a quick glance to my left revealed a large manila envelope marked "tony" as i climbed the stairs to the office the other day.
it was tucked in amongst the "packed" things.
since it bore the name of my husband, i sat down next to the worn green rocking chair that was his and gingerly opened the flap.
my eyes quickly picked out my name.
since it had my name on it, i figured it would be okay to snoop just a little bit more.
it was an email exchange between tony's dad and myself and as i read the words from 7 years ago i had to smile.
the man who had such a huge heart never wanted me to feel overwhelmed.
i can still hear his voice on the phone when he realized it was me...
"hi sweetheart, how are you?"
love enveloped me every time.
this email exchange that lay before me reminded me of his thoughtfulness, his wanting to call me "daughter", but never wanting to me to feel uncomfortable. a father heart that was big enough to include me as one of the many.
it's taken me a few days to realize why i have felt listless. why i go from feeling unfocused to feeling anxious and uncertain.
normally, when i feel this way, an evening away at a coffee shop, a pen and my journal help me refocus.
this time, i only felt worse.
and then my mamaB handed me a booklet that she wanted each of her kids to read. assuming immediately she meant her immediate 6 i asked if i could read it too.
"each of my kids, kimberley. that includes you too."
again, the unconditional. the acceptance. the inclusion.
it's a booklet on surviving suicide. whenever i've been at home today, i've made sure it was in view. holding it, looking at it, keeping it near...
reassured by the quote i've already read, "but people do survive. they do go on and they do learn to live and love again. the healing journey, though is complicated by a relentless barrage of soul-wrenching questions", i realize that i can take the questions if it means that we really can learn to live and love again. that living and loving truly can be done.
a couple of mornings ago, i was sitting in my usual spot while the little ones played around me. i found myself looking at the spot that used to be reserved for the green rocking chair...for him, when i was jolted out of my train of thought by a large *thunk* on the window beside me. birds have a tendency to fly into this window, so i assumed that this is what it was.
it happened a second time and i realized that it was an insect.
unsure of what type of insect it could be, i asked tony when he came into the living room and he told me about the locusts that tend to come into the valley this time of year.
much larger and heavier than the sweet little grasshoppers i had been avoiding on my walks, i immediately felt my skin crawl.
and almost just as immediately, the reminder...
"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten - the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm...you will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed." (joel 2:25a, 26)
i don't know what that will look like...how Jesus will go about changing the pain of this family to something that will give Him, and Him alone praise and glory. but He has promised it. and so i believe it.
and in this believing, i continue to trust that the emptiness that surrounds us, my Heavenly Father can, and will fill.
and i wait, with a hurt that seems like it will never go away, but waiting with a hope rich with expectancy nonetheless...
