Death is a bastard. Truly he is. But death ain’t got nothing on the beauty of life.
The night I found out that Brock is dying I drove up to Dave’s parents’ place in the mountains. We went outside bundled, sprawled out on the trampoline, and drank in the stars. They put on quite a show too. I found out later it was Leonid meteor shower. Spectacular. Dave also brought out a guitar. He sang to me, but more so to God. Occasionally I joined in, but mostly I cried out with a deafening silence to my Father, to the only one who gives me hope.
It was the most beautiful collision of pain and peace, and it was the moment I realized yet again that my Father’s hands are all encompassing, strong, and gentle.
Flash forward a few days. I packed up all of my things, drove back to Kansas, and stopped in Manhattan to spend the night with one of the few wonderful people who know me inside and out, the lovely Stoophanu (otherwise known as Stephanie Kolins). I ended up staring at a picture of my love when I came unglued. Stooph, knowing me so well, gave me time to be before handing me tissues and wrapping me up in her arms. One way or another, we both ended up on the bathroom floor laughing about ridiculous things that society frowns laughing about.
It was then that I remembered that my Father smiles.
The next day I drove from Manhattan to La Cygne to see the one who holds my heart. It was the most terrifying drive I’ve ever made. I delayed it as long as I could justify before the warring desire to see my love pushed me out the door. I had managed to shut down most of my emotions, save anxiety. Eventually though the feeble wall I built was breeched and a torrent of fear and pain threatened to drown me. Again, I am amazed at the community of Christ, because with just one phone call I had a brother calling out to God on my behalf, and oh how He answered. About 45 minutes outside of La Cygne an unbelievable peace settled in on my heart and mind. Fear dissipated, pain subsided, and the most peculiar contentment took root. It enabled me to truly enjoy my time with Brock. And I saw his eyes… his wonderful, beautiful eyes. Even with his right eye drooping, I could see my love in there.
It was then that I remembered how good my Father is. Selah.
It hasn’t even been a week and I could write pages on how my God constantly pulls me out of the abyss of grief. Faithfulness is now a word that has an deepened meaning in my heart.
You have a deep understanding of the Father, Nicolle. You are so encouraging.
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