Let me tell you a little story...
Almost 4 years ago, I was brought to my knees by the news that my precious mother would not beat this round of cancer. To say that we were close would be an epic understatement. My mom was my everything. We had an admittedly co-dependent relationship, but I don't think either of us minded one bit. We had each other, and we were content in that. Marriage, much less family, were on my mind. Fast forward to Mother's Day 2010, when she went to be with the Lord. It was raining, and the whole family was near. I broke the news to my brother, and he hugged me, whispering, "God wept. God wept."
This time of year always stings a little, I must admit. But it's tempered by a peace and a reflection on blessings that I can hardly wrap my head around. I don't think it's by accident that the man who is now my husband surfaced in my life (after a lapse in contact that was meaningful for us both) right around the time of her death. I moved forward with my plans to relocate for a short time to heal and get back on my feet, and to seek God in a quiet place of my own. I clung to Him, really. It was one of the best moves of faith I've ever taken, difficult as it was to leave.
During that time, I learned about Church. Not the kind of Sunday performance of showing up after "the music part," sneaking into the back pew, slipping in and out of attention during the sermon, and being the first out the door to get back to "my time." I mean diving in, serving, doing life with people, and being challenged to abide in a God who is the antithesis of the world and its fleeting offerings. I also learned more about M, and, again, the timing was no accident.
Today, I am simultaneously celebrating 6 months of marriage to M, 4 years since we first met, and 3 years since losing my dear Ma. As difficult as it may be to explain, I know that I wouldn't be where I am now had it not been for that loss. I wouldn't be in a covenant marriage, living in a precious home that we own, spending weekends sipping cappuccino in our garden with my best friend, listening to music piping through the house as I carry out my chores in exactly the same way she always did. It's a peace beyond understanding, and that's exactly what He is.
I don't understand why it happened exactly the way it did, and there are aspects of the days afterward (even up to today) that I struggle to be OK with. But I know He is faithful. I know that not a single tear is wasted, not a single heartache--even those experienced daily--are without compassion from our most high God.
I share this story not to stir up any sort of pain or insist upon a perspective with which to process the circumstances we can scarcely wrap our heads around, but I do want to offer my testimony as a promise that He is good. He will take care of you in ways that will illuminate His intimate knowledge of your heart, your desires, and your true needs. It's a walk of faith every day, particularly when times are tough, and it's an act of grace that at that point, we can hit our knees, come to the end of ourselves, and let Him carry it. Trust me: He'll handle it far better than you can, and you will be blessed in the wake.
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