After the Storm

Last month I wrote about the sunshine and the rain.

And then it stormed

She's gone. One month ago today, Jesus allowed my sister-in-law (my sister-in-love) to take her last breath here on earth, and then He called her to be with Him. Just like that. Right there in front of me. She just...left.

So now I ask, now that the storm has passed...now what?

Most days here lately I don't know what to do or even what to say. People ask me how I'm doing, how our family is doing...and I'm so conflicted. I mean...

I'm SO happy for her. I really am!

Linda is healed. She's whole, no longer experiencing any pain or discomfort. And she is with Jesus. She's walking and talking and worshiping Him...all. the. time. Can you even imagine? I find myself really trying to now. I try to picture what that will be like, and I try to allow myself to actually see her there, smiling and laughing and keeping things lively in heaven. Because that's the way she was here. Even to the very end. Always smiling and keeping us laughing. I want to praise the Lord, because I know that she is there.

I want to, but sometimes I just can't.

Because I'm also SO sad for those of us left behind.

Sometimes life here in the "messy middle" just sucks.

I keep trying to figure out what in the world we're supposed to do with the hole that is left, with the anger that we sometimes feel, with the sadness that can wrap itself around us at any given moment and take away our ability to keep moving forward with any sense of normalcy, with the tears that can spring up out of absolutely nowhere at any place or time.

What do we do with all of that and even more? How will we celebrate all the family birthdays and the holidays or even just have a simple cookout without the one who kept us laughing and loving and talking and laughing some more?

It feels as if our family will never be the same.

At least...it feels that way until it doesn't.

I am sure many of you are nodding your heads right now. You could scroll to the comments and share your own journeys. I know that so many of you can relate, because death and grief are just part of life in this broken world, part of this life "between the two gardens" that Lysa TerKeurst taught me so much about this past year. And maybe you will. If it helps you, please do.

But really, no matter what is shared, I know I have to walk this journey in my own way, in my own time. And the only way I can see myself walking at all is with Jesus by my side.

How do people even begin to do this alone?

I mean I love Him and I believe Him and I believe in Him. But sometimes I just can't feel that He's near. In those moments I know I have to rely on Truth.

I have to remind myself of all the Truth He has so graciously allowed me to encounter in His word, in messages on Sunday mornings, in conversations with other believers in a small group, in Bible studies, and in a million other little (and even some not so little) ways over the course of my life. I don't deserve to know the Truth, but somehow, I do.

But what about all the people who don't know the Truth? What keeps them going? Where is their hope?

I want to tell them that He's alive and active and ever present. That He is with us, that He will never leave us, that He is for us and not against us, that He is the source of all good. That He is our comfort, our strength...even when (maybe especially when) we can't feel it. And that He wants nothing more than for them to know and believe the Truth, too.

I want to tell them that Linda looked at me during chemo one day with tears in her eyes, and she confessed that while she would never have chosen to have cancer, she also wouldn't choose to go back - no matter what. Why? Because, she said, the Lord had drawn so near, because He chose to allow her to feel His love in new and deeper ways than ever before in her life.

Just let that sink in for a moment. That's a love like no other.
And it's a love that He offers to all. To all.

Yes, I am hurting. Yes, I am sad. Yes, I want this pain to go away and for things to feel normal again. Every member of my family wants that, too.

But this is where He has me, where He has us, and this is the only way I know how to walk this journey:  To look to Him for strength and peace and courage every day...sometimes a gazillion times in a day; to try to be brave enough to share the hope He has given to me, the hope He gave to Linda, with those who may not know it yet; to know that He's right here, and that His grace is sufficient.


The phrase beauty from ashes has never meant more to me than it does today.

And sharing its meaning so that others might one day come to know Him is becoming the answer to my own question:  Now what?