Thank you so much, my friend, for subscribing to Monday Manna. I’m so glad and humbled you are here. My prayer with this little pause on Monday mornings is to offer some nourishment (“manna”) for you — via my reflection, prayer, and painting — as you are nourishing the world around you. Together, we are watching for the ways God is with us and for us as we take one day at a time…
Good morning, friends, and much love to each of you in this final week of October…
Last week was my dad, Tom Braithwaite’s, birthday. He would have been 69, but died at age 57 after a long journey of relapse and remission with cancer. This time of year always feels poignantly beautiful and bittersweet, as my dad loved the glory of autumn (and especially reveled in going for long runs in it…a love he passed down to both his kids). His birthday also comes just slightly before All-Saint’s Day each year, which we’ll mark the end of this week on November 1.
It’s a time all of us may be thinking of the people we miss. The ones whose lives here ended, but who are still very much alive within us. In addition to All-Saints Day and the approach of holidays, the changing of the leaves and surrender embedded in autumn tangibly call this forth in us, I think. I’ve had a lot of reminders in the last couple of weeks of the tender fragility of life. “Teach us to number our days,” says Psalm 90:12, “that we might gain a wise heart.”
I think of the shift in perspective and the wisdom those who fully embrace this truth hold. I certainly witnessed this in my dad, and how he opened himself to the touching transformation of his own life through those final years — as his soul and vulnerability expanded, he embraced his own fragility and mortality in a new and marked way.
In my book Ash and Starlight: Prayers for the Chaos and Grace of Daily Life, I share at its closing an email from my dad I had uncovered — one he’d sent me during his long sojourn with cancer, written in February of 2011. It encompasses how my dad’s view of life, of God, and of prayer were transformed as he faced death…
Dear Arianne,
It is tempting, for all of us, to measure God’s blessing in some type of tangible way, looking at the “good gifts” as signs of His love and favor, and to “answered prayers” as evidence that God really is listening and that we somehow changed His mind in mid-stream. I don’t think that takes into serious account the nature of God’s sovereignty, nor the substance of prayer.
It is also easier for those who subscribe to the so-called “success theology” to lean into interpretations of life events in such a superficial way. Anyone who truly plumbs the depths of suffering and evil in this world does not find such answers satisfactory for very long. Given these past eight years, I have mused on such things quite a bit.
God truly makes the rain fall upon the just and the unjust. The thorn is not always removed. The cup not only doesn’t pass us by, it smacks us in the face. But, what do we find? God is God (see Job). In weakness, we are strong, and God’s glory is made known (see Paul). A bold, but impetuous disciple dies a martyr’s death, but not before turning the early church on its head, and paving the way for all of us gentiles [sic] to join the family (see Peter). Joshua 1:9 becomes profoundly true. The ultimate tragedy, the Cross, becomes our greatest hope. It’s a very, very long list, indeed. Ultimately, God is glorified by those who are faithful, in all circumstances.
And prayer becomes so much more than a Christmas wish list with results predicated on whether I have been naughty or nice. I believe prayer is much more about changing US—both in the singular sense, and in the communal context. The power of prayer in my illness, at least to me, was in the collective of family and friends, God’s people, approaching the throne of grace on my behalf, and what that means to us as fellow believers and as a Christian community. I found great comfort in knowing I could pour my heart out to God, not so He would know what I was feeling or going through (He obviously had a pretty good bead on that already), but because that is what He asks us to do. I had a great peace that whatever the outcome, renewed health or physical demise, obedience and submission were the keys to all good things, and the fulfillment of the ultimate purpose of my life—to glorify my Creator. And THAT is God’s sovereign will, I believe.
I love you, so very much.
As always,
Dad
***
These are the words and perspective of one saint — a “saint,” not because he was perfect (he wasn’t) but because he opened his whole self to the transformative work of God.
And the lessons and love of my dad, of all our saints, flow on…On that note, I’ll end with this recording of my dad, his brother, and my brother (all tenors!) singing, “How Can I Keep From Singing” at my grandfather’s funeral. The message of this song holds powerful hope for us, especially in these dark and challenging times. It has such uncanny resonance for the landscape of our country right now (one of the latter verses even describes “tyrants trembling sick with fear”). I’ve listened to this recording again and again, being reminded that,
My life flows on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentation
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I’m clinging
Since love is Lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?
A Prayer
I share this prayer each year around All-Saints Day, so here it is again. A reminder of the myriad of saints in our lives, and that you, my friend, are a saint, too. From my book, Ash and Starlight: Prayers for the Chaos and Grace of Daily Life
For All Saints’ Day
God of welcome and warmth,
I’m a bit melancholy—
or maybe it’s pensive—
in approaching this All Saints’ Day.
It’s a beautiful day—
this time to remember and give thanks
for the saints who have graced my life.
These angels—
raw, real, and devoted
in their humanity—
who have encouraged me,
emboldened me,
taught me what I needed
to know to survive…
I think of parents, grandparents,
partners, wives, husbands,
sisters, brothers,
teachers, colleagues,
neighbors, friends—
some of them did seem
pretty unlikely characters
to be your saints,
but the more I live,
the more I realize
that’s pretty typical of you
and your choosing.
I am grateful for these
quirky, lovely individuals
who have gone before me, but
whose light still shines,
bringing warmth and illumination
to my own journey.
Their whispers of wisdom
help me hunger for a deeper
wholeness found in you.
They tell me I can be a saint too...
You have called me, like those before me,
to do things with a great, tidal love,
covering the ache of this world.
So, I answer this calling, God, with all I am.
I bring you myself and my prayers
for all those on my heart.
I thank you, God, for the
saints of then and
the saints of now...
for the saint you are
kindling inside of me.
May I remain grateful for their impact
on my life and heart—
the truth they spoke and lived,
the faith they held and passed on,
the love they modeled and shared.
Amen.
Jeremiah 1:5 * Hebrews 11:1—12:2 * 2 Timothy 1:5–7
“Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,…
let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…”
—Hebrews 12:1
Something that nourished me recently…
*My husband gave an absolutely beautiful sermon about kindness last week (it can be viewed here, and is 25 minutes in). One of the things he talks about, though, is his downloading of the “We Croak” app. It’s based on the Bhutanese folk saying that contemplating death five times a day brings happiness. Not because our death is a cheery thought, but the fact that, when we embrace the inevitability of our death, it heightens our appreciation for the preciousness of life. In recent days, this WeCroak app has been sending him five notifications every day – at random times with the jarring reminder: “Remember, you are going to die,” and then it’s accompanied by a thoughtful quote on the meaning of life, guiding him to the virtues he most wants to live by. The name makes us laugh, but the result is profound.
*PLEASE WATCH THIS….I first saw/heard poet laureate Andrea Gibson reading her poem, “Love Letter from the Afterlife” months ago, around the time of her death, and have thought of it so many times. It couldn’t be more timely for this week and this message of death and what’s to come.
Ash and Starlight, plus other good things…
*WHISTLE BLOWER KIT MAKING AND TRAINING ~ If you are in the Wilmette area, our church is hosting a whistle blower kit gathering on Wednesday night (Oct. 29) to assemble whistle kits and talk about how to respond if you see ICE. 7:30 p.m. First Presbyterian Church of Wilmette.
*ARTWORK IN MY ETSY SHOP ~ In my Etsy shop currently are a handful of remaining framed originals from my art show, glossy giclee prints, and a few cards, though many of the cards sold out for now. A portion of each sale here goes to World Central Kitchen which provides food relief, especially to Gaza right now. You can view the shop here. It’s been a lot of fun to prep some more clothes including this fall sweatshirt… :)
*SECOND EDITION OF ASH AND STARLIGHT ~ Find the updated edition of my book here at Chalice or at the Bookshop link.
*MONDAY MANNA ARCHIVES ~ Paid supporters of Monday Manna can view previous Monday Manna reflections here, or for the really old stuff, go to my website.
*WHAT DOES MANNA MEAN? ~ Check out an earlier post to learn how this little bit of “daily bread” got its name…
Let us lean in to the wisdom and strength of the saints, their love, and the promise of the new creation to come…Peace to each of you, friends. And keep singing.
Love and Light,
Arianne
I love hearing from you! You are manna. Reply to this note to send a message directly to my inbox.
Beautiful, thank you. May we all find joy the preciousness of life no matter what. What a wonderful father you had.
Such a blessing for my new day. Thank you, dear Arianne!