strength

The grief thing (yes, we are still talking about grief) just kinds comes out of nowhere and hits you. Dawn told me once that your body feels the score, and it just does. Even when your mind isn't on it. And while you're feeling the score, it all seems to gang up on you.

While deliberately NOT thinking through the painful parts of this time last year, they wake me up at night.  While intentionally trying to love dad and release him, I got hit with a ton of Haiti bricks out of nowhere today, crying with a stranger over the smells and the sun and the people. I miss these two women so badly it hurts...Granny's laughter and deep-seated peace, sharing life with Gertha who saw and and loved and came alongside, always. They made me such a better person, a short phone call with dad in a tumultuous wave, the same.

I come to that stupid red-light almost every single day near our house, the one where I spoke to Dad and heard his voice for the very last time. I'm not even thinking about it, I'm just driving, and every single stupid time, I tap the brake and I hear his strained and weary voice and hear myself tell him what a gift it has been to be his daughter. 

I miss these dear ones pouring into my life. I miss pouring into theirs. I miss kissing Gertha's sweaty cheek every morning as she slipped off her dusty sandals and slipped on Matt's, insisting on washing her hands before scooping up a gleeful little one. It kills me she's never met Emma, who would love her as deeply as the others do. Kills me Granny's never snuggled her cheeks as she always did the babies. Kills me Emma'll only know Grandpa stories, just like all the kids only know Grandma stories.

Tonight someone small got red paint on the couch, red paint the sisters weren't supposed to have out.  Sofie, still casted and on crutches, dropped and shattered one of my mom's Christmas cups, and not an hour later I finish Emma's bath and return to the whole crew all up in the teacher gifts I've been painstakingly gathering and preparing for the end of the year and were chowing down on Ghiradelli hot chocolate and almond biscotti they "found" and didn't think to check. 

Broken glass and red paint, it's all small stuff. Two girlies--heavy with some drama that greatly affects their lives this weekend--drag, and making them feel extra loved and wanted and safe has been my goal this weekend, my big stuff.  

All of it adds up to some tears tonight after mama never once lost her patience, never once raised her voice, and yet at the end of the day, the body feels the score. 

I miss. I wish. 

And yet the Lord reminds me that Hannah and Beth spent their Friday evenings at Lily's play last night, because it meant a lot to her, and because I could not be there. And because they love her, like good family. The Lord reminds me that there are many many with far greater losses tonight, and I can cling to Him as they do. The Lord reminds me He came, Christmas, and that His body felt the score of drawing me close to the Father. 

Reminds me that our hope is not in sunshine and mangoes or friends and family or fair weather and spotless couch cushions, but in Him, in Him the only thrill of Hope. 

May He meet us close and strong today, at those traffic lights, picking glass out our feet, granting us His peace and renewing our strength.