Grief and joy, coexisting. So much pain and loss; so much for which to be thankful. Living in that juxtaposition is just part of life between the gardens, isn’t it?
Today is the anniversary of my first child’s graduation to Glory. I’ve carried it with heaviness all week. Even after all these years, my body remembers. Incomparable trauma. Incalculable loss.
In 11 weeks, my miracle child (second-born) will marry a man of God and start a family of her own. What once seemed improbable—impossible even—is reality. Inexplicable kindness. Inestimable grace.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever stop grieving my profound losses. I don’t imagine I should. We still speak of the fallen heroes of times past; why wouldn’t we speak of the fallen heroes of our own past? People deserve to be remembered. Missed. Loved.
I also don’t plan to stop giving glory to God for the beauty He has sown into my life. For the times He said “yes.” For the times He said “no,” and then, stayed. For His enduring faithfulness. For His amazing grace.
I think of all that took place in the life of Jesus between the Garden of Gethsemane and that empty garden tomb, and I marvel. How could I ever doubt such love?
And so, I tell Him again: “My grief for Your glory, Lord. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing else.”
Because my life is a living, breathing testimony to the faithfulness of a good, good Father.
Even in this valley between the gardens.
🩷Audra
