Early morning in Rocky Point brings the imperceptibility of sand to water and water to sky. All are shades of blue lavender tinged with the rising sun and distinguished only by their textures.

The cool water laughs on my feet with the quiet giggles that accompany a new day.

The beach reinvents itself as the captured water near shore makes a channel through the sand to the Sea and the tide goes out, securing the rhythm of life.

Anne

October 4, 2021

One of my 15 year old’s songs begins with a line that turns out to be from a poem: “even if you’re not ready for the day it cannot always be night.”

How appropriate on the night before we go to Rocky Point for the first time without Philip. I’ve been dreading it a bit but it can’t always be night even though I may not be ready for the day.  I’m going to face it head on, it’s going to be okay… might even be glorious.

Anne

October 2, 2021

SPEECH TO THE YOUNG, SPEECH TO THE PROGRESS-TOWARD

By Gwendolyn Brooks

  Say to them,

  say to the down-keepers,

3 the sun-slappers,

  the self-soilers,

  the harmony-hushers,

6 “Even if you are not ready for day it cannot always be night.”

  You will be right.

  For that is the hard home-run.

9 Live not for battles won.

Live not for the-end-of-the-song.

Live in the along.

The Progress Toward

October 5, 2021

Philip, you are everywhere.

On the early morning beach at sunrise just as the sun touches the beach with soft hues of awakening. You are in Jeff’s absent coffee in 712 SW. In our afternoon bocce, frisbee, baseball, body surfing. You are the anchor of the Patton’s Phil’s BARge as we gather round listening to Barry’s choice Rush tunes and float easily in our bonds of friendship. You are in the bold, distinct laughter of Casey that echos amid the pounding surf and in the deep sea fishing trip and dance party on the 7th floor fish fry. You are on the evening breezes as day closes with its triumphant blazing color and you continue to ring true in each of us as constant as the waves upon the shore.

I smile, truly, with profound gratitude at those who honor you but my mouth belies an equally strong current of unrest. I miss you. 

My heart continues it’s steady beat and, here in this place, it resounds with it’s repetitive no, no, no. I don’t want to be here…without you.

I am angry. I am tired. I am a hater. I hate that everything is about you yet I grasp at every memory of you as well.  I hate that I am mired in my sorrow and am unable to get past it. I hate that I am not rooted in gratitude for your well lived life when I am surrounded by  friends and family in this beautiful place of memories…

So I walk the beach at sunset and I open my hateful clenched fist, wide handed. I purposefully release part of you to the waters of Rocky Point and I hope, beyond hope. I hope to somehow be released from the shackle that my sorrow has become and be empowered to fully embrace my gratitude of what is, now; To embrace my progress toward and to live in the along.

Anne

October 5, 2021

A depth of foreboding sadness has followed me this past month, unrelenting, strength absorbing, leaving me in constant lament when I am alone. I sleep to assuage the burdensome immobility that results. Formless in the void it has made within me, I have searched for words to capture it but none have come.

Is this grieving? Or am I in trouble of losing myself in such a series of unfortunate events? 

I can pinpoint no discernible trigger though for triggers, there are many…  There’s the breakage: truck batteries, flat tires, refrigerator, freezer, grill, A/C, friends and family…

And there’s the flooring project: new flooring installed after 20 years. My workers have been kind and skilled but the prep has been overwhelming nonetheless. 

Today, at last, as the flooring project came to its end, I began to get it.

I am simply desperate for Philip.

It seems so obvious now but my confusing emotions have muddled it all up.

I am strong and more than capable to supervise this project and all the others but the fact, I now realize, is that I don’t want to. 

What I want is Philip by my side. 

Now there’s a trigger I can pinpoint,

Anne

September 28, 2021

As the birds flew over her head on this sunny day,  Bella, my 4-month-old puppy, started chasing their shadows as if they were bunnies, ears flopping in delight, excitement in her bounce.

It seems I’m chasing shadows these days, as well, only there’s very little bounce in my steps.

Today there are the shadows of a broken refrigerator freezer and a car that needs a jump to add to an already burdensome list.

There’s always something more isn’t there? A series of unfortunate events casting shadows on our well laid plans. 

And there’s the shadow of Philip, as usual. 

One of his favorite days of the year went by without notice, for a week. Opening day of dove season: an event in the Braudt household. The day he would take his sons out of school every year. Highly anticipated, intricately planned, every year for 26 years and it passed by without even a glimmer of a thought until today…And it bothers me that I could be distracted so easily from what was so dear to him. 

The first year after a death is supposed to be the hardest because of all the firsts you do without him. I know that but nobody ever mentions the firsts that come and go without a thought. Those are proving to be insidiously more dangerous to my lengthening series of unfortunate events.

I’m tired. The weather with all it’s brilliance lays like a heavy blanket of oppression. 

Some days I just want to be a shadow myself, blotted out by the cloudy sky for the time it takes for the sun to shine again.

Thank God  for the delight of a puppy breaking through my funk, if only for a moment, to remind me that His grace is sufficient for me even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Anne

September 12, 2021

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. [1]

Psalms 91:1

“When the night is holding on to me,

God is holding on”

King of my Heart by Sarah and John Mark McMillan

So I’ve been in a funk lately, really missing Philip, sorrow bubbling up. The thing is just as I give in to the sorrow, I am reminded that life’s challenges don’t take a vacation when you’re grieving. 

Grief’s sorrow, Breast cancer close to home again, family hunting accidents… It’s kind of funny that I found a house long crack in the foundation of my house yesterday; a bit of a metaphor for my life these days don’t you think?

Fortunately, there is only a crack in my emotional foundation. My true Foundation tells me that when it seems close to more than I can bear, it’s probably true but it is NOT more than He can handle. Another metaphor perhaps because He is the handle I am holding on to… good thing is though, I don’t need to hold on to Jesus because He’s already holding on to me in His sure and powerful double grip.

Life’s challenges meet my Jesus.

Anne

September 6, 2021

There are times I fear I lose myself

I don’t know who I am

I get caught up in the struggle and the strain

With my back against a stonewall

My finger in the dam

Losing strength and going down again…

John Denver’s To the Wild Country

I long for a simpler life. I took a deep dive into obstacles and stymies today; losing strength and going down again.

One task that turned into five more impossibilities followed by another and another. It was too much. Stopped me in my tracks, ransacking my get up and go, which got up and went in a decisive finger pulling from the dam flurry.

It is strange what sets me off; that which I approached with confidence and vigor turned so quickly into disillusionment and seemingly insurmountable dread.

“I should have known” I find myself repeating as if anticipating it would make it less harsh. 

I guess my life is rather simple: The pain of loss is the gift that keeps on giving.

Anne

August, 28, 2021

“A ruined man and Tiger, the kitten. The same world held them both. The tragic capacity of the human race for going off course was a little balanced by the integrity of the animals who were always obedient to the law of their being.”

Scent of Water by E. Goudge

A 95° day with a westerly breeze bringing the fragrance of late summer and playfully wet dogs. The delicate hummingbirds dance beneath our tree in the distance while I, like an audience, sit in the comforting shade of my favorite grand mulberry tree, my bookended pups by my side, watching the show. 

Yet it is all somehow diminished by the return of melancholy, once again. It seems so incongruous on such a brilliant, pretty day but I imagine it is just that which will balance me out with its watering.

Anne

August 23, 2021

The overcast skies, the warmish breeze bringing the scent of water with its movement as my faithful dogs lie by the side of their blind woman. As I sit, I realize I am sort of a blind woman. I get entangled in the concerns of my day and their ties so easily bind me yet, I am not left there. I am gently gifted with the dawning of sight as I open myself and accept the goodness of God all around me.

Gratefully,

Anne
August 16, 2021

Hebrews 12:1-2

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

What I seek is the goodness of God that waters the dry places. 

And water overflows from 

one dry patch to another 

and so you cannot be selfish 

in digging for it.”

The Scent of Water 

by Elizabeth Goudge

It is a lovely day for a picnic, I think, and my doggers heartily agree though they know not where I’m taking them. Outside, together, is all they have need to know. I have chosen a shady tree near the edge of the pond. It is a mosaic of gradient greens, dark to light fluttering sweetly. The breeze is cooling and the smell of the earthy water floats gently upon it. The sounds of a distant lawnmower and birdsong, and is it bugsong?, drift all about me surrounding me in nature’s afternoon dance.

I had hoped that the poppets would swim and join the dance as I enjoyed a soft start to my midday but they stay by my side as if I were a blind woman; wary and watching. The little one copies them in a moment of unusual stillness but is soon easily and abruptly lured away by a pair of dark feathered, imperceptibly, red-throated hummingbirds with the tiniest wings. They are so quick that Bella can only sense them. She jumps where they might be just as they whisk away out of her reach, their instinctual timing impeccable. 

When they return, out of sight of Bella but close enough to me I can almost touch them, it is then that I can’t believe what I see. I am treated to a glimpse of an astonishing passionate salmon-pink throat. It is only for a moment and the miniature bird flies off to a nearby branch to pose, I suppose. The brilliant color is hidden once again. Could it be a volitional greeting intended for a select audience only? I am unexpectedly delighted and lose myself in their frolic.

When I come round again, I become aware of the field of the Canadian geese who have chosen my pond this year. They spread out on the lawn off across from me, safely out of reach of my hunting dogs. They are magnificent and regal somehow. 

I’m reading one of my favorite books again and it has inspired me to sit and seek the watering of God. As the afternoon carries on, my shade becomes less and the temperature more, but my heart swells full with the watering. 

Gratefully,

Anne

August 10, 2021

Running to the Father.

I picture you and I running. We are two little girls running toward the brilliant Sonrise, across a field of golden grain. We meet in the middle grabbing hands, twirling for a moment at the joy of meeting each other. We then continue our run toward the rising Son. As we come near, trembling from the dashing, smiling with excitement, we meet Jesus at the foot of the throne of our Father. He gathers us in His arms so delighted we have come. We feel the rush of His love deep in our chests as His mercy calls out our names. Just as we are, He pulls us in and, together, we fall into the grace pouring out from the very heart of our God, three in One.

Romans tells us that He is doing a great work in us through these struggles of ours. And not only that, He has given us the privilege of running together until we see His glory through it all. The privilege of locking arms as we run toward the Son. I’ll see you there every day until we see this through.

Loving you, Marijo, as you have loved me. 

Gratefully, Anne

August 10, 2021

See Run To The Father

By Matt Maher and Cody Carnes