When I was a kid in the cold war 80s, I was afraid to die. 

I was also afraid to live.

Afraid to let loose the tightly held bounds...reigns of a small and tiny life, because it fell upon me early to keep watch over my own self. 

And then this Jesus invited me in...and I entered with a qualifier ("God, if you're real, I'll tell people. If I find out you are not, you B*#&^!#, I'll tell people.)

Within hours, I learned that my brother was dying of cancer.

Death and fear sealed fast to my heart.

I ran hard ahead of death - spurned by fear - invited it even as I climbed without belay, skied off a cliff and down a few lift lines...walked where just being there was an invitation for someone to rid me of the soul-poisoning weariness. 

Fear, perfection, grand purpose, and working to be somehow worthy spurned me on. There was no rest. Death sounded like a good pit stop from all of the striving.

And then the next "worst" happened. 

After faced with an unnamed illness that was robbing my 30-something year old body and mind of health and hope, a husband who was leaving (again), and two kids who wondered how they were going to live without their dad, I crawled downstairs to where my Bible lay. I asked God to please show up. Please speak to my heart. Give me a reason to believe - to still hold out hope for this living.

I have the notes I wrote that night as my achy creaky body knelt in that prairie home - they are on a hot pink sticky note...I think. Written there is something like, "Go back to the doctor and ask for another tick test. Rest as much as you can. Meet me in Ezekiel 34 - 36." 

Ezekiel speaks of a nation plundered and ruined at their own hands and the might of the neighboring countries. Exekiel 36:34 says, "The desolate land will be cultivated instead of lying desolate in the sight of all who pass through it." It also says that the wasteland will be called the Garden of Eden when God moves in to heal the broken barren land. 

It turned out that I had Lymes Disease and my estrogen was freaking out.

And my husband did leave and the kids and I cried. We made it through - even to a point where I sincerely hope only the best for him and his relationships with the kids, his wife, his community, etc. We made it through.

In the plowing through from that Mothers' Day when it was made so clear that we would be on our own to this good day, God has shown up and so now I must hold up my end of the bargain made January 6, 1986, in some rainy late night church parking lot between Statesboro, Georgia, and Savannah. I must tell you.

God brought friends through this clarifying crucible of finding a new normal. He brought life when I gave him the reigns...the bounds by which I tightly held my living. He transformed (is transforming) my old scrabbling for significance to a life of love and laughter - family, friends, and hope. Such a sweet hope.

He returned my sister, Mimi, to me. Hopefully, my other sister, Deedie, will complete the circle one day.

He has surprised me with a love among my children that is fun, life-giving, challenging, punctuated by cackling laughter, Madi's say-everything-in-a-look self, Kenan's courage and compassion, Katie and Dave's adopting me in, and all the people who were around that birthday table...and more. 

A mid-July encounter with another tick twosome and the physical upheaval they have brought has had me remembering - remembering God's whisper of hope to me when I physically, spiritually, mentally, and professionally could not go on another step.  "Meet me in Ezekiel 34 - 36," where I found, "The desolate land will be cultivated instead of lying desolate in the sight of all who pass through it." 

If I try to live forever, if I forget God's goodness and collapse deeper into fear, I will have forgotten  all of you - the people who have made me rich beyond my youthful imagination.

One day, it is my hope and belief, that I'll pass quietly into the night after a life of leaping from ledges and into thin air, skiing over hills and under lift lines; of laughing too loudly, praying too quietly, and sometimes loving too timidly. Maybe I'll meet up with my brother, Pat, or grandmothers, an assortment of dogs, cats, and one hamster. My old neighbor, Martha Buer, is sure to be there, too, rejoined with the young man that she had always loved and who died too early in a long ago war. We'll eat fresh tomatoes from the garden she is sure to have.

And I'll crawl up into the lap of a God I will then see. Hopefully he will let me stay there for a bit - long enough to welcome the rest of the family - this wide expanse of people I have been priviledged to love - and we'll laugh until the milk sprays from our noses and we have to go get something to clean it up. 

No more sorrow. No more tears. No more pain.

A wealth of forgiveness.

The Garden of Eden.

photo by Suzy Smith