Thoughts on the Passing of Dena Spofford

By Moira Guertin Merrill
written for The Practice of Prayer class, Andover Newton Theological School
Spring 2007
Based on Close to the Heart: A Practical Approach to Personal Prayer by Margaret Silf.

“We can never teach ourselves, or others, to pray, because prayer is a gift, but we can receive the light passed on to us from those who have made the journey of prayer ahead of us, and we, in our turn, can pass on something of that light to those who follow after.  We can pass it on in the language and the images of our own times and of our own generation’s experience of the world (Silf 5).”

As much as I know that the grieving process can not be rushed or ignored; it doesn’t stop me from trying.  I have spent this week avoiding Margaret Silf’s book, knowing that Close to the Heart would break down the walls that I have so carefully constructed in the days after Dena’s death. 

I smile when I think of my husband’s memories of mowing Dena’s lawn when he was a teenager.  He didn’t do it for money; and he certainly didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart.  He mowed her lawn every week in the hope of being offered a slice of Dena’s lemon meringue pie.  He was never disappointed.

I don’t know if Dena’s passing is the reason or the excuse for my avoidance of school work this week but I find myself to be distracted easily by memories of a woman that in truth, I barely knew, but who nonetheless, meant the world to our family. 

At night, I still sneak into my daughter’s room to watch her sleep.  Amid the lacrosse sticks, the basketballs and sweat socks, the frilly pink baby quilt- handmade by Dena-holds a place of honor in Katie’s room.  The quilt is displayed proudly on her wall; hanging between achievement awards from school and pictures of her favorite professional athletes.

In her book, Close to the Heart, Margaret Silf suggests that there are times that we should not try to shut out our distractions, but rather to incorporate them into our prayer life. 

“Every time we return from prayer back to the life that lies both within and beyond the boundaries, we are reenacting the Incarnation.  We are doing what Jesus did, entering the sweat and blood and tears of life even though it might be so much more appealing to stay in the ivory tower of prayer.  We are carrying God’s love back to the world that so badly needs it.  This is prayer.  Sometimes it is uncomfortable, but it is God’s way of loving the world through our individual experiences (Silf 222).”

I sat down this morning and began to write; conscious of my grief and the emotions that are much closer to the surface than I would like them to be.  I was so intent on finishing my paper (and ignoring my grief) that I hadn’t even realized that I had skipped my morning iced coffee.  In fact, my children finally took it upon themselves to make the coffee for me.  
I sat at the breakfast table typing my paper-while blocking my memories of Dena and the noise of my own kitchen--while my children cheerfully set out to make iced coffee. 

“The spinning of my life’s hours and days, that sometimes seems so senseless and frenzied to me, may be precisely that spinning that is moving me, and all creation, toward our destination in God.  So often we would like nothing better than to stop the world and get off, but prayer does not allow us that kind of escape route from real life.  God is shaping his dreams for us, and all creation, not only in the stillness of our hearts but in the whirling activity of our circumstances (Silf 163).”

While balancing precariously on a step stool with one hand in the ice bucket, my five year old son paused long enough to assure me, “Don’t worry, Mommy! My hands are clean-the dog just licked them.” 

My daughter interrupted me to insist that I try the coffee she had just prepared.  She asked me if it was sweet enough, after informing me that she had added “ONLY five handfuls of sugar.”  One look at her sugar-covered hands proved that she had indeed measured the sugar by the handful.

“If prayer is meaningful at all, it is meaningful for everyone, and it is to be discovered in the places where we live out our lives, not in some special or “holy” (and ultimately unreal) place, to which we feel we have no access (Silf xiii).”

So, it became obvious that I wasn’t going to finish my paper this morning.  I took some time to be with God; or rather to recognize that God was with me; and to celebrate the life that Dena led and all that she meant to us.  And yes, I drank the coffee. 

The irony of grieving such a sweet and proper lady while surrounded by children who let the dog lick their hands clean and measure sugar by the handful didn’t escape me.  In fact, I can think of no better gift than those moments in my kitchen; and no better way to celebrate the life of a wonderful woman and a gifted baker than to drink the coffee-made with love--and five handfuls of sugar.