At church yesterday we were singing and a lady from our church family went and knelt at the alter to pray. It was particularly painful to watch knowing that her and her husband had just recently lost a grandchild. A baby. Passed away two weeks before the due date. I can only imagine the anguish.
This morning while I am busy getting my baby ready for his first day of school I am reminded that there is a family grieving. I am reminded again of how lucky I am to wash this child’s laundry and pack his lunch. Even when I am exasperated by it all I can call myself blessed.
In the complicated mystery of living it seems that in the midst of pain there is some sort of beauty. A picture of togetherness. A hint of overcoming. A whisper of healing.
I wrote down what I saw.
Sunday Morning
There has been a great loss.
There is a broken heart.
Spilled out and broken at your feet.
This family weeps silently with her.
The weight of knowing whats wrong
hanging on each note of the song.
The hard truth of having to accept death…
radiating from all of us,
without speaking a single word.
Our minds all asking “why”?
Our spirits asking ” please”.
Quietly praying for you to touch her.
Her family.
Their hearts.
Their needs.
A scene emerges of your arms wrapped around her,
comforting.
Whispering confidence into her ear.
Gaining strength for a moment.
Sisterhood.
Understanding.
Watching leaves me overwhelmed with the love of this place.
Love swells under this roof.
You can’t miss it.
No pretense.
Celebrations and grieving.
Together, weaving the many years and history that knots us together tightly.
I’ve never felt like I belong anywhere more than I do now,
in this moment.
A perfectly timed joke brings a much needed relief of snickers.
Breaks the heaviness of the sorrow.
He always knows how to do that.
A respite.
Draw a deep breath of reassurance.
The laughter hugging us all in close again before we go out to face another week.
Closing the mouth of this hot, scorching pain that seeks to devour us.
This safe place we gather that salves wounds again and again.
We are home here.
Bless The Lord oh my soul,
Worship His holy name.
Vicki Weaver
You always know the right words to write
mandimon
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