SJT and Poetry Friday: Help for Our "I Don't Know" Moments

Ruth at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town offered us the theme of "I don't know" for our Spiritual Journey post in July.

I had a moment of "I don't know" what just happened as I left the grocery store today. I was pushing my cart across the parking lot to my car when suddenly the cart quit moving. I was sure that I had just hit a low space or picked up something that jammed the wheel in the parking lot. No, that wasn't it. 

Another driver rolled down her window and told me that the wheels had locked because I was taking it out of the grocery store lot. I had parked across from a nearby restaurant because it was closer to the store than the back of the store lot. The problem was real, the locked wheels did not allow me to move forward or backward. I was stuck in the middle of a lane of oncoming traffic. 

Another customer came over and offered to help get the cart back to the store. I grabbed my groceries, thanked him for getting me out of this pickle, and continued to my car.

I was grateful for both of the individuals who advised me in my "I don't know" how to proceed, "I'm stuck" moment. I like to think that there will be friends and loved ones and angels and Jesus who may come to our rescue in our "I don't know" moments. They won't always have answers, but we can feel their comforting presence and perhaps receive useful guidance.

When my aunt died, my mother talked about the absolute recognition on her sister's face that there were other beings present. I wasn't there, but loved hearing my mom tell of this experience.  When my mother died, I wanted to be there, to feel, to have a knowing experience that would stand for me as a reality of life beyond this one. 

I was privileged to be there, but we did not have an experience like my mother had with her sister. Instead, we quietly sang hymns, encircling Mom in our love, gently massaging her face as her breathing slowed, and she left this life, and entered another. It wasn't the strong recognition of my mother's experience, but instead it was a comforting feeling that I was on holy ground and that I had participated in a sacred experience. 

I recently read these lines from Hannah Fries poem, "Let the Last Thing Be Song," which reminded me of this experience of singing to my mother as she left this life and entered another:

". . 

iv 

When I die, I want to be sung across the threshold.
Don’t you? Doesn’t the universe,
with its loosening warp
and weft, still
unspool its symphony?

Sing to me — please —
and I will sing for you as all unravels,
as time continues past the final beat
of the stutter inside your chest.

. . . "

You can listen to the entire poem read by the poet with her young son improvising on the piano at the marginalian.

Robyn Hood Black is hosting Poetry Friday at Life on the Deckle Edge. Come join the fun!