A year has passed since my mom left. A year that has been a dichotomy of grief and celebration, inutterable heartache and breath-taking joy, all mixed together, one with the other, inseparable and beautifully messy.
In this year that has both raced by and crawled in slow motion, I've learned a new longing for heaven, a longing that goes to my bones and makes me realize it is not as far as we thought it was. I sit in this room, trying to celebrate her new life with joy, as hot tears of ache puddle into my upturned hands that are trying so hard to give a sacrifice of praise. I am given, for a moment, a glimpse into the next room, where one year ago she was walked by the hand through a door by her savior, the lover of her soul, her magnificent Jesus. She stepped through the door and took her first breath of real and perfect life and began the continuation of eternity that she was made for... that we were made for. She walked out of an old black and white television set, that crackled with interference, the images blurred and fuzzy, and stepped into a techni-color paradise, with her first clear, unveiled view of life ever. I am thinking she might have laughed at how hard we tried to keep her here.
God has held up our heads, wiped our tears, and loved us through the valley with whispers of His faithfulness in every step.
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