[picking up the poem at the fourth stanza]

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sickroom,
lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips,
set cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift--not the archaic truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

~ The Lanyard by Billy Collins in The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems
    (click on the link, click on Look Inside!, enter lanyard in the search box and you can read the first part of the poem)

For an exquisite treat, get the CD Billy Collins Live.  Follow the link for a tasty sample of a poetry reading.
 

John Piper's A Godward Life: Book Two  reads like a blog.

His keen interest in life brings a wide variety of topics to the table: poetry, ethical dilemmas, reflections on his parents, letter to his wife, vignettes of people in his life, meditations on suffering, mental health tips, and commentary on current events. He reaches back to Augustine, Bunyan, and Luther, reflects on David Brainerd, and writes about contemporary heroes like Josef Tson. 

Each reading is close to three pages; this is a book which can be read in small sips or large gulps. 

Piper brings perfect pitch to his writing.  It is not smarmy or cheesy; dry and dusty; or heavy and didactic.  His exuberance for God's glory brings a patina of grace on each page.  His humility keeps him from self-focus while maintaining a personal and genuine voice.  Above all, John Piper is a pastor. He teaches us how to pray, how to think and how to live.

Life, well lived, is like writing a poem. And therefore it is hard, very hard. A sloppy prose or an unintelligible, free verse life would not be as hard. And the effect would not be as great. God is beautiful, and the life that expresses his glory should be beautiful...Beauty and truth and compelling depth come by painstaking thinking and trial and praying and self-correcting.

Note: We mourned the passing of our neighbors' mom/grandma this week.  After the service, Curt and I sat down and wrote out our thoughts.  And Grace Will Lead Me Home has my reflections. This is my husband Curt's gift of words to our friends.

There are three things which are too wonderful for me,

Four which I do not understand:

The way of an eagle in the sky,

The way of a serpent on a rock,

The way of a ship in the middle of the sea,

And the way of a man with a maid.

Proverbs 30:18-19

When I was younger, and when my eyes seemed smarter, I concluded that a marriage was best represented by the wedding ceremony.  Beauty, strength, desire, hope, vows, laughter, celebration, romance, honeymoon; all of these became for me the defining picture of a rich marriage.

But over the years my vision of marriage has sharpened beyond the blur of my youthful folly.  My own marriage has taught me the value of sacrifice over time.  My wife’s sustained love for me through the years has re-sketched my picture of a rich marriage.

I have witnessed many marriages that are in it for the long run.  These marathon marches through difficulties and joys continue to grip my attention and cause me to refocus.  My parents’ journey speaks loudly here.  But there is a particular snapshot etched indelibly in my mind, a rich picture of marriage, crafted before me on many occasions over these recent past years.

From the privacy of my own home, I have spied what for me has become a masterful image of marriage bliss.  Sitting at my table, watching through my window, an elderly couple has often climbed their son’s driveway to attend various family get-togethers.  Slowly, carefully, stooped and leaning upon one another, arm in arm--this repeated wedding procession has captured my attention.  Their destination was always happily realized through their courageous determination, but not without the pain of old joints, grimacing faces, and off-balance missteps.

Bob and Averil scaled with difficulty what for them was a steep climb.  And they probably never knew I was watching them, sometimes praying them onward to a welcoming front door.  I’m sure they were studying the ground for the sake of a safe arrival.  But I was studying them, for the sake of my own marriage, which has not yet fully arrived.  And one day yet future, I hope someone younger will notice the masterpiece before them, when Carol and I cannot walk forward unless we are walking together, leaning in upon one another.  Thank-you Bob.  And thank-you Averil.

The first thing I noticed was the silence.  There was no prelude music, no banal conversations in unmodulated tones, no one-sided cell phone silliness; just a few low whispers, the cadence of condolences, and the quiet old ladies whispering hush. Hugs and handshakes were given and received. In that extended silence there was a fundamental respect. 

Polished wood warmed the room: curved pews with carved detail, wooden rails and paneling, a traditional wooden hymn board with white numbers.  The April sun bled through the pointed arch stained glass windows, coloring the room.  Flowers curtained the front, embraced the casket. 

As the service began, we sang her favorite hymns: How Great Thou Art, In the Garden, and Amazing Grace.

We had gathered to pay our respects to Averil, a simple woman who made a difference.  Like her name, she came from a different time, from a culture of community and generosity, industry and responsibility.  Her mother was born in the post office; she was born in the telephone office.  Through Averil we saw an example of the habits and priorities of a life lived in service to others.  She "never walked across a floor without seeing something to pick up."  She was born loving her parents.  She was an enabler of scholars.  

Her devotion to family extended in all directions.  The numbers of her life are staggering.  She was married 68 years; she and her husband kept her father-in-law 28 years.  Her children and grandchildren were lavish in their praise.  They were given a legacy of legendary country breakfasts, of hand-made quilts, of tailored clothing, of insistence on hard work, of garden produce, of hunting and fishing, and of countless plates of home cooked food.  There was no question which scripture passage would be read.  Proverbs 31 was precisely right.

The marriage of Bob and Averil is one of those rare and precious relationships.  Their love for one another was evident in their smiles, their speech, and especially as they held on to one another when they walked.

The service closed with the recitation of the Lord's Prayer.  In United Methodist tradition, we used the word trespasses.  All those glorious esses in "as we forgive those who trespass against us" rebounded off each other in the air. 

There is something very satisfying about a good funeral.  At a good funeral you are inspired to imitate the deceased.  Good grief is the final gift Averil gave her family. 

We left full of gratitude. 
 
My husband's thoughts about Bob and Averil's marriage.
More thoughts on death.
More thoughts on grief.