Well, here I am sitting in my pajamas in the dining room, looking out to a cold, overcast Mother's Day. I have had a difficult go of it this Spring, with missing so many dear ones. Both sets of my grandparents, my uncle, my brother and my son. I never used to understand why my Nain, (my mother's mother) would insist that we have tissues in church. Now that I have lived through some tragedies in my own life, I understand. Church is the place where I go to meet God, even though I know that God is with me always. It is in the quiet of worship that I am able to listen and open myself to the Spirit, and it is in worship that I invariably will weep by feeling the Spirit touch me personally and hear what God wants me to hear. I do try to hold things together while sitting in the choir loft, but I have a whole fist full of tissues stuffed into my black folder, just in case. I actually made it through worship today without getting too emotional. Now here I am, back at home with the lovely gerber daisies Gene got for me for mother's day, sitting in my pajamas trying to feel a bit of hope. It's been harder than usual to shake off my sadness. So here are some things that happened to me to help bring me some of that hope. We were driving home from Johnny's 6th grade choral concert. There had been many downpours throughout the day, and the rain was just letting up as we pulled into the driveway. It was dusk out, and the headlights caught something in the bush at the end of the drive. I was thinking it was a bird, so I backed up and shone the headlights into the bush again. Sure enough, there was a little grayish bird sitting there among the leaves. I worried that it was injured, so when we got out of the van, Johnny and I went down to where I had seen it to see if it was still there. I approached it slowly, crooning to it, and slowly crouched down. I reached out a finger, tentatively so I wouldn't scare it or hurt it further. It allowed me to stroke its back. Worried that it was somehow hurt, I went into the house to get a flashlight so I could see it better. Alex and Matthew came out with me. I shone the light on it, and was able to determine it was a fledgling Robin, because of the speckles on its reddish, brown chest. I crooned to it some more, and was able to stroke its back again. Its feathers were still downy soft with brand new adult feathers on top. Just as I was wondering what to do, whether to see if it was injured or sick, it fluttered off deeper into the bush, showing me that it was just fine. As I was walking back into the house with Alex and Matthew, it struck me. Here was a bird, a Robin fledgling, allowing me to stroke its back. I have always attributed birds with Andrew, and Andrew sending me signs that he is still close to me. I wrote the Robin Poem before I lost him, and read it at his funeral. The poem speaks about Robin Fledglings, (I posted a copy here in my blog), and here was a Robin fledgling allowing me to stroke its back. As I walked back into the house, I whispered a "thank you" to my boy for sending me his love this Mother's Day weekend. On Saturday I was tidying up the dining room table, and as I lifted an empty grocery bag, a penny fell right into my hand, from out of nowhere. Whenever pennies appear, I think of them as pennies from Heaven, and I know I needed some this weekend. The other sign happened to me while sitting in the choir loft this morning, listening to the children's message being delivered by a friend of mine. She was speaking about how her mother loved her and she had objects that demonstrated her mother's love. A clock, because her mother always wanted her to be on time. A Bible, because her mother wanted her to learn about how much God loves her. A dishrag, because her mother wanted her to be responsible and do her share to help get work done in her family. The object that struck me most, though, was a story book. She used the story book to show how her mother wanted her to get a good education to help her make her way in the world. That wasn't what struck me, it was the book itself. She help up the story book, Just So Stories, by Rudyard Kipling. My Nain always had read us stories from this book when we went to visit her house. As I looked at the book, I knew somehow that Nain was with me, and that she knew the sadness in my heart, and was telling me that she was there. I know it would be easy to dismiss these as coincidence, or just me making more out of something than what was really there...but I choose to think that these are messages from those that I love and miss, helping me along my journey to grab onto hope and love. I think the veil between this world and the one that comes after is thinner than we think. When we are open to them, we are better able to see the signs that those we love and miss are right there with us. God abides, and loves us. Thank you for sending me hope this weekend. Amen.