Some days the missing is so great.
It sneaks up.
No warning.
I can’t change this.
I am a mom.
I want to fix things.
Make it better.
I am powerless.
I call on the name of Jesus.
Sometimes our burdens weigh us down.
They threaten to crush and steal our joy.
This is the journey of a mom whose son lies deep beneath the sod.
The missing grips;
tears at the inside.
Our child;
Flesh and blood, torn from us.
I find other things to do.
To distract myself.
I think on the wonder of things.
My children.
Grandchildren.
But the pain is too great.
I need to walk through this.
I breathe deep.
I swallow hard at the memories.
Because no matter how much I want. . . there are no more memories to be made.
July 28, 2013; for me, the memories stopped.
Each day since that moment has been a purposeful journey.
Filling my heart with an everlasting love.
Relying on the only strength I know.
Which involves surrendering everything.
I hold his shirt in my hand.
I long for him.
How can this be God’s best for me?
How can this be the choice of a loving God?
These things I can not reason.
It is not for me to know now.
What I know is that God has not left my side.
My son.
My dear Elijah, is in the arms of the Almighty.
His race;
Finished.
Nothing will bring him back.
I can not change the circumstances.
I can change my reactions.
I can live fully.
With the intent that God longs for.
And so I will.
I still do not know where God is leading.
Sometimes it seems so quiet.
It is in these moments I know He is working.
The seasons are beginning to change.
Even though the heat has been unusual for this area.
There are signs everywhere.
The farm yields willingly to these changes.
Giving forth when needed.
Resting. . . when it’s time.
Praying I see the time to give and the time to rest.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
