House on the Rock

The early November air was still that morning, almost as if all the earth around us was holding its breath. Dad slid open the bedroom door and I rose to meet his gaze. “Is she still with us?” I whispered. But the way he held out his arms let me know she was not, and I collapsed into his hug that was somehow shaky and strong all at once, then tip-toed across the cold wooden floor to her side, her frail figure finally still. We stood like statues around her bed as sunlight broke through living room windows. There was both guttural sorrow and sweet relief — a race well-run, yet finished far too soon. The peaceful glow that can only come from seeing Jesus donned her face, and we remarked, “she is so beautiful still.”

It’s been two full years since that cold November day. I still blink back tears when I think of her hands – navy nails, thin and bony, but so often held by those she had loved. Those hands that once cradled each of her babies, finally at her side – still. I break just a little when I remember her eyes. Once bursting with hazel-green light, in her final days they appeared to be searching – perhaps even seeing – something (Someone?) far out of sight. The eyelids that fluttered fast fully shut, then finally closed quietly: still. 

Even two years down the road, I still resist the urge to call her on my drives. I still have her number at the top of my favorites list. I still draw in a quick breath when Dad bounds up the driveway to snuggle his grandson and I’m reminded, once again, that she’s not coming close behind. I still whisper how I miss her every time I see her picture, that smile so radiant until Jesus called her home. And I still can’t make it through her Faithfulness playlist, even though that Scripture set to music is the bedrock of our hope. 

Even though it’s hard to watch our lives plod on without her, there is one steadfast anchor that still grounds us as we grieve:

It’s the life that lies ahead of us – we’ll walk on streets of gold, reclining at a table set by Jesus Christ the King. And after ten thousand years, we’ll say, Can you believe we’re all still here to stay? And we still have ten thousand reasons to sing!