Some final, at least for now, thoughts on my journey following the death of my wife, Renee.

Now everything is finished. Oh, there are a few more things to be done - some funeral items and papers to be filed away and put somewhere, a photo to find and place into a frame, the pile of wonderful cards and notes to be boxed up and put somewhere, I've got to do something with her clothes and jewelry, and there are other odds and ends to be finished. I guess there's actually more than a few things still to be done. But, the "big" things - the funeral service, the memorial dedication service, the scattering of ashes and the burial service - those are finally finished.

So, now what?

From the beginning of these little writings, I have called this time, this phase of my life, a "journey". I guess I thought that finishing the "big" things would mean that the journey would be nearing its end. I guess I thought that I would either have reached my destination, or I would be able to see my destination from here. Or, if I couldn't quite see it yet, then maybe, like Moses, I would be given a vision of the destination - as if it were close by, but just out of sight, just out of reach right now, but close enough to keep on working to get there. Surely I have earned at least that.

I guess it doesn't work that way. At least not for me; at least not yet.

As Tolkien wrote [and Frodo Baggins spoke in "The Fellowship of The Ring"]:

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

This journey, my journey that you have shared with me for the last few months, began, as all journeys do, at my front door, when Renee left our home through that door for the last time. And it has been a difficult journey since then. I don't know that I really expected to reach some kind of destination once the "big" things were finished. But, "far ahead the Road has gone"? Oh my. Tolkien has a beautiful way of describing a somber reality.

Wondering. I have wondered much these last eight months; wondered about many things. Over the last few months, I have written about some of those things. To that list, I now add this: I wonder where my road goes from here? I know in my heart that I am not wandering alone on this dark road that seemingly "goes ever on and on", no matter what my eyes and my head may tell me. I know that many walk with me in spirit. For that, I am humbled and grateful.

Wandering. I surely did not expect to be wandering at this point in my life. The thought itself is frightening for one who assumed his life's trajectory was so well and practically planned - a plan that was built around security and stability. And roots - deep, immovable roots. All of that is gone now, "gone with the wind", as Margaret Mitchell tried to warn us so many years ago.

Wondering. Wandering. These are concepts that are new, and frankly, terrifying, for one whose wonderings and wanderings had always existed well within known, and safe, boundaries. Now, these wonderings and wanderings have taken me to unfamiliar, and uncomfortable places. "Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world" - as Sting wrote in "If I Ever Lose My Faith In You".

Strangely [or maybe not all that strange], I found, perhaps, some reason for hope late Sunday night in a song that was sung by a character in the Tolkien-inspired series, "The Rings of Power". Borrowing from Tolkien's own work, and with a bit of an Irish lilt, the song, "This Wandering Day" ends this way:

Sing to me, sing to me

Lands far away,

Oh rise up and guide me

This wandering day.

Please promise to find me

This wandering day.

At last comes their answer

Through cold and through frost

That not all who wonder or wander are lost.

No matter the sorrow, no matter the cost,

That not all who wonder or wander are lost.

Wandering and wondering. That pretty well sums up my journey thus far, seemingly stumbling through the darkness without much hope of either finding answers or of reaching some destination. The sorrow is deep; the cost - so much more than I expected.

But, dare I now hope that the answer this song provides could also include me? That maybe, just maybe, I have not completely lost my way, or lost myself, on this wondering, wandering day? That maybe this wondering wanderer is not really lost? That always on this journey, I have been guided through the unfamiliar country by The One who knows the way?

As I close, at least for now, these musings on my journey, that hope is the answer I choose for myself - that not all who wonder or wander are lost.

I think Renee would approve.

Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd