One of my many "coping" strategies since losing our daughter has been to look for any blessing or miracle of the day. It didn't matter what it was, it could be as simple as listening to the birds on a spring morning because I never really had the opportunity to just sit and BE one with them, always too busy with the hustle and bustle of life...it could be the sound of children laughing in the back yard....in the early days and months, it was the blessing of tending to Barkley, her dog, and in his own final stages of life, it was that "privilege" Joe and I smiled about, privileged to be home and provide tender loving care to our aging guy....it could be those times Jennifer was able to come over and bring Starbucks and chit chat...it could be when I was finally able to answer phone calls and a friend would call and just listen or just say that she loved me...it could be ANYTHING, just about anything. It was my way of getting through those early stages, look for the blessing, find the sweet miracle, and it was all simple enough.
It is still my way, I MUST keep looking. Some days it feels like I am grasping at straws...I ask myself, "where is it", "where is the blessing in THIS"???? I talk to God, I ask Him to show me, and better yet, I began to trust HIM. Our relationship, His and mine, developed over time, not easily, not without a fight, not without buckets of tears. I read His word, I cling to scriptures, I pray when I don't know how, I beg for answers, I seek out His help, I do not know this path. I write in my journals, fast and furiously, because when the words can pour from my heart, I have a moment of peace. Until it starts again, and again, and again!
But the trust built and I began to see and feel and know that there is something good to cling to...I could list all the blessings in my journal, I could name the sweet miracle of the day. Again, nothing profound, nothing deep, God above knew that some days, most days, the sweetest miracle was that I got up. I willed my left foot to the floor, and the first step became the last step. Even when the steps in between were beyond devastating, I was up, and I was working on this thing called grief.
I have come to know that my sweetest miracle is the trust I speak of, the trust that something is going to come from all this that I least imagined, the trust that God will help me every step of the way, the trust that when I come to know Him better, and accept His son's sacrifice for my sins, I am promised that place in His heavenly Kingdom, reunited with those I loved on this earth. Trust is beautiful, and it is the sweetest miracle of all.
Trust helps me to know God is going to provide. I never know what it is He plans to provide, but it is always there. Not in my timing, though, in His. Trust tells me that no matter how my child died (yes, I said it, died) she is with Him. Trust tells me that my wildest dreams, or nightmares, could not come true without Him. Trust tells me that He will bring a brighter tomorrow, once the dark and devastation clears, even if that is only for a minute. Trust tells me that our timeframes really mean nothing, that there is no such thing as time in His home, only freedom, beauty, love and light. Trust tells me that if He took me there, I would not want to come back. Trust tells me that I am going to be alright, pained, yes, beyond heartbroken, lonely, and grieved, but alright, yes. Trust tells me that there is a world to see, and He wants me to see it. He sends His message through the sweet spirit of my child, who I am beginning to see as she was, before...before the pain of cancer, the loss of her own bodily functions, and the devastation she felt upon leaving us.
God is providing. Sometimes I don't see it. I don't understand it. I question. I scream. I cry. I want her back. I ask Him why she had to go, and then there is an answer. Not one to my satisfaction, nevertheless, it is an answer. I can see clearly sometimes, and sometimes I cannot see at all. But I trust. And that is my sweetest miracle of all.
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