deep ponderings

“I have so much to do! And there’s so little time!”
– John Gunther, Death Be Not Proud
(image of a grave marker in the historic Colonial Park Cemetery/ Savannah, GA / Julie Cook / 2013)

I don’t know if it was yesterday’s post about the poor dead mole, the fact that I just finished reading Priestblock 25487 A Memoir of Dachau by and about Father Jean Bernard or that I’m currently reading “Forget Not Love” The Passion of Maximilian Kolbe by Andre Frossard…or it could simply be that Fall of the year is upon us which ushers in a time of life silently fading away…no matter the reason I’ve just had the this whole idea of death and dying on the brain.

No, as my students would say, I’m not trying to be a “debbie downer” nor am I trying to sound the death knell—rather I am simply wishing that I was a braver soul. Not that I consider myself a chicken or the one who runs from danger. My former principal who is former military, use to tell us, his instructional coordinators and leadership team of the school, to run toward the noise or fire, not away from it. Meaning if we saw or heard something not so good, hightail it to the source, pronto!

I’d be the first one on the scene, never afraid to break up a fight or quell the first signs of trouble. Not the wisest thing to do given the troubling times in which we live, but I’ve never been one to back down in the face of danger.

I am however, I think, afraid to die, or maybe it’s more that I’m afraid of dying….I don’t know if it’s the process or the final act—I’m not quite certain. And well there, I’ve said it. But wait a minute you say, aren’t you some big time Christian? Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I embrace death and dying by any means.

I’m not a fan of pain, I don’t think I bear up under it very well and I’m afraid of the unknown. This coming form Miss plot out her entire life form A to Z with a detailed course description as a guide. Maybe it’s the control thing—Miss Control freak who will have no control or say in the whole ordeal. I admit it scares me.

The story goes that St Francis, upon his deathbed, is said to have sung over and over “Be praised, O Lord, for our Sister Death.” He sang Psalm 141, and at the end he asked for permission from his superior to have his clothes removed so when the last hour came he could expire lying naked on the earth, in imitation of his Lord.

Now that’s someone who doesn’t flinch and get’s it right.

Or maybe like Joan of Arc who was sentenced to be burned at a stake by the English as a heretic. As she was tied to the stake and the fire lit, Joan asked the priests present if they would hold up a crucifix in order that she may gaze upon Christ as she died.

Hard Core

Maximilian Kolbe, as a prisoner of Auschwitz, sacrificed himself for another prisoner who was sentenced to die in a starvation chamber. He lived much longer than they ever imagined he would and he ministered the entire time to his fellow death-mates being the last of the group to die.


I know that none of us know how we will react when our time comes, be it quickly or slowly due to a ravaging illness, but it just troubles me a bit that I fret about it. Maybe I’m afraid that when it happens God will say, No, turn around you just didn’t get it right. Maybe He won’t want me. Maybe that’s that whole abandonment issue established with the whole adoption business..see how that keeps coming back?!
I want to be with my family–what will that be like? Oh there are just so many questions and caveats that are simply not up to me….

I want to be more brave, more serene, more confident. I want to know without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus, or St Michael, or whomever will take me by the hand….We all recall the final weeks of Pope John Paul’s life. The once most energetic, athletic, globe trotting vicar of Christ who slowly, painfully, frustrated as he was, serenely allowed all of us to witness his relinquishment on and to this world.

I feel as if I’d be belly aching, oh woe is meing, grousing in frustration, anguishing….but not so for so many brave souls. But who knows, maybe I’ll surprise myself. Maybe I’ll be like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life who got a second chance to get it right. But I doubt that……

Maybe that’s it—maybe it’s as simple as learning to let go…letting go of self, of the control, of relinquishing my power and yielding to a Greater power. Less of me and more of Him.

And then there is the issue of sin… those things that impede our relationship with God. I once heard it described that God, the Creator, who is without sin cannot even look upon sin as He is that pure (which goes well beyond our mere attempts of comprehension)…so Jesus had the bridge the gap, so to speak, between sin and that which is without sin—all so God could reestablish a relationship with us. That is indeed very powerful.

Sometimes I think that I’m just not ready because I’ve got to continue working on getting it right…but when will that be…when will I finally know that I get it right? Maybe I just need to take heed of the expression ….”I ain’t got time for dying cause I’ve got a whole lot of living left to do…” or however that saying goes— it is all just a matter of how we live that is most important, and that is what I must remember-it is how I live, not merely that I live….

Mother Teresa so aptly taught us all how to live by her own simple yet determined example of living life for Jesus and in turn for others— it is this small Albanian woman who teaches us that living with purpose for our fellow man is what truly matters. She taught us the simple truth of life and she offered us a wonderful creed to call our own……
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.”

No, no time for dying—just living, and living well…..

Death be not Proud

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

John Donne


“Oh my gosh, does she really have a picture of a giant dead mole on her day’s post?! This is Wednesday no doubt, as in wordless Wednesday… Not only is Julie never wordless, she’s posting an image of a dead mole!!” As the texting world would so aptly put it “OMG!!”

Not to fear, no need to panic… nor is there any need to put in a call to PETA. There is an explanation–there is always an explanation.

Yes, that is indeed a picture of a dead mole. Did I kill the mole? No. Am I gald the mole is dead? Somewhat. If you’ve ever had a yard or a garden plus a healthy addition of moles, you won’t have much of a yard or garden after the moles take up residence. We have had mole problems for the past couple of years. I am the humane one around this house and I forbid putting any sort of poison or traps into the ground or down the holes and tunnels.

One does run a risk, however, merely walking in our yard. The tunnels of the moles are so deep that you could easily twist an ankle when unknowingly you take a step only to have one foot sink a good half a foot down. Let’s not forget what happened this past Spring shall we when our little cookie here stepped into a drainage ditch no deeper than these mole holes. Our yard is simply crisscrossed with the burrowing holes. And on top of that, my purple cone flowers and lovely stargazer lilies have all mysteriously vanished. Yard havoc pretty much sums up living with moles.

Say what you will about moles merely burrowing and not nibbling on roots and I say balderdash!! I triumphantly planted lilies and the cone flowers in the yard. The next day, as I went outside to feast my eyes upon my handy work. I noticed the plants were all several inches shorter. Odd…. No, I was not hallucinating—I know shrinking plants when I see them! The following day after that I went back outside to check on the plants and this time they were totally gone. No leaf, no petals, no chewed up plant from say a wandering deer. Nope, just holes…..

My cat Peaches is a very docile cat as I’ve mentioned before. She has never killed a bird. She sits under the tree where all the feeders are located and birds will even alit on the ground by her to feed on spilt seed. She chases butterflies. That’s the extent of it. We won’t go into Percy whose outside world consists of the back deck. He is not an outdoor cat due to his traumatic injuries sustained as a tiny kitten, but we won’t discuss what happened to the hummingbirds—I just can’t talk about that yet.

So imagine my immense shock when I found this mole, feet skyward by the garage door. Peaches came ambling over, as I was investigating this most suspicious death, with a keen interest in the victim. I quickly put two and two together. I didn’t know whether I should scold her or congratulate her. The mole did not look to be victimized. No wounds to speak of. And such a lovely coat of fur it had—I almost wanted to pet it…but I refrained as I fetched a shovel instead in order to dispose of the body.


It was a huge mole but of course I don’t know how big moles grow. Judging from the size of the burrowed trenches in my yard I suspect that they get as big as Peaches. I am sorry that something in the yard was killed. I’m not a fan of any animal ever being killed—I even have a soft spot for the local variety of road kill of possums and armadillos that seem to be indicative of the South. But I suppose I hope this may mean that my yard will flatten back out and that my plants won’t oddly disappear.

When my husband arrived home that evening I showed him the pictures of the deceased victim and explained my suspicions as to who had committed the crime. He turns and looks at Peaches as she makes her way into the house. “Way to go knot-head!!–that is the first thing you have ever done right!” I don’t know if Peaches understood his pleasure in the deed she had committed earlier but she does seem to understand that “knot-head” is his pet name for her….and I do use the word pet name a bit loosely.

The moral of the story? Well, I’m not sure. A cat will be a cat? A mole will eat your yard? A husband will tolerate the wife’s pet if it proves its worth? I don’t know if there is a moral. There was no joy in the loss of life but I do hope to be rid of a trenched yard.

Better to be a cat than mole I suppose………and what about those naked mole rats—ahhhh… that is another story for another day—until then,happy Wordless Wednesday…