That’s Gonna Leave a Mark – (but not for long)

Writing and journaling has been a true blessing in my personal grief journey. So when another blogger announced a “grief writing challenge,” I decided to join in. The gist of the challenge is to read, copy, and reflect over a different scripture passage for the next thirty days.

Here we are at day one and the passage is challenging – no pun intended.

Listen, I tell you a mystery. We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed – in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true:

Death has been swallowed up in victory.

Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death is your sting?

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 

1 Corinthians 15:51-57

On the surface, the passage is somewhat straightforward. Paul was trying to help the early Christians wrap their heads around the physical transformation that must take place to our mortal bodies before entering into heavenly eternity. And, Paul is sharing a truth about the changes to take place that were not previously revealed in scripture. In other words, he’s revealing a mystery.

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Mending Fences

Loss – in all the forms in which it raises its ugly head in our lives – often blows through like a late summer twister. If you’ve ever seen the aftermath of tornadoes on the evening news (or in your social media fee), you’ve seen how they hop and skip across the landscape indiscriminately dispensing mercy and destruction. 

On one block – a pile of splinters and twisted wire. On the next – nary a blade of grass out of place. 

Loss does the same thing. It skips across the landscape of our lives indiscriminately dispensing mercy and destruction. One week, we may be the ones giving thanks that our manicured lawns and carefully curated flower beds are intact. Even so – there will come a time when we each will face a pile of splinters and twisted wire.

Loss reduces our boundaries (our personal fences) to a pile of rubble. And that’s assuming we had good fences before loss came blowing through town.

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Living is Risky Business

I’m not really a bucket list kind of girl. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE lists – to-do lists, grocery lists, check lists, and so on.

Safe lists.

Decidedly unrisky lists. 

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Learning To Fly . . .

It was spring of 2012. The thick aroma of crawfish bread, gumbo, and po-boys cut through an even thicker shroud of South Louisiana humidity. Anticipation dangled in the air as the girls and I waited for Tom Petty to arrive on the Jazz Fest stage.

By this time, the girls had reached ages (14 and 12). Arguably a suitable age to run to the concessions on their own (using the “buddy system”). So, I watched them traipse off into a sea of strangers while I waited. 

And I waited. 

And I waited.

Ticking off minutes is not exactly in my wheelhouse. In this particular case, I had to fight off a torrent of worry over improbable outcomes to the situation. This did not make ticking any easier.

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Mark it with a “B”

My guess is that most of you do not know what you were doing twenty years ago today at precisely 4:58 a.m. Just as quickly, as I typed that last sentence, it dawned on me that a lot of you were probably sleeping. The anti-climactic intro aside – I can tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing.

I was in a labor and delivery room at Baptist Hospital on Napoleon Avenue (New Orleans). After less than three hours at the hospital, the medical staff was placing a wiggly 7lb 3oz baby girl in my arms – Shannon Marie Posey.

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Connecting the Dots . . .

As a kid (and even beyond), I was am a sucker for puzzles. Crosswords. Word jumbles. Word searches. Sudoku. I couldn’t even resist the humble “Connect the Dots.” Seriously, what is more satisfying that to watch a scene unfold from a smattering of random dots strewn across a piece of paper?

Growing up, the Bible was a lot like a smattering of dots for me. I learned it a dot at a time. The story of Adam and Eve. A story about Jonah and a big fish. A story about feeding a crowd with no time to hit the grocery. A tale of Joseph and his fancy coat. An account of how a boy named David took down giant named Goliath and another about Daniel escaping the lion’s den. A yarn about Noah, a flood, a dove, and a rainbow. Stories strewn across the pages of my youth like random dots – unnumbered and out of order. 

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Motherhood is a Dirty Business

Except for the first Mother’s Day after each girl was born, I’ve tended to write Mother’s Day off as “greeting card holiday.” You could blame it on my cold heart and staunch distaste for anything sentimental, but that wouldn’t be a fair assessment (at least on most days). Read more