Once, I was terrified to pray in front of people. By that, I don’t mean the way you recite a prayer that someone made you memorize, nor do I mean the way that you listen and absorb a prayer someone else is saying. That simply requires an affirming mmm hmmm and an occasional whispered yes here and there. I mean being the person who says the prayer in front of other folks while they play the role of mmm hmming and yessing. This phobia was a recent one, too, like a year ago. I was pinch-hitting as a table leader for a Bible study where the usual table leader was out. The prayer was up to me. Egad.
I went in strong. I can say that for myself. Soon, however, I lost my footing a bit. The pauses became longer than necessary. A couple of back-to-back sentences regurgitated the same meanings with different synonyms. But then, something amazing happened. The words came fast and furious – beautiful, flowery words that swept over the table like a crescendo in a Chopin masterpiece. I said Amen. They all said Amen. A few people relayed exclamations of awe. They really liked the prayer. I became exuberant, like a runner crossing the finish line first. Did I win? Heck yes, I did. I’m that good. I looked at the one remaining person at the table with pride on my face. “Did you just quote Hope Floats?” she asked. I still don’t know which was worse, my blatant theft of Birdee Calvert’s words or my haughtiness in allowing the execution of the words to triumph over the meaning. See, I was so scared of how the prayer would be in the end that I failed to realize the truly scary part is all the pieces that accumulate just before the finale. Transitions are terrifying.
As I sit here typing, I am weary. This has been a week. My father-in-law passed away a few days ago. While it is not my story to tell, I will say those days left me forever changed, good and bad. Veteran of loss that I am, I foolishly keep thinking I can somehow opt out of the sting of losing someone dear. The loss – the moment where the loved one leaves both earth and your scope of vision – is what we fear. Death – scary. Die – scary. End – scary. Except, it isn’t. It is sad and depressing and oh so lonely, but not really scary. The transition to death, that’s horrific. Moments ago, my daughter-inlaw walked into the room in tears. Their young cat, my granddaughter’s life joy, is dying. He has a rare genetic mutation with an explanation so many pay levels above my ability to decipher that I refuse to try to explain. We fear pets dying. But in reality, it’s the right now part that is so scary. Death we know. But those transition times just before death, those are fearfully unknown to us. And we fear fear.
This is how things are in many of the world’s trials. Life is hard in the in betweens. It’s that way when we lose people. Same with pets. Same with marriages. Same with friendships, both the ones we outgrow and the ones that outgrow us. We steady ourselves and ready ourselves for the last moments of any tragedy. No one ever says, “watch out for that mid-way turn.”
It would be easier if Cheeto, the world’s most handsome orange tabby, were either fine or no longer here. But he is in the limbo, fear, and pain of his last transition. It is a street paved in potholes. It is a movie scene where everything is a disaster. It is a song with no chorus where the bridge goes down an octave and never comes back up. Our maladies in this world are clusters of dark clouds that come long before the things we’ve dreaded hit us. It seems I have penned a cautionary tale. It is good news, I tell you. Truly. You can handle the actual thing. You are better and stronger and altogether more fantastical than you give yourself credit for being. Just be tender with your heart through the transitions. Lord, help us all with these worst things that are far more horrid than the last things we thought were the worst. As you say mmm hmmm, and someone please give me a soft yes, I will leave you with the words of Birdee Calvert. Just don’t use them in a public prayer, I beg you.
“Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad. But it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will, too.” Amen.
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