The past five years have been my most difficult.
The past five years have been my most satisfying.
September 2015
There have been numerous partings, but through them all, our
lovely dog Lucy gave us a sense of being, what scripture describes as, "rooted and grounded." Rooted and grounded is a mixed metaphor--part agricultural; part architectural--that describes the need for depth and stability.
We were called from our beloved home and church and community in Auburn, California for Farmerville, Louisiana. Lucy and Gracie gave our new home in the South, well, a sense of home. A sense of being rooted and grounded.
Perhaps a year after our move, Gracie passed, but Lucy remained. Over the next three years, others followed. My mother passed, but Lucy remained. My youngest brother, Mark, passed, but Lucy remained. My father passed, but Lucy remained. My last uncle, Bob, passed, but Lucy remained. My mother-in-law passed, but Lucy remained. We grieved, but we remained rooted and grounded. But two months ago, inevitably, Lucy herself passed--though fifteen years of age--suddenly, tragically. And the loss was, the loss is, profound. There have been difficult moments: heartbreaking moments of sadness; breathless moments of panic; desperate moments of feeling adrift, without root or ground.
For weeks now, I've struggled to discern the line between grieving and grounding. To respect grief's need of time and space to process Lucy's passing, while paying attention to the voice calling me to be rooted and grounded in that which cannot fail, in that which is transcendent and true and timeless.
How might you describe, in practical terms, being "rooted and grounded"? Paul used the figure twice (Ephesians 3:14-21; Colossians 2:6-7). What is the place of root and ground in these two passages? How might Jesus' declaration of John 14:6, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me," relate to that which is "transcendent, true, and timeless"? Who or what do you depend upon to bring you depth and stability? Are you rooted and grounded in that which is transcendent and true and timeless, or in the transient? Or, to put it another way, if you lost everything you could loose, what would you have left?
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