Holy Week Reflections

Ah, it’s Holy Week 2022. It’s Wednesday. Already my thoughts and emotions are being stirred as though someone has entered my mind to mix and blend everything inside into one big bowl of unsettled feelings….yesterday was a wonderful day. The sun was shining. The air was warm. I had our grandson for the day and life was grand. I went to bed feeling a good tired, my heart full of contentment, satisfaction, and joy. I slept the night away, though a bit fitfully, and woke at 8 am. I made my way to the coffee pot of fresh brew which is always waiting for me…grabbed my phone…sat down in my prayer chair as I picked up my Bible, prayer journal and pen…and then a shift from sleepy eyes to ones being overcome by tears began to slowly invade the quiet of my room and spirit. My awareness that I am in the throes of Holy Week washed over me like an unexpected gentle rain. Memories of past Holy Weeks began to flood me with images and a deep longing for loved ones who are now gone, mainly my parents….remembering also the significance of Holy Week 1979, my first true appreciation for the work of the Cross as a new creation in Christ, having given my life to Him that year on Ash Wednesday.

This morning I found myself being drawn to how a variety of music offers to inspire the listener. There were the Gaither men with “Jesus Messiah”….Andrea Bocelli and his lovely daughter with “Hallelujah” as well as he with Celine Dion singing “The Prayer”….followed up and ending with a recording by S.M. Lockridge “It’s Friday But Sunday’s Coming”. (that 3 minute video will be my Good Friday social media post for the day)

With tears slowly making their way down from the corners of my eyes, I thought of my own vocal work which began in my teens and carried through to adulthood. I remember my first major solo in a Holy Week cantata at our church. I was thrilled for the opportunity and scared out of my mind, all at the same time. The evening of the presentation had arrived and I paced back and forth in my parents’ living room waiting for my best friend to come get me. She was singing, too. We shared the same love for music, she an alto and me a soprano. In my mixed bag of emotions as I paced I questioned “why” I had agreed to performing a few solos in the cantata. My choir director had convinced me I had the voice. I was not convinced I possessed the confidence or the ability to overcome knocking knees and a stomach that felt like I had been riding roller coasters all afternoon.

But, my writing today isn’t about ME and those years of singing, although they certainly hold a very dear spot in my bank of precious memories. The words and thoughts I’m bringing you today are mere attempts to describe my heart as I anticipate Maundy Thursday tomorrow, followed up by Good Friday in two days, two very hard days for our Christ, yet without the horrific pain of an arrest, betrayals, torture among accusations from an unruly crowd and religious leaders–all who were instrumental in fulfilling God’s plan to redeem a cruel world–Sunday cannot come with all its glory and overshadowing of darkness and death!

In March of 2019 my husband and I traveled to Israel. We visited the Garden Tomb which is considered to be the actual burial place of Christ. As you can see from the photo, the space inside is not large by any means. A small platform serves as a step up to enter. The garden where this tomb is carved in the surrounding rock is beautiful. Trees, plants and flowers fill the edges of the walking paths. There are benches to sit and enjoy the beauty. There is a line to the tomb where inspired visitors from all over the world come to “see” the place where the body of Christ was laid some 2,000 years ago. When it was my turn to step up on the platform and gaze at the uneven rock inside, drawn to the crevices among the hard surfaces, I could not fully grasp that I may indeed be standing on the very spot that His body was laid on a Friday….a body ripped and shredded, drained…wrapped in burial cloths….waiting for the third day following  death on a cross to an explosion of glorious life….a moment in history that has forever changed the world…but more important…changed me. 

I’ll end today with something my father said to me. “Susan, everyone loves Christmas. It’s when we celebrate the birth of Christ. Christmas is like a slice of cake. But Easter puts the frosting on that sliver of cake. Easter is what Jesus is truly about.”…..I pray that if you are reading this, that the events of Holy Week take on the time of your own reflection. You don’t need the actual experience of visiting the Garden Tomb to see that it’s empty. Trust me, as I said, I’ve been there. All that’s present is a hole in the rock wall, crevices, rough sides and a sense of holiness that is indescribable, a holiness worthy of being humble in posture and attitude to pause, become quiet, turn off all the noise from the world, and participate in the miraculous power that was operating from Thursday until Sunday some 2,000 years ago. 

A favorite year round activity that I enjoy is that of feeding our local birds. These tiny visitors to our yard provide beauty and pleasant interruptions to a cold wintry day or warm spring mornings, especially when windows can be open to allow gentle breezes to bring in the melodic sounds of whatever “bird choir” is performing….we’ve got our share of crows, sparrows, cardinals, morning doves, woodpeckers, bluebirds, spackles, finches. Even noisy blue jays are welcome although I don’t like how they bother the robins’ nests that are buried high in our pine trees.

I’ve always thought I can learn a lot from these tiny creatures that live in and around our property. Every morning when I wake up, I walk out to my dark kitchen to pour my first cup of coffee–thank you to my husband who sets up the pot to brew right on time!–my second stop is the container holding bird seed. Currently, we don’t have any fancy bird feeders; we simply scatter the seed on the deck railing. Before long, our little visitors come and enjoy their meal. I have no way of knowing if I’m providing breakfast or a mere extension of their dining experience that probably began long before my getting up at 7:30 am. Their 5 and 6 am chatter gives me a hint they’ve been about their day much sooner than to my liking…

Do my little friends “know” that I will put out seed for them? Have they come to rely on me doing so? What if I forget? Will I disappoint them or cause small bellies to worry about where or what they will eat? My imagination that tries to conjure up thoughts, worries, questions from their world causes me to reflect on my own daily needs and where I find sustenance for my day.

I awaken to a new day–Lord willing–forgetting that God Himself has not slumbered nor slept. The mere fact that a sovereign God does not require physical rest like I do is a concept I may never comprehend but still fascinates and assures me at the same time of His power to protect and watch over me. I’m blessed to get a simple cup of freshly brewed coffee and make my way to my prayer corner where my Bible, journals, pens are waiting, carefully arranged on a table after meeting with Him yesterday. I sit down, sip my coffee, while opening a current devotional on my Bible app–technology is great for all the right reasons!–and dig into listening and reading the assigned verses for “today”….I don’t have to go far to find my “daily bread”. It’s here waiting. It’s been provided by Him. His scriptures are alive and active for me. All I have to do is look, come, and feast from the bounty of His written Word.

My cozy prayer chair is my personal deck rail that is laden with all that I need each morning…scripture…music through my phone….light from a lamp illuminating the pages of my Bible as I read…shining on my journal as I pen my thoughts and needs for myself and loved ones. It’s to this beloved corner of a bedroom that I come, knowing that God is ready to meet with me, to actually “feast” with Him, to talk or sing about what a new day will offer me with each passing hour. Do I know that God has brought His Word to me? Yes. Is He aware that I am grateful? Yes, I remember to thank Him every morning. Does He fill my belly with good things? Yes, He does, sometimes to overflowing.

Yes, I can learn a lot from the beauty and habits of the various birds that visit our yard. I can also remember that “God’s eye is on the sparrow…and surely He watches over me”. He sees me. He protects me. He sustains me. And He does all of this 24/7 without need of rest. Or a fresh cup of coffee for a quick pick-me-up although I’d like to think He does enjoy a good hot mug of heavenly brew!

The headlines across all news media has my head spinning and my spiritual  knees becoming tired and worn out from my incessant prayers that somehow, somewhere as I lament,  will be part of God’s plan–as IF He needs my help–to miraculously intervene in this crazy mixed up world of the 2000s that I–and many others–feel is out of control and headed down a slippery slope, much like an avalanche that is out of control, gaining speed with every slide, destroying everything in its path. When I can’t wrap my head or heart around the “why’s” of this world, my thoughts often turn back to my Gramma Jewell, who was a bedrock of faith for our family. As I was doing some small household chores this morning, I got to thinking about social media and the things we post, mainly me, that tell others what we’ve accomplished…photos of family and pets…vacations at home or abroad…what kind of “posts” would my gramma have shared from her life than spanned the 1900s to the 60s? Here’s a few that came to my mind…

• Got married today. He sure is a handsome fella, hard worker. He’s pretty rough around the edges but my parents gave us their blessing.
• Got home from our short honeymoon today. I was so excited to begin making the old farmhouse “ours” but that all changed. Our few belongings were packed, waiting on the porch. The farm has been given to Clara and George. Where do we go now?
• Clarence and I welcomed our first gift from God today! Our beautiful baby Virgil was born.
• Somehow we are making it through each day. Clarence works from sun up to sun down in the fields. I’m keeping busy with Virgil who’s been joined by a few more “precious” gifts…Joy, Lyle, Russell…God–You sure are blessing me with these babies! It’s got Clarence rather concerned most days. Life in the 20s and 30s is some hard economic times for us farmers….but I sure enjoyed a good belly laugh today. I caught Joy feeding Russell and our newest piglet from the same bottle! It feels good to laugh, Father.
• Sent Russell and Jack to town today to buy flour. I sure hope they don’t get in a tussle on the way home. My Russell is a bit of a boy, never one to turn down getting into a scrap, but he’s kind and loving all the same. I did overhear those two bragging about Russell did smack some boy pretty hard while Jack held the bag of flour.
• The Lord has seen fit to give me and Clarence some more daughters and sons! My oh my, my life is pretty full! Our dinner table is crowded. Somehow we manage to feed our family, even if  it means daddy eats last and Jack and Helen share a glass for their milk. Thank You Father for our cows and Your bountiful blessings.
• Today I made 9 loaves of bread. I sure keep our woodstove stoked. We’ll enjoy that fresh bread for a few days, then I’ll make more. Making our bread has gotten easier. Somehow Clarence was able to get me a dough mixer and the older boys are a big help turning the handle. They don’t complain much. Maybe it’s because they know momma will make them “jiggers” for an after school treat. A lil bit of deep fried bread dough rolled in sugar sure fills up them empty bellies, Lord.
• My heart is broken Father. This baby I’m carrying came early. We’ve given him the name Robert. He’s so tiny….we’ll love him and wait for Your divine Hand upon His life…..
• We buried little Robert today. He lived 6 days. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him….I’m so grateful my sister Esther is here to help with the children while I heal….
• Clarence and I had a disagreement today. We’ve got some neighbor children who don’t have a momma anymore. Their daddy is working hard, trying his best. Those children are smart. I have figured out they know when supper time is at our house and that I won’t turn them away from a meal. Clarence sputtered at me that “it’s hard enough feeding my own kids, Sadie…” I usually don’t speak back to my husband but today was different “Clarence, those children are hungry”. I’m grateful the Lord helped me keep my tongue from taking on a tone that wasn’t pleasant or disrespectful to him.  Somehow, my soft gentle rebukes are enough for my husband to settle down. Somehow, our meager provisions fill hungry bellies.
• I think our family is complete now, Father. Baby Ann has joined her 10 brothers and sisters.  She’s perfect and precious, just like all my children that you’ve given us.
• I’m tired this morning. This war our country has joined has me up til 2 or 3 am praying for my boys. It’s a practice I’ve added into my daily life now.  I’m anxious for every letter I will get from one of them, and the hugs I’ll cherish when they come home on leave or for good.
• The war is over, Lord. Thank You that all my boys are home safe.
• Lord, I am overwhelmed by the blessings my children gave us. They put all their money together and built us a house. It sure is nice and oh my, I’ve even got a greenhouse to grow my favorite flowers. Maybe I’ll even sell some, but not on Sunday Lord–that’s Your day…and the berry plants! Why, I can see me canning jams and lining up pies on the washer and dryer for everyone to enjoy for Sunday dinners! The chickens better keep producing and providing. I’ve got lots more bellies to fill now, Lord, but I’m not complaining. Thank You, too, for our lil Brownie. He’s a good dog. Daddy got him for me since my eyes aren’t so good anymore. 
• Oh, the weddings. Sure am getting me some beautiful “daughters”.  The grandbabies  are starting to fill our arms and home! Each one is “precious”…I don’t have to decide who I love the most; I don’t have any favorites…they’re all beautiful and perfect.
• Father, You have always been faithful to answer my prayers. Clarence has made the decision to receive You into his life. I guess age 55 isn’t too late to change a man!

Gramma didn’t have modern appliances. Her home was clean, hot in the summers and cold in the winters. Her hands were always busy…making doughs…canning fruits and meats…washing clothes by hand…cleaning up messes…planting her vegetable garden…picking berries…folded in prayer at every meal and during those late night sessions with her Father..and always on the Sabbath.

She was never one to brag or complain. At least, I never witnessed such things. I was blessed to have her in my life for 14 years.  Somehow, she chose to keep her hurts and deepest concerns inside her quiet soul, only to be turned into a prayer when it weighed upon her mind. Maybe we could all learn a thing or two from her example. Not everything needs to be posted for family and friends to see, but rather turned into prayer at the end of the day or  in the dark quiet hours of the night, when all the chores have been done for another day, bellies are full, and the sounds of soft content breathing from sleepy boys and girls can be heard coming from bedrooms…. filling the air as a new day is about to dawn.

In an earlier post several weeks ago, I wrote about not believing in coincidences, that with God life is purposeful and He has sovereign control over paths of life even when I or you take a detour derived in selfish desires or curiosity. This week in March, from the 21st to the 24th, is forever etched in my memories because of significant events that have been life changing for me and DO confirm that God has a plan, one that is often unseen as He weaves lives together, writes stories, knits new life…This week in March houses the date my parents married…the dates each was called “Home”…I’d love to write about what this week means to me as it rolls around every year…

It’s 1945, a warm March day on the 24th. Dad is in the midst of a 30 day leave from his assignments serving in the U.S. Navy, a break from wartime battles…to come back to Saginaw and marry the gal he met when she was a mere 17 year old graduating from high school. In about a month’s time a wedding was planned. She purchased her gown at a cost of $27.50, flowers were ordered, food and beverages for a reception held at her parents’ modest home were made from loving hands. The sun shone brightly with a light breeze to comfort the guests, mainly family. Following a brief honeymoon dad returned to his duties and mom began marriage living and waiting for his return….

In the fall of 1998 my mom began experiencing pain in her abdomen and began losing weight. Having survived breast cancer already, I know she lived in denial for a few months that “something” more serious than aches and pains associated with aging  was a silent culprit. A visit to her physician and several tests confirmed our fears…a second cancer had come, this time attached to the bladder and slowly invaded the health of her kidneys. After two rounds of an invasive chemotherapy medicine, she stopped treatment. She left the hospital on a Thursday to be home, the house she and dad built together in 1953/54…on Sunday, March 21 she was called “Home”….when planning her service we were asked if the funeral was okay for March 24…my dad was in a daze and when I realized the date I asked “Dad, that’s your anniversary, are you up to it?” “Let’s do it”, he said. Once again, mom is separated from the man she married, but living and waiting….a new living, a new kind of waiting…

In February of 2012 it was obvious that my dad’s life was truly waning, the ravages of age and dementia taking their final tolls. My brothers and I got Hospice in place and living final days or weeks with our dad became the focus of our thoughts. On Saturday, March 24, my brother, his wife and granddaughter visited dad. By now he was non responsive, sleeping most of the day and night. They left for home late afternoon and 20 minutes into their drive, a caregiver called to tell Mark dad had quietly slipped away. He was gone….now “Home” with mom, parents, relatives, friends, war buddies….mom’s waiting for her “Johnny” has arrived in the twinkling of an eye…

Though their deaths have given me a lot of sadness, even in that I cannot help but smile to think how God orchestrated a wedding, two homecomings that centered around an earthly union on the 24th…how He wrote the final chapter in the lives of two people who were together just over 50 years, now together for all of eternity, living and worshiping the Lord they both loved and served…no more waiting.

Yes, this is a hard week for me, but it’s also a good one, full of wonderful memories along with examples of how to live, how to love, how to let go but not forget. How to look for and recognize God’s Hand in my own life…how He’s directing my own steps…weaving and writing my own story…one that I hope and pray leaves my children and grandchildren feeling the same as me…grateful for who God gave me as parents…grateful for a heritage of faith….grateful that though I miss both of them tremendously–admitting that at age 68 there are SOME days I long for one of dad’s hugs or mom’s quiet voice telling me “It’s about time you got here” (when we walked through the door every time we came to visit)….I. Am. Grateful. With a heart that is both empty AND full, I marvel at God’s timing. It’s perfect every moment, every day, every week…I can kind of hear God saying sometimes as He guides me through life “Let’s do this…..” and all the voices of loved ones who went before me joyfully proclaiming “It’s about time you got here!”. When the twinkle of God’s eyes and gentle voice calls me “home”.

Recently I saw a meme on social media that said (my paraphrase) that when a person pops into our dreams at night, it’s their way of saying “I miss you” and “I wanted to visit with you”. While the sentiment behind this statement is very endearing and most likely comforting for many people, myself included at times, in reality it makes me cringe with everything inside me when I measure it up against sound theological doctrine. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but as a woman who truly wants to know God, understand His ways and ALL of scripture–even the hard stuff–I can’t ignore telling you that our loved ones who have died do not come back to visit us in dreams with messages. Certainly, it doesn’t mean that our dreams don’t allow us to enjoy good memories of our dearly departed loved ones. Lord knows, I have and do dream about my now deceased parents, brothers, grandparents….it’s never occurred to me they are trying to talk to me. 

When I dream about my dad he is vibrant, full of energy and love, laughing and loving which was the core of his personality. Dad lived with dementia for 3 ½ years which robbed him of who he was for almost 90 years. In some of my nighttime dreams he is no longer living in memory care, has returned to our family home, yet as I journey through the dream I am worrisome, concerned that his room at the care facility will not be available for his return even though I have been paying the fee every month.

Dreams about my mother are different. She died of cancer and often my dreams focus on her love for her home…cooking and baking…being with all of us which was one of her favorite things in life. I can still remember a dream when she and I were at a banquet (party) and she was enjoying a third piece of cake. I had said to her “Mom, you’re eating a lot of cake!” to which she responded “Didn’t you know that HERE we can eat all we want with no fear?” Perhaps the excess cake incident gave me a glimpse of heaven’s bounty without earthly boundaries….

My brother also died of cancer. Our relationship hit some rocky spots for a few years and thankfully before he died proper amends were made from both of us. When I dream about him we are happy, laughing, young, full of energy and he is whole again.

Last night I dreamt about my dear Aunt Esther and Uncle Harold, though the dream’s events focused more on her than him. Set in a home that was not theirs, she was busy in a kitchen full of bright white cabinets. She was preparing a meal, scurrying about the kitchen with no effort. My son’s family was with us and there was an implication that when the day’s activities settled down she’d be reading and teaching our grandson, age 3, from a stack of books. All of the images in my dream make sense…Aunt Esther was a teacher by profession. She loved to teach and learn new things. She enjoyed hosting family dinners in her home. She was a wise, loving woman who sought after God and the study of scripture. When I woke from the dream I thought it odd that it was Aunt Esther I had dreamed about. She’s been gone a while now. When I opened my social media account I saw a post from her son. Today is her birthday. I know there are no coincidences with God and as I said, I don’t believe that Aunt Esther is missing me and came to let me know. Even so, if it sounds contradictory, perhaps God gave this dream on this day with her as the focal point, to give me some time with her.

That’s how I think about all my dreams that have my loved ones “back in them”. I choose to believe it’s God giving me a little bit more time with them during my nighttime hours of slumber and rest…knowing I will have all of eternity with them when I pass to heaven. Years ago I asked my dad if he ever dreamed about his parents after they died. “Yup”, he said. “I think it’s God’s way of letting us have a little more time with them.” I drew comfort from his gentle wisdom and insight in that conversation.  Now I’m enjoying wonderful memories that flood my dreams….visits…meals…laughter…with dad, mom, Dave, John, in laws…aunts and uncles….soaking up all the “little bits of time” being returned to me.

This thought provoking question was posed in my morning devotion reading: Who would you like to have at your dinner table? I didn’t have to hesitate very long before someone popped into my head, and no, it wasn’t Jesus. Though He certainly would be the best guest, I had to go with someone else. I chose my grandparents, Eduard and Ida Hillert.  Let me explain why.

The current war events in Ukraine have stirred many emotions in me, also causing a lot of questions about my mother’s parents to resurface. I’m of European ancestry, mainly German. Grandpa’s Declaration of Intention to pursue United States citizenship (of which I have a photocopy) shows that he was born on December 24, 1884 in Koenigsburg, Poland. Family oral history states he was orphaned at age 4 at which time he was cared for by a foster family into his teen years, following that period of time he lived on his own until coming to America July 26, 1911. One of my first questions is “how did his parents die…what was going on around their home around 1888 to lose father and mother….did he stay in Poland with the foster family…what kind of trade did he learn as a young adult?”

When my mother told me about how her parents met, it was always accompanied by some giggling. Apparently my grandparents met at a dance and he was quite taken by this slightly older woman. (Grandma was born in 1882) Memories tell us that he proposed to her three times before she responded “what do I have to lose…no one else is coming to court me”. Grandma’s father was a schoolmaster, taught in their home, and according to my mother her German was impeccable compared to grandpa’s working man dialect. Mom told me grandpa envied his wife’s grammar and control of her German.  They were married October 8, 1908 in Poland. Together they had six children and while grandpa made the oceanic voyage to America in 1911, she and the oldest child Natalie did not join him until October of 1913.

The SS Cassel carried my grandfather from Bremen, Germany to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania but he made his way to Saginaw, Michigan where he settled on the east side of the Saginaw River to work, eventually buy a home, and wait to bring grandma and Natilie to him. They sailed to America on the Kronprinz Wilhelm from Bremen. I located a photo of the 14,908 ton ship which was built in 1901, scrapped in 1923. All the families, men, women and children, those who manned this ship–all the conversations in multiple languages, experiences, now gone, forever perished beyond imagination. The SS Cassel was built in 1901, was sold to the French for a time, before being scrapped in 1926. She could carry just over 2,000 passenger….I wonder how many people she brought from Europe to other countries besides America…all the old left behind, new lives being carved out amidst many unknown,  all with a hope for a future that included safety and security…

Back to dining with my grandfather. I’d like to ask him when he first heard of America and how his goal to come here took birth inside him. How did he feel about going from extreme poverty as a farm laborer to gain a position with a railroad company working on mechanical repairs to the engines? How easy was it to learn to speak German, Polish, Russian and English? Were you always a Lutheran and how did your relationship with God ebb and wane in the face of adversity, both in Europe and in America?

I would ask him what my mother was like as a little girl? She was the youngest. Is it true you really spoiled the girls with new dresses every year when many families were struggling financially during the Great Depression? 

What was your reaction, grandpa, when Hitler went to war in your homeland? Was it difficult to think about relatives you and grandma left behind who were now under that cruel regime? A paragraph Form 2202 says you will “renounce” forever ALL allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty….furthermore you swore that “I am not an anarchist”.….and by evidence of your signature that was your oath on May 22, 1939 to the Clerk of the Circuit Court in Saginaw, Michigan. In the lower corner of this form is a photo of my grandfather, no smile, looking very serious in a suit and tie. It’s apparent that pursuing citizenship in America was not taken lightly.

I would reminisce with grandpa and ask to hear story after story about his life…meeting and marrying grandma…coming to America….having five children born in Saginaw, the boys having to enlist in the armed forces in World War II to fight German men….was that heartbreaking? How did you reconcile that in your mind? Were any and all loyalties to the “MotherLand” now permanently gone, just like the scrapping of the very vessels that brought you here? I’d want to know, to hear him explain in English with accents of German here and there.

My grandfather died in 1948. He succumbed to cancer. I never knew him, only by the memories shared to me by my mother, my aunt, and my dad who married into their family in 1945.  Grandma passed away peacefully in her chair one evening in 1952. One thing my mom always said about her father (Pa as she referred to him)  was “he would have spoiled you, Susan…he loved his girls”. Though the thoughts of being spoiled sound good in the moment, gifts and trinkets fade, tarnish and eventually are thrown away. What I’m craving is actual conversations, stories and experiences to be told with gaiety and laughter when sitting at a meal. Having dinner with my grandparents would be grand. I can only draw from my imagination what those conversations would sound like. 

Two things bring me comfort in the absence of physically knowing my grandparents. First, I have the memories that have been told to me by my parents and secondly, I know that when I get to heaven they will be there. I’m hoping–guessing?–there will be plenty of time to find a table, prepare a delicious meal of good German foods, pull up chairs, and with fork in hand ask “So, grandpa, grandma, tell me about ……”

Until then, I’ll cherish what I know now, what I’ve been told….I’ll try to use their life experiences to have empathy and great concern for the people in Ukraine, praying many will be able to relocate to new homes…near and far…to once again feel safe and secure.