Birthing pains. The agonizing pains a woman endures as the life inside desires to purge herself from her amniotic cocoon that’s been her incubator. Pain indicates the fullness of time. Time to exit a space no longer hospitable to life.
Dying pains. Remarkably they mirror birthing pains; reluctance, fear of the unknown, purgation, and fragility. The guarantee of human existence is that we enter and leave in much the same way–– through birthing pains. Birth and death are hard labor toward being born. Pain and suffering seem to be the unavoidable pathway toward a life worth living. Just as the womb is only hospitable for a while, so the earth can only sustain us up to a point until Mother earth writhes in pain to birth new life.
“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Ash Wednesday Liturgy
Ode to Elle
{and the grandfather she will never know}
Waters gush forth before the way is parted. Piercing pangs wring and twist instigating purgation. The once cozy hermitage, hospitable no more. Like a snail in want of wider dwellings, behold a bold and endearing quest, a pilgrimage at best. Forced and pushed forth by pain, grasping for the will to live. Tiny cries crackle like fraying bolts of lighting charging the air, life is a force to reckon with. Lord, have mercy.
Pneuma inhaled. Breath, is hope, myriads of possibilities waiting for Christmas day, the joy of unwrapping glad tidings, joy, gifts galore. Yet, as one breaths in, another breathes out, extinguished by time run out. Pneuma exhaled. Breath, remains hope, eternally begotten, by spiration of Diety. A resurrection teleportation through broken body and poured out blood, writhed in pain and purged by love, by cosmotic love of the three in one. Exhausted cries, exasperation, life is trial by fire. Yet, Lord, I am here. At the gates, before your throne, where in your mercy, all shall pass. Petals waiting in tightly woven buds. Alas, arrives their moment bursting forth with violent colors, vibrant life, until, reaching the fullness of time, downturn they fall, the final descent, gently gliding stem to root. Liminal moments, between space and time, invisible curtains torn and gates unfurled, a shimmering glance between angels and those they keep. From dust we come, to dust we return. Never dirt and grime, just God-breathed stardust that glimmers and shines. Behold, sacred passages life to death, death to life. That which we come, we also must leave, refined, Divined. Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Amen. Can we be any more prepared for death than we are for birth? Any more knowing of the mysterious plane; heaven or earth? Birth and death, born, reborn. Two mysterious journeys toward foreign light. Light of unknowing, uncharted terrain, unending possibility, undying hope. Do not be afraid, for I am with you. My rod and my staff will comfort you. I will lead you into life everlasting, beside still waters, to spacious places filled by my delight. For you are my beloved and I am yours. Selah. In the midst of life we are in death, re-enmeshed rivers once divided by centuries, the two become one. Look, I am coming soon. The Alpha and Omega. By way of open legs or criss-crossed beams, all pass through the valley of the shadow of death. Do not fear, for I am with you. Opened is an entryway marred by grief, loss, pain, and labored suffering. The price of a life worth living. Scars, wounds, tears, and sacrifice, badges of honor bore on the way to freedom forevermore. No life is born without pain, nor is any life departed, without passing through the same. In sure and certain hope. Amen.
The more I age the more intimate I become with loss and grief. It flows like an undercurrent beneath my days and rather than silencing with time, the volume of its current only strengthens with each passing year. I do not live in fear of the undertow that attempts to make me believe life is absurdly painful and lost to frivolity. I cry, I mourn, I lament my grievances, for as long as it takes, and then I look to the cross where all sorrow culminates. It is the only place that begins to give clarity to my grappling with death, aging, dying, and pain. Birth was the beginning of my journey to death, but I hold out hope that my death will be the beginning of all things made new–a paradox I still wrestle with God to understand. Yet, in that mystery there is a grace I encounter in the Lord Jesus that carries me as I float along the river of life that, for me, undeniably leads to the birthing waters of life. (Revelation 22)
If you are in a season of loss or grief I encourage you to consider the ministry of spiritual direction. I have found it to be healing balm as it has helped me meet with God in a sacred space and time to unpack loss, transition, pain and more. Click HERE to learn more about this prayer ministry. As a practicing spiritual director, you may also reach out to me to see if I may be the right director for you.
SUBSCRIBE TO ALONG THE WANDERING WAY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WEBSITE.
Footnote: “In the midst of life we are in death.” excerpt from Burial Rite II in the Book of Common Prayer. “You are but dust and to dust you shall return.” Ash Wednesday liturgy.
