Elijah. I just want to say his name. I want to holler through the house; it's time for dinner, or get down here and pick up your things. I want to say his name and hear his voice. I want to buy him a Christmas present and fill his stocking. My soul wishes for this not to be. The deep searing pain resurfacing. The loss permeating all that I do. Oh, how I miss him. Oh, how everything in me resonates that this is wrong. How can the God of the universe, that called all into being, have this be my path? It has been a year since mom died. A ... View Post
Advent: A Season of Waiting and Preparation
When you're in the middle of Advent and you're waiting; longing for Christs return. Longing for anything other than this path. Sometimes the pain is so searing it leaves me dizzy. The magnitude of the loss overpowering. Gary plays a message on his phone and it rips my heart right open wide. His voice. Oh, how I miss it. I knew his voice. I recognized it. I knew his step on the stair. These things a mama knows. And when those things are taken away - ripped right away from this life, it leaves you reeling and teetering for something to grasp. Because the hurt and pain of this world cuts like a ... View Post
To Despair is to Turn Your Back on God. . . Day #9 of Thankfulness
To despair is to turn your back on God. -Marilla Cuthbert Anne of Green Gables If I despair. Not only do I turn my back on God but I take away the hope that he has promised. Will I only take the good in this life and not the bad? Though it seems like the bad has tipped the scales. But has it? Who am I to decide what is enough? John 16:33 I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have ... View Post
Waiting. . .How Well Do We Do It?
It is 6:00 a.m when we leave the house. It is still dark. I pray while we drive. Trying to calm the churning. I stare at the wall behind the bed. It is a familiar wall. They must be similar in each place. I hold Gary's hand. I close my eyes, I see the wall behind mom's bed. All the tubes and machines. I am holding her hand. Much smaller than my farmers. A beautiful hand with long nails, that even as life slipped away, she had manicured. Always on her own. Very few professional manicures in her life. I linger in the memories for a moment. But they are still ... View Post
