The same world that knocks us down with experiences that lead to heart-bleeding grief gives us gifts that overwhelm that same heart with joy.
a paradox.
I found out on Saturday, at Solo's birthday party, that his beloved babysitter's son has leukemia. She sent her two daughters with hugs and kisses for Solo and a remote control car wrapped up beautifully to the party. She stayed by her teenage son's bedside, where he has been fighting for the past month.
bleeding. grief.
Today my hands will be bright red, dripping with tomato sauce, as I clumsily put together the pieces of a lasagna, a gift for this family, a meager attempt to not feel quite so helpless.
On Sunday one of my best friends from high school lost her nephew in a tragic farming accident. 17 years old. A son, a grandson, a brother. Loss unimaginable.
grief. bleeding.
Last week I received an e-mail from our aunt. Our uncle died in April after a three year battle with cancer. She wrote, "It is said that the death of a beloved is an amputation. It was as if an amputation had taken place on April 16, 2011 which is as the Bible says, “The two become one.” Part of me is gone; No wonder the wounds are bleeding profusely and need to be bound up."
Somehow, though seemingly impossible, this same world gives us gifts of unimaginable joy.
Restored marriages. Miraculous births. Financial provision.
Hidden love letters. 3 year old's kisses. Quiet walks in the forest. Naps while hugging my belly.
The baby flip flopping inside me is a constant reminder, a gift I carry with pride.
a paradox.
this world, a mystery.
Today I will hug my babies more tightly, and longer. Breathing them in deeply.
