Monday, November 25, 2013
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?
He laid there, his breathing labored, rattled, and stared past our faces. His hand rose up from the bed and floated out in front of him. He clearly rasped, “Okay, okay…let’s go.” We weren’t sure who he was seeing off in the distance, but having witnessed it first hand, there was no mistaking our beloved Daddy was being called home to the beyond. His place was no longer here on this earth, but somewhere greater, where pain is unknown and joy can’t be measured. Here on this earth, he would leave behind those he cherished most and couldn’t bear to leave. Knowing it wasn’t his choice freed us to lock the moments in time we shared, away in our hearts, visiting them when the grief of loss was too much.
I revisited that day in my mind many many times in the last year. Those days, all 365 have passed far too quickly and I find myself not struggling in the mire of it, but smiling at the bittersweet memory of being able to share that beautiful moment when he passed from this life to the next. No longer in pain, no longer suffering. Healed, fully whole, and at peace.
The last year has been filled with more tragedy than we ever experienced. More pain than a family should have to bear but in that pain, I have found some comfort and peace of my own. Hope.
Hope that the next year will bring more joy, more laughter, more opportunities to heal, and that sense of peace that comes with knowing we didn’t suffer in vain.
Romans 5:3-5 reminds me that
3-5 There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!
The Message (MSG)
I feel my Dad with me. I hear his voice in my head, his laughter in my ears, and feel his love forever branded on my heart.
I will always be his baby girl.
I miss you everyday, Daddy. I love you.