Back from a break

It will be a year tomorrow since my Dad passed away and I started this blog. I can't find the words to describe how I feel about it right now.

I haven't blogged here since last April...deary me! Its been a year of much change from losing Dad and trying to adjust to life without him, searching for and getting a new job back in the humanitarian aid sector, making and strengthening friendships in the community where I live and to our wonderful choir, Urban Voices which is really taking off.

I have much to be thankful for and to wonder at, not least my loving family and friends. Thank you to all who have been there for me.

Dying to fear

Apart from a feelings of loss and emptiness, my Dad's death has left me with a fear of dying. I was there with him when he died and an icy chill gripped my heart at that moment: "where has my Dad gone?" I said to myself, "if, in fact, he has 'gone' anywhere at all?" Is this a normal reaction for one who is grieving? Why do I fear this now, when surely I should accept dying as a part of life and not necessarily apart from life?

At one time I remember being totally fearless of death. I happened to be working as a humanitarian aid worker in South Sudan, a region ravaged by conflict and extreme poverty. I led a mobile relief team in northern Bahr el Ghazal, where the war was described as a 'low intensity conflict' (obviously coined by people in the West who had not experienced the conflict first-hand). There was nothing 'low' about the intensity of bombings and raids by militia such as the Popular Defence Force. Being mindful and ever alert to security issues was a way of life out there. I even slept in my one man tent with my clothes and boots on, ready to run at the drop of a hat. I remember writing home to my friends saying that I was happy and ready to die, I had no fear of death, I could embrace it if the worst came to the worst because I was in the right place at the right time, carrying out my calling. Some of my friends wrote back in horror saying "you can't possibly think that can you?", "you have everything to live for so don't tempt fate".

As I contemplate returning to the humanitarian aid sector of a break of nearly four years I will have to grapple with my newly found fear. In order to 'lay down my life for my friends', and therefore be a friend of Christ, I must be prepared to go to those places and be in situations where dying could be an everyday possibility, therefore my fear has to die instead of the kingdom life within me dying to fear.

Crocus

Crocus

When mum and I arrived home on Monday after saying goodbye to dad, we sat quietly at the dining room table and looked out over the garden – dad’s pride and joy. Mum noticed a yellow crocus tentatively emerging from the lawn and she exclaimed "oh the crocus has come out for your dad today", it was a moving moment. Dad’s passion for many years was his garden and he had a special knack for nurturing any type of plant from seed or cutting and he had a knack for nurturing me in our family. He especially loved spring flowers, signs of new life.
I found this quote from Patience Strong:
"The Yellow Crocus
The first to come: The yellow crocus thrusting boldly up – as if to catch and hold the sunlight in its painted cup. The first one out to shout a salutation of good cheer, making haste to show itself before the rest appear…For soon will come the other members of the family – robed in deepest purple, palest mauve and ivory – and dazzled by their beauty we’ll forget to say goodbye – to the first that took the risk and braved the wintry sky"

Wrestling

Yesterday at 5.30am I let go of my dad. He had suffered during his struggle with serious illness in the last 3 months, caused by severe stroke. I was not ready to let him go and I am left wrestling with a multitude of questions and feelings. Dare I say I am wrestling with God? Why did God let my dad suffer so much? Why did God not answer my prayers? Or I suppose, more accurately, why did God not answer my prayers in the way I wanted him to – that God would heal him at least enough so he could come home to mum and I? Where has dad gone? I so want to believe that the new creation, the new heaven and new earth is a truth we have to look forward to. But where does that leave us if it isn’t? I want to see my dad again and to enjoy being with him once more. I lost, not only my dad, a kind, caring and gentle man but also my best friend.
Yesterday I was overwhelmed with anger, which took me somewhat by surprise. I am like my dad in some ways and one of those is being slow to get angry, so this feeling was new and frightening. The last time I felt this full of rage was in 1996 in a refugee camp in Tanzania but I might write about that another day. I was angry with God for not healing my dad and allowing him to through this suffering. I was angry about some inconsistencies in his treatment which makes me wonder if they contributed to his suffering and affected his quality of life in the last few weeks. Could his life have been prolonged? Could he have had a better quality of life? Who knows.
Yesterday I let go and was angry. Today I am empty.