My husband, my friend, died a week and a half ago. The house is huge, and quiet. I carry my brain around on a yellow legal tablet, and I have forgotten more than once what I was doing. So I find where I have put the tablet down, and check to see what is left to check off. The neat rows of check marks are reassuring, even if the handwriting does not look like my own.
I have had several people look at me strangely (or so I think) because I am not a blubbering mass of sorrow and grief. More than one person has made comments to the effect that I must be overwhelmed and unable to function properly. And while I am not firing on all cylinders right now, I AM functioning reasonably well.
Make no mistake, I am not dancing in the street and I miss my husband with every fiber of my being. But the peace I have comes from my certainty that he is having that cup of coffee with Jesus, and probably innundating Abraham with questions. My husband the pastor, having coffee with the Great Shepherd (Shepherd = Pastor, in Spanish). I know he is having a wonderful time. And I know that he would not want me to bawl and squall. He is at peace, and I am working on it.
Because now he has that vision like that of a golden eagle, able to spot a mountain goat two mountain ranges away. Because now, he can drive a five-speed convertible on Going-To-The-Sun Highway with no glasses at all. I took all his old glasses and sunglasses to the vision center today. He doesn't need them any more. He doesn't need anything any more, but I will keep his things around for a while, because I need them. I need to see his cap on his dresser. I need to see his seersucker shirts in the closet. I need his toothbrush in the cup.
I need them to remind me of his smile, and of his unshakeable faith. I need them to remind me of his voice in my head, the one cheering, "latte, latte, latte" when I walked sleepily out of the bedroom; the one telling me to "elevate your game!", and reminding me to write down names and extensions (I haven't been doing too well on that one so far).
I need to be reminded that it is not my strength that is getting me through this season. It is the strength of my faith, and my rock-solid conviction that I will see him again in Glory. It is the joy of the Lord which is my strength. And that joy is stronger than sorrow, the sorrow that can overwhelm and defeat if you let it. I refuse to let the evil one steal my joy.
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