“Tonight the breeze is just so.
It stirs your ashes
in the bowl of my heart, just
so I know you are there. You,
all of you who are love
returned to dust.

All day it has been this way.
The sun shining just so.
This restless stirring
to know I am here. Me,
all of me, becoming love
before dust.”
~Annie Breitenbucher

This year, Holy Saturday, the day before Easter, coincides with the anniversary of my father’s death. I had not actually thought much about this fact until this week when I have been living with the words and messages of this day, Maundy Thursday. In worship services everywhere we will once again remind people of Jesus gathering with his friends in what we have come to call the Upper Room. This story is woven throughout with the humility of Jesus. It is in this room where he washes the feet of his friends and they share in what we have come to call the Last Supper.

Perhaps I am thinking of my Dad because pretty much everything I have come to know about humility, I learned from him. He was also a man who loved to eat and to share food with those he loved. He was happiest when food was plentiful and people were filling their plates with the bounty. He moved quietly in the world and I don’t think I ever heard him say a bad thing about another person. I only wish I could say I had inherited this trait. But I will say, when I find myself forming what could be hurtful words, I often hear my Dad’s breath moving someplace near my ear as an unseen censor. It is a blessing.

There are other times,of course, when I am reminded of my Dad and the important, though understated and quiet, presence he had in my life. The sound of a radio announcer’s voice as a baseball game is being played conjures up memories of hot summer nights and the muffled calling of a Cincinnati Reds game wafting from my parent’s bedroom late at night. The sight of pie, nearly any pie, his favorite dessert. Once a quick turn of my head as I observed our oldest son standing with arms crossed over his chest, listening intently to a conversation, carried a resemblance to my Dad that took my breath away. And being in the presence of our younger son whose gentle ways often remind me so much of his grandfather, make me smile a knowing smile. These are all visceral moments of deep memory

All these experiences and memories are ‘stirring the ashes in the bowl of my heart’ today. Over the last years I have reported on a small cherry bush that is planted in our front yard as a memorial gift from friends, a gift to commemorate my father’s life. In the first two years of its living in our yard it actually bloomed on the anniversary of his death. It seemed a miracle to me. The next spring, like this one, followed a too harsh winter and there were no lovely pink blossoms to mark the day. That spring I felt an agitation and impatience that nearly undid me. But this year I have seen it coming. There have been no visible buds until the last few days. Hopefully, with the warm weather this weekend,progress will be made and blossoms will soon be bursting with hope and memory.

Tonight as we gather to remember the life of Jesus, his humility and his acts of hospitality and service, I will be present to the story that is being told, the telling of ‘love before dust.’ But I will also be holding in my heart the love returned to dust that continues to stir bringing memory and definition to my life. What has not yet blossomed will be made known in its own time and for that my heart is very full.