the plodding remembrance

Today, spring is here in all her glory, doubtlessly flirting with us, pretending she'll be here to stay but sure to withdraw just as soon as she taunts us with her beauty.

With spring comes a strange sense of longing--a reminder of warmth and joy and frolicking, barefoot, flowers braided through our hair and hope intertwining hearts. And all this so good, so much pointing to ultimate realities.

And yet joy hurts. The beauty of spring begs for answers...for why the loved one died in the cold, dark pain of winter. I wish his weak lungs could have breathed this good, glorious air just one more season. Even the most glorious home going hurts.

It's this weird reawakening of grief that might hurt more than the first round of sorrow. This hoping, as a cousin said yesterday, that he's not forgotten. That all the resolution to live to honor his legacy isn't yesterday's idle fancy.

I feel the haunting "wish-I-hads" of spending more time, or knowing more, or being more focused in the crisis of death. And yet to hold on to these will be more pain, more bitterness of soul, so we let go, surrender, forgive, knowing Christ is sufficient, that He will never leave us or forsake us, that He grieves alongside the broken hearts and came to make all things new.

Today I wished Grandpa was here so badly. Patriarch of the family, maybe he could give a few answers to our questions. Why'd I see him now so much more a pillar of strength than I ever had taken the time to do before? All the times mom had said Grandpa would have answers....why didn't I ask? Was it fear?

And the lonely widow walks along, cane in hand. The middle of the night duty calls and I'm told I was in Grandpa's stead. And it cuts to the heart like a sickle in harvest. I feel death in myself, maybe more than his death. We can't stand the brokenness.

These days are slowly plodding their grief deep into my heart, like a field unplowed, like grief just stomped into the soil, crushing in its weight, but why now?

And how do we heal?
surrender. let go. forgive. 


I do, but I don't know how.
come to Me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. 

The burden of grief is too heavy to carry in my own yoke.

cast all of your cares upon Him, for He cares for you.

But I can't go back and change these things I wanted to be different.

He restores the years the locusts have eaten.

There is still so much sorrow.

Joy will come in the morning.