Sometimes we must make our own light. This fixture resides in a local restaurant. It’s made of items that would ordinarily be thrown in the trash. I like that. ~ Pat
I don’t know why, but lately as I’ve mowed the lawn, I’ve had tears streaming down my face. Yesterday it started to rain while I was mowing. The irony made me grin. There I was mowing in the rain, smiling and crying at the same time. I could imagine my neighbor talking to me over the fence and not realizing I was crying because the tears would mix with the raindrops.
Maybe I was crying because the recent afternoon showers have made my weedy lawn grow at an alarming rate and I’m having to mow more often. Maybe the tears aren’t tears at all, but beads of perspiration. (It’s that hot and humid.) Maybe those bald spots in my yard where even weeds don’t grow are depressing me. Maybe I’m longing for the help of the lawn boy (teenager) who mowed for me last year, and lamenting the notion that I can’t afford him this year.
Or maybe the tears are not for me at all. Maybe they are tears of love and support for family and friends who need support right now. What better time to shed them than while my mind is free as I pace back and forth, trying physically to make order and neatness in my surroundings, at the same time trying mentally to make order for my friends and family who feel as if they are living in chaos where nothing makes sense.
This post and my tears and prayers are for P whose father died yesterday after a tragic accident. For my blogger friend U whose beloved daughter recently died unexpectedly. For A whose darling boy died, the result of a seizure, at age eighteen. For my cyber-friend J whose mother was recently diagnosed with cancer. For my friend C whose dear son is fighting demons that none of us can understand. For my precious daughter who is ill but not yet diagnosed.
God gave us unlimited tears because She knew these sorrows would sometimes come at us in bunches and we would need them.
This song kept nudging me as I mowed. It’s written by Carole King and sung by the Everly Brothers. Listen if you like.
Thanks, E. She never did get a diagnosis but she’s doing much better after about six weeks of misery. She says she’s feeling pretty normal now.
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Oh Pat, my heart goes out to you -and all those bereaved people around you-, and I hope your daughter has been diagnosed now ?
I love that you are such a compassionate soul. Hugs.
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What a powerful image that is. My heart goes out to your lawn, but also to the refreshing generosilty of spirit which shines right through this post
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Thank you, Ducks. I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to respond. I’m about to get caught up with my reading and comments.
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Thank you, Judith. I’ve learned that most people want someone to listen. That’s the least I can do. Not an easy task for me as I do love to talk.
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Hi Pat – I am crying with you. So many people with awful loads to bear. Often all we can do is sit with them, and yes cry with them, just so long as they know that we do care.
And I am sure your lawn looks much better for the tears you shed as you were moving.
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Pat this is such a lovely post. I walk to the hospital most nights to visit mum and I find the tears come on the way home. Tears are a wonderful release though and they remind us how much love we feel for the folks around us. Much love to you. J x
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Thanks, Jacqui. I appreciate your kind and wise words. Hugs.
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Beautiful writing, Pat. Thanks for remembering my daughter. Wishing all the best for your daughter.
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Thanks, Uta. Thinking of you and Peter often.
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I like the lamp too…very clever!
I find tears are cleansing too. But it sounds like your tears were from pain. I pray for comfort for all of them. 🙂
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Hi Amy, and thanks for your comments. I guess I have my share of pain. We all do, though. Sometimes I muddle through and sometimes I grab the bull by the horns. And some days I laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all.
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I do the same. 🙂
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This is a wonderful post, Pat. Tears have welled up in my eyes. I have just begun to accept the idea that tears can be refreshing and cathartic, they aren’t always an outward display of weakness. Thanks for reminding me that I need to cry once in a while, and that my plight isn’t that bad.
Tons of love,
xoxo – S.
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Thanks, S. I guess the one thing I’ve learned from this whole divorce fiasco is that tears are cathartic. I spent so many years not crying because I thought it was a sign of some flaw or weakness. Not any longer. If I feel like crying, I cry.
Hope you’re well. Are you getting excited about your move?
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Hey BOMO,
I was, and then ten days before the move I found out I had surgery scheduled for September sixth! So I did that and now I have spent an exhorborrant amount of money to stay in an apartment for four days this month! :O
All is well though. You’ve been in my thoughts.
xoxo – S.
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Hi S. I hope this last surgery is going to give you a whole new back and no more pain.
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Thanks for remembering my baby. My biggest fear is that people will forget him.
Hope all goes well with your daughter.
A
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Hi Anne. I will never forget your beautiful baby.
Daughter’s doing better.
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I am crying with you…I am praying with you. ❤ Love.
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Thank you, Kim. That means a lot to me.
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My thoughts are with you.
Hugs
C
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Thanks, Caroline. We’re doing better on this side of the pond today.
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