I have sat through hundreds of sermons in my lifetime. Memories flood back of getting a pointed glare from my mother, of pantyhose sliding, of dust floating in the air and, always, a sense of belonging and peace. The memories are thick and warm, but I have to be honest and admit that I only really remember two sermons clearly. One was a preacher who stood at the front of the congregation and ate half of a lemon. I remember him coughing and spluttering and my parents laughing at his antics. I remember the message was that no matter what life brings God can make it sweet. He used the other half of the lemon to make lemonade and passed out a few little cups to folks in the front row. My family of seven was, of course, in the very back row and got none. The other sermon I remember was a preacher talking about a friend that had gone through a messy divorce. It rocked his entire world. He was depressed. Couldn’t move on. It was affecting his job and his sleep and his health. It had been a year and another friend was giving him a stern talking to. He was telling him that it was time to get over it. To move on. He advised his friend to start dating again and to clean his new apartment and unpack his boxes. To quit looking at old pictures and to take off his wedding ring. He told him it was time to just make up his mind and do it. The divorced man listened to the well-intentioned advice. Listened while sitting on a weight bench with his head down and the sounds of people lifting weights around him. When his friend was done he stood and motioned for him to take his place on the weight bench. Then, while his friend was laying there he looked down and said, “I’ve decided today is the day you’re going to bench press 315 pounds. Just wait right there while I add the weights.” His friend jumped up and said, “Are you crazy? I can’t bench press 315 pounds!” He looked at him and said, “Come on just make up your mind and do it.” His friend blustered and sputtered and said, “That’s not just something I can make up my mind to do. I don’t have the strength. I’m not there yet.” The divorced man answered, “Neither am I.” To this day, that sermon still sticks with me. Especially when someone is going through something and I want better for them. Want it to be over. Want to turn the page for them. But never more than lately. I wish I could lay down on that bench and handle grief like a jacked guy that can bench 315 pounds, but I’m not there. I’m still stuck in a sad apartment with unpacked boxes and empty take-out containers. I wish I could speed up the process. Move ahead a few steps. Instead, I just have to live it as it comes. Day by day. Two steps forward and five steps back. It’s the crazy things that punch me in the gut. Yesterday, it was an old email chain. It went on for days and it was just us being dumb about a blue purse she bought. I will tell you that we were/are (?) two funny chicks. I laughed out loud while reading it and then cried for all of the blue purse emails that will never happen. For all the late night phone calls about movies. For all the book recommendations and recipe exchanges and traditions held. For the loss of my baby sister. I’m really not sure how God is going to take me from sucking on a lemon to drinking lemonade, but I have to trust that He will. And I have to feel what I feel. The whole time Amy had cancer, we talked about her journey like a bear hunt. That silly thing you do with kids to teach them about prepositions. We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. We can’t go around it. We just have to go through it. Right now, I’m going through it. If you love me, please be patient. Don’t try to rush me. If you read my blog, hang around. Eventually, my blue purse sense of humor will return. Right?
yellowlamplight 