While listening to worship music in the car, on the way to dinner...Talking about life...Living life...
It hit her.
Perhaps it was seeing me breakdown earlier that morning.
Perhaps it was hearing the lyrics "death" in the worship song.
Perhaps it was talking about the Angel game.
And just like that, in an instant, she didn't feel like talking anymore.
Tears streamed down her face.
She just misses him.
I do, too, sweet Belly. I do, too.
I can find peace amidst the pain, but how do I make those words real to her?
How do I let a seven-year-old, who remembers promises were broken, fall into the arms of a Savior who bore our grief and our sorrows?
How do I carry her heavy, little heart?
I don't know how.
But then again, that was never expected of me.
I simply wrap my arms around her. Let her sob on my shoulder. And tell her she is loved beyond measure.
And while remembering him, we remember Him.
With blurred vision from welled up tears, we remember Grandpa, but vision comes into focus after a few moments.
We lift our eyes up past the horizon and raise our souls high to our Savior, marveling at who He is and all He has done for us. His compassion. His goodness. His majesty. His holiness.
Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5
I let Him carry her.
I let Him carry me, too.
