Joshua Alive
"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies it bears much fruit."
John 12:24
Here’s Your Sign
We had a 40 day memorial service for Joshua Sunday September 30th, 2007 and we brought the flowers from the service to the cemetery that Sunday afternoon. I rode my motorcycle to the cemetery the following Thursday. Seeing that the flowers needed fresh water, I took them down the hill to the faucet, filled the vase with water, rearranged the flowers and walked back up the hill to the grave. I put the vase back into the ground and stepped a few feet away to see how the looked and they were fine. Then I prayed and talked to Joshua, crying and telling him how badly I miss him and how hard it is for all of us to go on without him. Then I asked Joshua and the Lord to send me a sign sometime in the coming week that Joshua is well, present with the Lord and happy. When I opened my eyes and looked at the flowers….I could hardly believe my eyes: One stem of yellow flowers was…out of the vase. . . stuck straight into the ground, 8-10 inches away from the vase. Hereeee’s your sign! Joshua is at peace and in the presence of the Lord he trusted in all the days of his life. Joshua’s dad
No matter what our "Providence" may have in store for us,
on the surface of life ...what is within, inaccessible to the evil will of others, is always good unless we ourselves deliberately cut ourselves off from it. And for those who are too shattered to do anything about it one way or the other, they are lifted, in pieces, into heaven and find themselves together there with no sense of how it might have been possible. . . .
-- Thomas Merton
Striving Towards Being:
The Letters of Thomas Merton and Czeslaw Milosz
Mothersong
By Renée Zitzloff
(For Joshua and every child).
Your birth touched me in a way I had not imagined possible. Small and frightened you entered the world. I was overcome by your vulnerability; and relieved that the ordeal that had brought you to my arms was over.
Since that day, I have reviewed those scenes over and over in my mind, as though returning again and again to a favorite film. For I have found that with all the diversity that life has to offer; all the pain, all the joy, I cannot match those first moments with you. I cannot duplicate the tenderness, the awe, the fragileness of the moment that you lay on my tummy, and the cord that joined us together was severed.
You looked at me, so utterly helpless and unknowing of what was coming to pass. You didn't cry, though you whimpered slightly, and I asked what was wrong; why didn't you cry? I thought you had to cry to be alive. They said you had to catch your breath. And so did I; at the beauty, the sheer beauty of your existence.
Now, many months after your birth, you have changed our lives remarkably. Every day I watch and marvel at your innocent simplicity. You march around the house so intent on small tasks that mean nothing to the world, but are so important to you; and so important to me as I watch you grow. You are delighted with the "insignificant" things in life, and wrap your arms so easily around anyone who smiles at you. We spend hours upon hours together; playing silly games like "whoopty-do" and "fall boom boom." We tickle each other and giggle. We take long walks around the neighborhood with you in your stroller leading the way. Sometimes we discover a pretty rock or a flower, and it always ends up in your mouth.
When you wake up from your nap, I slip in and watch you playing with your toes for awhile. After a moment you feel my presence, and look up with that joyful smile that says, "I knew you would be here." Quickly you roll over and pull yourself up, reach out your arms, and wordlessly ask me to pick you up. I do, and you rest your head on my shoulder, just for a moment.
The world will never again be the same.
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