To Have Memories

Tags

blessing, Cancer, forgiveness, gratitude, grief, love, memory, oncology

“To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing,
for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.”
~ Tan Twan Eng, The Gift of Rain

I remember the smile you wore when I first came to your door.
I remember our first embrace, so full of yearning.
I remember our first kiss, so full of delight.
It was a tender time, wasn’t it? 
The sweetness held us, even as we revealed the pain that we each had known.

I remember lazy walks with you among pine and cypress trees,
the ocean’s soft roar in the distance calling us.

I remember deep conversation interspersed with comfortable silences,
as though our two souls needed time to breathe –
to breathe in the fullness, the beauty, and the terror,
of all we had experienced before meeting,
all we were experiencing now with each other.

I remember quiet days and sleepless nights.

I remember worrying I might not be enough for you,
confident you were everything I needed.

I remember you always being there for me,
with a fierce and tender loyalty and love.

I remember making mistakes and being forgiven.

I remember the long waiting hours 
for the doctor to return from the operating room 
and invite me into a private space to talk.
And I remember the distress I saw in her eyes 
as she delivered the awful news –
your abdominal cavity was riddled with a rare form of cancer,
they didn’t yet know its origin,
but they had done their best to get all of it.

I remember the years of oncology visits and the many tests and scans 
and invasive procedures the medical world inflicted on your body 
to save you for another day, another month, another year.

I remember the silent toll it took on you, 
even as you wholeheartedly embraced each day of living.

I remember time – 
measured, sifted, scattered —
that we received as gift and blessing.

I remember your hand slipping into mine whenever we walked.

I remember the places we still wanted to go together,
the life we imagined living together. 

I remember the times we were apart,
wanting only to return to you.

I remember joy and sadness mingling so often as one.

I remember being deeply humbled and grateful to have you in my life.

I remember not being able to imagine your absence.
And now, there is no need to imagine it.
It meets me unwanted around every turn.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
In memory of Dallis
April 2024

Venturing back into blogging

Tags

Ocean, Pastoral ministry, Poetry, relationships, retirement, worship, writing

After 40+ years of pastoral ministry, with most Sundays being taken up with worship and/or preaching responsibilities, today was different. As of two days ago, I am in the “retired relationship” with the California-Pacific Conference of the United Methodist Church. That’s what it is called: a “retired relationship.” In other words, there is a relationship that exists after these many years with a people who seek to live out their faith in this part of the world. It is a relationship of accountability and of blessing!

Today was different for me because I had no responsibility for any church matters. I had to consciously decide how to spend my morning. Always before it was decided for me. I had some thoughts, but nothing was really firm. Already, I guess, I am releasing myself from always having to have a definite plan. Have some ideas and see where you feel most called when the time comes. So although I thought I would be attending worship in person somewhere locally, when I woke up, I found my heart being tugged toward the ocean which has always been a restorative place for me.

So, I decided to attend worship online with the good people at Washington National Cathedral in D.C. They’re a few hours ahead, so I got to their website at 8 a.m. and waited for the Prelude to begin. It was quite an amazing worship service, including inspiring Gospel music, wonderful choral music, and a thought-provoking sermon.

Then it was off to the beach in Carpinteria (CA) for the morning, where it was cloudy and cool. The tide was in, and the waves were relatively calm. It was a lovely time to meander off as far as I could in one direction and just listen to the music of nature and watch the seabirds do their thing. Along the way I picked up some shells, rocks, and driftwood that looked interesting. Mostly though it was about being immersed again in the rhythm of life. About beginning a new chapter. About taking what I’ve learned and the relationships that continue to be a source of joy to me and moving into new ventures and new places.

The past forty years of pastoral work have naturally involved a lot of writing — mostly related to ministry with the constant need to write letters, articles, columns, sermons, and liturgy. Now the writing I do will have more to do with what feeds my soul and nourishes my spirit on any given day. Perhaps some of my writing will also be meaningful to someone else along the way. I expect, although I don’t know, that my writing will mostly be poetry, blessings, prayers, and reflections on the natural world and our place in it. 

Thanks for tagging along!

Mark

New Recording 3

Tags

grief, spiritual

The recording on my phone
from a near and distant day
says only New Recording 3—
not much to go on.

I haven’t heard it in years
since standing in a throng of preachers
inside a packed sanctuary in Minneapolis
singing together a beloved Spiritual 
before the Gospel is to be read.

At first, I struggle to remember –
where is this?
why am I recording this?
what moved me to preserve
these particular moments?

Precious Lord, take my hand,
lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
through the storm, through the night,
lead me on to the light:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

These words,
these timeless words…
oh, how they soothe the soul.
Loved by so many,
they are words that smooth over
the hard edges of this life,
holding us
at least for a time
in the safekeeping of holy love.

As I listen
they do that for me
as they have for generations 
of light-seekers before me.

Then I hear it—
unmistakable
like a songbird
in the early morning air.

The one beside me
singing in that voice that melts me
causing the tears to form
as I listen.

Precious Lord, take my hand…
we sing together
on that near and distant day
when life was not yet changed.

When the darkness appears
and the night draws near,
and the day is past and gone,
at the river I stand, 
guide my feet, hold my hand:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

You’ve taken her hand now.
And you’ve taken mine.
Lead us on
to the light. 
Lead us on
to our home
where holy love dwells.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
August 2022

How Long?

Tags

grief, healing, meaning, normality, psychological wounds, Time

Just enough time has passed
that people think I’m okay
that I’m myself again
back to normal
whatever that means
when in fact I’m a wounded warrior
a man who’s been in a battle
to cling to meaning
and to hope
and to a chance to heal.

How long is enough for such things?
How much time does it take
to believe you will be okay
maybe someday
in an unknown future
as the moon hovers mournfully
over the pieces of your life
littered across the ground
like dark humus
meant to rouse a dormant soul?

There may not be enough time.
How could there be?
Time is meaningless.
It’s here
it’s gone
it’s fragile
it’s tenuous
it’s mystifying
it’s merely a container
for the life you thought you would have.

That life has slipped from your grasp.
You’ve lost the one you loved.
You will not get her back.
There’s no normal anymore
or okay
or time enough
to heal the deep wound.
It remains.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
May 27, 2022
16 months

Prayer to a Great Blue Heron

Tags

Breathing, fear, gratitude, grief, loss, paying attention, prayer

Prayer to a Great Blue Heron

You’ve met me twice recently by the lake,
with your elegant serene pose,
standing so still I almost didn’t see you.

The first time I was with a friend – 
someone who knew you,
whom I had asked to meet me.

I needed a friend – 
someone to interrupt the bleakness
of all this unwanted time alone.

I was afraid.

I was always taught not to show fear – 
a lesson in protecting oneself,
well-intentioned but poor advice.

For when facing down a soul
burdened with the harshness of grief,
there are times when fear is all there is.

Fear of crumbling into a million pieces,
fear of forgetting the touch, smell, taste
of your beloved in the passage of time,

fear of being hollowed out by sadness,
fear of being swallowed up by loneliness,
fear of losing purpose.

So many fears.

The next time I spotted you at the lake
I nearly missed you altogether.
You didn’t move or make a sound.

Yet there you stood as regal as before,
exquisite in your muted tones against the reeds,
blending in to this world of water and sky.

I stopped to breathe,
to wonder at your presence,
to say thank you.

Is this you accompanying me in my fear?
Is this you beckoning me to pay attention?

I pray that it is.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
September 27, 2021
8 months

A Prayer for Our Country

Tags

9/11, call of God, collective grief, God of love, healing of divisions, liberty, peace, prayer, social justice, wisdom

New York City 20th Anniversary of 9/11 Weekend Memorial

A Prayer for Our Country
On the eve of the twentieth anniversary of 9/11

“For Jesus, 
there are no countries to be conquered,
no ideologies to be imposed,
no people to be dominated.
There are only children, 
women and men to be loved.”
~ Henri Nouwen

God of expansive and generous love,
whose concern is the whole wide wonderful world,
especially the vulnerable and anawim (poor ones),
who hears prayers in countless languages,
who cannot be imprisoned in any one religion,
who took human form in a person of color,
in whom unity is discovered in beautiful diversity,
whose heart breaks anew each day
at the disease, death, and destruction
wrought by the creatures of earth,
hear our prayer.

We cannot claim you as our own – 
you are not an American God.
To do so is blasphemy.

Rather, you claim us as your own –
ordinary folks from all walks of life,
each one different,
yet more similar than dissimilar –
and you call us to live lives of genuine love,
caring for the least of these among us,
becoming persistent warriors for peace,
laboring to achieve justice for all,
seeking to be compassionate as God is compassionate.

So, while we identified some enemies
and misidentified others
in the aftermath of 9/11,
and then marched dutifully off to war,
thinking we could avenge the harm done to us
when the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were struck
and a plane was forced down in a Pennsylvania field,
and so many innocent lives 
of loved ones with futures and hopes
were lost to us,
we were mostly serving ourselves, not you.

We pray for our country
on this anniversary of tragedy and resolve.
We pray for comfort in our collective grief.

We pray too that the discipline of duty 
might be turned to addressing our own troubles
before turning our fury upon others.

We pray that we begin to take seriously
matters of liberty and justice that affect us all,
directly or indirectly –
climate change,
income inequality,
equal access to voting,
racial profiling,
police violence,
wrongful convictions,
prisons built upon profits,
women’s health and reproductive choices,
equal protections for our LGBTQ siblings.

We pray for healing amid our deep divisions,
not so that we all think alike,
but so that we might again be able 
to talk meaningfully and honestly with one another.

Finally, we pray for the wisdom
to reclaim and redefine our nation’s core principles
to ensure the liberty and justice that is due to all.

Amen. So may it be.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
September 10, 2021

Blessing for When You Don’t Know Where to Begin

Tags

accepting joy, blessing, fears, grief, healing, loneliness, unanswered questions

Award-winning photo of Morro Rock by Dallis Day Richardson

Blessing for When You Don’t Know Where to Begin

This blessing isn’t sure where to begin.
So many steps are just steps in the dark. 
So much of life is shaped by uncertainty.
So many questions litter our paths.
Where to begin.

Where to begin in mending one’s shattered heart.
Where to begin in creating a life on one’s own.
Where to begin in accepting joy when it comes.
Where to begin.

Even if there are discernible first steps, then what?
At the core of being human the heart beats
with a force originating in the earth’s beginnings
where fire and water and soil and air collide
and explode into wondrous breathtaking life!
Is this the place where healing begins –
as you immerse yourself in this cosmic life force?
If so, where do you learn how to do this?

This blessing sees how often you lose your way
as you unsteadily chart a strange new path alone
without another soul truly able to guide you.
What could anyone possibly say?
They would be trying to piece you back together
into their vision of wholeness.

This blessing admits defeat when necessary.
There is no winning the wrestling match with grief
when it approaches with muscles bulging
and gaze focused squarely on your weaknesses.
It will pin you every time.
Every damn time.

Maybe though, just maybe,
this is precisely what you need –
a sweeping wide-ranging battle to live
with the very things you fear most –
loneliness,
meaninglessness,
being forgotten 
left behind
as the world moves on,
accepting undeserved joy –
as you spar with your muscled opponent
who looks surprisingly familiar,
like someone you’ve encountered before
but haven’t seen in years.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
August 27, 2021
7 months

Blessing While Searching for Home

Tags

blessing, death, dying, grief, home, refuge, sanctuary, shelter, trust

Dallis on Hanalei Beach, Kauai (2017)

Blessing While Searching for Home

When we fell in love
it was a long and lovely fall
tumbling heart first
into a trust so deep and wide
neither of us recognized it at first.

Here where the soul is bare
and unashamed
and caught off guard 
by the beauty of another
we discovered home
for the first time in our lives.

It is not to be taken for granted –
this serendipity of finding
what we knew our souls needed
but had never been able to find –
a shelter from the storm,
a refuge amid life’s troubles,
a sanctuary of healing grace.

Your dying
shook the foundations
of this home we fashioned
out of love and sweat
and laughter and tears.

Now many questions travel with me
in this liminal territory I’ve entered –
where am I to turn for shelter,
how will I recover a sense of home,
how do I cultivate a circle of trust,
how does one pray with a heart bereft,
how do I travel this long, lonely road?

Travel with me, sweetheart.
Please, I pray, travel with me,
as I wait for answers 
and go in search of them.

Travel with me, sweetheart,
and in the traveling
hold these questions with me
until a new dawn arrives.

Travel with me
and be home for me,
and in the sweet mystery of love
be home with me.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
July 27, 2021

Looking for You

Tags

grief, healing, heaven, life after death, love, marriage, sanctuary

Valentine’s Day 2011

I’m told you’re looking down on me from above,
but I don’t believe it.
I don’t want you looking down on me
from some lofty perch.
You never did that in life,
so why would you start now?
It’s odd to even think about you
hovering over me –
how high I’m not told –
viewing my life as a spectator,
watching me move from here to there,
seeing me make my mistakes
and not being able to prevent them, 
having little to do with me really,
other than to observe my days
and pray for the best.

In life,
this life,
you were always by my side
and I felt your deep presence.
You were my sanctuary – 
where love flourished,
where healing occurred,
where life was restored each day,
where hope never died.

On this side of the veil
I still look for you
in this sacred meeting place
where egos fall away
and love
without conditions
abides.

You don’t look down on me from above.
You look
as you always have,
into my eyes,
with a tenderness
too deep for words.
You draw me out
and love me,
unreservedly,
truthfully,
and that is a gift
that can only be given
from the inside.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
July 3, 2021

Blessing of the Unexpected

Tags

blessing, contentment, grief, healing, heart, joy, wellness

This blessing
is not the one you expect.

You
who wonder 
if a time will ever come
when contentment
comes calling again.

You
who limp through most days
on legs weary 
from carrying
the heaviness of grief.

You
who look for signs
amid the trees
and birds of the air
that there is yet some life
able to flourish
and fly.

You
who struggle
with even the simplest things.

You 
who have given up on the why,
and need to know how – 
how to be,
how to move,
how to breathe,
how to live.

The heart knows its way home.
It does.
The heart – 
your heart – 
has always hungered for wholeness,
has always delighted in joy,
has always longed for love,
has always looked for the truest way.

This blessing may not be 
the one you expect.
Yet it is the one you receive – 
even as your heart aches,
and healing seems slow,
and days long.

This blessing
meets you where you are
and remains with you – 
in the silent spaces,
in the open wounds,
in the private pain,
for as long as you need.

This blessing knows
that even though it seems impossible – 
you will be well again,
you will be whole again,
in the fullness of time.

~ Mark Lloyd Richardson
June 2021