This card came in the mail yesterday.
From Selah’s doctor up at the Children’s Hospital.
She remembers every year.
Just one word– Selah,
To pause and value.
And I went walking with some friends this morning and one said–
“It’s not that you miss the person less…
It’s that around you, life fills (with joy) all the more.”
My cousin is going home to an empty nursery, an empty crib…
Her empty arms aching for their little boy Oliver, who died last Friday.
She’s just beginning the unavoidable walk through grief,
Still wondering if she’ll ever feel anything other than raw pain.
I take a deep breath.
“I breathe the home air. Jesus tells us that the air of his home is love:
‘You have loved me before the foundation of the world…’
Love surrounds all and conquers grief…” ~Spurgeon
There are joyful-giggle-screams echoing through my window,
where cousins are playing-arguing about who is the best ninja,
while their feet pump hard in the air, swings soaring, flinging flip-flops upward toward Heaven.
And the olders in the kitchen blend smoothies of ripe berries while the dog sleeps at my feet, and the sun shines.
But there is a hole in the line up.
An empty place where I wish our five-year-old Selah was also sitting-smiling.
Sipping her smoothie with them.
But the hole is not forever.
One day all will be complete and–
“We should always seek to keep Heaven in our line of sight”
And today is a taste of Isaiah 51:3 for me–
“Indeed, the Lord will comfort Zion;
He will comfort all her waste places
And her desert like the garden of the Lord;
Joy and gladness will be found in her,
Thanksgiving and the sound of a melody.”
All of God’s whispers of love for us continue on.