What do we do now?

The January winds howl outside in the darkness.

Frozen rain taps at the window like tiny birds pecking for seeds in the snow.

Branches creaking as they sway. Wrapped in transparent coats of ice, snugged on tight.

Just yesterday, snow-melt washed the sidewalks clean. And the day before….winter’s white piled high outside my door.

How grateful I am to be warm and safe inside on this wintry morning.

Home.

Protected from the cold. My hands warmed by the cylindrical ceramic that holds my tea.

Steam rises gently to greet my face as I peer outside to watch icicles form in the faint of twilight.

Our days ~  like water in the weather.

Solid and frozen at times. A firm grounding.

Steady.

We walk strong and confident, moving toward our goals. Our vision for this life.

Then unexpectedly, everything changes.

We are seemingly swimming in that same space. Our familiar surroundings suddenly turn liquid. We flail helplessly in the circumstances.

Submerged in the chaos and anger that floods our world.

Plans melt before us.

Promises broken. Disappointments reeling.

People disappear.

We reach for them through the gloom. But they are gone. Now absent from our lives by situation or death.

…

It is all around.

The trauma of transition.

The pain of passing.

Of people. Of dreams. Of time.

Once again we find ourselves outside in the elements.

Life’s storms ravaging our hearts.

Wreaking havoc on our peace. 

---

I can still see the text in my head.

It was only a few days ago.

“Pray for Maureen.”

She was now in the hospital with a temperature of 105. Her body exhausted and riddled with cancer. Enter pneumonia. And infection.

With it….despair.

Words like palliative, hospice, and bereavement have become a part of her family’s vocabulary.

You can find them wrapped around her.

They have been staunchly committed to her journey for these last six years as she has battled this disease.

Holding her close.

Treasuring their time.

Her youngest, a daughter.  Only fourteen.

The same age as my Sweet Louise. My Emma.

I catch my breath, and think ~ that could be us.

I can’t begin to fathom the pain in this season of their lives as they watch the withering of Maureen’s body before them.

His wife.

Their mother.

Her life, now an image slipping quickly through their hands.

Trying to find solace in the saddest of days. 

Saying goodbyes.

…

In a friendship of a lifetime, my sister has known Maureen for nearly fifty years. They are part of a group of five women who went to grade-school together so many years ago. Not only have they kept in touch, they have truly been a part of each others lives.

Mingling stories.

Laughter, shared wildly between them.

Relationships changing through time. Deeper. Richer. More meaningful.

Holding hands and hurting hearts in this especially difficult season.

…

These times of our lives that are inescapable. In the sadness that won’t relent.

Hours that keep going.

Days that keep hurting.

---

What do we do with uncomfortable?

With the unfamiliar?

The aching?

…

Stories like this surround us.

We want to run away in our minds. We want to hide. As if we were children again…pretending.

Wishing it weren’t real. 

Closing our eyes and praying that it will all be gone in the morning.

But the pain of this world is before us.

All around.

Illness and loss in our midst.

Fear abounds.

The place that we occupy in these expanses of time can feel frightening.

Dangerous, even.

Because it is. 

Dangerous in that the enemy will try to sneak in.

Slithering in while we are unaware. Eager to take hold in our distress. To seize us in our vulnerability.

The enemy wants us to slip. To fall. To lower us into the tormenting fires of uncertainty.

…

But God calls us to keep our eyes on Him. 

Not on this world. 

Colossians 1:13

He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son.

Through the pain and the tragedy of lives torn, the gift of His Peace is still with us. 

The promise of Heaven ~ our forever home in sight.

Jesus wants nothing more than for us to turn to Him in the agony of the unfairness.

In the gut-wrenching loss. In the wretched twisting of life on this earth.

When we feel engulfed in the flames, His Word pulls us to safety.  

In Him we can find our breath.

We can find calm.

And before we know it, we find ourselves immersed and protected. Away from harm. Tucked away in the arms of the Sovereign One.

He who conquered the grave is the same One who calls us to rest.

The Almighty.

The Creator of this world calls us to a relationship with Him.

A relationship that is greater than the suffering.

A love that conquered death.

A joy that flourishes beyond doubt.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18

For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.

So, again…what do we do with the uncomfortable? 

With the unfamiliar?

We wait.

We pray.

We hold fast to the God of it all. 

We watch as He shines through in the darkest of hours.

Illuminating favors of peace.

Breathing blessings of hope.

---

The light of day has come.

God showers His splendor as rain again turns to snowflakes.

Big.

Beautiful.

The melt-on-your-tongue and catch-on-your-mittens kind of snowflakes.

This is the JOY of our God!

The One who redeems ALL things. 

He who takes the sorrow of this world into His loving hands and places everything into perspective.

He who is making a true, and forever home for us.

Far away from the elements of this sin-ridden physical existence.

…

And one day.

One incomprehensible day.…we will be warm and secure with Him in all of His Glory!

This is what we live for.

Our water of this life finally turned to vapor.

Our longing spirits finally home with Him.