One of the things I’m really good at is holding people, literally and figuratively, when it’s their time to die. Two Sundays ago I was sitting on our back porch, grieving that I hadn’t been there to hold my Honduran mother as she was leaving her body earlier that day some 3,000 miles away. Suddenly, the seat of my small canvas chair gave way, landing me on my bum.
When the shock of it was over, I realized that I was stuck stuck. No way to free myself at all. Not even to rock myself over on one side. With nobody else home at Waking Dreams Retreat, I began picturing myself calling the fire department to come set me free. Peals of laughter at the thought took over, lasting a good ten minutes before Wayne arrived home. Then he literally had to cut me out of the chair…which I found even funnier!
Laughter and sorrow mixed together for me in a warm and nourishing soup of human emotions. Even though I couldn’t be there with my Honduran family physically, I felt them with me even closer now…laughing when I laughed; crying when I cried. And the physical distance between us seemed to be shrinking. Who knew that falling through a canvas chair and getting stuck could be so liberating?
Welcome all your gifts of grace, then. Even the ones that come wrapped in strange packages.