Rejoicing

I like my chocolate dark. Bitter slanting the richness.

Today is Easter. For the second year in a row, all the calendars line up. Christendom celebrates together this Sunday. And truly, Easter is a holiday for rejoicing, for celebration, for joy.

For a few moments this morning, the excessive wonder hit me - in the middle of O Happy Day, the words caught me and I laughed with the joy of it. But after the service, as all the people disperse, and I drive away under greying skies, something snags.

Now, I'm at a friend's house. People are slowing gathering for a late lunch/early dinner. This is exciting, no? This community celebration is part of Easter, right? Because of the resurrection, we have life, abundant and free, to share with each other. He is risen, indeed! What place for heaviness, sadness, solemnity? That is past - the time for that was Friday, yesterday, not today, not when the grave is empty. Today is the day for rejoicing, light hearts, thanksgiving.

Yet my heart is heavy. Or at least, part of it is. If heavy is even the right word. Perhaps empty? I feel like a piece of me is missing. Absent. Unseen. Unfelt. Hollow - if you tapped it, it would echo blankly. This isn't right, is it? A part of me wants to just drive home, sit at the piano, and play until my hands are tired and I am tired and all I can do is walk to the sea and sit on the rocks.

Do I miss my family? Definitely. During times of celebration I miss them more acutely. During big meals with laughing people, I want to be with them, them to be with me. I want my mother's cooking. My father's wit and wisdom. My sisters. My brother. I miss them. Very very much.

But I don't think that's enough - I mean, that's not the only thing going on inside right now. I should not want to figure it out - I should be able to set aside the lurking sorrow and rejoice. Christ, help me!

Lord of the resurrection, teach me to rejoice in all things and times!

****

Addendum: After a good hour-long conversation with my brother, I felt much better. Maybe it was mostly missing family!

Regardless, this is a pattern I've noticed - celebration tinged with melancholy - that I'm not so sure about... meaning, I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it's neither. But it's bittersweet.

Just like my favorite chocolate.

old poems

I was reading through some of my old poetry, and found this. It's not anything spectacular, poem-wise, but the content caught my attention. So, without further ado, a few thoughts from the prayer room:

(3 August 2009)
In Your house are many rooms,
and the walls are only windows
and they all face the sun
and the ceilings open directly
to the starry sky
and the moon dances through
their bright mosaic.
Fountains spring from the corners,
and in those rooms
grow the gardens of God.
The sun always shines,
the stars always watch
and they grow and grow.
Each ripe fruit is picked
and served to the Master,
and He is always
well-pleased.

(10 August 2009)
I caught a glimpse of Your glory,
and like the prince in the story,
smitten in an instant,
the course of his life thereafter
directed only
and always
to winning the princess,
so will the rest of my life
be a pursuit of You,
fighting and waiting
for the Father to open the door for me
and welcome me in
to Your chamber.

Now, a year and a half later, it's odd how so much has changed... yet so much is the same. I feel like I'm on a spiral, and where I am now looks rather familiar. Same things, slightly different perspective. Upward and onward, further up and further in.

Last year, heart.

This year, mind. And body, because they go together. For Lent, capturing thoughts. Following that, sunshine, running around, swimming, playing games, and getting strong.

Last year, music.

This year, add words. And more variety - add voice. Con voce. Maybe add violin.

(I was having a nice reflective moment, then mail merge started jamming the copier. Ach. Breathe in, breathe out, look outside, promise yourself a walk at the beach after work. Better. But still the mood has passed. Over and out, Mr. Spock.)

We shall see. Yes, indeed, we shall see.

National Poetry Month!

It is now April, known to many as the month of poetry. A Boston-area poet, Enzo Silon Surin (http://www.enzosurin.com/), is hosting a One Poem a Day Challenge (see the Facebook page here: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Enzo-Surin-INK/15324072657). The challenge for day one is: a poem in the form of a Recipe.

Here's my little bite (pun intended), written down by the sea in the sunshiny afternoon.

"How to deal with New England's Weather"

Soak in some warm sunshine,

turning occasionally to keep evenly heated.

When clouds start forming,

layer with a sweater and hot beverage.

Ruminate as rain splashes your window;

play mellow music, write in your journal,

read a book.

Once you've reached the end

of a chapter,

check the sky.

By now, the winds will be

chasing the grey away.

Close your book.

Stretch.

Smile.

Toss some spinach, avocado, and

strawberries - for colour.

Mix together a few good friends

and the beach,

then toss in a game of volleyball.

Separately, simmer some poetry,

a bottle of wine, a steak.

Blend for a relaxed evening.

When the mood is tender,

find some stars.

Dust overhead.

Enjoy!