Never, Never, Never Give Up

I just finished a beautiful book called All But My Life. It is a true story written by a survivor of the Holocaust, Gerda Weissman Klein. She tells of her life, her memories of the German occupation of her native Poland and the three years, three months she spent enduring labor camps and a death march through the winter roads of Czechoslovakia (http://www.amazon.com/All-But-My-Life-Memoir/dp/0809015803). She lost everyone she knew. Every single person. Her entire family, her friends, her lovely little Polish town. If you were living, you were killed. And somehow, through the grace of God and cosmic serendipity, she came out of it alive. 68 pounds, but alive. It is the most authentic, wonderful, meaningful story of relentless hope, dogged love and humble courage I have ever encountered.

I began this book on a friend's recommendation. "Miss Gail," lost her son in January. Clay's accidental death has stolen the breath from his parents and the brother he left behind. As a young man, Clay's life was just getting its footing. He was a gift, a soul, a good person who deserved to be laughing and living and hoping and planning and struggling to become the Clay he wanted to be. He was full of desires and questions, dreams and doubts. But death is so final. It is the ultimate Period. All of that is over, in a breath. In a few short seconds, that boy is no longer on earth and the hole he leaves is immense and very painful. Miss Gail knows Mrs. Klein and so read her story of hope and perseverance. Years of heartache, unfair treatment, inhumane behaviors and complete darkness would have done anybody in. And yet, Mrs. Klein holds on, in the face of Death itself, to the belief that we are good, that life is worth living and that love prevails. And it did. Unbelievable. 

In this coming week, Clay's family will face three difficult days. The two brothers share a birthday, April 4th. Miss Gail's birthday is the next day, April 5th. And years ago, while in nursing school, Miss Gail lost her youngest brother, John, in a car accident. On April 6th. Please, if you are reading this, pray, pray, pray for them. Pray very hard and lift them to heaven. Let them find some peace and happiness and strength. God can give it to them. Please ask Him to.

I don't know if Miss Gail found solace or strength in Mrs. Klein's story, but I know I did. It was difficult to read, but it haunted me until I finished it. I wanted to know she turned out ok. I wanted to see and know the happy ending. I needed the assurance that after this agonizing pain and unbearable suffering, she laughed again. And she did. And she continues to. 

I believe that somewhere beyond our wildest imaginations and dreams, Clay is not over and in fact, he is just beginning. He is like my backyard dogwoods. Just when you think the woods have gone to sleep forever, those little relentless trees remind you that life is here. And worth celebrating. 

Never, never, never give up.  Winston Churchill

The Dogwoods

Legend tells us Jesus died on a dogwood. The dogwood tree was the largest tree available in Jerusalem and so therefore used often for crucifixions. Afterward, Our Lord changed the tree, making its trunk smaller and its branches twisted, preventing it from being used as a torture device any longer. He made the beautiful white flowers stained with red, symbolizing His holy wounds and crown of thorns.

And it's my favorite tree. Each year, it blooms for such a short time and the woods light up with a dusty white. As soon as you appreciate their flowers and little white shows of happiness, they're gone. The trees melt back into green and you can't distinguish them anymore from any other tree in your backyard. 

I find them so poetic and romantic. Some English major should write an entire paper on the symbolism of the dogwood. On its meaning and place in life. I love that this little tree is a reminder of the saddest, darkest day the world has ever known and yet God, in His infinite goodness and mercy, makes it the herald for spring, the ultimate re-do, re-start, re-charge, re-birth of life!

I sat outside yesterday while my babies played and Ellie continued believing she is Elsa or Anna (depending on the moment and the mood) from Disney's Frozen. She's quite taken with the idea of being a princess with magical powers and a sidekick who's a talking snowman. I mean, who isn't? Nick says she needs real friends. 

While I watched a storm come in, I noticed the early poppings of dogwoods. Some, across the street, were in full expression, opened flat against the rain. Others, like the one in our yard, just barely waking up with little yellow buds not stretched out yet and determined to make it to Easter for their show. (Another point the English major should make in his paper. Dogwoods always open during the Lenten/Easter season. Ironic. . .I think not.) It was a perfect spring afternoon, in my little corner of the world. All was hopeful and smelling of rain.