Clinging to Hope

I walk out of my brother in laws house.
Away from the baby shower.
I’ve just spent a few hours in the company of those I love the most.
Family and friends.
Celebrating.
A new life.

Yet I leave empty.
Sad.
Overwhelmed.

I haven’t been here in a while.
I glance out over the pasture.
My brother in law’s horse, Joe,  stands stately in the field.

I call to him.
He comes.
I wonder.
Do you remember me?
It’s been years since I have seen you.

I want to weep.
Years of memories in this field, before there was a house.
Before my mother and father in law journeyed home to Jesus.
Haying.
Long walks.
Falling in love.
An evening hike and picnic in the woods with another couple.

Joe walks to meet me.
He stands ever so still.

I rub his nose.
His nearness; a comfort.
I forget the power of horses.
The kindness in their eyes.
The knowing look.
He lets me pet him.
I feel the hope rising.
The power that comes.

I think on the years  the Oldest Farm girl and our Farm Niece/Parlor Princess rode bare back on this boy.
I think about our wedding and how my dad hung on for dear life as Joe spooked and ran in the other direction.

My brother in law hollers out the window to me.
He comes out.
He takes my arm and says, “Come.”
We walk into the garage.
He and his friend are hiding out while all the ladies visit in his house.
He weaves the tale of the ride of his life.
The day I married his brother.
Joe, turning and running the other way.
A wild ride.
He too remembering as he watched me with Joe.
That was almost 24 years ago.

I walk to my car.
I breathe in the fresh air.
I inhale the memories.
They are beautiful.

So many unexpected turns in the grief journey.
It’s been 9 months since my dad journeyed home.
I’m not even sure how you grieve someone that’s been gone even before they’re gone.

The sun is shining as I drive home.
I want to shake the empty, sadness.
I want to dwell in the hope.

Sometimes the weariness, holds tightly.

I dig deep.
I stop at the stop sign.
The spot where my son drew his last breath.
The place where my world stopped.

I continue the drive home.
The drive my son never made.

I still can not understand this journey.
I can’t bear the pain some days.

I turn onto our road.
The familiar.
The horse farm where my coffee buddy lives.
The home of my walking buddy.
I turn onto the dirt.
The dirt road that I love.

I turn my face to the fading sun as I walk to the house.
With in each step is hope.
Hope of a new day.

It takes strength each day to let God do His work.
Surrendering the control.
Letting God make us into something new.
Clinging to the Hope.

He is working.
He is turning the ashes into something beautiful.

He is writing a new story in my life; in your life.

Hebrews 6:19
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,

It is the beginning of Lent. 
The 40 days Jesus spent in Communion with God.
Seeking, gaining strength, searching.
May you set aside this Holy Season for a time of fasting and reflection.
A purposeful journey to know Christ more intimately.

Tenth Avenue North
I Have This Hope

I have this hope,
in the depth of my soul!

 

http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBg9jHQtE44&feature=share