 |
| Can you spot it? |
A quick trip to my long suffering girlfriend to borrow her lawnmower and I was set. The rain in the Pacific Northwest hung on far too long this spring and my grass was crying out for a haircut before the clouds finally parted and I dusted off my lawnmower. A few you tube videos informed me it was time to change the oil and replace the air filter on my grass munching beast. Fearing the clouds would roll back in before I tuned up my machine, I called my almost-neighbor and asked to use hers. “Come on over,” she sang, her standard reply to my mildly demanding friendship.
After a quick tour of her machines' peculiarities I was on my way. Back home, I unloaded the behemoth and got ready to cut the grass. A glance at the two machines revealed that although her machine was older, it was more expensive. More importantly hers was self-propelled, a feature I was eager to try out on my back yard incline/ski slope. Aligning the mower, I put on my headphones, pulled the start cord and squeezed the bar to start it moving (known as a “bail” to all you mechanics out there, of which, doubtless there are thousands.)
I am unclear if there is a correct way to start a self-propelled lawn mower. It was my first time, so I don't know what I expected. I think it is fair to say that I did not expect squeezing the bail would result in the mower growling and launching itself at my lawn with the ferocity of an angry grizzly bear. The intensity of the forward motion just about clear ripped my arms off. Thankful I had sent the girls inside, I looked up and down my street to ensure no one was watching as I hung on to the raging mower, tripped over my feet and send the enthusiastic machine over the flower bed where it instantly destroyed a patch of day lilies before sputtering to a standstill.
I surveyed my adversary with a stern look, chiding myself for not g r a d u a l l y squeezing the bar and got set up for round two. It went slightly better than the first round but got tricky because I managed to make it to the corner of the yard before the physics of the whole affair had me flummoxed. The azalea sitting in the corner flower bed can attest to my incompetence.
Anywhoodles…..
It took a while but after chasing the mower across my lawn, off-roading through another flower bed and killing 3 innocent ferns, my lawn was shorter than when I started. I was sad about the mulched day lilies, ferns and the fact I couldn’t feel my arms but the satisfaction of not killing myself had created a heady glow of invincibility. I staggered over to my front walkway, found my water bottle and collapsed on the grass.
It was on my way down to ground that I noticed the tiny piece of plastic on the front stairs. I have no idea why it caught my eye, but I think fatigue had kicked me into some kind of heightened-senses-mummy-ninja universe. I crawled across the grass for a closer look. There, on my stair was a tiny calico critter spoon from a much loved picnic set. Unfamiliar with Calico Critters? Think tiny animals, marketed to children, with an endless array of props to create make believe worlds. This spoon belonging to my daughter was only a few millimeters long. I called her over, bragged on my mad skills and reunited her with the overpriced piece of plastic.
 |
| Found |
She chirped happily and skipped inside leaving me on the grass staring up at the sky. I would have stood up and followed her in but I was too tired. Watching the clouds gather overhead, I considered the nature of lost things. I have lost a few precious things over the years: a scarf of my Dad’s, relationships with loved ones and an opportunity or two. How is it that I can accidentally find a tiny beloved piece of lost plastic yet work so hard to regain trust and come up short? Why are some injuries so miraculously restored yet other losses leave bruises that take years to fade?
How does loss work?
Loss:
- unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts.
- unable to be found.
- denoting something that has been taken away or cannot be recovered.
- having perished or been destroyed.
- (of a game or contest) in which a defeat has been sustained.
I’m actually pretty accomplished at getting lost. My year includes a few pilgrimages to my homeland and though my routes are established I seem to have a knack at getting turned around. My sense of direction is like an earthworms’: I have up and down figured out, everything else is negotiable. On our latest excursion north my eldest commented, “How is it you can completely forget where you drove only 3 hours ago?” Is she kidding? She has been blessed with her father’s uncanny sense of direction so I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t even remember her name. She will learn about my failings over time. Though I’ve been lost, I haven’t stayed that way. So far I’ve gotten us to our destinations despite the detours.
However, there are losses I’ve experienced that aren’t going to be recovered. Certain things that cannot be fixed by stopping and asking for directions. While I understand these things to be a normal part of life I find them difficult. Somewhere I still believe that if I serve Jesus, I will be shielded from things going wrong and the staggering pain of losing what I once possessed. The life of those who serve the Lord is not like that.
At times, processing loss brings confusion. As denial gives way to reality and I struggle to find a new way of coping, I get caught up in trying to understand the “why?” of it all. Could I have done something differently? Was I faithful to the Lord through it all? Is God mad at me? I have found that there are seasons when faith is the only light against the darkness of my heart.
Dear friend, if you are struggling with loss might I remind you that God is aware of your pain. The fact that you are suffering doesn’t not mean he has forsaken you. His eye is still upon you. Though your prayers remain unanswered and your heart is sore it does not mean you are not his child. His silence does not mean he is absent, his word is still present. The awful stillness does not mean he has taken his love from you.
The experience of losing what we once possessed is a painful invitation to get to know the Lord in a new way. The fact that it is difficult and hurts terribly does not mean that there isn’t healing available to you. I am praying this week, that by God’s amazing grace, you will hang on tight until loss has done its work and you can stand again.
xoxKaren
