My heart breaks yet again, as I witness what goes on. I know the signs of disbelief, of frustration that verges on anger. I know the sadness that can mold his body. There was a time when my words were all that he needed, but no longer. Now when we are together – special times. Tender and loving. We talk; he hears me, he comforts me, he loves me. He is not dismissive, but I know he is listening to another voice – a stronger, deeper, a beckoning inner voice. A loving voice. He says it is “my father’s voice”.
I am weary with sadness, yet I rejoice in remembering the thrill of his boyish joy and manly heartfelt laughter. As a little boy he delighted in life – his playmates, the Torah, going to temple, his dad’s shop with all its intriguing tools, and their treks out into the hills. He skipped and giggled just ahead of me as we made our way to the garden, to the market, and to draw water. He could always make me smile, even when he was naughty. As a man, his belly laugh like no other can be raucous, but always infectious. His eyes blaze with …what? … with life! His mere presence fills a room. Heads and hearts turn toward him.
Now, he with his friends go from one field to the next. With bloodied hands and a bleeding heart he often harvests ragged rocks, boulders even, that can sprout in seemingly well tilled soil. He watches while others reap succulent grapes, fragrant olives even luscious figs. Bountiful harvests – enough for all. Yet, never for all. He labors to free the fields of stones, rocks and boulders. While some labor to fence themselves in; to fence others out.
He is tortured by what he says, fully present and yet also somewhere else.
I know my son, Jesus. Soon, overwhelmed by helplessness, grief and sorrow he will weep from the depths of his love.
Joan Blandin Howard
After working and teaching at Creighton for many years, I am officially retired, but hardly so. Having 5 adult children, in-laws, and 11 grandchildren I keep pretty busy! My husband and I spend hours in our garden planting, pruning, dead-heading and of course weeding and mowing! We spend even more time sitting in our garden, delighting in its beauty. The beauty overwhelms me and invities me into a space of en-Joy-ment and gratitude to the Creator and Artist of all. I have much for which to be grateful. I also like to travel, read, write and make art. My ministry of spiritual direction and silent retreats continues.
I count my blessings. You among them.
Initially I thought I was writing for myself. I use the readings as a source of personal prayer. I thoroughly enjoy the time I spend in prayer, study and preparation. The writing seems to be a natural end product. The wonderful e-mails I receive tell me that I am not writing just for me and they reconfirm my faith in the presence of the Lord, who speaks all languages, permeates untold experiences, and surfaces in the most ordinary of daily delights and disturbing distractions. That the Lord would speak through me is a gift I had not anticipated.
I thank you, the reader and fellow pilgrim, for joining us on our journey. God bless us.
