Write for God

One of my favorite CDs last year was the Robert Plant/Alison Krauss collaboration Raising Sand. It does sound like a mishmosh–the bare-chested screamer from Led Zeppelin and the bluegrass fiddler who is half his age–but the CD is magic. Their voices interplay beautifully and the song choices are inspired.

I was listening to the CD recently when the track titled Let Your Loss be your Lesson struck me in a different way than before. The Little Milton song as sung by Plant and Krauss is a melodic ballad instead of an R&B plea. Krauss’ soprano intones the refrain several times to end the song and I thought about how I’ve learned in the past year that loss is always a lesson.

I could say that I lost so much in the past year with a husband and daughter in trauma units, a reduction of income and so on. Yet, in many ways, our losses have taught us so much. I always look forward to the scene in The Wizard of Oz when the Good Witch asks Dorothy what she’s learned and Dorothy replies she’s learned that your heart’s desire is in your own backyard. Sometimes it is that simple.

When you almost lose a child, your lesson is to value every day you have with that child thereafter. When you lose your job, your lesson is to always value the work you do, even if you sweep streets. When you lose your income, your lesson is to realize how much you already have and how little of it you really need.

Loss is always a lesson if we allow it to be and, when the lesson is over, you find how much you’ve gained.

For the last several nights at dinner, I’ve been reading at The Duty of Delight, Dorothy Day’s diaries during the years of the Catholic Worker. Sometimes her entries are incredibly brief and at times they are epic. They are always consistent, though.

This blog began on Holy Innocents Day 2007, but the spans between entries have sometimes been long as life got in the way. I’ve been unemployed, re-employed, become a grandmother three times, saw my husband fracture his skull and end up in a trauma unit and then witnessed our 13-year-old survive five weeks in a coma and five weeks in rehab. Since October 2007, life has been a maelstrom of sorrow, prayer, anger, acedia, joy and resignation.

For a diary or a blog to serve its purpose as confessional and record of daily life, it must have continuity. As our daughter continued to improve each day, the light at the end our tunnel grew nearer and brighter. Now it’s time to step out into the sunshine of God’s love and see life with fresh eyes.

Long or short, trivial or deep, these entries will continue.