Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Rachelle Gardner at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Soul Train
- Live Out Your Dream And Discard The Box
- Tears In A Bottle
- From The Young Mom I Once Was, To You
- I Can’t Help Falling
- What A Difference Ten Years Makes
- The Next Best Thing To Robert Redford
- The Memory Keeper’s Daughter
- Where Have All The Years Gone
- Fun With Kiki Cullen
- Stuck On Mom
- Ten Years Later, Our Girls From Northern Ireland Remembered
- The Thrift of Grief
- Job Security
- The Party’s Over
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Ashes For Beauty
“When is Easter this year?” Mom asked me yesterday. “Your sister Mary is already planning her menu.”
I figured I’d throw a little math test Mom’s way, just to see if two plus two still equals five.
“Well, Mom, Lent is the forty days leading up to Easter, right?”
“That sounds right, I guess.”
“And last Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, so that means—”
“We’ve already had Ash Wednesday?”
“Mom, we got ashes together when you were in the hospital, just like we did last year when you were in the hospital.”
“I don’t remember.”
That’s the thing about ashes, isn’t it? We’re scared of them, really, maybe even a bit superstitious. We put them out of our minds as soon as we submit our foreheads to the sign of the cross, hoping against hope that we haven’t somehow hastened our own return to dust.
“Thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.”
As the day of ashes wears on, we glance in the mirror once or twice and wonder if we should cleanse ourselves of the smudgy mark of faith that stopped looking like a clear statement of belief hours ago.
We stop remembering why remembering the fragility of our mortal state is so essential to apprehending the grace of Jesus to carry on.
I don’t remember, either, Mom. After a lifetime of ashes, how quickly I forget.
Even so, something happened to us in those hospital rooms, something stronger than death and as eternal as love. We’ve gone down to the grave together twice now, Mom, and we know something of the power of His resurrection that we couldn’t have known otherwise.
Beauty for ashes, ashes for beauty. Till the end of our days on earth, when the ashes forever blow away.
Ashes to ashes
Ashes and dust
No Phoenix rising
In the murky and rustA dented tin can
Makes excellent savors
Toasting wasted nights
cigarettes and rainwaterPosted by Daniel on 03/08/06 at 09:47 PMI was reminded of a poem. I felt like writing it and so I did.
I don’t really know how to respond to you’re post. It’s beautiful.
Posted by Daniel on 03/08/06 at 09:57 PMDaniel—I was so happy tonight to make your acquaintance in person! What a lovely evening with such splendid people. (Daniel and Doug and I are in a book club together at Jacob’s Well church in KC,)
Are you the author of the poem? It’s a keeper. Now I am off to visit your blog!
Posted by Katy on 03/08/06 at 10:56 PMIt was a pleasure!
And yes I was/am the author.
Posted by Daniel on 03/08/06 at 11:11 PM“We’ve gone down to the grave together twice now, Mom, and we know something of the power of His resurrection that we couldn’t have known otherwise.”
Sometimes, Katy, God gives us a window shedding light on reason, answering some of the “why’s,” for the pain and suffering here on earth . . . wow . . . what a view He gave you with your precious Mom.
Posted by Ame on 03/08/06 at 11:38 PM
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