I find Him.

In so many places lately, I have found unexpected joy.

Adorable little patched together toddler sentences I'm sure I will never forget, except I can hardly remember one of Lily's. Hilarious conversations between Nora and Ben they have no idea are hilarious. Watching a dozen neighbor kiddos playing in the street before school, all overjoyed by the infernal time change providing an extra hour of early morning playtime before school.  

Matt making fragrant goulash from the Czech Republic and everyone enjoying it so much it was calm and happy and warm. Emma singing "Fa-la-la-la-LAAAA!" at the top of her lungs, Lily doing all the Sunday driving and chatting my ear off as she does, visiting with a homebound grandma and delighting over the memories that come with the wad of Kleenex up her sleeve, or with LadyJane, watching she and Emma snuggle.  Sitting with 20 true brothers and sisters Thursday nights, picking apart Revelation verse by verse, deeply nourished and thankful and heavenly perspective-d. 

Then yesterday in Pennsylvania, my little sister finally buried dad's ashes next to mom, finally sent me pictures of their tombstones together.  Today, Mom's birthday, 71-years old unable to be imagined by me...and suddenly in little unexpected places, I find sorrow. Next to dad's brand new tombstone, mom's looks worn and old. It has been so, so long. But it catches me off guard, somewhere between my throat and eyes. 

The neighbor goes out to breakfast this morning, and I see her mama come to play with thrilled grand babies for the morning, and it's so simple and sweet and forever unattainable I find myself standing at the window like a creeper with stupid tears running down my face. 

Dad's tombstone in the picture where I am not is solid and beautiful and final...and only feels sad. 

I do much better when I focus on their lives than when I look at monuments of their deaths.  

I take myself through the human comforts and conflicts and remind myself the deeper truths. They are finally together.  They have been together since the moment he closed his eyes, and peace and joy is fully theirs in HIM, not in each other.  They are finally at rest.  Dad has NOT been waiting on a stone for his rest, Mom has NOT been waiting on Dad, and their rest has been long and sweet and also just beginning, and their rest has been full and found in HIM, not in a stone. "They", their stones, are so far away. They are NOT far away, but only just a moment ahead, just ahead, around His throne, their eyes on His face, His name on their forehead, living water flowing from His throne, the same Water-of-Life I stand in. 

His mercies are new every morning, but this morning when I woke they felt shadowed...the kids seemingly fighting over every little thing and ten times louder than normal, saucy teenage jabs not rolling off, the oven is broken and beeping so loudly through pancakes I feel like I'm going to lose my mind, the 'install a new light' project for this morning took every frustrating wrong turn possible, and a happy social gathering instead felt lonely.  A stop at the store for purple flowers for Mom's birthday resulted in no purple flowers, and a selfish teenage grumble with the intention of hurting--for she did not get her way--made me feel completely undone and despairing, total failure. 

I find myself going through the motions of mama and Saturday in my body, and unable to get up off the floor in my heart.

this is a day that marks
an anniversary of my loss
and waking to it
I must drink again
from the stream of sorrow
that cannot be fully remedied 
in this life

There are days like this. I cling. Cling to grace. Cling to His mercies, ALWAYS more, they are always more. 

Always on the scales of His mercies and my heartaches, shortcomings and losses, He is more. 

I find Him more. 

I find Him enough. 

I find Him.

Wherever your shadows today, cling with me to the more He is.  

Do not waste my greatest sorrow, O God, but use them to teach me to live in your presence, in the places where my shattering and your shaping meet.