a faith observed: Tomorrow

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Tomorrow

Simon finally seems to understand what the word "tomorrow" means. For so long he's been using the word tomorrow when speaking about yesterday. And for some reason, he just couldn't get the two straight in his mind. A few days ago, driving to kindy, we had a big discussion about the 2 words and I thought we'd made some progress... then, yesterday, he said tomorrow meaning tomorrow and I realized we've crossed that bridge. So tomorrow- (not yesterday) - is Friday, the start of our weekend and of Easter break! I think we may just go to Australia Zoo to celebrate. Gracie's had a case of impetigo and so I've quarantined her from visits with any friends or public places where she may be touching things other children would touch.... But I'm kind of tired of being in isolation - I wonder if she could give her impetigo to the crocodiles? I'll let you know, tomorrow!

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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.