Monday's Mourning Ministry - The Slow Voice of Ruin / In the Garden ~Alan Jackson

Monday's Mourning Ministry

The Slow Voice of Ruin

(My poem, written to my child about her

daddy on Father's Day...)

He cannot function. Sure, he can walk...

He can see a client or two; he can talk...

But any more work he cannot do,

As you see baby girl, he's still grieving you.

I cannot explain what happens to th' mind

As death coils around, snaps it from the Vine;

It still is working, but it is consumed–

With the fact that you're gone and that we're doomed...

That doesn't leave much for any other task;

Grief is its own Taskmaster, since you ask.

With your loss, it seems his heart has reached its fill

Of grief, then anger, then desires to kill.

There's ever an internal war raging,

Setting us up for th' next battle's staging.

If quiet, you'll hear the next storm brewin'–

Th' wind whips by your grave, th' slow voice of ruin...

~by Angie Bennett Prince

*****

(As I wrote this poem, I was inspired by Cormac McCarthy's picturesque words in his book, Suttree (which was located in Knoxville, Tennessee where I live by the way!). His words just reached out and grabbed me:

"Night sounds and laughter drifted from the yellow shacks beyond the railspur and the river spooled past highbacked and hissing in the dark at his feet like the seething of sand in a glass, wind in a desert, the slow voice of ruin."

~Cormac McCarthy, Suttree

*****

In the Garden

~Alan Jackson

On Father's Day, I also think of my own precious daddy, such a sweet, strongly-principled godly man with a very tender heart toward his family, his church, and his God. He too knew of loss... As a child of four, he lost his own mother to cancer; at the age of 65, he lost his first-born son to cancer. (My brother was only 38 years old, and the father of his own 14-year-old son.) Deep losses. Deep faith. Deep love.

My father's favorite hymn was "I Come to the Garden Alone." This hymn has deep meaning for me as it represents Daddy's tender relationship with his Living Lord. Often, if I got up early, I would find my father in our den on his knees before his day would begin. Such a deep faith. Such a sweet love for his Lord and for us he passed down to us. I pray that his favorite song will minister to your grieving hearts as well.

In the Garden

~Alan Jackson

In memory of my daddy,

Charles Curtis Bennett, Sr.

and of my brother,

Charles Curtis "Buddy" Bennett, Jr.

In the Garden

~Alan Jackson

I come to the garden alone,

While the dew is still on the roses;

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,

The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own;

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

I'd stay in the Garden with Him

but the night around me is falling,

But He bids me go; through the voice of woe,

His voice to me is calling.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own;

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

*****

There is another verse that Alan Jackson did not sing. I include it as it just captures for me the sweetness of our Lord:

He speaks, and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own;

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

*****

"And they heard the voice of the Lord walking in the garden..."

~Genesis 3:8

girl in the wind and barren ground picture:http://twitpic.com/15dwe0

Poem - The Slow Voice of Ruin - Angie Bennett Prince - 6/19/10, writing to my child about her daddy on Father's Day..., inspired by Cormac McCarthy, Sutree,

garden picture: http://twitpic.com/zqzo2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzzqhaLl_8w

Her Father's Love

Her Father's Love

You had the pow’r to save my baby girl . . .

When she was sad, You came to comfort her,

When she was harmed, Your protection would unfurl,

When she was lonely, You came t’ visit her.

When she sinned, Your own Lamb came t’ take her sin,

When she would cry, You wiped her tears away;

When she was estranged, You came, took her in,

When she was taunted, You kept th’ Fiend at bay.

When she was vulnerable, You gave strength,

When she faltered, You’d go to any length,

Ev’n parted the heav’ns to come, rescue her,

Sought th’ cherubims, on their wings You mounted . . .

You battled when foes were too strong for her,

In waters too high, You took hold of her.

When she could not hear, Your voice resounded.

But when You spoke, and she refused, You warned,

But when she still turned You away, You mourned . . .

And when she ran from You, asserting her will,

You let her go, but You loved her still . . .

When the Enemy pounced, her body killed,

You took her to Heaven, Your Love revealed.

But long before the bells for her life pealed,

Her Father’s Love made sure her soul was sealed.

Based on Psalm 18

Picture: Angel_of_the_Aurora_2A.jpg on http://www.skychasers.net/sue.htm

Written 6/16/09 – Her Father’s Love – Angie Bennett Prince

Minefield of Grief Bombs and "Functional Grievers"

Merry Katherine Prince

(By Tommy Prince)

Journal

2/26/09, Thursday, 2 a.m.

We're in Athens, Georgia (Angie's hometown, staying with my in-laws) helping my handicapped brother-in-law Rick who is in the Intensive Care Unit trying to recover from Aspiration Pneumonia; the family is each taking shifts so someone can be with him 24/7; Angie and I have the midnight till 5 a.m. shifts.

I got out a little today to go by Rick's business and talk to (our nephew) Curt and observe the goings on.  While I was there (Curt's wife) Michelle brought their daughter (our six-year-old grand-niece) Meredith by to visit her daddy.  

When she came in, she walked over and gave me a hug and put her arms around my neck.  I came close to losing it right there in front of everyone.  I quickly suppressed the urge to cry.  I quickly turned the conversation back to the business . . . .

Last night during my nap before going to the hospital (at midnight), I dreamed about Merry Katherine and that she was little, and (that) Nathan had hurt her in the Bennetts' basement. 

She came running to me and I grabbed her up and held her.  She said she was okay, kissed me on my eye, which smudged my glasses, told me she loved me and ran off to play.  When I woke up at 10 p.m.,

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and had a prolonged gut-busting cry that gave me a whomping headache.

As I mentioned earlier, (my 6-year-old grand-niece) Meredith had come up and hugged me (today); that (hug) set off my emotional insides that took me totally by surprise.  Every time I dream about Merry Katherine, I have always been hugging her and don't want to let go.  

When that little Meredith hugged me, she was the first little girl to do that in over 2 1/2 years.  I found myself wanting to grab her up and hold her forever just like in my dreams of Merry Katherine, which always mess with me for several days.  

I found myself immediately taking my hands off her as though she was on fire and I was going to get badly burned.  I used all my energy to suppress the intense hurt that was boiling inside me.

The lava flow of pain surfaced after the nap and dream.  The rest of the night and today, I have felt out-of-it.

Journal

March 6, Friday, 6:30 a.m. (back home in Tennessee)

I didn't sleep as much today as yesterday but feel pretty rested.  (We'll see.)  

I am astounded at how much deep hurt and intense sorrow I carry around inside of me.  

I don't have an awareness of it until something like what happened in GA suddenly throws me into an uncontrollable, deep, long, crying spell.  

(Having intense grief inside) is something like being an epileptic; you don't really know when the next debilitating episode will hit.  Like an epileptic, you do have some awareness of what kinds of things or situations might trigger an episode that will resemble a "throw-down" in wrestling.  These are the very things and situations you stay away from.

As a "functional griever,"* over time I have learned some of what to avoid.  

Tragically, I will always be tiptoeing through a minefield of grief bombs.  -->     

Now I'm beginning to see why fatigue and exhaustion (have) become such a prevalent aspect of daily life.-->        

These external minefields can easily set off the internal hurt and sorrow.  -->        

This (struggle to avoid emotional minefields) in turn requires tension.-->

 

This (tension) itself is tiring enough; -->     

   

Add the internal turmoil of dealing with losing your baby girl, -->    

  

And you have one wasted son-of-a-gun. 

*(Functional griever" is a term Angie and I have given ourselves that describes our life--yes, we can get up every day and somewhat function, but most of our energies have to be dedicated to processing our manifold grief, so we just call ourselves "functional grievers.")