devotional writers for this Psalm. In today’s meditation, she wrote: Because Psalm 91 is not a guarantee that we will not face difficult times, nor that we will be spared from death. If that were the case, we would have millennia-old relatives running around! But, Psalm 91 is written about a God who has a jealous, fervent, militant love for His children. It is written about a God who is not impotent, weak, or unwilling to move on our behalf. She would know. Her eldest son is low functioning autistic. He’s non-verbal, functions at a toddler level and is built like a linebacker. He also had COVID-19 last week and had to be hospitalized which is a situation he does not understand and fights. Was it easy? No. Was there a miracle of God’s rescue. Yes. Did it involve medical attention from a fabulous staff? You betcha. This miracle of Nick’s quick turn around (he was out of the hospital in 48 hours) involved a good amount of struggle, effort and incredible determination on Becky’s part (who, by the way, is half of Nick’s size). And prayer. Lots and lots of prayer from hundreds of people worldwide. Psalm 91 isn’t a good luck charm. It’s not about getting the results we want. I encourage you to do a deeper reading of it. One of the themes is God’s aid in helping us overcome and about His presence in our times of trouble. It's about His love. I leave you with the last passage I illumined. Blessings on you in this time of quarantine.   One of the things I did when I found out Cindy only had a few months to live was to sign up for a couple of online classes to give me some structure. I knew I would need that to keep me moving forward through the grieving period. There have been times that I wished I hadn’t, but on the whole it was a wise thing to do. An assignment I had to do this week was to write poetry. It may seem strange that a woman who has written a book and keeps a blog does not see crafting words as a strong suit, but there you have it. I was not looking forward to this particular assignment. The parameters set forth for the first poem was to take a walk in nature. Walk for five minutes, stop, and take in the scene around you. Walk five more minutes and do the same. And then another five minutes and once again, soak in your surroundings. Take notes, or in my case since it was a bitterly cold day, take photos and then craft a poem from the experience. The second poem was to be constructed by a random word list generated by a software program. I got a list of ten words and needed to use at least eight of them in a poem. I thought I would share the first one here. Not because it will set the literary world on fire, but to share the healing process. Because I found that going through this actually helped a little. Here you go. The Dead of Winter The park is desolate today... gray bleak cold empty. It mirrors my heart... wintry sad raw exposed. The dead of winter. A death in winter. The landscape and my heart a frozen desert.... empty alone. Bare, barren vines and branches exposed... freezing abandoned tangled ignored. The silence is crushing, the wind is biting, tears are stinging I walk alone. In the dead of winter mourning a death in winter. Alone in the city where everyone else has the sense to stay inside through the gray bleak cold empty park. My eyes sweep to the colorless ice along the water's edge. I stop. There is movement. A muskrat foraging for food. Oblivious to me, to my thoughts, to the cold. There is life in winter In the dead of winter.   I met a friend for breakfast. Her mother had been a dear, dear friend from our college days until her death. One of the loveliest gifts she gave me was her family and we still keep in touch. As Dawn and I got caught up over tea and coffee she asked how I was doing. I’d recently lost another dear friend and two days later, another woman who’d been a spiritual mentor to me. Grief has me in its grip.
One thing I’ve experienced with grief is that it brings up older losses. Although Jan has been gone for years now, the feelings spring both fresh in this new grieving time. It all pretty much merges together. So we talked about friendship and loss, and reminisced about her mom and dad. Loss and grief is the price of love. Oh, how it hurts. But oh, how it’s worth it. We talked of that as well. Hesitantly, she asks me, “Did you get a card in the mail from me?” I hadn’t. She was. a bit frustrated with her post office branch. She’d had other mail go astray lately as well. I promised I’d let her know when it came. It came yesterday. A hand made card wishing me recovery from an illness I'd had a week ago. She’s her mother’s daughter. Creative and thoughtful, and as a nod to our mutual connection, the coffee cup was made from a scrap of a painting that had Jan’s signature on it. It warms my heart. People we love are never really gone. They leave loving reminders to us everywhere. And I am grateful.  Our first kayaking trip There really are no words to express how special Cindy was. The world really could use more special people like Cindy. While she was smart, creative and fun, her stellar qualities were her thoughtfulness, grace, and kindness. She loved unconditionally and without judgement. I was so blessed by her friendship. So long, friend. See you on the other side.   Recreation of the event On New Year’s Eve Day, I woke up to see a note on my computer. Mike had stayed up into the wee hours to shovel snow. It had snowed heavily and he cleared our walks and some of the neighbor’s as well. It was well intentioned, but it had continued to snow and his work was covered up. The note read that he would need sympathy when he got up because in the process of clearing walks, he had lost his keys.
I sat down to check my email, feeling very sorry for his plight and thinking of the hassle of replacing all his keys, hoping some nefarious person didn’t find them and try all the doors in the neighborhood until they found ours. As I surfed the internet, a thought popped into my head that I should go and look for the keys. I know the source of that voice and said aloud, “Seriously? That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s cold outside, I don’t wanna.” But God has a way of nudging you in a friendly way saying, “Come on. What do you have to lose?” “Warmth and comfort,” I muttered as I got my coat. I bundled up. I decided if I was going to go out looking for this key ring, I’d clear off the walk again. It was still snowing but seemed to be slowing down. “Look in the street by the truck.” “In a minute. I’m going to clear off Becky’s ramp.” “They aren’t on the ramp.” “They might be.” They weren’t. “Look in the street by the truck.” “In a minute. I’m going to clear off the walk and meet the new neighbor.” Introduced myself to Steve and cleared off our front sidewalk. The keys weren’t there. “Look in the street by the truck.” Sigh. There was about four inches of snow on the street, and cars had been through. If they were in the street they could have been smooshed or dragged. I trudged toward the truck looking at all the ruts and lumps in the snow. “There. Brush the snow off that lump.” So I took my shovel and brushed aside the snow off one particular lump and there they were. Two feet away from the truck and one inch away from the tire ruts. Cold, wet, and otherwise unaffected. Glory to God. He took me on a treasure hunt to end the old year and begin the new. A great start to the day and a mystery. I pray all the time for a lot of people. I pray for my nation as it descends into anger and violence. I pray for healing, provision, children, and my family. I’ve prayed for my friend to be healed and the answer, apparently, is no. So many things that need a divine touch, and He helps me find Mike’s keys. I have no profound answers as to why. I’ve mulled it over from time to time and eventually have to throw up my hands and give into the mystery that is God. He is intensely personal. I’ve experienced that many times. He’s very powerful. I’ve experienced supernatural healing and other things that cannot be explained. Yet, I’ve also experienced deep disappointments with God. There are different theological explanations that work to explain why things happen or don’t happen the way they do but often it’s just an attempt to put God in a box to perform and that’s something He steadfastly refuses to do. I often tell people I’m comfortable with the mystery that is God. To some degree I am. The key incident does not stand alone in silly yet fruitful interactions I have with Him. And yet, as I watch my dear, dear friend dying the mystery does not rest easy in my heart. Still, I will praise Him and thank Him for the keys.  The day after Christmas found me meandering (not power-walking) through Riverside Park, near my studio. The temperature had reached 60 degrees - a rarity in Michigan winters, and I jumped at the chance to be outside in the sunshine. In part, exercise was needed after a day of excessive eating, but mostly I needed to be outside for my spirit and my soul. I needed to soak in the sunlight and commune with God through nature.
There were remarkably few people on the beautiful day after Christmas. If the nightly news report that Mike and I watched the night before is correct, the majority of people (75% said the news anchor) were returning gifts. That seems a bit sad to me for some reason, but I have to admit I like having the park mostly to myself. The sunshine and solitude help me slow down, center myself and pray. No profound, earthshaking prayers…just quiet, contemplative prayers of “what next?” and “how do I get ready for that?” After an hour’s stroll I return to the studio, have a cup of tea, and read for a while. I am reading Playing God, Redeeming the Gift of Power by Andy Crouch. A book that is quite thoughtful and giving me much to mull over. This slower pace of walking, drinking tea, and reading through the afternoon is a good reminder that life is to be enjoyed - not over scheduled and raced through from moment to moment. The end of the year is often a time of reflection with a sometimes unrealistic expectation that “This year will be different!!” It might. It might not. Certainly it is good to reflect and create a plan to help achieve a goal or break a hurtful habit. Set a budget, invest in your skill set, use your time better, eat healthier…all good goals. Over the years I have set and achieved (or not achieved) many goals. But along the way I’ve learned to hold on a bit more loosely to the results and my expectations. Life has a way of zigging to the left when I was zagging to the right, but I’ve always ended up in pretty good places - eventually. So I’ll slow down this week and do my best to think about and pray things through. I’ll talk things over with my artists' group that will get together this Saturday. We’ll talk about the joys and challenges of the holidays, pray for one another, encourage one another. We’ll talk about the upcoming year. There are irons in the fires, trips that are planned or to be planned, and ideas to sift through. So ends another year. For the past couple years I’ve been using a bullet journal as an organizational tool and have been mostly happy with it. If you’re unfamiliar with the bullet journal concept (BUJO for short) you can explore the internet to find out more. There’s even a book that you can find at bulletjournal.com or watch a video by the guy who created the concept at https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=7&v=fm15cmYU0IM
The beauty of the system is you can buy one, or create your own, tweak it for your life, and make it as plain or creative as you wish. Some people like to make doodles and add stickers, but I used it purely for organization and tracking projects. The system was humming right along with constant updates and adjustments until my father-in-law started to decline and then died. At the same time one of my best friends entered hospice care. Suddenly, I could care less about projects and goals. The BUJO lays open to the last week of July and I have no desire to take it up again. But life goes on - absurd as it may be - and there are still seasons, holidays, and deadlines to deal with. But for some reason this journal has some kind of emotional attachment and I can’t restart it. Moving forward as best I can, I’ve decided to go with a ready made planner and see how it goes. Enter the Define My Day planner/journal. You can start it up at any time since it’s not a traditional calendar although I’m going to start it at the beginning of the year as a sort of fresh start. You can find the specs at their website: https://www.definemyday.com/. We’ll see how it goes.  It seems this year has had sorrow upon sorrow, and while I try not to stuff down my feelings, it’s been difficult to process my grief - to the point it felt that grief was not just part of life, but that it was actually defining me.
Realizing grief is a process, I’ve been intentional about talking about my feelings of loss, and journaling. In the past I’ve also gone through grief counseling. These are all good things, but it seemed as if I were stuck in grief and not moving forward. After a while I just kept myself busy in hopes that would be helpful. It wasn’t. By sheer coincidence, I started processing grief through art. I’ve been doing a series of photographs to illustrate both the elements and principles of art. Rather than just do photographs of each element (such as line, color, or shape among other things) I decided to do a series of the principles of art (things such as contrast, value and space) with the unifying theme of grief. This has done two things. Using visual imagery and the creative process has connected me to myself again. Grief is no longer this huge boulder I have to negotiate around. I’m chipping away at it and its prominence has lessened. It’s also reconnected me to the creative process which has been such a struggle. Now I have ideas to communicate - even it it’s just for myself and not for display. I’m even carrying around a sketchbook again. Life will always contain grief. It’s a sign of having loved and it is just one of those hard facts. It’s not something you simply shake off, but you can work through it. You just have to find what works for you. One size definitely does not fit all.  On the eastern shores of Lake Michigan, property owners are desperately trying to stop the waves from destroying their homes. People who have lived along the lakeshore for decades and whose homes were built far from the edge of the dunes are now scrambling to build seawalls before the winter waves take what’s left of the dunes and their homes with it. One man who has lived on the lake for thirty years marveled that he’s never seen the lake this high before. Heavy equipment is all along the shoreline, brought in by anxious homeowners.
In some ways, it feels as if grief is eroding my life. Loss is redefining my landscape and carving new shores. It is painful. What sort of heavy equipment can stop these losses? None that I know of. But there is the question - even if I could stop them, should I? In life, loss is inevitable and it changes you. Whether you like it or not. How I let the new changes re-form me…that’s what I need to focus on. But that will come later. For now, the waves keep battering. |
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July 2021
Donna KemperDonna Kemper put aside her art career to care for a mother she hadn't seen in over a decade. For seven years she followed her mother's journey into dementia, caring for her and putting forgiveness into action. Categories
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