Grief is a Journey

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

 

After a long, hard winter we awake to spring. A rebirth of sorts and clearing of so much clutter that’s built up after the long months indoors.

 Sometimes the clutter comes out of our hearts and our heads and not the cupboards and basements.

 

I found two pictures this week.

One I had been searching for for months.

And one I had fallen upon by chance.

collage of gran and dale
Gran and Dale both holding our little Jackson when he was only 2 or 3 months old

 

Some time has passed since you left but there is still a void.  A want for dad’s opinion about the Word.  A desire for years of God-fearing wisdom to be poured out over a cup of coffee.

If grief comes in waves, it shows itself in eyes that fill with tears when someone says that they miss your Gran

Our storybook of life has changed so much these past 4 years.  Watching the process of death is coming face to face with your own mortality–  Tasting the sweetness of heaven while fearing the emptiness of your goodbye.

 

I thank God for those stories of Liberal, Kansas.

And political discussions over monkey bread.

 

I remember how you prayed for your deaf son.

How you lost so many to war yet never lost your faith.

 

I remember how you rested in Romans 8.

And chose us to sing, “If ever I loved thee, my Jesus ‘tis now.”

 

The passing of time has proved to me that “only one life, ‘twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.”

 

Thank you.  For what you did.

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