Sundays are both good and hard…good because I am with other people who believe that this life is not all there is and hard because to many of them it is still only a belief, not the lifeline they cling to for the next breath, the next heartbeat and the next step.
I’m thankful that in our country, relatively few parents bury children, but burying mine has put an invisible wall between those that can quote “all things work together for good” because they found a parking place close to the store in the rain, and me-who will have to wait until I reach heaven to see the ultimate good of my son’s untimely death.
The ugly truth is that while I wait in hope and with faith, I want my son back. I want my family restored. I long to see all four of my children once again around the table-laughing, fussing and sharing life together.
I trust in the Lord’s promise of redemption and restoration.
But the valley I walk in the meantime is hard and lonely. His Word sheds light on my path but does not fully dispel the inky darkness of grief and pain. I walk in half-lit places, stumbling on, clinging to Him. I long for the sunshine of heaven.
“Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life.”