A tiny jewelry box

Two and a half years ago I found myself at Target one night thinking, for sure, everyone knew what creepy mission I was on. It felt like I was branded with a sign that read something like "incompetent" or "failure". I was there to find a box to bury my two inch long daughter in, the daughter my body had let go...the daughter my body was supposed to grow into a full sized baby and deliver safely to the font. But, of course, my body does the bidding of our Lord, Jesus Christ. And His will is perfect and beautiful even when my human heart wants so desperately for things to go my way. And so I wandered the aisles. The kitchen section? The storage section? Where on earth does one look? As I wandered around an end cap caught my eye...jewelry. Of course, a jewelry box. After all, my baby is a treasure.

My apple tree snowing delicate petals towards our babies' garden this spring. 

This past weekend my family all began to fall ill. We had unknowingly been exposed to an awful flu virus just as we were supposed to be preparing to go out of town and I was feeling pretty angry about it. I began praying, "Lord, please don't let..." before I could even get the selfish request out, I chided myself mentally. What is He? A God vending machine? Sigh. I wrestled with my thoughts as I hung up shirts on my husband's side of the closet. "Lord, I don't know what to pray. We can't get sick now...Lord, teach me how to pray. How should I pray?" I hung a few more shirts while the baby on my back kicked and grabbed at my hand. The baby on my back....I have a baby. I thought back over that awful year...Anastasia...Amadeus...Alleluia...Mercy....Noel...my Genesis (screen name only). Why did the Lord let him stay? Why after all those losses?

But look at all the good. I won't dare selfishly proclaim that I know why the Lord gave and received home those 5 children or pretend that those children going home have anything to do with a timeline that allowed other things in my life to play out as they have. God does not use children as pawns like that, they are just as important as my life or any other's. No, but He DOES work all things together for the good.

I tried my prayer again. "Lord, I really do not want to be ill right now. My family needs me. And I don't want my children or husband to be ill, we really need to get through this trip. But, Lord, you know all things, you know what is truly for our good. And if it is your will for me to be ill, please help me bear it with...endurance?....strength?...yes, and even thanksgiving and...(gulp) joy. Help me to remember that you are my Great Physician and, according to your will, lift us back up in due time and restore our health. Amen."

The baby on my back squealed and yanked on my hair while kicking me in my hip. "Yea, help me to tolerate that too, Lord," I laughed. And suddenly I thought back to my elementary school history lessons..."Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness..." I snorted. For the Christian, there is no such thing as the pursuit of happiness. It is a lie and it actually serves to steal our joy. If happiness is felt, it is something to give thanks for, but to set it as our focus and to pursue it ignores that life is not, and never has been, about pursuing happiness. I learned that the year I watched 5 babies go home to Jesus. Sometimes the reason hard things hurt so badly is because we think we deserve them and that to not have them is an injustice to our happiness. But life is about love. Life is about service. Life is about the least of these. Life is about dying in order to live.

When Divine Meets Death

Yesterday as my children and I walked up to the rail to receive the Lord's Body and Blood, I was caught off guard by an unexpected sight.  The third Sunday in Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, or, the Sunday of rejoicing. On this Sunday in Advent we turn slightly from the somber repentance that is the Christian's focus while contemplating our Lord's second coming and judgement day, and we rejoice that for those in Christ His second coming brings peace and eternal life. 

So, imagine my surprise then when, adorning the floor area in front of the chancel, I saw three beautiful funeral arrangements. I remembered that the day before the church had held a funeral for a member who just went home to the Lord but, found myself instantly captivated by the sight....and by the irony. In my church the Sunday of rejoicing is not only met with the pink candle on the advent wreath being lit but the entire church bursts forth the decorations of Christmas and, later in the afternoon, the choir shouts forth beautiful hymns of advent in a concert for the entire community. So, there I knelt, staring at two 25 ft tall evergreen trees decked tip to stump in Chrismons and twinkling lights, and...funeral flowers. 

My eyes trailed to the altar and, for some reason, my eyes were caught by the edge of the white altar covering and the pole that holds it in place running through its side. Suddenly my mouth went dry as I thought back to the previous Holy Week and the stripping of the altar. I could still see in my mind Pastor pulling the rod out so the covering could be gently folded up and removed, leaving the altar naked and bare. 

I looked from the flowers to the trees over and over and it hit me, the life of a Christian truly is constant irony. It's black and white, sinner and saint, weeping and laughter, repentance and absolution, Christmas and Good Friday, Good Friday and Easter, death and life. 

Suddenly I loved those funeral flowers. They made a very bold statement that I do not think was intentional on the part of the person who left them. We hold hopeful, expectant vigil as we await our Christmas feasting but on this side of heaven Lent will come once again, as will Good Friday. It will come in our lives too...suffering, sickness, depression, misfortune, destruction, torture, war, death...but there's a reason we adorn caskets with flowers. It's not some kind of departing "thank you" note to the deceased, it's a testimony of life. 

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." (Matthew 6:28-29 ESV)

Those flowers are a testimony of a promise, a declaration of faith. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ WILL come again, and when He does, He is taking us home. 

I wish I could arrange for there to be funeral flowers on the third Sunday in Advent every single year. Gaudete Sunday was the first Sunday after my Dad's deadly plane crash. I remember thinking then how ironic that was, and yet, how wonderful. We rejoice even in death because Christ is coming for us, and when He does, oh Happy Day!!!

Fear

"Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters; they saw the deeds of the LORD, his wondrous works in the deep. For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. They mounted up to heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight; they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven." (Psalm 107:23-30 ESV, emphasis mine)


This passage has become one of my all time favorite Bible passages. One of the reasons it is my favorite is because of the verse in bold. Well, and the last verse of the passage because haven is one of our children in heaven's middle names.


We've all known fear: deep, intimate, soul crushing fear. Combine fear with another emotion/weakness like grief, illness, despair, etc and what you face turns down right ugly. They mounted up to the heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight...


I had just turned 29 when I faced my first miscarriage where I thought I was dying. My dr had prescribed a medication to take after the baby's body emerged to prevent post birth hemorrhage. What she did not know from the very short time I was her patient was that I have very low blood pressure, and I did not know that this medication lowers blood pressure. So, 20 minutes after taking the medication I had two crushing contractions, by far the worst pain I have ever felt (even after giving birth to four full term babies with no drugs), my vision went black, and I lost the ability to speak. My only thought, due to research I had done in preparation for having the miscarriage at home, was that due to my symptoms of extreme dizziness and blacking out I had something blocking the way out in my uterus and I was bleeding out internally. I knew this could mean death and I remember screaming in my mind, "Lord! No! Please not like this! Please don't let me die in front of my husband with my kids right on the other side of the door playing!" I imagined my kids growing up knowing their mommy died while having a miscarriage at home in the bathroom. That thought still makes me sick.


Last year I faced my own mortality more times than I care to talk about. My body kind of likes to bleed, a lot, and when with my second loss at 11 weeks I tried to get my OB to perform a d&c and, instead, she sent me home with cytotec to induce while again at home with my husband and kids I had to have a good cry in my bedroom before I had the courage to start. That time I really did have something get stuck, began to have severe dizziness after waking up from several hours of sleep with no further bleeding and my husband helped save my life by putting his weight onto my abdomen to push it out. That man and I have had good times.


And now I'm facing another full term birth. Those have been fun too. But we won't go there.


Fear. It creeps up on you, stealing your joy, making you despise the gifts God has given to you, causing you to lay sweating in the night as you fight of the demons that attack you as you face the wages of sin: death.


But...if death does not end in hell, in punishment, then where is its sting? Where is its victory? It's like being certain someone has broken into your house and you're seconds away from being slayed where you stand only to have a furry kitten poke it's head around the corner and nuzzle you. (Though my husband would say that's about just as bad. ;)


Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.


I'm terrified to give birth. I'm afraid my baby and I won't make it to the other side of birth alive. I'm afraid of the pain and agony that is transition for me. I'm afraid of having horrific tearing like I've had in the past. I'm afraid of that moment when you realize something is going very very wrong and there is nothing but faces all around you unable to make it stop.


"they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven."


Lord, hush the storm, deliver us, and bring us at last to the safe haven of Holy Baptism. Christ keep us.

Anastasia Joy, due August 2013

A time to rejoice

There is a lady at my church that has had some interaction with me and my kids away from church. I adore her, she has been a huge blessing to me and my kids. Earlier this week I was caught off guard when talking with her and she said something to the effect of, "It's good to see you smile!" At first I was annoyed. She has spent many hours with me and my children over the past 8 months, many fun and joy-filled days with lots of laughter. Why would she act like she hasn't seen me smile? But as I spent more time pondering what she said, I realized that there was a few month gap between those happier times in the fall and when she spent more time with us again shortly after my recent miscarriage in January. The couple of times she came after that miscarriage I was neck deep in OB appointments, expensive labs to make sure we were doing everything in our power to care for our unborn "neighbors", and trying to discern what we were to do next. I was angry, exhausted, confused, and heart broken.

Today, while commenting on my growing belly, she again said, "You just look SO good. Your color is good, you just look so happy!" I smiled and said, "Thanks, I AM happy."

But later after thinking on it yet some more I realized what I wish I had said both times.

Her: "It's so good to see you smile!"

Me: "Thank you, it feels good to smile again. I know it always makes us happier to see people smile but I also know that my time of mourning and sadness was good and valuable too because God brought me to it. What God ordains is always best."

I was pondering this a lot with Holy Week and, today, with Easter. Easter today is filled with so much joy and laughter for us, but for the disciples and the women, it was like some unbelievable conspiracy come to life! A missing dead body, a strange figure with clothes like lightening sitting on rolled away stone after his in-coming presence quaked the earth, people after their lives while they hid in locked rooms only to have Christ show Himself, feed them, then walk through a wall! I have to imagine amidst the insanity and fear there was a crazy elation and overwhelming joy at what they hoped was coming true before their very eyes.

But faith is not evidenced in emotions.  Mourning is good. Rejoicing is good. But faith is not evidenced in them, it is evidenced in Christ's Body and Blood, in Baptism, in God's Word. I have faith, therefore I go to where God promises to be. Worry about me if I cease to go to God's house, not if I cry or am in a time of mourning. Do not think I do not have peace, or joy, or life, or abundant blessings if I don't smile or if I cry or if I weep. Think I do not have all those things if I cease to be where God has given us Himself. 

I AM happy right now. God has called me out of my time of mourning into a time of rejoicing. The sun is shining and has filled my skin with a radiant (sunburned? ;) glow. My fingers are dirty from sewing new life into the soil both in flower and vegetable form. God has lifted me up from the pit and allowed me to enter back into a time of rejoicing, thanks be to God!

The Contrast of Wisdom and Folly [1] A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of birth. [2] It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart. [3] Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad. [4] The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. [5] It is better for a man to hear the rebuke of the wise than to hear the song of fools. [6] For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fools; this also is vanity. [7] Surely oppression drives the wise into madness, and a bribe corrupts the heart. [8] Better is the end of a thing than its beginning, and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. [13] Consider the work of God: who can make straight what he has made crooked? [14] In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider: God has made the one as well as the other, so that man may not find out anything that will be after him. (Ecclesiastes 7:1-14 ESV)

It's happening

This past week we honored our Abel as we remembered him on his expected due date- 4-8-14. A dear friend and her husband, who we had asked to be the God parents for this child before he died, had a package show up at my door the day before. I waited to open it with my husband that night on the eve of his due date. It was a beautiful gold crucifix. Now we have a crucifix in every room on the first floor. I love it. And now I will always have that crucifix to look at to remind me not only of Christ's sacrifice that atoned for the sins of the entire world, but for my Abel's as well.

After I wrote my last post I spent a long time that evening in prayer confessing all of my fears to God. I didn't try to...piefy (piefy: v. to make pious-OK, yes, I made that up) my prayers but instead just confessed and, with few words, simply asked God to please help me.

I don't know why it surprises me sometimes when He gives me exactly what I ask for in the simplest of ways. I woke up Monday morning and things were different. My fear was gone. poof. I realized it right away, mid-morning, and thanked God for His tender mercy and then got distracted in the first couple days of my week. Tuesday night I realized again how worry free I was and told a couple friends about the wonderful blessing. Then I had a nightmare Tuesday night that I was miscarrying. I woke up and thought it was real, thought I was covered in blood, and then the worry came crashing back. I immediately got onto my knees and confessed it all again, once again asking God to have mercy on me and help me in my meager faith. By mid morning I was once again fear-free.

It's not that I don't know I could still lose this baby. I'm not naive nor does being worry free mean bad things won't happen. It's just that I have met death face to face 6 times in my own body. The Lord saw fit to allow us a long year of very intimate and isolating grief. This cross the Lord mercifully allowed in our lives may or may not be over, but it doesn't matter ... the Lord Jesus Christ who has redeemed me and atoned for my sins, atoned for the sins of this child as well. This baby is bathed in God's Word each and every day and, come what may, Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. Lord, I am yours, save me.

Tomorrow I turn 9 weeks pregnant. Happy 9 weeks Genesis Hope. xo- we love you sweet baby.

Stuck where I don't want to be

This morning in church just a couple words into the Old Testament reading for the day I had tears streaming down my face. It was the beloved passage in Ezekiel of the valley of the dry bones. When I was pregnant with Anastasia's dead body I read that passage out loud every day in faith that if the Lord wanted to He could raise my baby back to life.

The New Testament reading was the raising of Lazarus. Enter more tears.

It's strange being in the season of Lent at a different time of the year because I will always associate Lent now with finding out our baby was dead right before Ash Wednesday and then going through the first week of Lent plus a little of the next waiting to birth her, and then giving birth and waiting the rest of Lent to be able to bury her body because the ground was frozen. Now I'm in the season again but of course past all the dates of those events. Instead of being so close to Easter and finally being able to put flowers on my baby's grave, I'm waiting for the week after Easter when we are hoping to hear a heart beat on doppler. It was that 12 week appointment with our Anastasia where the doppler gave us nothing but stark silence.

It's an agonizing wait. I'll be brutally honest and say that even though I know I will be OK either way, by the grace of God, this wait, this not knowing, is torture. Every day I look for blood. Every time I'm not nauseous I worry. Every time I'm too nauseous I worry. I can't think about November or birth or feeling baby kick or newborn diapers or bringing up the maternity clothes or asking my neighbor for my arm's reach cosleeper back, because I don't believe any of it will be necessary/will happen.

If it weren't for Anastasia's death, I might not feel this way, but when a pregnancy is going textbook and one day, at 12 weeks for no apparent reason your baby dies...well, life doesn't feel like black and white anymore. Life in the womb seems like this grey area that can just slip away at any given moment. I suppose this is plenty true of life on earth too, but at least on earth we can usually point to a cause.

Back when I had my ultrasound with Anastasia we thought we had evidence of something drastically wrong with her. If you look back at my post around Feb 6 of 2013 where I show the ultrasound picture there was what looked like a "bubble" coming off of her head. The ultrasound tech assumed it was a head malformation that had caused her death. But when she was born, there was no sign of it and her head and face were perfect. We think whatever we saw was probably remaining yolk sac instead of a malformation.

I don't know how long Genesis will be with us. I don't know if her earthly life will only exist in the womb. I know no matter what I love and adore this child and am blessed beyond words to be this child's mother and protector for now. But this waiting time in pregnancy reminds me of what it's like to be stuck in grief.

I don't want to be here, but sometimes in life we have no choice. We don't choose grief and loss and death, it is simply the reality of existence in a fallen world. We cannot lift ourselves out of grief. We cannot choose for it to end. Only God, only our Lord Jesus Christ can lift us up in due time. In His time. And that is good. So very good. These inner workings in my body are not mine to know for now. They are Christ's.

So here I am. I'm in this strange existence between joy and grief. On the one hand I still miss my babies in heaven dreadfully and cry for the children that have all been housed in my body the past year. On the other, I think about this child that might still be alive in my womb right now, maybe even starting to move those tiny hand and feet plates that should be forming, and I smile a private small smile and pray so fervently for this child. I read God's Word out loud and sing God's hymns and read the Catechism out loud and receive God's body and blood, but then I must wait. Even if I had an ultrasound every week that doesn't mean that a day later my baby wouldn't die. So, I must just wait. And wait. And pray the day will come that I can actually feel this baby kicking and squirming inside of me. But then there's always still waiting and praying. And even if this child is granted an earthly life, there is still waiting and praying as the child grows and changes and lives.

Whether or not I parent this child here, the reality is, these children belong to the Lord. This is the walk we are called to as parents, as humans. We are not our own, we are the Lord's, as are our children, and so we wait. We wait and pray and keep our eyes on the horizon. He IS coming back. So in the mean time we muddle through as best we can. Our lives may be full of weeping and mourning, laughter and play, feasting and fasting, rest and sleeplessness, illness and health, isolation and company. We, by the grace of God, take it as it comes, do our best to strengthen our weak knees for this walk, but know all along that Christ goes before us, behind us, and within us.

O Little Flock, fear not the foe,
Who madly seeks your overthrow,
Dread not his rage and power,
and though your courage sometimes faints,
his seeming triumph o'er God's saints,
lasts but a little hour.

As true as God's own Word is true,
Not earth nor hell's satanic crew,
against us shall prevail,
their might? A joke, a mere facade!
God is with us, and we with God,
our victory cannot fail. (LSB vs 1,3 #666)

Christ keep us.

During times of immense suffering and cross-bearing, it is far too easy to become trapped inside your own mind. Think of when you first feel a cold coming on. You notice it and think to yourself the things you should be doing to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. But by and large you are able to move outside of your suffering and go about the world around you. But then by the time the cold has progressed into that awful sensation of having rubber cement jammed into your sinuses and swallowing razor blades while fighting a terrible fever and aches, well, you are FORCED to fall away from the rest of the world and in on you and only you. The rest of the world falls away and in desperation your mind goes nuts for relief.

Now imagine if during this time you decided to do some soul searching. Here are the things you might soul search about: Were you eating well enough to begin with? Were you getting enough rest? Did you expose yourself to an illness you could have avoided? 

Now imagine if this was your 6th illness in a short period of time. Here are some questions that might follow then: (All of the above), Are you trying to be super woman in your life? Are you trying to prove something by over exerting yourself? What law are you fulfilling by working yourself to the point of illness?

But, of course, there's something wrong with this picture to the point of humor. First, none of the above may be true but observers may think they are simply because of your symptoms and your inability to speak clearly in your illness. But second, have you ever seen someone drastically ill with fever, searing pain, and the inability to breathe have the energy and/or ability to think these questions let alone have the power to comprehend them? No? 

Neither do the suffering. 

Honesty

I've always striven to be very honest in blogging. I don't blog because I think I have anything more valuable to say than any other Christian out there. I don't blog because I think I am pious or because I think I am smart or because I think I have any importance whatsoever that should make me an authority on anything. I blog because I have experiences that may serve my sisters.

My thoughts are not authoritative in a spiritual sense. I strive to always speak the truth as I have learned it from my faithful pastors over the years simply because I cannot talk about my experiences without talking about Christ. But I am a sinner. I am weak. I am not pious. I am somewhat rough around the edges I think. I am not graceful or meek. I'm just muddling through as best I can.

I want to record this because I don't know what the next 8 months do or do not hold. I'm waiting right now by the phone for my OB to call and let me know if my latest labs show that my baby is indeed growing. But I want to share some of the raw and maybe even ugly thoughts that have been accosting me on this extremely emotional week.

Lately it does not even seem to be about the babies anymore. It's becoming extremely personal. I'm struggling with the ways I have and have not responded over the past year and the ways I may or may not have been a blessing to those around me. I'm struggling with the appropriateness of grief.

I'm struggling with the massive train that ran me over and now seems to have left just as quickly and I'm supposed to just get up and dust myself off.

I'm struggling with death, with grieving, and its place in the Christian's life.

As the week has gone on I've become more troubled about grief. When is grief appropriate and when is it narcissism? On the one hand I have sisters in Christ gently telling me grief is OK to experience and deserves attention and time but on the other I have my two sisters and this new baby telling me life moves on. Telling me I can't control anything. Telling me God is still God. Telling me grief is just grief. And just as I was beginning to feel the need to throw my hands up in defeat and maybe take a rest, now here's this new little one and it's time to get strong again.

When I received my first good news this week that my levels were looking great it was met with excited and joyful greetings from everyone I told. I, too, was overjoyed and cried tears of thankfulness. I spent the first two days of knowing about this baby sobbing because I was certain this baby too would go, and soon. Then I got the good news and began feeling sick and suddenly it occurred to me that this chain of losses might be gone...maybe for good.

And in that moment the train that crushed me so vehemently disappeared just as quick and I was supposed to get up and walk away as if nothing happened. I was supposed to say, "Huh, wow, that sucked." And then brush off and keep moving.

I was 18 years old when I went to church the first Easter Sunday after he died. My Dad was my sole guardian and my mom had lived 5 hours away for the past 7 years before that. On top of that life-altering loss, the rest of my family was changing in many ways and breaking away into paths that we had not been raised in and I was facing graduation and realized  childhood and family were a mere facade.

I sat in my church's red upholstered chairs that all clipped together down the rows and looked up at the cross hanging over the window. I tried to hear the sound of my dad's voice coming from the choir that was warming up somewhere behind me and sounded so dead without him. I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended the voices were actually coming from heaven. I sunk so deep into my thoughts that it felt like I was removed from the room and dreaming. I imagined my Dad at the Lord's side.

But back to the train. That train that mauls us over in life, sometimes so quickly you look around to see what it was, and sometimes its relentless chain of cars beats you down for a year or more over and over.

But regardless in the end I suppose pain, death, and the effects of sin...it's all just pain, death, and sin. For those in Christ it is conquered. And like childhood, it makes you think it's real and eternal, and then in the blink of an eye it's all destroyed right in front of your eyes, except this time instead of that happening by a plane slamming into the ground at 400 miles per hour, or your body forcing you to double over in pain every few minutes until the dead body is expelled, well, this time it will happen with trumpets, the sky splitting, and Jesus coming back. And when He comes, we'll all be sitting at that final Easter, the illusion of this fallen world will crumble and be destroyed, and that blasted train will be gone forever.

Gospel pants

Late this morning I stood in front of my armoire trying to decide if it was a blue jeans kind of day or a long skirt kind of day.

Many years ago my husband and I nicknamed my pants "Gospel pants" due to a lot of pressure at the seminary from well meaning soon-to-be pastors' wives to define our stance against feminism by only wearing feminine and modest clothing: which meant long skirts. So I stood there feeling very indecisive and instead reached for the blinds to let the sun in. As I did I had to gasp, for the first time since early December, my baby girl's head stone stared up at me. "Hi mom!"

I don't know how long I stood there looking at her name staring up at me in the sunshine or even what I thought. Honestly I was paralyzed. All winter long she has been covered with a thick blanket of white and overnight that veil left.

I remember learning about the stages of grief in school on multiple occasions. But I think they missed one. What is it when you are just numb? When there is nothing left to feel or discuss because nothing will change and we have to trust that God is good? When you're embarrassed about the way you've grieved in the past year, ashamed of the lack of cheerful-happy-Christian-trust and ashamed of how you let grief hit you so hard?

My life is so full. It's full because of Christ. And as I said before, even if all is stripped away, Jesus is still Jesus.

Perhaps it's acceptance when you wake up, thanks to a couple friends that aren't afraid to ask hard questions, and realize life isn't about you or the past or your wretched inability to sail through grief gracefully.

So, I reached for my Gospel pants, stared at a picture of my dad for a moment, and left Anastasia's window.

Soul Adorn yourself with gladness,

Leave the gloomy haunts of sadness,

Come into the daylight's splendor,

There with joy your praises render.

Bless the one whose grace unbounded

This amazing banquet founded; He, though heavenly, high, and holy,

Deigns to dwell with you most lowly.