If it wasn't for Him, I wouldn't have kept moving. I wouldn't have made it through the day.If it wasn't for His grace, I would have failed completely. I wouldn't have had anything to say.
Because when your heart is so burdened with heartache and pain, how are you supposed to reach out?
When you feel like you're downing and sinking, how can you move beyond doubt?
He is my strength and my sustaining power when I am absolutely weak.
He alone is the only thing worthy of being the One that I seek.
My wonderful, sweet grandfather passed away almost two weeks ago. He had fought a good, brave battle with cancer and was taken quietly home with the Lord in the presence of his children and his dear wife of 61 years. I had the great blessing of being able to visit my grandparents about a month before he passed away when he was still lucid and able to enjoy simple joys in life. I cherish that wonderful weekend and thank God for the gift. I was unsure how his death would shake me or how it would shift my foundations. For my age, I have dealt little with deaths personally. I have watched many a friend struggle from grief but its strong arms have touched me only a few times in my life. I was able to celebrate the life that my Papaw lived for the Lord and that He is spending His days in paradise now, and without a doubt hearing from the Father, "Well done, my good and faithful servant." But I also felt so much pain. An earthly pain for the earthly loss, but not one I could easily overcome. Because a pillar of my life and faith had left this world. Papaw and Mamaw have been such a huge part of my spiritual heritage and have encouraged me at every corner of my life. They have always told me they pray for me everyday, and when I married my best friend, they freely offered their sincere prayers for him everyday, as well. I hurt because when I saw Mamaw, I saw a half that had been severed from the whole, a beautiful Christian union of two flesh that had truly become one. Someone who wanted so badly to be with her husband and Savior now. Someone who has pumped gas only once in her life. Somone who I can't imagine in that big, old house by herself. Someone who I love so deeply that as I see her ache, I ache as well. Grief comes in waves and strikes everyone differently. While some tears flowed freely thoughout the memorial service or burial, my tears flooded my soul as I came into Mamaw's house upon arriving to town and held her in my arms. My tears welled deeply as I prepared to say good-bye to her when our visit came to an end and then as I waved to only my grandmother for the first time standing in the driveway waving as we drove away. Every other time in my entire life, my grandfather had been standing at her side, holding her hand or with his hand on her back. And my grief came in a extreme fatigue that hit me as soon as we left the family-filled, activity-laiden weekend. And work came right around the corner. I was empty. I needed to be cared for. I needed a hug. I needed to know that people were sorry about what had happened but rejoicing with me that Papaw was with Jesus. I needed love. And if it had not been for my wonderful husband's gentle reminders of God's love with his own love and his own words, I may have just fallen completely apart. Because I had to come back to my role of giving and pouring out, not taking and filling up. Of hugging and not being hugged and always caring but not necessarily being cared for. I had no promise of sympathy or love, and all I wanted was to curl up into a ball and have a pity party for myself. But God wanted to stretch me and remind me what it is like to remember His presence even in the most trying times. What it is like to rely on His love when you have nothing else. What it means to abide in Him when you have absolutely nothing left. And so my week did not end. I did not get a surprise vacation day thrown in the middle of the week for curling into a ball. I had to persevere, and so I had to ask God for everything He could give me and in what felt like every situation I faced, realized how empty I was of anything valuable to give. I only had Jesus. Papaw and I both moved a lot closer to Jesus last week. Papaw, he got to go join the Heavenly choir and use His beautiful voice to sing the praises of the King without ever having to stop. I, I was picked up and held in the Savior's arms, in need of His strength for every step I was to take and every word I was to speak.
Because when your heart is so burdened with heartache and pain, how are you supposed to reach out?
When you feel like you're downing and sinking, how can you move beyond doubt?
He is my strength and my sustaining power when I am absolutely weak.
He alone is the only thing worthy of being the One that I seek.
My wonderful, sweet grandfather passed away almost two weeks ago. He had fought a good, brave battle with cancer and was taken quietly home with the Lord in the presence of his children and his dear wife of 61 years. I had the great blessing of being able to visit my grandparents about a month before he passed away when he was still lucid and able to enjoy simple joys in life. I cherish that wonderful weekend and thank God for the gift. I was unsure how his death would shake me or how it would shift my foundations. For my age, I have dealt little with deaths personally. I have watched many a friend struggle from grief but its strong arms have touched me only a few times in my life. I was able to celebrate the life that my Papaw lived for the Lord and that He is spending His days in paradise now, and without a doubt hearing from the Father, "Well done, my good and faithful servant." But I also felt so much pain. An earthly pain for the earthly loss, but not one I could easily overcome. Because a pillar of my life and faith had left this world. Papaw and Mamaw have been such a huge part of my spiritual heritage and have encouraged me at every corner of my life. They have always told me they pray for me everyday, and when I married my best friend, they freely offered their sincere prayers for him everyday, as well. I hurt because when I saw Mamaw, I saw a half that had been severed from the whole, a beautiful Christian union of two flesh that had truly become one. Someone who wanted so badly to be with her husband and Savior now. Someone who has pumped gas only once in her life. Somone who I can't imagine in that big, old house by herself. Someone who I love so deeply that as I see her ache, I ache as well. Grief comes in waves and strikes everyone differently. While some tears flowed freely thoughout the memorial service or burial, my tears flooded my soul as I came into Mamaw's house upon arriving to town and held her in my arms. My tears welled deeply as I prepared to say good-bye to her when our visit came to an end and then as I waved to only my grandmother for the first time standing in the driveway waving as we drove away. Every other time in my entire life, my grandfather had been standing at her side, holding her hand or with his hand on her back. And my grief came in a extreme fatigue that hit me as soon as we left the family-filled, activity-laiden weekend. And work came right around the corner. I was empty. I needed to be cared for. I needed a hug. I needed to know that people were sorry about what had happened but rejoicing with me that Papaw was with Jesus. I needed love. And if it had not been for my wonderful husband's gentle reminders of God's love with his own love and his own words, I may have just fallen completely apart. Because I had to come back to my role of giving and pouring out, not taking and filling up. Of hugging and not being hugged and always caring but not necessarily being cared for. I had no promise of sympathy or love, and all I wanted was to curl up into a ball and have a pity party for myself. But God wanted to stretch me and remind me what it is like to remember His presence even in the most trying times. What it is like to rely on His love when you have nothing else. What it means to abide in Him when you have absolutely nothing left. And so my week did not end. I did not get a surprise vacation day thrown in the middle of the week for curling into a ball. I had to persevere, and so I had to ask God for everything He could give me and in what felt like every situation I faced, realized how empty I was of anything valuable to give. I only had Jesus. Papaw and I both moved a lot closer to Jesus last week. Papaw, he got to go join the Heavenly choir and use His beautiful voice to sing the praises of the King without ever having to stop. I, I was picked up and held in the Savior's arms, in need of His strength for every step I was to take and every word I was to speak.
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