I have been slowly recovering from lack of sleep. My dad’s entrance to heaven was colored by exhaustion, and now, two weeks later, I opened a book on grief that my friend loaned me, read the first page and had my heart touched.
I shut it, not ready for the bawling and headache of grief.
This has been a week of tears.
I’ve had loss.
Maybe I haven’t been through a holocaust, a terrible war, famine, or plague. Still, I’ve known pain and grief.
Heartache is my theme.
I’ve been so tired I haven’t had brain time to think of what this latest loss portends for me. I always relied on my dad. I was his birthday present 60 years ago, and his quiet love and support for me was a “given.”
I’m glad for him.
Can I forge ahead on my own now?
Christmas songs are playing in the background. Cherie and I put up the tree, and I still have to clear the clutter of storage boxes. I wanted to write something though. The mournful songs of Christmas I can bear this year.
I couldn’t the last two Christmases.
This music has always moved my heart. I’m ready to have it moved. I think a dam is breaking in my soul.
In acceptance lies peace.
As Mary said to her God and Lord—“may it be as you say.”
What option do we have?
May it be as You say.
Come quickly, Lord.
Even so, come soon.
Maranatha.