A Poem: love in the shadows




.love in the shadows.

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Said it before, but I am thankful for my home which is a peaceful haven and for the love I experience there.

Love in The Shadows

What do you see
in the shadows?
What are you searching for?
I see you wanting;
hoping for more.
Can you hear the music,
the song lingering here?
Shelter, comfort, home;
fragrant with his scent and sound.
What is the color of
the shadows,
the songs,
the scent
of love?
Tranquility,
it has no color, sound,
or smell,
but it is abundant.

by Melody Hanson, 2007

50 Years for Better or Worse

"MARRIAGE AND PISTOL LICENSE" office...
Excuse my perverse sense of humor. Image via Wikipedia

My in-laws celebrate fifty years of marriage this year and each family member was asked to write something to them.

December, 2010

Dear Bonnie & Terry, 

I must say how much I have been blessed by a marriage that is relatively easy — For Tom and me, it was a joining of two people’s lives that made complete and total sense.  Growing up, my parent’s marriage seemed so hard, which I now know was as much a reflection on the people than the institution of marriage.

I am so grateful for the man that Tom is, the man you raised him to be and for his life experiences that have shaped him into the person he is today. But I know that much of his character was formed as child in your home and I am so grateful to you and to God for allowing him to grow up in a healthy home with Christian parents who loved one another!

When I think of you two, I feel I feel more than a little awe.  Your partnership seems to work so well.  You two don’t talk a lot about your marriage — whether it has been easy or difficult.  There is so much I would like to know.  Your marriage seems to have a quiet strength.   I suppose the best testimony is the 50 years you have been together.  Yours has shown the test of time.  CS Lewis described that kind of love as not only a feeling but a deep unity, that must “be maintained by choice and will, and deliberately strengthened by habit, reinforced by (in Christian marriages) the grace which both parties ask, and receive, from God.”  It is clear that you made a choice a long time ago and you work daily to support and reinforce it.  “This quieter love enables people to keep the promise. It is on this love that the engine of marriage is run: being in love was the explosion that started it.” (Mere Christianity)

When I think of you two, I think of that deep unity and the quiet love that Lewis speaks of and I know that it must have been a daily choice to make it this long!  But more than simply choosing because it is the right thing to do, you both seem to be happy in your marriage.  My parents certainly loved each other, but they had a strange relationship.  It was a puzzle to me why they stuck it out when they often seemed so miserable.  But you all have been together for more than fifty years and you seem to enjoy your life!  That’s a great example to us and to our kids.

Recently I read an article that said in a committed relationship roughly two-thirds of the problems are unresolvable.  That’s daunting when you think of it, but especially in a coventant of marriage where you plan to stay together until death parts you. 

You two seem to be quite different and yet you have made a good life together.   Whatever it is that you have found, it works and it is a joy to see you share your lives together happily.  Although we cannot hope to resolve every problem, being committed to a person and to the life that you want to build together, seems to be the key.

May your lives continue to be an example to us and to your grandchildren for many, many years to come.

I love and admire you both.

 Melody

I Don’t Know (A poem)

And from my eleven year old son, Dylan:

Happy anniversary Grandma and Grandpa. 

I hope you have had a wonderful 50 years together. And that you have many more years. I think you are nice and generous people. Thank you for being my grandparents.  

Love, Dylan

From my nine year old, Jacob (with a little help from his parents.)

 Dear Grandma and Grandpa — Thank you for coming to Wisconsin in the middle of he winter and for all the trips you have made here from warm Florida.  You are fun and kind.  I love you.  Thank you for loving me.  Thank you for coming to stay with us and taking care of us when my parents go on trips!  You do a good job.  I am glad that you are my dad’s parents!  Love- Jacob

 

Related Articles

Just thinking … about agape.

I’ve thought a lot recently about the last decade.

How quickly it evaporated.  If you mark your life by major transitions a big one was in 2001 when I quit full-time work at InterVarsity.  In the years since I have grown up — as in separated from my parents emotionally and allowed myself to grow up, mature, and even move ahead of where they were at my age.  It was harder than you think.  I have also fallen in love with Jesus, as never before and accepted the Grace offered to me freely. I pray for better understanding!  I have begun to ponder life’s greatest purposes for people and more specifically me.  And, I have found an emotional equilibrium of sorts — became a drunk & got sober.  All this in a decade.  Phew!

I can’t help but wonder — What will the next decade hold?

Sunday, we heard teaching on agape which is a different kind of love than the other three: eros, storge and philios.   Agape is completely motivated in one direction.

I struggle with love.  Not loving others, that comes easily for me.  Even the kind that goes only in one direction.  And I want to be the sort of person that doesn’t need to have something in return.  But the example I grew up with made it difficult for me to believe others really love me. I’m afraid that my parent’s example was always doubting others’ love and rarely trusting anyone.

I didn’t learn that people can be counted on.  My family legacy is one of anger and record keeping.  I am breaking that cycle but I still don’t really believe that I am lovable.  My Doc says if I would just “find confidence within myself” I wouldn’t need him any more.  “The root of all my problems” is my lack of confidence.  (Of course he also tells me not to take the things he says out of context, which I have completely done here.)

But I do think — have thought for some time — that if people (if I) could learn to love others in this way — agape — we (I) would be ultimately content.  And happy.

Where I get into trouble is my need.  What do you DO WITH THE NEED?

I do honestly help others simply out of a wish to be helpful.  These pears I dutifully checked for ripeness daily for three weeks for my neighbors, not out of a desire for anything but just to be helpful as they traveled.  Stuff like that comes easily.  But often, I know I am longing for people to love me. I am not motivated by it but it is there and can’t be ignored.  Or maybe I’m just a nice person.  Perhaps it doesn’t really matter that our motives are pure?  If you believe 1 Corinthians then I think it does.

On the other hand, if I expect nothing in return because I don’t feel lovable that is not agape either.  That’s something I don’t have a name for but my prayer is to stop that!

I want to become a person who is fully living out agape.  Mother Theresa was someone whose life exemplified agape. Henri Nouwen.  Many others.  How do we become more like them in their loving others?  I guess I’m gonna have to read C.S. Lewis’ Four Loves.  If this agape is something that is really important, as important as it seems to be, then I need to understand it more fully.

Just thinking.

If this got you thinking, my church is doing a series on all of this and you can watch or listen online.  Or, you’re welcome to come along with me some time.  I can’t promise that they have all the answers but they do make you think.  And obviously I don’t either but the journey is fun!

Be well,

Melody

Intense love does not measure, it just gives.   — Mother Teresa

He Flew Away :: A fairytale.

This is an old, old story.

There once was a girl who fell in love,

in a moment; in a flash of conversation over the phone.

She fell down, down, down

into his deep, deep voice.

He was full of funny anecdotes. He was charming and open

and he kept calling

that girl.  She fell hard

for the man and his airplanes,

his funny stories and his strange lonely life.  And sometimes

when he wasn’t afraid,  he told her why  he was so very sad

and he held on to her so, so tight.

Why didn’t she know, oh why couldn’t she tell, then,

that the man would never let her in?

That she would be alone, in the end

strangled by his fear and her memories.

There once was a man that met a girl over the phone.

She made him smile and feel warm inside.  He was happy for a while.

And she waited patiently as he travelled the world.

Years of going away and coming back.  This girl, he knew

she was something else but he just couldn’t be sure.

Was it his daddy’s millions that she loved or was it him?

One day the man fell into a million pieces and called the girl.

Come, he cried, everything hurts and the walls are collapsing around me.

He wanted her.

And the girl, she came flying.  Her love made her try, try, try to glue him back together.  She gave it everything.

With her arms wrapped around, sitting there on a playground, a rush of love flooded

Through her.  She knew, for her, he was everything.

So she sat with the man and emotions swirled around, they talked and cried together.

And that girl, she just might have been

what his frightened heart needed, over time.  But  the man

closed up and went away more often.

Over time, he stopped calling.  Stopped needing

the girl.  Stopped wanting.

And though she saved her heart for him, he finally flew away and didn’t return.  And so, she

stood there frozen in time waiting, ever waiting.

But he never came.   There was nothing she could do.

This girl was something but he just couldn’t be sure.

Was it his daddy’s millions that she loved or him?

Not that time, but a hundred times

Again and again, he called her, she came to him, she held him, they laughed together,

And she cried all the way home.

Away the man flew perhaps for the last time.

Off she drove tears streaming.

How could she not have known, as he flew away over and over again —

That he would never let her in.

And one day, many years later, he would find a lady to trust.

And the girl became a woman and still there was nothing she could do.

For ages the girl wondered .

What might have happened if he had given up his daddy’s millions

and stayed in her arms?

Well this tale happened

a long time ago.

Meanwhile the woman who had been

that girl stopped waiting.

After years and years of longing and wondering,

she finally walked the other direction.

She shut her broken heart away

Full knowing.  She just might have been what he needed.  And still,

there was nothing to be done.

Today the woman remembers, still unable to know what might have been.

But she has stopped wondering.

In the real world, she found real love.  Not a dreamy or fairy tale .

And her story

Is only now being written of a girl, who became a woman and learned

She could love and be loved in return.  And that is worth knowing, worth remembering

worth writing down because she didn’t stay broken forever.

She learned to love again.

When my heart hurts, I wait. (a poem)

could be doing many things right now, my mother taught me that. 

should always comes to mind first. I could, gives breathing room. She had a lifetime of shoulds. She lived for every one. And lost herself.  And so, she sits now with her regrets. 

I could be cleaning, calling a friend, or washing up.  I could be playing the piano, or laughing with ‘Mel & Floyd’ on the radio. Even singing.  Or I could be digging outside. But here I sit, with sleepy Jaz by my side. I linger with my heavy thoughts  and the radio that is playing Chaka Khan. Now she is wild and so funky.  So unlike me. 

As the kitten stretches in the sunshine.  I sit and wait for the words.  For I have poem inside and when that happens, I have learned I can wait. It is not time wasted.  Rather, a moment of anticipation. So I go to the screen; the sacred chamber that collects my words and blows them softly  way from me. I sit, pondering hard things.

I could be a better lover. 

I am earnest and devout, but I lack fire. 

I could be a better mom.  I sometimes cave.  If you’re a parent, you know what I mean.

I could definitely be a better friend. 

And should,yes should, take better care of each precious one. 

You and I spoke late into the night of our love, desire and longings.  Of heartache. Of your loyalty.  Of my addictions.  And of God.  And, of other secret things. And in the moments, when my heart hurt so much as if I was being crushed from the inside out I could only hold on to our love. And know that for all the shoulds that sit there between us; unrequited. Honest disappointments.  Pure pain. Still.  It’s you and me.  And I know, even though our journey together is imperfect I am glad to walk this life’s path with you. 

There, it came.  The swirling thoughts are out. Not always what I want to say. Not always something I would choose to admit.  But always when and what is needed.  I suppose the thing I most love about you, is the that though we are imperfect I can wake after such a hard conversation with hope.

April 15, 2010
Marriage.  It’s an amazing thing and yet so difficult.  I don’t talk about my marriage much but I know that just like all the other things that I write about (childhood psychological abuse, addiction & recovery, motherhood, creativity, insecurities, spirituality & faith, disbelief) everyone has relationships and many people have hard marriages.  Mine isn’t difficult, funny enough.  Mine is amazing.  But we have our things and from time to time they raise their head up and demand attention.  I don’t think we should be afraid to talk about it.  Like everything it is delicate and precious.

my God is not random (a poem)

My God is not random.  He loves me.  He loves you.

He created Adam and Eve.

He put them in a perfect place.  He had

communion with them. He gave them

e v e r y t h i n g.

My God is not random. He longs for that with you and me.

I am Eve, you are Adam but we live in a broken place.

We are wreckage.  We are turmoil and pain.

But he never stops loving us red, yellow, black and white.  All named Precious!  Precious brown and beige and ivory.  Precious bronze, chestnut and chocolate. Precious cinnamon and cocoa, ecru and ginger.  Tan and tawny.  Even terra-cotta.  Precious chestnut, alabaster, and milky white. Precious ebony and obsidian. Precious slate.  Cream and sand. He made us and calls each one Precious.

My God is not random.  My God loves all.

Big & tall.  Short and fat.  Skinny or petite.  Hideous.  Beautiful.  Proud.  Angry.   Perfectionists and slackers.  Healers.  Takers.  Know-it-alls and those that don’t.  Intellectuals.  Mystics.  Liberals.  Moderates. Conservatives.  indifferent. All. Those that clean and serve.  Those that won’t.  Prosperous or poor.  Passionate or indifferent. Foolish or wise.  Filthy or Clean.  Hungry or full.  Broken and hurting.  Devastated and afraid. Crushed.  Alone. Dieing.  Texting ten and those that don’t.  Those that go and those that stay.  Loved and precious.  ALL.

I am Adam.  You are Eve.

Don’t ya get it? Don’t you see?

We messed up this place.

Think you’re important?  He seriously does not care, unless you choose to help.

It is no matter to him who you are or what you have done .  That you have Hated.  Ignored.  Hurt.  Judged.

He loves you, Me, Adam, Eve.

All of us, He loves and calls us precious.

Then he let us choose.

We walked away. We ignored.

My God isn’t random. He says:

Come Eve.  Come Adam.  Come into the garden.  Dwell.  Be with me.

See the world  Do something. Feel the pain of others and respond.

I am the world.  I am hungry.  I am thirsty.  Feed me.  I am a stranger.  Invite me to your meals. I am cold and in need of clothes.  Cover me. I am sick, imprisoned won’t you look after me?

I gave you everything. What will you choose?

If you say “That can not be you Lord!  When are you ever hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison?”

Look! If we turn toward him, he will

break our heart. He will give us

Eyes. Ears. Hands. Feet.

He is not random. He let’s us choose.

He loves the hungry.  He loves the thirsty.  He loves the naked, the sick, the incarcerated.   He loves me and you.  No mater what we do.  No matter what we’ve done.

He wants your tomorrows.  He wants communion with you.  He named you Precious.

Won’t you listen, come.

Written in response to the crisis in Haiti.  To those who cry out in a moment like this and say “if there is a god he is terrible.  How could he?”  In my perhaps inelegant way I am trying to say he loves each of us and if we were to respond to him the world would be such a better place.  The poverty and tragedy in Haiti has been there for hundreds of years.  The world ignored, but for a few.  And still, he loves.

this poem is far from done.   a torrent of thoughts.  still unruly and a mess.