Between Heaven and Earth
One of our “stations” of learning in 2HC is entitled “Seasons of Life and Grieving Losses.” In this blog, Sue — a member an early 2HC cohort — reminisces about her childhood years as her family enjoyed times together with the family of her aunt and uncle. Sue was able recently to reconnect deeply with her cousin. She asks, “Why have we let our paths exclude the other for so long?” As you read, ask yourself, “Are there family members with whom I need to reconnect? Who are they and how will I do that?” God guides and provides for both our commitment to crosscultural mission and our commitment to family. How will we let our choices reflect that?
Photo on Unsplash by Jake De-bique
by Sue Patt
I am no longer a “young” person, even though I still think of myself as the youngest person in the room. That is no longer usually the case. I go about my life doing the things I do with my job, my family, my household and friends, and sometimes I have reason to think beyond the sidewalk I am on to consider things from a different viewpoint. That is what happened over one recent remarkable weekend.
Attending my uncle’s service of gratitude was so much more than I could have anticipated. My uncle and his wife and kids were a sweet part of my childhood growing up in the suburbs of the city of Chicago in the US. I loved our times with them; the parents would be laughing and relaxed together, and the six kids of my family and the two kids of their family exploring and investigating. Now, many decades later, I recognize that it wasn’t often that we met together, but when we did, it was significant.
I was still a child when my family moved to the Philadelphia area, far from my father’s only sibling, his older brother who I was to learn had been my father’s lifelong hero. From the Philadelphia sidewalks, life continued with school, then college, then early career choices. Adulting begins with skipping down that sidewalk until grandpa dies and then mom dies. The knees of my heart are more than skinned, but they heal.
“Why have we let our paths exclude each other for so long?”
My aunt and uncle and their children were walking their own sidewalks far from mine. Why have we let our paths exclude the other for so long? It was not for intention, but today I feel great loss for so many steps taken without circling back to my aunt and uncle, and especially my cousin, Diane.
Diane and I reconnected deeply at my father’s funeral. I got a glimpse into the view of the miles she had traversed, and she saw a view of mine. There were so many similarities and there were glimpses of how past choices played out over time, sometimes wearing deep scuffs into the shoes of life’s journey, causing a limp in the wanderings. My father’s passing foreshadowed her father’s passing by mere months, and now both “daddy’s girls” remember while our hearts get squeezed and the tears fall out. Grief is like that. Sweet memories, like flowers along the sidewalk, also remind us that we don’t have that hand to hold any longer.
By God’s good grace we have other hands to hold while we walk along, and they are precious gifts. We will need those hands as we look ahead and see between heaven and earth, where our path brings the release of others both loved and sometimes resented. They have walked their own journeys with skinned knees and squeezed hearts and lives loved and resented. That’s the human experience.
I look out the window of the plane and see clouds obscuring my sidewalk and I am, myself between heaven and earth. I consider this view more and more as my days stretch before me. I will have a last day, and I will face my Maker with open arms grateful for the hands I have held along the way, the skinned knees and the flowers. It’s a good day.
