On this November 11th, I wake thinking of my father-in-law — my husband’s father, who I was just two months shy of meeting. The proudly full-blooded Irishman with the big voice and larger than life presence, the loving father of four boys. Passionate plate-sized pancake maker, committed golfer and fast friend who would be celebrating his 75th birthday today.
I am thinking of my Papa, who, with his younger sister and brother, arrived in the United States by ship 57 years ago today. My auntie describes them as “three little immigrants, with no more than 20 words of English between us, spending 12 days unaccompanied on the LONG crossing from Germany. What an adventure.”
I think on this Veterans Day of those who serve and give in honor of our country what we so often ignore. For those who’ve lost life and limb and suffer unseen injuries, for those who’ve been forgotten and those who’ve been celebrated. I am remembering today the veterans and their families.
And I am aching over those killed and lost and those forever traumatized by the devastating typhoon in The Philippines. I am offering prayers, even as I am unable to grasp such devastation.
Yes, there’s much circling in my heart and mind today about what it means to be human — in the individual, family and global realities. These births and deaths, these sacrifices and celebrations, these doubts and pains, these unfathomable sorrows.
This morning I’m featured on Bible Dude as a part of the weekly Living the Story column, and I am writing about blood — this surging force of life, this infilling, this holy protection that saves.
I wrote this about the power of blood last week, before the recent events in Asia, and in it talked about the Red Cross as it related to a conversation Lala and I shared about blood and rescue. This morning, if you desire to act in a tangible way to help provide relief and assistance to the 4.3 million people across 36 provinces affected by Typhoon Haiyan, you may want to give here as part of the Red Cross’ efforts.
Here’s an excerpt of my piece for BibleDude:
On Monday, we take communion around our worn dining table after missing it on Sunday, share the hand blown goblet from Mexico filled with grape juice poured from small boxes. ”This is His blood shed for you,” my husband says, and the five of us remember the drink that makes us one and the death that is our life.
I stand at the window and look across the street to the maple tree, leaves dripping burgundy scarlet, and it is an exquisite dying — these branches that will soon be stark silhouette against winter sky. This shedding to prepare for the green grace of spring.
Later, we drive past the large building next to the hospital with the sign that reads “Red Cross,” and my five-year-old asks what they do. I explain that (among other help and rescue) the Red Cross receives blood from people who want to donate theirs so it can be put inside the bodies of those who are sick.
“And the healthy blood makes them well,” I tell her…
Click here to continue reading at BibleDude.
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I’m so thankful to be back with you all again after my post-31 days break and plan to write some more this week. May God bless and keep you today, friends.
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Also linking with Concrete Words at Nacole’s (so happy you’re back!) where today’s prompt is YIELD.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Good to have your words back, Ash. Missed you :)
Happy to see you today, Shelley. Missed you, too.
My heart goes where yours has. I’m with you Ashley (and those far too many to count) in prayer, and thanks giving, and remembrance. and in hope too. xox
Thank you, Mama, for these echoes. Hoping and praying and giving thanks with you.
Oh, Ashley, I am picturing that red scarf now- and will race to my coat closet as soon as I’m done here so I can check to see if I’ve got a red scarf stashed in all of those bins of winter warmers. And this line captures your gift for writing and for seeing Him—“I stand at the window and look across the street to the maple tree, leaves dripping burgundy scarlet, and it is an exquisite dying — these branches that will soon be stark silhouette against winter sky. This shedding to prepare for the green grace of spring.” You are an artist with words, friend. A beautiful ambassador for the Greatest Artist of all. Thank you. Really. Thank you.
Wow. Dear friend, thank you for the gift of your words to me. I wish we could wrap in our scarves together face to face, but how I treasure my mind’s eye imagining us both swathed in scarlet, remembering the love that unites though miles apart.
thank you for reminding us of this day of remembrance…so much has been done for us…..so much.
Yes, friend. So much.
You make me stop and think about what’s really important in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. I have collected countless scarlet leaves and you have given them a brand new meaning, so thank you. Did you happen to watch Billy Graham last Thursday? Soo inspiring. Much love
Thank you for that image of you with your piles of scarlet leaves, dear Deb. I wonder about pressing those and making them into a garland that covers a place in your home — one that could use covering or that would remind you of the love that is yours. I didn’t get to see Billy Graham, but I will try to pull it up online. Would love to see that. I remember very clearly 1992 when I attended the event at the Civic Stadium and received people coming up for prayer. A very powerful night in my life. Sending you much love.
The power of the blood of Christ to save, cleanse, heal and restore is an infinite wonder, unfathomable mystery and marvel. Thank you so much for drawing attention to where it rightly belongs ~ our scarlet covering of love and grace. And encouraging us by the beauty of your evocative, descriptive, grace-filled prose. What a lovely thought and reminder to have a red/scarlet scarf to use in this simple yet potent way! Now where did I put mine…must have a red one somewhere…excuse me while I take a look..:) xx
“Infinite wonder and unfathomable mystery” is so right, Joy. I feel like I am just barely beginning to understand the infinity of it all. Such wonder — it makes me stand small and grateful, in the hushed way of a little child. Yes, I’m imagining all of us, a band of loved ones wrapped with our red scarves. It brings such a smile to my face. Thank you for your words.