a faith observed: I don't want to forget.

Friday, January 27, 2012

I don't want to forget.

I've been trying to jot down little things Simon and Gracie say that make me smile and I want to remember. My hope is that I can then put them onto this blog so I will remember more about these years in the future.

So I'm looking at my notebook now and I can't even remember what they said 2 weeks ago from my scribbling.

Me: "Gracie, Who's your best friend?"
Gracie: "Simon".
Me: "Who else are your friends?"
Gracie: "Grandma".

Me: "We have 4 people in our family".
Simon: "No, There's 5 people in our family. 1,2,3,4,5. Daddy, Mommy, Grandma, Simon and Gracie."

Simon loves counting things. I need to bring out Count Dracula! I think he'd love him!

Simon: "Mommy, when I grow up I don't want to be an ambulance driver. I want to be a games player. I love games more than anything else. Even more than Old McDonald's playground and ice cream and Hippos House!"

Right now Simon and Gracie are into the Octonauts. They love this show- Simon says he likes it because they save things and he likes saving things. Gracie seems to have ended her love affair with her Diego DVD. Now she carries Octonauts around with her everywhere. And you should hear the screams of joy before they get to watch the Octonauts. "Simon, Octonauts!!!! Octonauts Simon!!!!" She giggles and they both scream in delight and jump onto each arm rest of the couch and are glued there until I say it's time to turn it off. Ahh, the small things in life.

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This is me, a faith observed.

C.S. Lewis writes about the pain of losing his beloved wife, Joy, in his book, "A Grief Observed". In some ways this is my attempt to share my journey through grief and back into life, as the past nine months have been characterized by an immeasurable longing for my beloved father, who died suddenly this past January.

After months of hibernation from the internet, I unexpectedly find myself able to re-begin this blog and connect with my larger community of family and friends. This blog will likely reflect less of the intensity and depth of my pain and more of the simplicity and ordinary joy that keeps my life full - namely days running after our little boy, Simon Pierre. But it is because of the incredible love and presence that defined my relationship with my father, that I feel I can will myself to not just survive each day but to pour that same kind of love and attention onto Simon.

My father was an endless source of strength to me, a pillar of faith. His last words, spoken to my mother as he passed into that which is unseen, "God is good - good all the time", have remained with me through this dark cloud of grief. And when God seems hidden, when justice seems to be losing out, when life is unfair, and when death swallows up the one I most love, I remember my father's words and breathe in this promise, that the God of love is in the process of restoring that which has been destroyed.

And as my father told me in dream I've had since his death, "Look to Jesus. As a father, to point you towards Him is the best gift I can give to you." So here I am, this is me, a faith to be observed.

I hold onto that which is not always seen- the promise of God's goodness, the hope that one day in the promised new heavens and earth- on a grassy hill or a sand covered beach- the lion and the lamb will lie down side by side and I, too, will lie down side by side, next to my father, and we will laugh and laugh until there are no more tears left to cry.