Swish, Swish, Swish,
Swish, Swish, Swish

by reginald daniel

Swish Swash Swoof! Say that out loud for a smile and a refreshing sound. The wipers on the bus go that way, as I learned during a delightful reading and sing-a-long with 2 year old Derek about 30 years ago.

A year later, Edith and I had Derek on skis in his little green snow suit. It was the beginning of a family affair that has brought delight for three decades. We three learned how to downhill ski, but the cross country style is a style we enjoyed immensley.

For those of you have never been skiing, it is a tad tuff to describe the freedom and exhiliration that is part of the warp and woof of this activity. What makes cross country skiing so wonderful? The sheer stupendous beauty of the snow, some spectacular scenery, and the sweet serenity of almost silence. And friends who ski with you. Plus, there is the physical exercise, the shaking and scattering of cobwebbs, and the dusting away of winter cabin fever. Hot chocolate or a cup of hot apple cider caps off a satisfying stint of swishing around the trails.

Although I take pleasure in skiing alone at times, skiing has been my favorite activity with family and friends. It has been a highlight for our family. And after Derek grew up and moved away, cross country skiing was still a special time for Edith and me.

Today I skiied at mine and Edith's favorite park. The park is where we are having a memorial tree planted in the springtime. It was my first time to ski since Edith's death. I left some tears along the trail, but brought home some cherished memories.

Oh, the "almost silence"? When you cross country ski, there is always the swishing and crunching of skis and poles on snow. It becomes a sweet, melodic sound, rhythmically rhyming with the beat of your heart and the chirping of chicadees and sparrows along the path.

For me the song is still sweet, but it has sadly and stunningly shifted into swish, swish, swish.

As for Edith, she was swooshed away and stashed in an eternal springtime that defies description.

Her Place

She sat silently on the swing
Watching humming birds
Helicopter their way
In and out the red salvia

A hideaway of sublime solace
Serenely nestled among
Hostas, day lilies, and Alberta dwarf spruces
Planted for beauty and deer food

Sometimes I joined her
To be together, to talk
Or just to swing softly
In sweet silence

But it was really
Her swing, her place
For coffee, a book
Or profound worship

This year oddly meandered by
Without my neighbor's spectacular
October Glory maple tree
Which died unexpectedly, unexplainably

And the swing has been empty
For a while now
Except for the foot of snow
And the chickadee that visits

Today a delightful deer
Strode by the swing
And perhaps glimpsed the chickadee
As in a flash it flitted toward heaven

An Unnoticed River

The jet engines sang their steady whine of a song as folks tried to get a little shut-eye or at least comfortable. A few read the news or the SkyMall Magazine, while others played sudoko or read a book from their ancient "to read" list. One lady was using a large magnifying glass with a built-in light so she could see the fine print in her book.

As I tried to relax and reflect on the couple weeks' retreat I had just experienced, an emptiness resurfaced in the calm lake of memories. Little whitecaps began to ripple into severe choppiness. The choppy water of my mind soon turned into roaring waves, accompanied by deep dread. The two-pronged disturbance turned turbulant because my wife Edith is dead and also because I would be returning to an empty house.

Hot tears started to trickle down my face. The trickle was soon steadily coursing down my cheeks like a broken faucet that could not be fixed. This has happened many times since September 4, 2009. But most all the time it has happened when I have been alone. Now what? What if someone sees me crying? How could someone not see me? What if they think I am having a mental breakdown. If someone would have asked me a question, I could not have spoken any words. These tears have no words. I never knew tears could leave one speechless.

And I never dreamed that I could cry on a plane for 1/2 an hour and no one see me. I was not trying to be seen, but I did not think I would go unnoticed. But everyone in front of me was looking ahead or snoozing. Same with those behind me. The flight attendants were strangely still for 30 minutes, the couple on my right were asleep, and the two guys across the aisle to my left were totally absorbed in their books.

Besides feeling sad and lonely, I felt quite alone and distinctly disconnected from the sea of strangers who surrounded me. There was no American Airlines attendant who offered to relieve my distress. Nor could she. But, strangely, an invisible Flight Attendant walked down the aisle, read the fine print of my heart with His lighted magnifying glass, collected every single tear I shed and, of all things, put them in a bottle. (Psa 56:8) It also felt like He hugged me.

I hope that if someone I am near needs a shoulder, a prayer, or a kleenex that I will not be too occupied playing sudoko or flipping through SkyMall Magazine to notice.

A Heart Laid Bare

The curtain fell
Music stopped
And almost my heart
Darkness descended
In a flash
Upside down world
Full of emptiness
Faded songs
Echo faintly in the
Storm of storms
Where laughter flew far away
In a moment
In the twinkling of an eye
Flowers folded
Birds hushed
Cold rain drizzled
Groans and hot tears gushed
Faith wobbled

And then...

The Dove of Hope
Came and perched
In my heart

Edith, A Treasure

Sparkling burnt umber eyes

Raven hair

Sweet smiles

A mind quick as lightning

Wisdom above her years

Integrity never questioned

Epitome of a hard worker

A forever friend

Faithful, loving wife

Marvelous mom

Spectacular seamstress

Best barber a husband ever had

Always won at scrabble

German cuisine--authentic and delicious

Multi-talented, multi-tasker par excellence

Hands ready to help

Generous giver and forgiver

Left flowers galore in her wake

Elegant and graceful

Edith was a dazzling diamond

Best of all was her deep love of Jesus

Broken Heart

by reginald daniel

Repair and fix-it shops galore
Remodel, refurbish, restore
Trade the old for new
Try stitches, band-aids, patches, and glue

But where do you take a broken heart?
One that is shattered and battered
Filled with emptiness that seems it can never end
Maybe I can drag mine to The Carpenter to mend

Tho His hands are scarred and strong
The Carpenter's touch is gentle, kind, and long
A bruised reed He will not break
Life and death, eternity at stake

The flame has flickered shriveled and shrunk
Died to a failing ember
But He gave His word He will not quench
Somewhere in the sad, circling haze I faintly remember

The light in the Carpenter's shop seems dim
No sight, shadow, nor sound of Him
Somehow a soft, sweet touch brushes my broken heart
Could this caress make the healing start?

Desperate longing for healing and relief
Resolution for queries to rock-solid beliefs
Oh, to awake and find the horrific nightmare gone
Couldn't there be just one more earth-verse to Edith's song?

Please hurry, Carpenter, let healing start
Quickly stitch or staple our wounded, torn hearts
Swiftly the wine and oil pour
Can't You set the balm of Gilead at least near our door?

Then it dawns upon my feeble, tattered mind
Wafts it way from the Ancient of Days, from endless time
It is not healing the Carpenter from me is taking
He holds me and waits while my heart continues breaking

Remembering Edith
June 16, 1948-September 4, 2009

A Picked Flower

A weather website slips me an update---to my old email address--- of hurricane Ivan ever so often. This little aggravation is not bothersome enough to pull the plug on, although it was 2004 when Ivan blasted the gulf coast. It is only a five year old reminder that is simply stuck in the computer loop, my mind, and my computer ignorance.

Another website has sent me two promotions since our mother's recent death, The company is called ProFlowers and they have the flower promo on automatic in an attempt to help their finances and my memory. They even print out mine and mother's first name. Kinda folksy and friendly.

ProFlowers knows all the holidays and even mother's birth date. Although they have no idea that mother recently died, they did manage to assist my wife and me in sending several bouquets during the last few years.

The flowers by mail got started a few years ago. My wife, Edith, got this clever idea while pondering over what gift we could send mother on her birthday. The first bouquet might have been the first one mother ever received by mail. Fact is, mother had not received very many flowers during her lifetime. Boy, was she fabulously surprised! Flowers by mail were a real hit!

ProFlowers was already on their regular, reliable mission of pointing out that mother's birthday would roll around soon and that they have just the lovely flowers that would delight mother so much. To our sadness, God picked one more flower He needed for one of His bouquets.

The sadness is accompanied by joy and hope. Because His bouquets never wither.

I can probably get the flower promo deleted from my email. But maybe the sad sweetness will remind me to give a few more flowers along the way.
Perhaps this blog will remind you, too. Afterall, we don't know when we will get picked.