Unwanted Anniversaries Still Bring Blessings

My mom’s dad passed away when I was only three. Each March Mom became very anxious and sad as the anniversary of his death approached. When I was a child, her response hurt my heart deeply, but as I grew older I became frustrated that she couldn’t “move on.” In my naiveté, I  imagined she had complete control over her emotions and could prevent herself from getting so upset as she honored Papa Jim’s memory. Time and life are good teachers, though, and I now understand Mom’s reaction much better. While I choose not to succumb to the grief hers and Daddy’s deaths have caused me, I now know how challenging it is to control your response to the unwanted anniversaries of life. Even if I actively try to focus on other things, each August 15 and each April 19 are etched into my heart and soul as the days my parents left this earth. But I try to approach the days with the grace and faith that are part of my parents’ legacy. I offer gratitude for their lives and recall the blessings they imparted into mine.

Two of those blessings are a poem and an allegorical essay Daddy wrote later in his life; the writings reflect his faith journey and his perspective. This year marks the fifth year of his homegoing, and I’d like to honor him and give you a glimpse of his heart by publishing his work “Today I Climbed a Mountain.” The notes in italics are his as well.

Today I climbed a mountain. A mountain all covered with the glory of Autumn, the vibrant reds, the sunshine yellows, the royal purples and even the common browns. The pines’ green mantle reminding me there is Life even among the dead and dying. My path started out well-defined through the trees. Here a proud old oak, its bark scarred with the initials of young lovers long ago, there a towering hickory split in two by a long-forgotten storm, half-dead, half-alive, hanging on to life for all it’s worth. I walked through the forest, my pathway becoming dimmer as the trees gave way to underbrush, little more than shrubs, then weeds. At last I came to my goal, a Rock Wall. I could see a pathway going left where others had chosen to go around it. Some had tried to dig under it. But I Had to climb it.

As I started my ascent, I searched for a handhold here, a foothold there, taking whatever I could find. Then I noticed a trail even here. A trail of sweat, of tears, and as I looked closer—blood. I saw a bush offering its support, but saw in time its shallow roots, which would not have stood the test. Ever onward I climbed, following the blood, using narrow ledges to rest. Upward slowly, a handhold, a foothold, a slip here and there, I dare not quit. I gained the top, surveyed the hills and valleys, covered in the majesty of Mother Earth and gave a sigh as I sat down to rest. I looked up and saw an eagle soaring on the winds. He called to me to join him, but I could not; for I am a mere mortal.

The original ends here, but I feel compelled to add this to it:

Whichever path you choose to conquer your Wall,

I will not criticize or chastise you. I will welcome you with open arms, offer you the strong right arm of friendship, and a shoulder to lean on. I will offer a cup of Water from the Everlasting Well, and have ready the Balm of Gilead to bind up your wounds and soothe your hurts. Then, we can watch the eagle together.

Selah