Women Who Dance the Sacred in Words

By The Olive Branch Writers Group

In February of 2008, some of us decided we wanted a writing group. Our plan was to encourage each other to write the important things of our life or just to share our stories and our musings. We have been doing this monthly since that time.

The offerings in this book do not include everyone in our group or all of the writing that has gone on around laughter and joy and a few tears; but we offer a little glimpse into the joy we have been for each other to be encouraged and to be heard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493160884

Book preview

Linda A. Bergeron

I am a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a colleague, a friend, and therapist. I live in a small community with my husband of 46 years. In these writings, I share my faith, values, and hopefully personal growth. I have come to believe that as fellow human beings and students of life, we all live in community and all of life is in relationship. We are all have a story to tell of our shared human experiences. It is in the telling and sharing of our journey that we begin to know each other through understanding and have increased compassion. In the process, we may find our real self by learning to recognize and give mercy. As you read this body of work with an open heart, look for the student, and see if you find a piece of your own path open before you.

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"The word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart. No creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account." Hebrews 4:12-16

Wisdom of Silence

Wisdom knows not answers,

but questions all the more

round the stumbling dance of life,

circled mystery sure.

Admit, I will, I do not know.

Perplexed at times I stay.

What best to do? This journey short.

In hope and love, I pray.

Life and death, the seasons,

sure paths? Not mine to know.

From hiding, seeking, groaning,

silence!

In we grow

Letting go, illusions all,

knit past to present now,

just sit and know the questions.

Silence!

In wisdom’s wind

Hear Thou.

Sisters, She Wore Pink, I Wore Black

Ten years older than you, I was around to witness your

trusting childlike wonder.

I enjoyed your expectant youthful ponderings.

Then I bore your purple mourning gazes during your trials

with breast cancer.

You ran wide open, struggling to live, struggling to find refuge and escape from the dregs of that terrible disease.

I rushed behind you, praying to die to selfishness in order to hold the pieces of your life within me, as they dropped from

your weary shoulders.

You worried that you had not really lived.

I thought it was my responsibility to walk with you on

your way to death.

I struggled with ways to say goodbye.

You struggled to live without thoughts of ever having to say goodbye.

You found pain in watching my life with a spouse.

I found pain in watching your life without a spouse.

I worried about telling the children, preparing them for your ultimate death.

You worried about keeping them happy in the moment so death would not touch them.

I was a mother and grandmother.

You were no longer a wife and would not let yourself linger over the thought that you would never live to become a grandmother.

I wanted you to know that I was there when you needed me.

You needed me all the time except when you felt

less abandoned by the world.

I was your sister who helped like a mother.

You were my sister and did not need two mothers.

You wanted to be bigger, stronger and wiser. I wanted to be less courageous and strong.

I wanted to walk at your side, not ahead or behind.

I did not know my strength.

You did not know yours.

I did not expect to feel angry or resentful. I did

not expect you to feel the same.

I would never have imagined that we would have

ever quarreled and fought

but, we did.

Grief and sorrow emerged first, far before your ultimate death.

I still seek answers that will never come. You reside

where past and present meet.

You will forever wear pink, I live in hope to shed the black.

All Will Be Well

If I could take it all back, this is what I would say,

"All will be well,

all matter of things will be well."

Instead of I don’t know

when you asked me,

How can I live to be a saint?

When you were on your death bed

I would now say to you,

"Pray and God will give you the way

through your suffering."

Instead of quarrelling about the care of Mother,

I would keep Mother as the focal point

and help Mom more fully.

I would instead pray with Mom

who gifted us with her faith.

Instead of worrying about how you

were handling your disease of cancer and

your children, I would pray to be in the

moment of life and not death.

Instead is not an option,

rather than is long gone.

In love is what I’m left with,

not in regret.

I can not take anything back,

but in the moment I can choose

to love myself and to know

that my weakness was okay.

I must pray and ask God to show me the way.

It Is Raining Outside

It is raining outside . . . and today the most engrained childhood memories emerge and bring me home, where as a child the first bolt of summer lightning and distant peal of thunder would usher in a frenzy of activity. Mom, who was very frightened of bad weather would yell for us to come home with much urgency and we would respond by bringing in the wash from the clothes lines, closing all the windows, and going to the end of the back road and calling for our only brother to come in from the woods. All the while, she would be gathering all of her holy items. She would light her blessed candles that rested on the shelf above the gas stove. As we entered the safe haven of home, it was like entering sacred time. Quiet was expected and respected as we all listened for