Thursday's Child

There's a nursery rhyme that can be traced back to the 1700's that goes something like this:

"Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay."

Apparently, it is attributed to writers on both sides of the pond, and whether British or American, some Mother named Goose had something to do with it. The story goes that the naming of days has its roots in astrology and somehow, the gods for which those days are named possessed certain characteristics that are magically transferred to infants born on that day.

So no matter how much one would long to be fair, graceful, loving, wise, etc., if you made the scene on a Wednesday, Thursday or Saturday... too bad, so sorry, so sad. Because Woden, the Norse god, was not a cheerful sort. Thor, the Germanic thunder god, was the only one who couldn't cross over to heaven on the rainbow (and so had to go the long way around??) And Saturni, the Roman god of agriculture, had the heavy job of working the earth. Who knew that there were occupational hazards associated with being divine?

A week ago, I was again going a long way. There were mechanical delays on two different flights. As a result, two connecting flights were missed. That made me nearly seven hours late in meeting my colleagues. We all survived.

Arriving back at the airport for a return flight on Sunday, I learned that the flight would be delayed. The 90-minute delay in departure made for quite a sprint to a connecting flight at DFW. Along the way, there were quite a few grouchy passengers and an equal number of unpleasant airline personnel. (This would be the perfect place for a rabbit trail about the apparently unhappy, harried life of gate agents, except that it would be nothing but negative!)

It all boils down to this... our lives are supposed to be more about journey than about destination. But I was born on a Thursday. Thor also had red hair (and possibly rick rack teeth?) I have far to go. Mechanical delays and missed connections are likely to continue. There are grumpy people everywhere. It has taken me 56 years, 8 months and 17 days to embrace this reality.

The forecast calls for going the long way around... no rainbow riding. But thankfully, we are not imprisoned by nursery rhymes, mythology or astrological predictions. There is One who assures us that the day of our birth neither defines, nor confines us -- that's grace! And it is enough to get us through even the most challenging of days.

One of Those Days

Once in awhile, there are days that simply shine... when relationships prove authentic and strong, when work is ripe with purpose, when sadness is punctuated by laughter, when someone communicates 'you matter.' Not necessarily unhurried, but full -- these are not the Big Days in life -- but ordinary ones which surprise you with new perspective about the degree to which you have been blessed. Days like this are pure grace.

It was one of those days.

Pondering Life, Death and Eternity

No stranger to death, there is a well worn trail that we have walked with others --family, friends, and once in awhile with someone we don't know well. The journey has mostly been with those who share our faith.

But I am a foreigner in the land of loss paved with other traditions.

Today I attended a Jewish funeral service. Our friend died -- a faithful husband, family man, community servant and philanthropist among other things. His life was well lived. His death was unexpected. The service was comforting with readings from the Psalms and meaningful eulogies. There was mention of this life and the next; of God--the shepherd and judge; spoken Hebrew-- prayers perhaps. At the burial site, the rabbi spoke the familiar words, "dust to dust," and then he said, "his (our friend's) righteousness goes on before him, leading him into eternity."

As the casket was lowered into the ground and the family rose to shovel earth over it, the words continued to resound in my mind and I thought, if it were my righteousness going before me to lead me into eternity, the procession would not go very far. Thanks be to God that nothing depends on my righteousness.

and then the phone rings

one of those first fall days
crisp breeze
morning sun
not yet colorful, but leaves lifting
glass on the table half-full
final salute to summer in your bowl
last peach
and then the phone rings
a friend is gone
breath catches
heart clutches
you place your head
in a padded temple of hands
no words are enough
for this half-empty
season of sadness

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Haven't been here in a long, long time. It took a sad, sad day to get back to blogging.