Fairyland

On this day, two years ago, my mother's family gathered to celebrate my grandma's life, and our affection for her. Part of our remembering had to do with 'place'; the magic that existed at Grandma's house and the surrounding forests and fields - which was strong while she was here with us - but diminished in her absence.

One of the magic places was Fairyland: a grove of old-growth pines which had been there for so long, once you entered them, there was no other surrounding landscape. Their foliage, hundreds of feet above us, created a canopy where sun streamed down, visible in beams to the forest floor. Just enough lighting to have produced an amazing bog of sproingy moss 3 feet deep in places - like a lush green mattress spreading out in all directions for mile after endless mile.

I had the pleasure of introducing some dear friends to this place through the years, knowing that one day the magic would diminish; their presence as a witness - to help me remember. Standing amongst the pines was, (similar to staying at Grandmas), like being surrounded by a tribe of old, wise women singing, laughing and whispering to me. I felt cradled, nurtured... It's a little silly, but I felt as if I had been born there and it was right to visit periodically, to honor the place. I had asked my friends to free my ashes there if I ever went before they did.

Last time I went to Grandmas (Memorial Day this past Spring), Ed and I visited Fairyland together. It was one of those mornings that held so much beauty, you'd expect a bluebird to come land on your shoulder. Sun, blooming Spring, Lilacs and Balm of Gilead, and every fresh life scent - the sun warm on our faces. We walked down the long gravel road, frolicked through the field with the dogs, and then entered the short, (30 feet or so) intensely muddy, path through underbrush that led to Fairyland. I was so focused on finding the best route through the mud, I didn't notice till I had cleared the underbrush:

Gone. All of it. It was one of those moments where you take in breath, but it doesn't seem to accomplish anything. Time stopped. Something supposedly permanent was, permanently, gone. I grieved. Hard. And then asked Jesus to fix it when He comes back. I'm sure He will. But these trees were at least 100 years old; they will never grow back while I'm alive.

I share this moment with you because we all experience losses like this. We busily make our route through the muddy, familiar day-to-day, and look up, to find that what seems permanent to us is gone. Loss of parents, children, divorce, accidents that claim our health. We gasp and feel the weight of vast emptiness where something vast in beauty used to stand. With this post, I have said a prayer for each reader, that you will find His comfort and sustenance in the 'place' of your loss. I will pray with you that Jesus will fix it when He comes back. And... I stand with you, as a witness, that He will.