Without excuse or further ado, I'll just jump back into the blogging stratosphere after a nearly four month hiatus. Whew! Good thing I don't have a huge fan base yet. I might have lost everyone and had to start over.
My mom is staying with us this month, recovering from a broken hip. With her surprising decline over the past two years (the woman has been running at break-neck pace for almost eighty years) and my dad's death at the end of December, I have been thinking about that story in scripture when Mary pours expensive perfume all over Jesus's feet. Judas rebukes her, but Jesus receives her gift--"Leave her alone. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial." (John 12:7) I love that image of a rich gift poured out on a life that is drawing to a close. Not wasted, but purposeful and intimate and, Jesus knew, motivated by love.
We had a week with my dad before he died. A week for my siblings and me to pour out on him the perfume of our love. Though he was unresponsive, I know he heard us and knew we were there. I know it prepared him for his burial. And us, for his passing.
I recognize it is not always easy. That week with Dad was as wrenching as it was beautiful. Mom has been diagnosed with Multiple System Atrophy, a type of Parkinson's in which the body is in a constant state of degeneration. She's plugging along pretty well right now, but her needs are many and varied, and well, let's just say she's the type who is not shy about voicing said needs. (wink) Still, that image returns ... the woman with the jar of costly nard, pouring out what she had to bless the one she loved.
It seems meet and right to go and do likewise.
