“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” —Saint Augustine
Rewind to early March.
I receive an unexpected phone call that my Uncle John has passed away. We knew he was sick, but didn’t think it would happen this soon.
I knew I should have gone up to Chicago sooner.
My intuition had told me to head to Chicago for the entire month of March—and I didn’t listen. I missed the chance to see him and say goodbye. But at least we got to talk on the phone. He told me he was back home from the hospital to get his affairs in order. And, to get right with God. He didn’t know how long he had to live. Maybe several months, he said.
The phone call was, in-part, momentarily tense regarding family dynamics. One of his brothers is estranged. I asked if he wanted me to tell his brother that he was dying. I braced myself, knowing this question may not land well. I wondered if it was right to bring it up, and yet, in my heart, I knew I had to.
“He doesn’t care about a relationship with me while I’m alive, why should I give him the option to care while I’m dying?”
I told him I understood. That I was sorry for bringing it up. I felt my heart aching for the brokenness of this world.
He texted me afterward to apologize. He suggested that we talk again in a few days. I told him that it was okay. That I understood why he felt the way he felt. I told him I’d be praying for him, that he would be filled with God’s love and God’s peace.
He ended his text with “ILYGBYGB.”
I Love You, God Bless You, Good Bye
It’s what my Grandma Peggy used to say every time she ended a phone call. Since her passing 10 years ago, in 2015, many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins have continued this tradition.
I love you, God Bless You, Goodbye are the last words my Uncle John said to me.
Within a couple days, he was gone.
Soon after, I made the spontaneous decision to head up to Chicago. Both of my parents are still in the area, as well as much of my extended family. And, it just so happened, my sister and her family were in town, too.
I packed up the car, and drove the 10ish hours from Asheville.
While I was there, I spent an afternoon with my grieving Aunt in her home. We sat together, had lunch, and she told me stories about how Uncle John loved playing baseball. How he loved tending to the roses in the garden. But that he wasn’t always successful at that, planting them in the wrong areas of the lawn. Not enough sun.
She told me about Uncle John’s books—so many books! She said if there’s anything I wanted to take, that I was welcome to.
I didn’t know this about my Uncle John until after he passed, but throughout his life, he hung on to the Catholic faith that he was raised in. While organizing his affairs, it was discovered that he still made a monthly donation, that no one else knew about, to a Catholic organization. And among his books, there were tons of sacred and spiritual texts. Not only Christian ones, but other spiritual texts, too. Books about meditation, breathwork, and movement.
As I thumbed through the books on the shelf in his office, The Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality, caught my eye. I wondered why he wasn’t more forthcoming about his spiritual seeking. Or at least, not to me. I quietly wished he had been. How I would have loved to have these conversations with him.
I asked my Aunt, his wife, if I could take that one with me. She said of course. She planned to give these books away anyway, she said.
“Everyone has to have a spirituality and everyone does have one—either a life-giving one or a destructive one.” Ronald Rolheiser, The Holy Longing
After a few weeks in Chicago, I made my way back to Asheville. But only for a week, before I continued east, to the coast.
Sunday morning, I sat by the water, with my journal, listening to the wind and the waves. I wrote, “I wonder if people think I’m crazy — crying, laughing, writing, praising on the beach.”
Then a lifeguard truck drove by, just a few feet from where I sat, and interrupted the moment — a Ford ranger, the color of burnt orange. The randomness of the details made me laugh. And realize, that a week ago, I had no conception of this moment. I had no intentions of being here, at this beach. Yet now that I’m here, it makes so much sense.
In this book that belonged to my Uncle, the author quotes Teilhard de Chardin,
“God speaks to every element in the language it can understand.”
The author, Ronald Rolheiser, continues: “Thus, God lures hydrogen through its attraction to oxygen. God draws everything else, including each of us, in the same way.”
I wondered, if maybe God speaks to me through the water, as if I speak the language of the sea, and maybe that’s why it calls me so strongly.
Sitting by the water, I receive a text from a dear friend,
“May God speak to you in the winds and waves as He has spoken to me through the years.”
As I wrote, I reflected on my faith. I reflected on how much I long for space to write — solitude to be creative, to worship, to hear what God is saying to me.
As I wrote, I could hear lyrics from a song, “I've got peace that makes no sense.”
As I wrote, I wrote about letting go — asking myself questions about what is important to keep, and what is important to hold on to. What, and who, do we miss, and why?
“This journey is full of so much more mystery than I can fathom,” I wrote.
As I wrote, I thanked God for loving me. For keeping me safe. For healing my wounds. For leading me to the safest places. And I thanked God for allowing me to take this trip to the ocean.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6
“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:7
A song for you ♥︎
And you, dear reader, what is the language that God speaks to you in?
Leave a comment below if you feel inclined~
May God’s peace be with you ♥︎
Hannah