I used to LOVE the Lord Of The Rings. It was kind of a comfort movie for me, and when I read the books I promised I’d read them in English some day, just to love them more.
It was a not very long, but very specific, list of things I loved, ideas I had, people I longed for, delicious food… all dreams that broke.
I tried to hold on to as many as I could, even when time got the better of me and my hands had to loosen their grasp.
It was September the 16th of the year 2016 when my Grandma died. It had been the only day when me and mom had tried to sleep in and enjoy the Return Of The King before getting ready to go see them. My middle sister went ahead to see her, still.
Frodo was about to embark to de undying lands with the elves, they were saying their goodbyes, when mom got the call. She was gone like that. She too seemed to have embarked at the same time. (She also loved those movies by the way) Of course she embarked to a much better place, one that’s real and filled with the One I know was her Father too, as He is mine.
The day before, two things happened, one I knew, one I utterly forgot. Mom and Grandma were never close, Grandma was always very hard on my mom, and of course her three daughters too; we very well could say we never found love within her for us. For others, sure, but not us. Never us. But that month after the stroke things changed somehow. No one spent a lot of time in her room, but one time I went in and in came this urge to sing something. I don’t know how I managed or where the courage came from, but I did. I sung. She had her eyes open by that time and that was the first time I felt wanted because when mom called, I got up to leave and Grandma grabbed my hand like I used to hold on to the very dear things on my list. She didn’t let me go, so I sung a few more songs, all of them calling to the Name that brings light just by breathing it in. I had made a habit of running to her room every night, after college, to see her. The days when I had to restrain her from removing the breathing aid after she woke up were long gone and now only songs remained. That September the 15th, my mom got to see her mom in peace, full of the hope we never got to see her delight in before. A wholesome demeanor her face expressed, along with her frame sitting on her couch, her white braided hair, and a smile that makes her cry when talked about ’til today. We both knew what she’d found back then. By the next day she was gone.
She went home.
Abba took her home.
Lucrecia’s Hope. I was meant to carry her name, too, did you know? But God didn’t let it happen, we would’ve shared more than blood further along the journey and sharing that, specifically, couldn’t serve His purpose. I have only two names, as a result. Now I’ve healed from the earthly dad wound and forgotten all about the one who taught me how to leave… now I’ve come to know the richness of staying, now I’ve bid him goodbye and am able to again breathe, now my real dad promised me a full life by His side with a ring… I can see my hands that remind me of hers and be at peace. She tried to overcome having her father taken from her much too soon, at the hands of a broken man and a gun, and everything it entailed regarding her future, but couldn’t. Not in her own strength, I see now that must be why she was hard on her first daughter; why she couldn’t bear it to giver her her heart. Her heavenly Father got to her still, which is what mom saw the day before she died; a daughter who had finally found peace in her Fathers arms.
The second thing that happened that day, of course I forgot because the next day I spent it listening despairingly to Afire Love from Ed Sheeran because of how perfectly it fit the circumstances, Grandma was gone and would never come back; it was the day I created this blog. September the 15th, 2016.
I was made aware by notification this last Sunday, on it’s eight-year anniversary. No wonder I forgot all about it the way I did.
Seven years passed before I used it for the first time and it had to be Lucrecia’s Hope the One who brought it to my heart and mind, Nina’s Hope. Our Father in heaven returned it to my hands, and there, new things truly began.
What could it mean to restore a place long devastated, since generations?
Maybe something like this:
He didn’t let me waste my life crying for my dad, and instead took me in and made me listen, so we could be together. Grandma knew how he rescues either way, but maybe I’ll get to know how He builds beauty all around. A lifetime’s worth of beauty I’ll get to see and deem as a delight coming from His hands, pure life.
And so, we can go back to my lists.
September the 15th eight years later, this year, I felt alone again. I have, too, a list of coping mechanisms that I’ve had to fight against down the road and in order to try and win this time, I turned the TV on and went for the first streaming service that offered Lord Of The Rings, and pressed play. I was happier with the idea of watching it than with the scenes, for some reason, but I kept on watching until I figured sleep would be better.
I couldn’t feel anything.
I didn’t even try to finish the movie the next morning, I just let time go by, again, and the days pass. Just as if they were the darkness Sam talks about in The Two Towers. I’m not saying I will never again enjoy them, but I couldn’t go on this time. Sadly, loneliness tried to endure… so I craved new books, sometime during the week, but I don’t even have the money to buy more. Then I played with the idea of re-reading every single one I have, but that somehow didn’t feel right.
As the week went on I remembered my mom had one copy of Little Women and I had been meaning to read it since December. All but defeated, I picked it up some days ago. I found what Louisa May Alcott hid in the first few pages and it made me feel alive. Rather, I found Whom she hid. He made me feel alive, again. Goodbye loneliness whenever I get a glimpse of His face. I don’t know where she’ll go with this, but after reading some of it I remembered the own lead of my books and her need one random day to find new stuff to cherish because the old one couldn’t quite understand her anymore.
“What if its someone completely new?” I heard the question recently, and I was able to see a new face in my mind, one that looked like the male lead’s from my books too, and I understood the message:
old things are never coming back, and now I’m not grieving any of those, I got to see how He’s changed me and because He’s changed me and none of them work anymore, He wants me to find everything that’ll work henceforth.
I think I can work with that, because I’ve not only been feeling like I need a newer, higher, steadier hope, but a higher form of faith, too.
One that can help me see everything He wants to do and restrains me from crying helpless every time. The one that rebuilds broken down places devastated for generations, and changes names and garments.
Still trying, still hoping, still learning,
but these old things are not me, not anymore.
Eight years later, my lists are empty.
My lists are empty but my garden’s not,
here, I’ve seen butterflies young and old taking flight.
I feel like flying with them, what a joyful scene.
-SFTS
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