Mourn

I have a rose bush planted outside our bedroom window and every now and then I get a glimspe of it as I am getting ready for work. It reminds me of my grandmother. There's a story behind it that I wrote about for our church Lent devotional book a few years ago.

I bring this all up now because life has been a bit weird lately. Work is, well, let's say...different. About a month ago, we had to "restructure" our company. About half of the company was let go - people I now miss every day. The owners took a cut in pay. One owner went to "half-time" and I went to part time. I get Fridays off but won't have any money to do anything. I also moved from Corporate Business Development (something I enjoyed most days) back to doing engineering work - something I don't enjot as much and I'm quite rusty after years off. It is very stressful. But...I am blessed to have a job.

All that being said, mornings are a little more trying these days. I am not quite as anxious to get to work as before. I am sure it will pass when I get a little more of the rust knocked off my engineering - left-brained self. In the meantime, I have noticed the past two mornings, that rose bush outside my window. I remember what I wrote. I remember that work is just one thing...it isn't THE thing.

So...here's the devotion I wrote.

My Grandmother planted a rosebush next to the small house where my mother grew up. It was an old fashion rosebush with huge, pink blooms that filled the air with a perfume that most roses only wish for. I have a picture of my grandparents standing by it in 1962. Whenever there were blooms, I would leave my Grandmother’s house with a bouquet. I remember burying my face in the blooms as we rode home, breathing the sweet smell.
Comfort.

In 2003, Grandmother had to move closer to family. After over 50 years, she and the rosebush were uprooted. No one really expected either to survive. With hope, I planted the rosebush next to my house as she had. Thanksgiving came with the news that she had cancer. The wee hours of Christmas morning found me and my mother rushing to the hospital after a sorrowful phone call. Grandmother was gone.

I mourn her passing though I am thankful her pain was lifted quickly. For several months, I mourned the loss of her beautiful hands and her outrageous one-liners. I am filled with sorrow that I didn’t tell her how wonderful she made my childhood.

One spring day, my husband called me outside. My Grandmother’s rosebush was blooming, filling the air with perfume that wrapped around me like my Grandmother’s arms. God sends comfort to those who mourn. God’s gifts surround us. His comfort is all around if we slow down, close our eyes and feel. So, if you drive by and see me standing in my driveway; eyes closed, breathing slowly… deeply, with a smile on my face, know that I am breathing in God’s comfort and the rosebush is in bloom.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.