There is a scarf I have in my closet that when I wrap it just right, the place where I sprayed perfume lands right below the right side of my face and I have this hint of deep rich perfume throughout the time in which I wear it. The original time I sprayed the perfume on the scarf and the time I wear the scarf may be very different in experience – a night to an auction vs a run to the store; but somehow the mood of the perfume meets me still.
Similarly, I have a work shirt of my Grandmother’s (Ruth – who passed away last year) and when I wear it while it’s humid, the musk of her rose and her summer garden, her nighttime kitchen and old hands raises up and I feel her through the vivid imagery invoked by this smell.
Before the Last Supper, Jesus was anointed by a woman who poured over him a jar of expensive perfume. There is no account of Jesus’ last bath and even if there were, I find it hard to imagine such a strong perfume would be entirely washed away. I am thinking the sweat, the blood, the tears – the betrayal, the rooster, the cross – all were experienced with this anointing scent.
I believe God gives us ways to remember promises and ever faithfulness. When Jesus was anointed by the woman, he said to his disciples that she had “done a beautiful thing to him”. This Good Friday, I reflect on Jesus carrying the cross, beaten and torn.
I imagine that through the deep inhales required in such excruciating pain and humiliation he inhaled the beautiful thing done to him.
I imagine the scent invoking the memory of her (Mathew 26:10-13) in Jesus’ mind as he suffered and died. And that this memory, prompted by the smell of the perfume, was perhaps even a reminder of the Gospel to Jesus in this time.Somehow I find this as a way God the Father was with him.
I wish you a blessed and holy Good Friday. May God hold your heart tight in whatever you are going through. May you live ever mindful and forever strong in his will and word. May there pieces that fall in place that remind you of all of this great love God has for you. Namaste.
This is a picture of Ellen coming up (or going down) earlier this summer. I thought of it for this post because it’s it – it’s the place I describe in this writing..
There is a sink full of warm water and mostly clean dishes in my kitchen. I was washing those same dishes last night when I took a phone call (my older sister Emily calling me back) – talked for an hour – then went off to do a bit of reading before falling asleep. The dishes sat overnight and were added to by breakfast. It wasn’t long into re-washing the dishes that I felt compelled to capture a moment for which I am quite grateful. Sitting down to write this post, I’m looking at washing these dishes for the 3rd time tomorrow.
Mid-week this week I found myself fessing up my honest take on some situations to two of my confidants. In allowing myself to be brutally honest, I realized just how critical I had become. Even though I wasn’t always expressing this sentiment, it was in me. I was humbled by what I looked like: going on and on about how inefficiently people communicate. All of these situations were truly opportunities to show compassion. And truly in all of this, there was a distinct opportunity to show myself that same compassion. I was reminded of a poem by Fleur Adcock (check it: here) and really took a minute to breathe and allow myself to be how I am. I have a bad habit of comparing what I like and find entertaining or noteworthy with what others may like and find entertaining or noteworthy. It felt good to experience some complete whole breaths of self compassion. And thus lay off everybody else who is just being who they are.. interesting concept, right? (I’m laughing – because of how sure I am I have solved this puzzle before and how certain I am I will need to solve it again.)
Thing is – I came across something tonight that I haven’t had before (though I swear I have but I can’t remember) for which I am grateful. Really really grateful. It was like being given a key.
I took my daughters up to the pool at about 4:45pm. For about 2 hours, I did what’s typical: socialized with other moms, read (here’s what I’m currently on my 6th attempt to read..) and answered my children’s inquiry “when are you getting in” with all sorts of creative milestones “when I get to page 93” – “when my heart is ready” – and (most commonly used) “when I get hot”.
Around 7:30, when Ellen got out and said she was bored, I pulled out a deck of cards. After a couple of rounds of Go Fish and Rummy, the night sky had completely fallen. The pool lights were on and making the water dazzle like only a summer time pool can on either a humid August night or one of those magical mid vacation nights when you know longer know the date. We both started joking about jumping in with our clothes on and before long, in one quick movement, I dove in and began a completely different experience.
Swimming in the dark with the world lit up below us, I started to feel something really super familiar. I had flashes of feelings from my past but without images or stories.
I felt lucky. I felt really loved. I felt a sense of simplicity. I felt I could go on forever. These feelings were fleeting, but over and over while jumping around and playing nonsense games, I would get them. Flash. flash. flash.
I started out on a lap to the deep end of the pool where I planned to go over to the ladder and climb out to meet my towel. The flashes continued. Without thinking, I found myself stopping at some point in the deep end, keeping my eyes closed, plunging down under the water and letting my knees hit a bend after my feet hit the floor. Pausing. Exhaling. Then coming up for one breath, keeping my eyes closed and going down again. In recalling this, my motions continued as if on auto-pilot.
Over and over again without opening my eyes, I felt this incredible feeling of nothing. I wasn’t an adult but I wasn’t a child. I was only myself. I had no age. Just the feeling of warm water over my whole body then stillness. A part of my inside was laughing at the joy and the freedom. The secret of buoyancy and its power to let you leave the demands of the every day physical reality in which we live. For a parallel, it was nothing like driving: where you’re behind a machine and watching lights, cars, and trying not to text.
My mind started getting busy trying to grab words to describe how happy I was in this and sure enough I lost it. But now I know I have this spot – now I know that there is a familiarity in water that takes me to my inner most place where I am not even “Erin” but I am my soul. My non-critical, very curious, full of wonder, and quite generous soul.
It’s just draped in lightly freckled skin with eyes that are (at the moment) pretty tired and in a body that has dishes to do.
I think probably the only person who knows the depth of my heart ache on Thanksgiving is my niece, Aila. Who – under the stunning glow of the moonlight – in the crisp evening before a round of rain – kissed me so sweetly in astonishment of my tears. After a hug from her plastic horse, I laid down on the earth and looked up to the sky. My heart was in pieces as I talked to my mom about my pain, my faith, and my desire to love.
Struggle goes through phases as does merit, reward, and courage. Pain and regret happen as randomly as upright clarity. In the questions we ask of our past, we find our future. In the requests we make of others, we find God’s requests of us.
My emotions are so deep – I was with a writer friend a week or so ago and in her critique of an incredibly sensual piece she asked “how deep are her emotions? how much more can we know of her?” And though the woman in my piece wasn’t me, her feminine core was my reflection. To that, the answer to that question simply brings images of oceans, galaxies, and – oddly enough – a muddy puddle.
In my suffering, I have asked God to show me beauty – to help me understand how his love radiates and to put it through me: to my daughters, to my family and friends, to the world. I am really moved – I am crying, actually as I write this – because I have found so much joy in my confusion and in my sadness, I have found so much strength. I have peace in my change. In my worry, I have gained confidence.
And, well, receiving so much love through posting a picture of me and my daughters is so much more than a nice photo – this picture is all of what I described, not just for me but for my daughters as well, and – with snot running out of my nose right now – I just want to thank God.
Frozen Spaghetti 