Beauty from the Muck

My world got rocked this week. I'm in shock and am more or less in damage control mode. We will survive this because that is what I want, but we're going to have to wade through a lot of shit before we get to the other side. The image of the lotus has been at the forefront of my mind the last couple days.

I've always thought the lotus was a neat flower. Recently a friend was having a rough year and she shared with me the story of the lotus. The lotus is unique because, as Confucian scholar Zhou Dunyi wrote, "I love the lotus because while growing from mud, it is unstained." It rises above its environment, it controls itself, and it is truly a beautiful flower.

Life is often a series of muck and yuck. I so want to rise above it and remain unstained. Lord, that I might have the strength to suffer well and come out the other side unstained and victorious.

*****

"Yet the beauty of His grace is only highlighted and magnified by our sin, and all the more beautiful for it!  And I can't help but think that the result of redemption and grace is all the more beautiful and appreciated than the perfectly created original." Beautiful words from a dear friend.

Year Five: I Still at Sea

Safe to Port (9th Century requiem for the Abbess of Grandestine – author unknown)

Thou hast come safe to port,
I still at sea

Flying Colours tribute flag.

The light is on thy head,

Darkness in me.

Pluck thou in Heaven’s field

Violet and rose,

While I strew flowers

That will thy vigil keep.

Thou hast come safe to port,

I still at sea

The light is on thy head,

Darkness in me.

While I strew flowers

That will thy vigil keep,

Where thou doest sleep

Love, in thy last repose.

Today is the seventh of May. It snuck up on me this year. On Sunday, as I drove out to the Interpretive Center and saw "Rhiannon's" tree up on the hill, my chest constricted. Just like that I became hyper-aware of the date and the significanc the next day would bring. I couldn't breathe. Five years later and my heart still stops and my eyes still well up with tears. Time doesn't heal all wounds.

The poem above was brought into my life in November. Michael Hoppe, a local composer, came across it while on vacation and set it to music. A connection introduced him to our choir, Voices of Hope, and we plan to record it sometime in the next year. It is hauntingly beautiful and I can not sing it without seeing Rhi's parents laying white roses out in the Atlantic on what would have been her 23 birthday - two months after her boat was lost at sea. It has become a truly cathartic song for me.

Peace friend. We remember.