
It followed me to bed last night, descending like the fog in the picture, enveloping the room where I write and pray and study and sleep.
Grief, unexpected but not unwelcome, permeated not just my room, but my heart.
Palpable and weighty,
but…
beautiful and significant 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.
Jimmy’s sermon came through, and his voice stole my breath. I’m accustomed to its absence by now, but hearing him brought it all back in a millisecond—the ache—the longing—how agonizingly much I miss him. How I’d give anything to hear him call me his girl one more time. Or whisper another prayer over me. Or simply tell me he loves me.
This man I loved my whole life. This beautiful, extraordinary, glorious man.
Sorrow, undimmed and undiminished by the passage of time, engulfed me once again. It wrapped its tendrils around me, but I didn’t fight it.
I leaned into it and succumbed to its beauty.
Grief, once a foe, has become my friend. I no longer resist it, I embrace it. I understand, now, that it simply has a story to tell.
Grief proclaims that it mattered, that 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 mattered, that 𝐚𝐥𝐥 that came before it mattered.
It is a testament to our love, evidence that dreams come true, Exhibit A that bonafide fairytales still exist.
Yes, grief resides here. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐨𝐲. God-mediated joy that wakes me up each day and compels me to continue.
Divinely delivered joy that prompts me to live well. To walk worthy. To make my life an offering to the One whose presence is stronger than the things that seek to veil it.
If 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 doubts could set in and gain traction, Jimmy’s loss would have been the catalyst, but on the contrary. No doubts intrude. Pain? Devastation? Loss? Yes, but never doubt.
What a gift! 𝐌𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤. Not just the joy that mitigates the grief, but the One whose presence makes joy possible and doubts nonexistent. Infallible proof, indeed.
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”
~ 𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝟑𝟎:𝟓