Exhaling

Comment by Carol

February 14, 2008 @ 3:45 am

I fuss at a lot of things that aren’t actual crosses. The hardnesses of life have not been miniscule and seem too regular, and have thus been taxing and therefore, aging, but few were/are crosses. Least of all did I carry a cross from being a follower of His (persecution, humiliation, being shunned, etc.) ‘though that was true as well for years, once. It’s actually been a very long time since I suffered the devastation of a cross, whether at the foot of one around the clock for nearly a year (as my dearest love in the world died so me-haltlessly in her inescapable path of the train of human demise), or for weeks when I was Dysmas-pinned in suffocating and excruciating crucifixion upon a sofa with something worse than any treatable pneumonia.

My foot of the cross experience defies description; there was no part of me unwounded by it, as there was so little that could be done day in and day out. I know, however, that if it were given again, again I’d not run away. No way could I have left her to others’ care, even tho’ it became my fear that surely I’d follow her by two weeks. In a different way, there’s no choice to stay or go also, when one’s self is crucified; all there is is the plea for relief of any kind, including death. That, and the offering of it to be made fruitful if possible.

Surprisingly, there was one other suffering that was worse than the two combined, tho’ it lasted only a week. Never have I more hated that there were 24 hours in just one day. Because it had nothing to do with crosses or cups, but rather, it had everything to do with the knowing of each cross I’d set up and every bitter cup I’d given others/Him. The worst was knowing that not even death would’ve been a relief. It would’ve only made this suffering worse. That’s when we begin to believe in Divine mercy–when we can still see a grain of sand or still hear a seagull’s cry or still feel the ocean spray on us, or taste the salt of the ocean air –knowing that we never once deserved a gift of life, and least of all now. I’ve never had a Lent as long as that week, because there is always a hope at the end: Easter. Of the 3 sufferings -illness of the heart, illness of the body, and illness of the soul, only two of those may hope for an Easter, because only two of those contain our Redeemer Christ, unless we truly change. The spirit is willing, but the flesh needs Lent, or both of them shall die. I recoil at a lot of things, but should I get used to the “No!” and forget where the warm Blood of Real life is, the ashes of Lent remind me. If the Blood leads me to His cross of suffering, at least it is His cross, more precious hard wood than any other in the world, where love - body and soul - is fully tried both vertically and horizontally, but is never found lacking.

Comment by Ann

February 14, 2008 @ 1:18 pm

A lovely, moving, honest poem that gets to the heart of what taking up one’s cross is all about.
I finally got round to ordering His Suffering and Ours - I know it’s not your latest,KT, but I also know it’ll be well worth the read.

Comment by kathryntherese

February 14, 2008 @ 5:59 pm

This is rich for pondering, Carol; as I am unwell right now, I haven’t the mental energy to respond as fully as I’d like, so I will simply say, “Thank you” for your deep sharings here.

Comment by Carol

February 15, 2008 @ 9:15 pm

It’s lovely, Ann, and you’re right.

(KT, take good care of yourself –there’s so much going around this winter, seemingly all over the place, along with extreme weather.)