The Anniversary date approaches.
Forever etched in my mind.
The week has been rough.
Emotional.
Out of sorts.
The day it happened; a Sunday.
The morning my farmer walked into church.
Picked up the drum seat “a throne”;
and shared that our son now was in the presence of the King of Kings.
Who sits on His Throne.
The gracious and Holy God.
I feel numb when I think of those wee hours in the morning.
The police.
Flashing blue lights.
Darkness.
No power.
I can feel the shock that crept like a thief through my whole body.
My farmer and now only son heading to the barn.
Me sitting.
Alone.
In the living room.
Wondering what to do.
How does one go about this.
I couldn’t even call my mom.
She had met Jesus just 7 months before.
That pain still raw.
Needing to let the other children know.
I remember doing the only thing I knew how to do.
I began to Praise the Lord.
Because when raw grief permeates; the soul responds.
The response was automatic.
From years of submission to a Holy God.
Years of trusting and resting.
Making Quiet Time a priority.
Now.
When the torment is real.
So is the response.
Praise.
Because we are a people meant for Praise.
Life.
Not death.
It is unnatural; harsh.
As I sit here 3 years later.
I marvel at how I got here.
Days, stretched into months, stretched into years.
It all seems like a blur.
Yet I know much work has been done.
We have been prayed for and loved.
I forget many things.
Time seems to run together;
before the accident. . . and after.
3 years later, God is still on the throne.
There is a plan that I can not see.
I need to remain faithful.
I still do not like this path.
I long with every fiber of my being for there to be a different way.
Walking into the sanctuary on Sunday mornings, I close my eyes and will for Elijah to be there.
For time to have stood still.
That is not to be.
The here and now is without our son.
For the rest of my life, on this earth.
It is without his humor and twinkling eyes.
His rare, lopsided grin.
His beautiful red hair and receding hair line.
His large, calloused, strong hands.
His desire to argue and search for truth.
His sarcasm and last minute ways.
My mama’s heart aches.
It aches for all that will never be.
The days before the accident stick out in technicolor.
I remember everything about them.
Little did I know those were his last days.
If I knew. . . would it have changed anything I did?
Nope.
I have no regrets. Only that he is gone.
And even then, how can I deny him the greatest gift in all the world . . . heaven?
I am so grateful to all who have loved us.
I love the stories some share.
I love to hear Elijah’s name spoken.
There is a hole that will never be filled.
An ache that will remain.
We will continue to change and grow in God’s infinite Grace.
But there is always a feeling of missing.
The order of life altered.
A child before his parents.
It seems so wrong.
Yet we cling to a Creator that says this is right . . . for now.
So we will walk in that faith.
Trusting in the plan we can not see.
Hoping in a God who does what He promises.
He is faithful.
We need to mirror that response.
As I sit here today; July 27, the last day he was alive.
I remember each detail.
I step into the stillness of the morning.
I can’t do this on my own.
My strength comes from God on high.
I surrender all that I am.
For His ways are far greater than mine.
May you find the stillness.
Trusting in a plan greater than you understand.
Rooted in Faith and believing in Hope.
Isaiah 41:10
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed,
for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
Come As You Are
There’s joy for the morning, oh sinner be still
Earth has no sorrow, that heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow, that heaven can’t heal
David Crowder
http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2zhf2mqEMI
Miki says
Oh How He Loves You and Me! I love your broken heart.
Kathy M says
Thank you for your honest thoughts and this beautiful song.