Bittersweet...

There is a house on Baltimore Pike in Media, it's not a fancy house, it's not even a "nice" house and I bet there are people who have driven past this house every day and never even noticed it, but for me it is a house of memories.  On the outside it was nothing special; dirty white siding, overgrown weeds, an old boat in the driveway... but the inside was the most alive and vibrant home I've ever seen.  I'd never been inside a house that had such color before.  The walls were nothing short of a series of stories  which told of the joy, the laughter and the love that took place inside.  

Deep Cranberry, Bright Yellow, Bold Purple...

This was Michelle's house and the influence that she had on me goes so much deeper than the vibrant colors I have meticulously placed on the walls of every home I have lived in since.  The walls of her home were nothing more than a reflection of her own heart; joy filled, vibrant, real, and inviting.  This morning, as I learned of her passing I just keep thinking of that house.  It was a more than a house... for some it was a place of joy and friendship, for some a place or rest, for some a place of learning, for some a place of transition, and for others a place of refuge.  It is what happens when you turn a building with walls, a ceiling and a floor, into a living breathing thing where God dwells and everyone within has more peace.  It is what I strive for with my own home.  

If I had the time (and you had the desire to read this for 2 more hours) I would list all of the others ways that "Shelly" has influenced my life.  But that list is way too long for the provided character spaces this fictitious home called the internet provides.  

Many people have heard me say how much I love Jewish funerals.  (Stay with me for a minute, I promise this will make sense and I apologize in advance to any of my Jewish friends who reads this because I'm sure to get some of the details incorrect.)  

I've never seen a more real, raw account of people honoring a loved one lost than at a Jewish funeral.  Living in America today so much time is spent repressing emotions.  Many believe emotion is a sign of weakness and therefore when something sad happens we are programmed to hold it together, get through it and move on.  In the Jewish faith not only are people given the opportunity to mourn, but they are directly instructed to do so.  There is no need to hold back tears, to look exactly how you feel and to lean on each other during this time.  What a beautiful thing that is.  Although there is joy in the fact that the person is no longer suffering it does not cancel out our own grief that they are no longer with us, and therefor mourning is important and valued.  

Today I mourn.

The Jewish faith believes that our bodies are sacred vessels used by God and that when a person dies there soul passes on and the body; the vessel is all that's left to bury.  With this faith being so geared toward serving one another in need, they believe that the greatest act of service you can do for another person is to bury their body because it is the only act of service that the person can never repay.  There are few things I've seen as moving as a group of people in their best clothes, in the rain, covered in mud as they shovel mounds and mounds of dirt onto the casket in the ground.  There is something so real about it.  This is not a ceremony, it is not rehearsed, there is no pretty back drop set up for the occasions, there is no fake grass on the ground to cover up what is actually happening.  It's real, it's raw, there are tears, there is sweat, it is hard work and it is beautiful.  

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but beauty isn't always easy to look at.  Sometimes it is painful, scary and broken; but because you are seeing it with your own soul, witnessing imperfections of life right before you, it is beautiful simply because it is... and how much better are we for having experienced it.

Michelle, if the laws of Pennsylvania allowed me to, I would serve you in this way.