A Sestina for Dad

A Sestina* For Dad
For Dewey Vandenberg
15 February 1953--28 October 2004


There, in the living room, my dad
sleeps under a thin sheet. A nurse from home
hospice care motions to my mom, and they speak
in low tones, both knowing it’s time
to prepare for the end of his sickness.
I’d rather forget,

but can never forget,
his graying hair or my dad’s
sunken cheeks, or the way he was sick
for years, and now he’ll never leave our home
again. As days blur together into weeks, time
passes quietly, since he can barely speak.

But this is hardly new; for years we hardly spoke
and I know he hasn’t forgotten
my harsh words to him, like the time
when I screamed and hit my dad
again and again when we left home
one day. I was so angry that he was sick.

I, too, was sick
of dealing with the sadness every time he spoke
about how he’d miss us, miss this home.
He didn’t want us to forget
about him, about our own dad--
but he understood the erosion of time.

It’s worth remembering those times
when he was still healthy, not weak or sick,
and recall the enthusiasm and delight of my dad’s
laughter and jokes. Or, when he’d speak
to us about certain childhood joys almost forgotten;
those memories reverberate on the walls of our home.

My siblings and I laugh. They’re home
and we all wait together, passing the time
with games and casseroles given to us by others, names forgotten,
who also mourned while my dad was sick.
Their quiet gifts and countless Hallmark cards spoke
volumes about the ministry and widespread influence of my dad.

But now-- now my dad is in his heavenly Home
and I speak less about those times
of his sickness, but my heart cannot forget.


B. Vandenberg
April 2009



*A sestina is a form of poetry with six stanzas and an envoy that repeat six words throughout the piece at the end of each line, in a specific order. The poetry class just learned about this today, and I was intrigued by it and decided to give it a try. I'm amazed at what truths can reveal themselves even in (because of?) a tightly controlled form.

I want to remember this.

I have not felt such a strong conviction about anything in a long time; I've felt prompting and nudging, and I suppose those have been enough to get me in the right direction. Promptings and nudgings landed me in New Mexico last January, for example. It didn't take much for me to know I needed to go. 

But these convictions, boy, they're something else. It's when the Holy Spirit totally grips my heart and mind and fills me with this incredible sensation. I only seem to get it when what my heart longs for seems utterly impossible; but I've come to know this feeling intimately, and it means anything is possible.

Anything. All things are possible. When I dreamed about going on Royal Servants, the odds were not in my favor, but I felt this feeling of conviction and months later, I was in Europe, even though the trip cost thousands of dollars and my dad was sicker than he'd ever been. But God provided.

Anything-- All things are possible! I met my first boyfriend on a cruise in Mexico on Valentine's Day, playing with dolphins, when we were just 16. I had this strange conviction that there was something about him, something lasting beyond the four days of the cruise-- and we ended up dating for three years, and he was with me when my dad died. Even though he isn't a part of my life anymore, Jordan meant the world to me at a time I needed him most. 

Anything is possible. Ever since my first trip to Europe, I felt a longing to go back. Then-- you guessed it--I got that strong conviction again. One step at a time, God made it possible for me to spend a semester in Glasgow on my own, studying at the University, volunteering with amazing people and being with a church that would show me what "community" meant for the first time-- He broke my heart for Glasgow, the city, poverty and the under-resourced. 

All things are possible with God. While I was yet in Scotland, I found out about the Jubilee Fellows summer ministry internship program. It struck me with the same conviction (which, by now, I have learned to listen closely to!) but it wasn't time yet-- I couldn't apply for another year. But when that year passed, I remembered that strong feeling of conviction, even though I didn't feel it just then. But sure enough, I got in the program, and God used it in powerful ways for my own healing and growth, as well as ministry to others in Southern California. 

 

My literary mentor, Thomas Merton, has encouraged me to pay close attention to those deep movings of the Spirit-- I think that if it gets ignored, it's harder to trust later on. But when you do listen, and let it guide you, the possibilities of God's grace and provision are limitless.

That's why I value it so much-- when the Spirit starts moving like this, it's more amazing than eating the best food or wearing the costliest diamonds, because it means that my God is present and active and interested in my life, which is an honor above all else. 

Yet, so much of it comes from trusting your own heart, as well-- acknowledging the freedom that God has put into your own hands to pursue the dreams that HE has given to you, in order to bring Him glory and joy through your life. 

So yes, I have that feeling of conviction again. It's exciting, it's breathtaking, but it's also thrillingly terrifying! (I forgot about that part!) 

I can't explain what this means-- who knows what God will do with it this time? :) All I know is that I've got that feeling, so strongly, so passionately in my soul, and I'm going to listen. Maybe, in another year or so, I'll look back on this post and smile, and be able to add to that list of what God has done for me.  

Betsy Joy

The worship service at MCC today was wonderful and gave me such clarity on my life. Pastor Jason (our amazing intern!) preached his best sermon today about Luke 19:28-44. Instead of simply focusing on the celebration and joy of the moment-- because hallelujah, the King has come!-- he also drew our attention to verse 41: 

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace---"

Why would Jesus weep? Because Israel missed the point. Yes, Christ is King. But His is a heavenly kingdom, not an earthly one. The Jews wanted a king who could fix their surface problems (however serious) inflicted on them by the Romans. Jesus weeps because His purpose is greater-- to bring about the salvation of the world!-- yet they can't see it. 

"...Had only known what would bring you peace..."

These lines jumped out at me. I wondered if Jesus could say the same to me on many occasions where I have turned away from Him and toward sin. Does my Savior weep? Maybe yes. He could easily be saying to me "If you would only know, only acknowledge in your heart, what would bring you peace, you would refuse the sin that you find so gratifying. Turn to me, my dearest Betsy. Turn to me, confess and be forgiven-- that will bring you the peace you desire." 

And yet, I don't. I want a king who will fix my external problems. Lately I've been in "planning mode" and it's so easy to get caught up in the "haves" and "have-nots" and get angry at God for all of the "have-nots." Looking at that perspective makes my life seem so empty-- I don't have a career, I'm not living on my own, there are no relationship prospects. Yet the King's purpose is not to satiate my surface ideals and desires; His purpose is the salvation of my soul. 

Oof. 

Suddenly, I can truly sing a different song: "Lord, You are good! Lord, you are good! Lord, you are good to me!" :) 

There is peace and light in my heart. I acknowledge the salvation brought to me in love 2,000 years ago. What an amazing God we serve! One whose love and passion continues even today... it doesn't get more incredible than that. 

Betsy Joy