what happens when a rocking chair no longer sways and the story telling ceases and your heart feels as though it will never heal?
what happens when you look up at that very last moment to see his hat cradled so gently in the caretakers hands, the box that holds his ashes picked up so very carefully and walked out the back and life is expected to continue?
what happens when you return only to discover *that moment* was only the beginning of a whirlwind journey that you never wanted to be on and once in motion is a force that can't be stopped?
when the boxes are packed...
when that journey leads away from home...
when you find yourself in that middle space...no longer home, but no longer a stranger?
what happens when your emotions are taxed beyond what you have reserved?
when you try to hold it together and make it through one more day...
when you continue to take those steps in nothing other than faith,
that is shaky
and feeble
and just
wants
to
lie
down.
what then?
when the words pouring out of your mouth cry out in lament?
when you list it all in the hallway of a church,
as you hold hands,
as the weight of pain crushes,
as you sit and stare at the floor
in
defeat.
what then?
what then?
He's there.
He.
is.
there.
in the quiet and the dark in the middle of the words of a psalm of ascent.
He is there,
in the arms of the one who reached out and prayed.
He is there,
in the family with more than enough love to pour out on my children.
He is there,
in the letter, in the mailbox that cradled hope.
He is there,
when the radiator goes and we barely make it home and he laughs as he flirts and the days ahead suddenly don't seem so scary.
He is there.
i just needed to lift up my eyes,
to see Him.
