A season of mourning

"Ring the bell softly, there's crepe on the door." So reads a Victorian era poem.

Crepe on the door was the indication that death had paid a call. It warned visitors to enter softly, with tender hearts, ready to help or ready to depart, whatever suited the bereaved household. In those days, only the closest friends would dare to interrupt and then only long enough to serve in whatever capacity was needful, sparing the family all but the most intimate details of funeral preparations. Passersby also would see the crepe and silence their conversation, children would cease their playing and vendors would pass by.

Those who mourned were thus shielded from the rigors of life, both immediately after the loss by the crepe on the door; and through the subsequent months by the colors of mourning they wore. The mourning clothes indicated a broken heart, providing protection against thoughtless or cruel inquiries. Garments of mourning were seen as "an outward sign of an inward sorrow."

I've been thinking of buying some crepe.

No. No one has died. But mourning is not limited to death. Would that it was. There is a small comfort in death, given that, except in the most extraordinary circumstances, it does not involve a definitive choice.

When my husband's father died when Danny was 12, he knew that if his dad had been given the choice, to leave or to stay -- he would have stayed to see his son attain manhood, become a husband, a father, a master at his trade. This knowing afforded Danny that smallest measure of comfort.

When I stood at the foot of my mother's hospital bed as she breathed her last, there was some comfort there that, given the choice, she too would have stayed, to celebrate the myriad milestones her children and grandchildren would, perforce, mark without her for the rest of their days.

Even taking death out of the equation, there is still no shortage of mourning these days. And too much of this mourning is the result of choices made, sometimes carefully calculated, selfish, even heartless choices. No, not all mourning involves a trip to the cemetery; not all mourning is brought about by the end of a life in this reality.

Jobs end.

Houses are lost.

Freedom is squandered.

Dreams die.

So, too, do marriages.

In my humble opinion, no-fault divorce is the bane of our society and has brought about more than enough tears to soak miles of crepe.

In 1965, before no-fault divorce became prevalent, my parents separated. We had lived lives of innocence up until that dreadful day. Suddenly we were thrust into a home life carved out of the edges of hell itself. Dad was completely out of his element. Danett, then 3, escaped our experience because Mom took her along when she left. But the elder four of the 5 Ds were bereft, left with our hopelessly inept father, who unfortunately, found solace in the bottle more often than not. I've told the tale before. In the State of Colorado at the time, even if you had grounds, such as adultery, cruelty or abandonment, the courts still required a six-month waiting period before the divorce could be finalized. My parents reconciled within weeks, if not days, of that deadline and remained united until death parted them in 1986, overcoming the devastating betrayal of adultery.

I have never forgotten those days. I travel back in time whenever that hurtful D word forces itself into my vocabulary once again. I know, first hand, the toll taken on those who appear to exist only on the periphery of the marital crisis. "Children are resilient," has been the cry since the inception of no-fault divorce and the argument that children would be better off in a sundered home rather than one filled with bitter acrimony undoubtedly helped fuel the fire that wrought the law. Because of the nature of the marital offense in my parent's marriage, bitter acrimony would be an understatement of our existence in the months before the separation. I must confess, however, it barely touched us, and certainly not to the degree that the separation did.

I will concede one point. Children certainly are resilient. After all, we found ways to cope within our fractured existence. We learned how to hide. We learned how to pretend to be fast asleep as soon as we heard Dad's key in the door. We learned how to lie, both as a matter of self-protection and to protect one another. We learned a lot. We learned too much, much too soon.

I believe we were created for pleasure, both our own and the Lord God's. He loves to give good gifts to his children, just as we do. The many-hued sunsets are his gift. The softness of a newborn's skin, a gift. The joy of physical intimacy, a cherished gift, especially when properly received. Our deep-seated hunger for love, for companionship, for pleasure, all gifts from God. Because in pleasure, we praise. And praise is pleasing to God.

Pain, mourning, heartache, all of the attendant miseries of our human experience were not part of his plan for us. Sin brought each into our reality and we compound the problem when we decide to call that which is evil "good" and in doing so, inflict deep mourning on those who love us, those who depend on us, those who have pledged their hearts to us.

There is a remedy. The cost, however, is high. The remedy requires us to set aside our pride, our self-reliance, even, or perhaps especially, our self-righteousness. But the benefits far outweigh the cost. Where love has been lost, it can be rediscovered, strengthened, renewed and refreshed, because God is love. When trust is forfeit, grace steps in, forgiveness comes and offers a fresh start. Because God is the God of second-chances, or we would all be lost. Choose carefully. And when necessary, take advantage of the Lord's liberal exchange policy. Trade your life of heartache and sin for one that lives in the love born on the cross, the love that will live forevermore.

"The Pharisees also came to him, testing him, and saying to him, 'Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for just any reason?' And he answered and said to them, 'Have you not read that he who made them at the beginning 'made them male and female,' and said, 'For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh'? So then, they are no longer two but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate." Matthew 19:3-6 (NIV)

I don't have all the answers, but I know the One who does. Let's walk together for awhile and discover Him; together.

Dawn