I stand with my knees quaking and my stomach churning, not knowing…not understanding. This wild feeling of the world upside down…things out of place. I don’t hear one word of the sermon…grief and confusion and worry for Liz make my mind too crowded for anything else. Love does that.
Where is it here?
Let’s tuck into God, I tell him. Let’s pull away from all this.
It’s okay to bow out gracefully.
I only want to think about good things tonight, I tell him.
I can do that, he says, if we stay away from there.
I look away.
It’s my fault, he says. I should be bigger—more mature.
And I can’t stand the hole that grows. I think of all the times he was so much bigger—so much more mature. And I know Christ died for my sins and it looms large but I wonder what He’s up to, breaking things this way.
We are only human.
So we drive to a new place, dine overlooking the square–just the four of us…pretend we’re okay. And we go, because we already have the tickets.
And in the dark and flashing lights, a small hand reaches for mine and I feel the trust there and I feel the impact of it all on him.
And my heart dances.
We worship with hands in the air.
Today I give thanks.
For the strength to make it through.
For handholding in the dark.
And a red-haired boy with passion.
|Leeland Mooring of the band Leeland. That boy is on fire. And I’m not just talking about his hair.|
And when he sang this song.
|Matt Hammit of the band Sanctus Real talks about his infant son’s heart surgery and how it has grown his faith.|
And when they sang this song.
For this word, that sustained…through church, through Sunday school. I just kept writing it over and over on my bulletin.
That even in the hard stuff, He is there. And I feel Him there too.
For my husband. That dear, long-suffering man who has given grace to those who are trying to show grace to another. No matter how much it has hurt him. Because he is bigger. And more mature.
For the way God makes all things new.
I am new today, friend. I am new.