It started while I was grabbing a few things at the grocery store tonight after church. Out of the blue, my chest started to tighten and that familiar swell of sorrow threatened to rise up.
Nope, not tonight.
Not here.
I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now.
Wait until I get home, wait until after the kids are in bed, just wait!
So I pushed it down and tried to think about whether I should buy that cut of meat that was packaged yesterday instead of today... what pasta shapes the boys might prefer... Ahhh... shapes...
The night before Christian died, I let him choose which shape of pretzels we should get at the grocery store. He decided on the small pretzel sticks, squealing with delight and holding the bag all the way home. The next morning, he begged to eat pretzels for breakfast!
{I'm glad I said yes.}
When he was still missing, us not knowing he was already in the arms of Jesus, I looked down at my feet and saw the broken pretzel sticks that had fallen from his hands that very morning.
*sigh*
Push the image away, change the channel in my brain, and leave the store quickly.
But after the kids are in bed, I can't hold it back.
*SIGH*
David mutes the TV and asks what is wrong.
It's nothing.
That's an awfully big sigh for it to be nothing...
And he's right.
I cry.
He holds me.
I need to sit in the grief moment and take it in. Holding onto it is the only way to release it.
And when the moment's tears are spent, we go back to what we were doing, all too familiar with this routine of unexpected tears.
Psalm 103 keeps going through my head... and I am thankful for the calm that it brings to my heart...
Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
Prayer in verse, prayer in song, running through my head as I drift off to sleep...
Thank you, dear God, for your Word... always timely, always relevant, always near to my broken heart.
