Sunday, January 20, 2013
I read somewhere once that when we lose a loved one we get a taste of Heaven; it suddenly seems more real and accessible. I got my first real taste of Heaven last February when one of my grandmothers passed away. Yesterday, my other grandmother went on to Heaven and I had another reality check.
Heaven is real. It's close. It holds two of my favorite ladies whom I strive to emulate in my manners, cooking, style, and poise. I miss them. However, their passing reminds me that my time here on Earth is short. Compared to eternity, my years and influence here are a blip, drop, flash in the pan.
Lately I have been in the pits and its been all about me. Homesick, unable to control the sleeping habits of my two year old, COLD and desperate for 80 degree temperatures. The death of my grandmother really put a capital H on my homesickness. I am unable to get home for the funeral because of distance, Peanut's sleeping habits, and real life circumstances that create a much bigger need for me to be here instead of there.
There has been so much pity partying. Much more than I usually allow myself. I always say it's OK to have a 10 minute pity party and then to move on, but this one has been hard to push away.
Distance from familiar and comfort has done many things. It has brought our little foursome of a family closer together. My husband and I communicate better. I care MUCH less about keeping up and climbing ladders (albeit, I probably still care too much). I care much more about, and lean on, prayer.... asking for it, practicing it, talking about it.
I told someone a few days ago; I feel so sad and so joyful at the same time. I am accepting my homesickness and sadness and longing, and practicing thankfulness for the pits, because I have never heard the voice of God more clearly. His voice is as real to me now as reading the words on this screen.
The other day I sat on the couch in silence, stewing about my circumstances, and I heard and felt God's presence.... as real as if he were sitting there, leaning on the pillow and leaving a little dent on the cushion where he sat. He sees me. He hears me. I am real to him, just as he is to me.
Sometimes my prayers are angry fist shakers, sometimes they are needy, seeking rescue, and other times they are joyful. But every time, they end in thankfulness. I know I am here, seemingly left but clearly purposed, for bigger things beyond my understanding.
God is bigger than my circumstances and bigger than my longings and homesickness and I won't let Satan rejoice in my pity and sadness. As my girls sing:
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!
And I don't dare let Satan blow it out!