Cling.

Today, I feel acutely aware that the road ahead is rougher and tougher than I had first anticipated.  The ache in my heart is penetrating and heavy, like a gaping, bleeding wound that has no cure.  The days are full of distraction and the nights are still filled with, "Is this real? Can this really be happening?"  I still do not grasp the finality of death, that I will not see my beloved husband again this side of glory.  It is still incomprehensible to my stubborn mind.

Most days, I think the three of us feel like Lynn is still away on a trip, off saving the world, making music, touching lives... being Lynn.

So far, I haven't had to face much change.  My house is pretty much the same, and Lynn is everywhere in it.  His memory touches every corner.  I am so comforted in the familiarity that I rarely want to leave.  But change is coming.  I cannot stop it!  No matter how hard I try!

Change is scary on many levels.  Mostly, its in every tiny experience, in every tiny ounce of change, that I am required to walk further away from him (or the memory of him).  In every facet of my life, the music I love so much, the relationships so important to me, the routines and activities I enjoy, etc., I experience this big, overwhelming void.  The whole part of me that was once filled with Lynn's laughter, his love, his music, his companionship, his passion, his opinions and endless soapboxes, his insights and brilliant ideas about the world, his unique approach to life, people, politics, and everything... all of it is just missing.  Where is it?  What do I do without it?  How can the world still turn, the sun continue to rise, without Lynn?  

Of course, this is loss.  This is grief.  This is suffering at one of its most basic human forms.  We all suffer loss at some point in our lives.  And somehow, that comforts me.  I am (slightly) comforted in knowing that the persistent ache in my heart is somehow intrinsically human.  That gives me hope...

Hope.  Here, I have to end with a fascinating discovery.  Truly, I am being carried on the wings of prayer.  So many of you are begging for something more to do, but I must tell you about the influence of your prayers.

A few days ago, I felt for the first time as though I could not go on.  I could not move.  It just got worse and worse until the heaviness hovering over me was enough to break the ground from beneath my feet... I sat in seemingly nothing but pure, raw grief, but became increasingly aware of an amazing sensation.  Heaviness and grief surrounded me and the ground opened up beneath me, I could not go to pick up my kids (they ended up staying the night at a friends), and I tasted the sting of hopelessness... but I had no sensation of falling.  I did not fall.  I was held.  It was as though all the intercessors and loved ones God had called upon to pray for me were tangibly holding me up in prayer.

A friend on PEI (thank you, Anne!) sent me a message, sharing with me a vision from the Lord.  I was clinging to his feet as the storm raged past.  He was calm and said, Just cling.

That is all I can do.  I am relentlessly clinging as the storm rages past.

Please continue to pray.  My precious friends and family, your prayers work. Your love is felt.  I could not do this without you.