the sun pours in and i open up those curtains.
while the little ones sleep, i sneak into the kitchen and grab those plants that sit by the sink...
i carry that green in my hands and sit them in the sun.
and i watch them.
for an hour, maybe a little bit more, i watch them strain and straighten,
reach for the light beyond the glass.
i think of two cemeteries visited today ~
two different cities,
for two different reasons.
one grave filled,
the other being filled,
both surrounded by ones who love.
he talked of his dad on the way home from getting food for the fridge,
talked of what he learned from the one who raised him
and i got quiet sitting beside him.
he turned to me when i didn't respond,
asked me what i was thinking
and the words quivered out,
sometimes i wish he had made a different choice.
and it's those plants i think of for most of the day,
as graves and memories and tears run all together,
that it's here in the waiting,
in all of this waiting ~
we are striving,
straining,
reaching
for the Light Who is Home.
the tears that fall, fall because our hearts have loved.
they still love.
but i am learning, in small and simple ways,
that the way to find hope and joy in grief
is to turn my face towards the Son...
and someday,
some glorious, wonderful, amazing day,
there will be no more separation between Him and i.
all the striving and straining and reaching and turning that fills up this life,
this life that longs for Him but seems to always hit hard against the immovable unseen,
the barrier will be lifted and this path that leads up to that moment,
the one paved with tears and confusion and questions,
it will become the altar that i offer my thanksgiving on,
because all of this that this life is,
is leading me Home to Him...
and that which separates the seen from the unseen,
what allows these eyes to catch fleeting glimpses of His glory?
it only builds the anticipation...
