Good morning, June.
Tomorrow marks the end of nine, long, painful months since the passing of my husband, from death into life. This morning there's a deep ache, an uncomfortable stillness, as I gaze out my window and watch the clouds rolling in, the waves of the ocean restless, yet the sun breaking forth in shimmering beauty, casting its rays of glory and strength upon the troubled waters... No storm threatens me, the sun seems to say. I will rise again and again and again...
Years have gone by in the undercurrents of my soul these last nine months. I have aged many years... How does one ever say goodbye to their other half? How do you ever feel normal again without him? When do you roll over in the night and stop expecting him to be there? When does your half become a whole?
Why me? I seem to ponder, not really expecting an answer... As my friend Meribeth said, Why has God entrusted me with this? I know everyone has grief and everyone has struggles, but surely nothing is as hard as this. Nothing can possibly compare to this...
What a stupid thing to think. Why our minds work that way, I'll never know. Who cares how hard it is? Who cares who struggles with what? We all fall short of the glory of God. In this world we ALL have trouble... (Rom 3:23; John 16:33)
And we all grow up. We all grow out of childhood innocence, and into the harshness of fallen life, with responsibilities we didn't ask for, sometimes a life we didn't want... But my question is this, Do we grow up in the Word, being transformed by the renewing of our mind and maturing in the things of the Kingdom of Heaven? Or do we grow up in our society of fallen culture, settling for a less than perfect love, conforming to the ways of our broken world???
My sorrow is deep. My anguish is insatiable. There is little comfort anywhere. There is an extra grace, Priscilla said. He is the God of ALL grace... (1 Pet 5:10)
The wind blows and on it dance those whispers of heaven that reach the ears of my soul crying out... Trust Me, they say. Trust Me.
Like a child, I squirm under the Lord's strong gaze... My eyes, avoiding His stare. To eat the meat of a mature believer... (Heb 5:14) Is it tougher than I can bear?
I can hear my own voice speaking to Roya, Look at my eyes, Roya. Look at my eyes so I know you can hear me, so I know you can recognize the love in me heart...
...the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son/daughter he delights in. (Prov 3:12)
This meat is too tough, Father.
Trust Me, Daughter.