dark

Life takes us many places, leads or follows us through many experiences, many good, some not so, nearly all of them Natural, part of Nature and the Shortness of Life. Ontologically, part of our walk with God, if we let God in; God, who may be Unchanging, as our branch of religion holds, but is different for us and to us from one branch of religion to another. Even, within a branch, from one man to another.

I have tried, although my trying has been, and is ongoingly, a trial. Tried as in "The peace of God, which passeth all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God", where, as I age I increasingly understand love of God as most basically loving my neighbor (Luke 10:25f); but knowledge of God is so illusive that I have to back off from a quest for knowledge and resort to faith, which itself has evolved over my years.

I'm finding that this is very different, not at all like losing a grandparent, or even a parent. My faith when my grandmother died when I was eleven years old, and I was so shocked and devastated, was far different to my faith when my next three grandparents died when I was twenty-eight and forty and forty-nine, and it was natural; and when my father died when I was fifty-seven and when my mother died when I was seventy-five and death seemed sadly but obviously part of the generations of life; versus now, my faith at age eighty-six as I live into facing the term "palliative care", now it seems not unlikely imminent, death of my sister. Losing a sibling, my younger sister, I haven't been here before, haven't done this yet, I didn't expect this, it's not at all "natural" or "part of the generations", how does faith live into this, or does it?

No, I'm thinking. Experience, personal history, is strengthening, and I'm needing strength. I HAVE been somewhat here before. May 2018, following the ambulance as it carried my first daughter, oldest child, from the ER here, out into the long, dark night drive to the same Sacred Heart Hospital, Pensacola, when my faith was voiced in a realization: if I lose this child I'll no longer know who I am.

It did not happen, so I didn't have to live into that existential fear, ontological minefield, faith challenge of losing a child. But I did experience this anxiety of waiting.

Still thinking and searching. Spring 2001 I guess it was, when I voiced my personal challenge to my then-congregation, Grace Episcopal Church, PCB, "can the faith of Tom Weller survive the death of William Hall?" - - a seven year old boy, student at my school mortally wounded in a boating accident - - and my faith survived William's death, though changed, very changed, very, very different.

This is still different again, as "things" are different now. In the Old Days of WW1 and WW2, a submarine knowingly trying, submerged, to navigate a minefield, was in the worst possible situation of anxiety and stress. (A modern U S Navy submarine has better sensing devices, although when they are turned off for stealth, as we have recently seen in the news, they may suddenly crash into an underwater mountain or other object). This is different, like those Old Days, I haven't been here before, don't know the way, the stress is high, and I am uneasy in this darkness. The minefield: to lose my sister. I'm trying to visualize going there (and to stay, because there'll be no coming back here where Gina is still at least tentatively in life with me this morning).

"Take care of your sister", how many times did I hear a parent tell me that when we were growing up together. Me the older brother being given responsibility. "Take care of Gina", how did I do with that? Apparently, obviously, not so well. If this muse seems senseless, it's okay, because it's three o'clock Monday morning and my coffee was decaf hoping I may yet be able to go back to sleep.

Answers of Christians whose faith is where mine has been do not get it for me - - "God will see you through" is not as promising as faith once had it for me also. I'm trying to get ready, to Be Prepared, like the Boy Scout I was seventy-some years ago. Maybe seeing my brother today will help me.

It's dark here.