Last night, I had several horrible dreams. In one, I had a heart attack. Another had me leading my sons through a massive abandoned skyscraper full of aggressive monsters, and the third had me unraveling a predator’s plot against one of my sons. Pretty bleek and disturbing.
Bet I’m not the only one having bad dreams.
I woke in the dark, and the twilight of my consciousness was filled with Odysseus and his strange and seemingly endless journey, filled with obstacles and setbacks. The never-ending feeling of it all is familiar these days.
When I thought to put these strange mental wanderings down on paper, I wanted to consider all those terrible things, recall Scylla and the Whirlpool, the Cyclops and the Sirens, the Seductresses and Cannibals. We’ve got all that, too, all that suffering and loss.
Or, the Lotus Eaters, binging distraction until they die, forgetful of their dreams.
Grief and disappointment, self-made or inflicted, were real themes nearly 3,000 years ago too.
What about that time when poor Odysseus was sleeping restfully, nearly home, back to normal (whatever that is) and his greedy bonehead sailors pillaged his bag of winds and everything had to start all over. Seemed pertinent for today.
But this is a special and important day, and I won’t be asking the ladies to sit quiet in the back while I highlight some dude. I’d like to focus on Penelope, whose story is an important key for us today.
Odysseus was gone two decades, important ones for Telemachus, their son, and Penelope did all of the heavy parenting. Brave Odysseus, we always consider his perseverance, his determination to find his way home.
What of his wife, raising a boy on her own, fending off ravenous and groping suitors who wanted to use her and destroy her child. For much of the story she carries grief, thinking her husband has died.
Unlike Odysseus, who needed a little comfort from goddesses along the way, Penelope puts her son first, and forgoes her personal need for touch. She holds tenaciously to the long view, even when all hope seems gone.
Not only does Penelope raise a son and hold off the lusty young lads. She had to run a kingdom, by the way.
I’m privileged in the wonderful ladies of my life. From Moddie Kirk (‘Ma’ - my great-grandma) to Ellen Gartrelle (‘MaMa’ – my grandma) to Marilyn Leigh (my Momma) to my wife Jessica Maria, I’ve rubbed shoulders and hearts with a litany of strong, intelligent Queens, running their kingdoms with wondrous efficiency and patience, always with a dash of love.
I’m also a teacher of twenty-one seasons, which has allowed me to see up close the excellence with which so many teacher-moms have cared for the children of others while still loving and sacrificing for their own. I’ve been blessed to see many of these wise moms travel the valley of sorrow and anxiety with their sons and daughters, coming out the other side rejoicing. Cheers, ladies, and thank you – I’ve learned so much listening to your words and your hearts.
We’ve been asked to stay at home. No adventures or quests today, or probably tomorrow, and perhaps not even in a few weeks or months. We’re carrying grief, and fear is lurking in the uncertainty of the future.
We might look to Odysseus and emphasize slogging on until we make it home. Sure, but perhaps a better focus is on staying home, keeping the flame of hope burning indefinitely, no matter what may come. Perhaps we should commemorate those whose uncertain waiting is so valorous.
This weekend, one of our sons deceived us, rode his bike clear across town (don’t think my old West Texas hometown of Borger – we live in New Jersey, traffic capital of the US) with no helmet, taking roads that are dangerous to the wary rider, much less the invincible and reckless teen. For me, the disappointment was more about the deception. I mean, he was on an adventure, exploring, right?
For my wife Jessica, it was like a sucker punch. She kept replaying all of the ways he could have been harmed, or lost. There is a deep, soulful way a mother loves.
Mom’s have the wisdom to love past the faults, or, rather, through the storm of failings that inevitably come. Mom’s also know how to love in the darkness of unknowing.
Mom’s know how to be brave in the midst of sorrow. And, they know how to be tender. No one, sick as a dog, lying in their bed, is wishing for their Pops. Nope, we want Momma. We need her.
We need you now, Queens. Your example of steady under pressure in the face of indefinite ends is the road map. Thank you, and pray for us.