Welcome

I got the idea for this new blog at the end of the week of New Wine, a Christian festival in Somerset, in August 2011. You might guess from my profile that, although not entirely house-bound, I don't very often get out, and it occurred to me that I might try to create a blog to encourage in our faith people like me whose lives are limited in one way or another. I'm hoping that readers will feel able to contribute their own positive ideas. I'm not sure how it will work, but here goes...!
Teach me, my God and King, in all things Thee to see...
A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye,
Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass
And then the heaven espy.

George Herbert (1593-1633)
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts

Monday, 12 November 2012

Thank you, Beth

This morning we went to Beth's funeral. She's the 15-year old additionally disabled daughter of James and Lynn whom I mentioned last time. The church was packed. Among those who carried her basketwork coffin were her brother, father and, I guess, her grandfather. It was as emotional service as I can remember, but far from miserable. It included a most remarkable reflection on her life by her parents, which didn't gloss over the pains of having such a disabled child but did not deny either the joy and love she brought.

There were too some of my favourite songs such as "Great is your faithfulness" and "How great thou art". There was one written by Paul Oakley I'd not heard before, "There's a place", which contains this verse:
"No more, no more sadness,
No more suffering, no more tears,
No more sin, no more sickness,
No injustice, no more death." Which would be pretty good news if that was all there was. However the song goes on to the positives:
"There is joy everlasting,
There is gladness, there is peace.
There is wine, ever flowing,
There's a wedding, there's a feast." And it ends,
"We'll see you face to face
And we will dance together
In the city of our God, because of You." (If you don't know it, the best YouTube clip I've found is this -Because of You.) It's hardly a miserable dirge; in fact it's full of resurrection joy.

Yesterday I was simply going to post something that my venerable friend, Brian, had put on Facebook, but today's service made me want to write something more as a thank you to Beth Ross. But I'll still include Brian's lines because somehow they feel all of a piece with the journey of faith walked by James and Lynn and their family.
"I believe in the sun,
even when I cannot see it.
I believe in love,
even when I cannot feel it.
I believe in God,
even when he is silent."

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Saying goodbye

Another sad funeral yesterday of our friend Jean who lived in Grove and also had MND, though hers was rampantly quick. I hadn't expected to be able to go, but thanks to Paul taking a shift of caring duties this week and thanks to RSA Insurance being very obliging with insuring our Motability car, he drove us and pushed me there. As always at funerals we learned a lot about her, including a lovely story about the start of her romance with John in West London, involving "Fight or flight"! After marrying they moved into a new house here, where they've been ever since.

Her life was incredibly full, and in particular full of people, whom she'd cared for or helped, run clubs for or raised money for. Most of all she enjoyed her family, including 7 grandchildren. We really got to know her in the last year of her life because of her MND, and even in its frightening onset you could see her sense of fun and her enjoyment of friends and family.

I was reminded of her when I read this from the empower network.com. It's about the top five regrets people have on their deathbeds. I think it's written by a palliative care nurse named Caroline, and I thought, "I doubt Jean had many such regrets, especially about neglected relationships":

"For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives. People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality.

"I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.
"When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:
"1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.
"It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.
"2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.
"By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.
"3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.
"We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.
"4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.
"It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end.
That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.
"5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again. When you are on your deathbed, what  others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying."
I'd add one more, "I wish I'd stayed in touch with God." I suspect it's a big one.

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Somewhere to go

A week ago we went to David Thomas' funeral in Cholsey. The church was full, and we heard more about his distinguished career. It was a celebration, as he'd have liked. We has Dixie music at the beginning and very end. It was also a sad occasion, naturally, because his family will miss him hugely. I was glad the vicar used this prayer:
"God of all consolation,
your Son Jesus Christ was moved to tears
at the grave of Lazarus his friend.
Look with compassion on your children in their loss;
give to troubled hearts the light of hope,
and strengthen in us the gift of faith,
in Jesus Christ our Lord", which I very much like.

I love the recognition that Jesus is not immune from our pain. He knew what it was like to have a loved one die. He cried with the bereaved Mary and Martha. He knows the pain - but he also gives them, and us, hope. "Didn't I say if you trusted (me) you'd see God do something amazing (God's glory)?" They had to wait to see what they scarcely could imagine. We may have to wait longer to see it. The common factor is Him.

The service finished with the great hymn "How great Thou art", which ends with the verse:
"When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration,
And there proclaim, my God, how great Thou art!" The best word there for me is home. It's no ordinary home, wonderful though those are - where the heart is! When we reach this home, we'll say, "Aah! So this is where I really belong." And our hearts will find the rest and peace and joy they've always longed for without knowing what it was. We'll rest in divine love.