The Hope Within Us

O Death thou hast
Conquered me.

I lay beneath thy dart.

But Jesus Christ shall
Conquer thee-

And I shall rise
again.

I found this epitaph on an ancient headstone while walking around Copp's Hill Burying Ground, Boston, in 1976. Boston was a fleeting stop on a family vacation to coastal Maine. My dad parked our orange Ford pick-up near the U.S.S. Constitution, and we walked the Freedom Trail across the Charles River to Old North Church. A long line of visitors snaked around the church and my parents, not terribly interesting in waiting in line or American history, decided to walk around the cemetery. I was immediately drawn to the archaic names and epitaph inscribed on the weathered, leaning headstones.

This particular epitaph obviously sparked something in me. Let's examine it for a moment. It speaks of the inevitability of death, for no one really gets out alive (unless you are the prophet Elijah, in which case I doubt you are troubling yourself with this blog). Yet, even in death there is a spark of eternal optimism as well as revenge. Yes, the resident admits he or she has been stung by the sharp arrow death and is now in residence beneath our feet. However, there is a Warning as well as a Hope. The Warning is that what goes around comes around. Death thinks to have won this round, but not so fast. There is a spoiler in our midst. Jesus Christ has conquered the final foe; an act which gives hope of a life far from the confines of a grave in disease-ridden 18th-century Boston.

Where am I going with this? It is very possible for Hope to spark something in the souls of 21st-century Boston or Baltimore as well. Life can get us down, sometimes for an extended count. Yet, there should always be a Hope within us. Hope for something, or someplace that helps us through the dark days.

Let's be brave. While we always need Peace, perhaps we really need to give Hope a chance.

Listening

I have been blessed with a wide assortment of wonderful friends. One of them is Annabelle, a seminarian at the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. When I first heard she had chosen to enter the ministry, I was slightly surprised. Annabelle is a tall, fun-loving, full-bodied cup of Teutonic intellect with a side order of absolute hilarity and juvenile behavior that pales my puerile antics. However, I have discovered that under the veneer of show-tune-karaoke and just plain silliness, Annabelle has been blessed with an old soul and a kind, seeking heart.

Annabelle has a blog (http://annabellepeake.wordpress.com), where she ponders a plethora of topics. Today's post is titled "Listening to Each Other," in which we find Annabelle wondering why we don't listen to each other, our bodies, and God. If I may quote:

"Life is so short and time so precious, why do we let ourselves be distracted from that which is so important?...Furthermore, do we take quality quiet time to sit and listen for God in our lives? I know that it's very easy for me to make excuses for not paying attention to those around me...and for not carving out time for listening for God."

I understand perfectly. It is not supposed to be about the goal, but the journey. A dearly-departed friend always reminded me that life is not a competition. It's a journey. The most important part of the journey are the experiences and the people you encounter along the way. The memories are in the minutiae of life.

I spend a lot of my time in the garret; some of it being productive while a lot of the time is spent hiding from the life below. However, that life always has a way of finding me. I'm working away and I hear footsteps ascending one flight of stairs, then another. A knock on the door and someone is there to chat or looking for a shoulder.

I stop and listen to my adult offspring. After all, it is my fault they are standing there looking for a word of hope. I taught them to come to me when they fell down and skinned their knees, or when their hearts were broken. Why should they stop just because they are wearing the earth suits of adults?


However, while they are pouring out their hearts to me I am often typing, surfing the Net, or playing spider solitaire. After all, I am a mom and programmed to multi-task. Their concerns are genuine and important to them. They deserve my full attention. God gives us His attention; I think we should honor the spirit in ourselves and each other by following the warnings posted at railroad crossings. Stop, Look, Listen.

When we are fully engaged in the lives of those around us wounds are healed, spirits lifted, and sometimes a life is pulled back from the edge of despair.

Keep on loving each other as brothers. Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:2 The Journey.

What do you think? I'm listening.

The Fundamental Things Apply

While in high school, I fell in love with a boy. I can honestly say it was my first love. He was tall, dark, and handsome (at least to me). He was a musician and lived a physically rich but socially meager life under the control of his mother. I adored him.

I wrote a poem for him. I'm not sure if I ever gave it to him. However, I stuck it in a notebook of poems that found its way, years later, to my attic. I recently found the box and was relieved to discover my musings had survived several attic purges.

As a aspiring writer, I thought I might rework it. You know, take the eighteen-year-old out of it and insert some experience. Somewhere in my editing, I realized that I cannot change the poem. I tried to polish the grammar and punctuation. Then I bowed to the Muse and allowed my voice to remain that of an eighteen-year-old.

Finding this poem and its emotions I realized that in spite of the time that goes by, the fundamental things still apply.

I wondered if there was some way of reaching you.
Yours was not one of the classic cases that
appear in huge, dusty volumes.
Full of symptoms and cures for the affliction.

You have the same feelings, hopes and fears I do,
only slightly variegated so they might mold themselves
to fit and become the individual you are.

There were times when I gave up.
The times I saw no bright,
shining hope ahead.
Only darkness.

Then I would; and still do remember
a smile you once threw casually in
my direction.
Or just a few meaningless words that refuse to leave me.

Then my faith is again renewed in the
human race,
Of which you are the predominant member.