You can rest, God is Awake

I was drawn to the pictures on the wall in the library.  The colors were rich and warm, blues and yellows, rose and green ...inviting. I looked at each one carefully, taken by the simplicity that spoke volumes of beauty. 'Poet Trees',  by Santjes Oomen, a series of artwork that captures the beauty and essence of trees, what they mean for us, to us.  I love trees, always have.  My father loved trees and taught me many, many things, but mostly he just taught me to appreciate them, and I do.  Phoebe loved trees too!

October really is tree month, with leaves changing and falling, naked trees reveal their shape and intricacies of branches and bark.  It's amazing to observe the differences among them.  In our region, we're blessed with great variety.  New England is like that, abundant in its flora.  Behind us is a 400 acre preserve called World's End.  Trees not natural to our area were brought in years ago and thrived, adding to many prolific species.  We pay attention to them, notice them at every phase of the season.  One stands statuesque in the spring, calling our attention with its girth and smooth, pale grey bark ..."there's Mom's tree!" my kids will say.  Early leaves are bright red, turning darker brown, understated as the air warms.  Though a mighty tree, it glories only in the spring.
I love every New England season.  Fall, though, seems to give a final punch with the vivid range of colors.  Not every fall offers great color, but this one did.  I took note.

In the first few months after she died I would sometimes go to my backyard and wrap my arms tight around one of our own big trees.  I would press my body into it and find relief ...for some unknown reason.  Phoebe loved trees.  Since she died I scan the tops of the trees every time I step out of my car or leave my house.  Big trees are all around us. Sometimes the air is still, but when I look to the tops, leaves flutter, bend and sway.  Tall enough to catch the breezes above us.  I imagine Phoebe scampering atop, running wild and free ...barefoot.  How she loved to be barefoot.  If she could have, I'm sure she'd have found a way to move across the tips of the highest branches.

The arch of a tree dancing with a strong wind has always called me outside.  If home when a wind kicks up I can usually be found outside, even if just for moments, standing face to the wind, loving the power of it.  Before our lives changed, Phoebe would come find me, stand next to me, eyes bright, smiling.  "I love the wind!," I'd say to her.  "I know," she would answer.  Time after time, our moments in the wind, watching the trees sway and toss happily ...us too.  Shared, simple, moments.

I could see this artist loves trees too.  Each picture framed in a phrase, expression, thought ...repeated around the perimeter.  I loved them all.  But one caught me so quick, I read and re-read ...it was a little message I so needed to hear, "You can rest now.  God is awake."  Like a child, feeling safe, the warm embrace of assurance that all will be well ...all is well.  Tears sprouted.

October was closing, just days left.  I could close the door to my fourth October of grief ...my fourth October of missing my great girl.  God had extended his hand, assured me He was listening to the very core of me, the words never spoken ...when, oh when dear God, when can I rest?  It had been spoken in my heart for weeks, the stress building, the exhaustion mounting, threatening to bind me.  I felt as though I simply couldn't go on.  I would be fine when moving, distracted at work, at a game, shopping, cleaning ....but when I stopped, when night fell ...it would wash over me like a rogue wave.  When can I rest?  When can my husband rest?
And here before me, framed, away from a church, outside of a prayer, was the answer gently written around the leaves ..."You can rest now.  God is awake."
I pause, Phoebe beside me in the wind ...that's how it felt to read those words ...my great girl beside me, watching the great wind dance with the leaves.
I take pictures ...they are so beautiful, imagine her rhythmic breath just behind my right shoulder, where she would often stand with me ...looking, watching.
I can't shake how that one picture spoke to me.

I know the artist.   Olivia is good friend's with her daughter, she's spent time away with the family.  I have no note cards to write on, so I tear some simple paper from a journal and write her a note, telling her how her art moved me, consoled me, promised me.  The Holy Spirit works through all of us ...I had found an answer here, a respite ...rest.  I wanted her to know what it had meant to me.  I stick it in an envelope, quickly drop it in her mailbox.

I've learned in a real way to tell people how they've made life better ...tell them I love them, tell them what joy they bring to this world, how they brighten the day ...affirm them because everyone is a child of God and has a gift to share ...simple or big, obvious or hidden.  She had hugged me long and hard when Phoebe died.  She had cried too ...without knowing me or us.  Quietly, she'd tended to my broken Olivia, in ways I couldn't ...just by being warm, welcoming ...open.

A knock on our door yesterday finds her at my doorstep with her husband.  She carries a package.  I am so glad to see her, tell her in person how her art spoke so deeply to my heart, answered a restless prayer.  Offering the package, I start to cry.  "It's okay.  Cry!," she says to me.  I tell her I can't take it.  "Its for you, take it."  I unwrap the paper and behold the beautiful peace of art that assures me once again ...You can rest, God is awake.  To me, she has given this great gift.  Messenger of relief and promise.

I know, by faith, God is present always.  I know He hears my prayers, and will answer them in perfect time ...in the perfect way.  It's not doubt I struggle with, but weariness.  I'm tired from this journey.
When things like this happen, when threads get woven into my tapestry that offer a depth and richness I didn't know were missing ...it's like quenching a thirst you hadn't noticed before.  You are surprised by how much you  needed the water ...but you needed it.

Often times, God speaks to us outside and beyond our parameter of comfort, the familiar.  I look for answers, consolation in prayer, devotions, the Mass ...all those beautiful, rich elements of our faith.  I treasure them.  Because I am so close to it, because it is where I look for answers, understanding ...I miss the offering, the grace at times.  God knows me, knows my plea for rest, my love for trees ...and answers me their ...in a frame of leaves ...in the town library ...You can rest now, God is awake.