"Heavy Weather" by Rev. Barbara Merritt

[Memos from Rev. Barbara Merritt and Rev. Tom Schade]

M I N I S T E R ' S   M E M O
“Heavy Weather”
For the past 24 years the empty lot next door to our home has been a
heavily-forested few acres of nature, populated only by squirrels, birds and
the occasional appearance of a pheasant. When our boys were young, they used
it as a place to make magic potions. The tall trees provided lovely shade
that cooled our house in the summer, and protected our house from strong
northeasterly winds. We grew quite accustomed to the quiet beauty of the
trees and the shelter they provided.

Only a few weeks ago, a black plastic fence went up on the boundary held in
place with bails of hay. Then came the buzz saws. In two days every tree had
been felled. Last weekend the steam shovel arrived (or more accurately, the
power shovel.) Now the deep excavation has begun for a new home to be built
on that location. A 20-foot pile of dirt waits to be hauled away by a steady
stream of arriving dump trucks. And huge tree roots lie exposed on their
sides.

What was once a lovely wooded lot looks like an F4 tornado has come through:
uprooting, flattening and utterly transforming the landscape. (Until the
trees came down, we didn’t even know there was a hill to be seen in the
distance.) What looked normal, what we took for granted, what seemed to be
permanent, turns out to be profoundly changeable. Every day we wake up to
some new kind of activity next door. This will be true for the foreseeable
future.

The diagnosis of a serious illness can have an equally catastrophic affect
on the landscape of your life. You can be just merrily going along, when
suddenly “further tests are required.” Then life plans get over-turned, put
on another course or cancelled. What once seemed ordinary, predictable and
stable presents a whole new set of challenges. You have no idea what the
next day will bring.

When my husband was diagnosed two years ago with a rare and potentially
fatal form of bone cancer (multiple myeloma) at the age of 52, we went
through all the normal stages, including: shock, denial and extended periods
of confusion. We were completely optimistic about last summer’s stem-cell
transplant with an 80% chance of success. We were stunned to discover that
the procedure hadn’t worked. So this summer Jeff is scheduled for a much
higher risk transplant where he will receive stem cells from his brother.
The procedure puts him in the kind of jeopardy where he will not be able to
work or travel for a year, and not be allowed to be out in public for six
months. While the transplant has the potential that it may cure him
completely, it also has the chance that it may kill him.

My husband is coping with the summer’s uncertainty with his usual
equanimity, poise and optimistic nature. I am handling the crisis in my own
fashion: semi-hysterical, agitated, worried and making lots and lots of
phone calls to friends and family. We will get through the upcoming
hospitalization and then the “near-sterile home” requirements. We will bring
to bear our own determination and hard work, and then we will be held up by
grace and prayers.

As our family travels through the challenges of an ever-changing
environment, as we get hit by life’s storms and vicissitudes, I can’t help
but notice that we’re not the only ones facing “heavy weather.” People in
our congregation, and everywhere else, know all too well what it is like to
have the earth shift, to experience upheaval in health, relationships, work
and life.

“Heavy weather” is a nautical term referring to the violent storms at sea
that can, seemingly, come up out of nowhere. High winds and rough seas are a
threat to huge container ships, as well as smaller crafts. Nevertheless, if
you want to go out upon the oceans such conditions are bound to occur.
Similarly, if you want to move through life in a human body, there is a
whole lot on that journey that will be unpredictable, unexpected and
difficult.

My prayer is that in the midst of whatever weather we are experiencing, you
and I will pay attention to what is still reliable, sustaining and close at
hand. Miracles like friends and laughter and kindness. Steadying practices
like meditation and service to others and worship. Occasions for gratitude,
daily. Asking for help, even when your preference is for illusions of
independence. And being receptive to those moments of unexpected joy and
delight.

Three years ago my husband, in despair over our incapacity to grow grass in
the dark and shady back yard, decided to cut our losses. He bricked off
almost a third of what should have been a lawn and designated that portion
to be a “wildflower garden.” He raked into the dirt a whole bag of
wildflower seeds purchased at the local home-improvement center. And then we
watched as, in the deep shade, a few pitiful weeds struggled for life. At
least we had two specific, clearly demarcated sections in our landscaping
design: the part where the grass didn’t grow and the part where the
wildflowers didn’t bloom.

Until that forest came tumbling down. And the sunlight poured in. This week
the wildflower garden is a solid bank of hundreds of glorious daisies with
an occasional bright purple flower which we don’t even have a name for.

Life is persistent. And so we all are called to be persistent.




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