Perhaps one of the hardest things for me to experience this past year has been all of the memories social media keeps reminding me of on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong, some of the pictures are hilarious. I smile at posts about the babies that were born or the accomplishments that had been made. Some days I've had my own football reel of highlights. But peppered in amongst all of that, there have been reminders of each & every single blog I wrote last year, both for escape & to share our family's story. These are gut wrenching for me.
The irony that my beloved WR/K/TE's first varsity football homecoming game is also the anniversary of gma's first Homecoming has not escaped me. In recent days, I've found myself having a little more difficulty coping, at least without tears. My hallelujah is just tired.
Being the hands, feet, heart & soul of Jesus, here on earth, is a demanding & overwhelming task at times. My physical body feels this fatigue that sleep just can't relieve. My mind & heart worry constantly that this momma, the one I am now, is the only momma my kids will have from now on or the only one they'll remember. Not the one who could spin any situation into a reason to give God praise. Not the one who saw creation new, everyday, in a vibrant array of colors with the wonderment of a small child still, but the one who seems to be missing a color, seen through the dull glasses of Homesickness. Not the one who seemed far more emotionally stable or at least didn't cry as much.
As the memories of the snarky, gray haired woman replay in my newsfeed, heart & mind I see:
Gma&momma dancing that first night after she fell as we tried to figure out how this all was supposed to work.
Momma curling her hair with the systematic smoothness I don't think any of the rest of us could have had.
The smile on her face when Aunt Suzie called her from the hospital.
Aunt Birdie showing her how to work the tablet so she could escape into solitaire for hours.
Hummingbirds, Dr Stanley, cheese & garlic pepper oatmeal, purple satin nightgowns.
Her reaching to Heaven the second to last night we would have with her, no doubt preparing us.
I hear "Thank you Jesus."
But I also see:
The pain, the nausea, the weariness.
The last interaction I had with her, begging me to let her go, slapping at me in pain, as momma tried to clean her up a bit.
And I feel like my hallelujah is broken. But maybe that's just it - It is meant to be.
It's widely known that hallelujah means "Praise ye the Lord." But perhaps what isn't known is that, in the Greek, it is an imperative verb conjugation. That means it is a command. "You, wherever you are, whatever you're experiencing right now, no matter how you feel, PRAISE THE LORD."
In my brokenness, I've felt a peace & a comfort that I just can't explain to you. In my weariness, God tells my Gma P to say to me, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you & your momma do," words Gma B would say that calmed my tired heart. In my darkness, God gave me a little girl who never fails to draw pictures with little sayings like, "In the rain, I'll look for rainbows. In the darkness, I'll look for stars." In my sadness, I hear, "Thank you Jesus" and I'm snapped back to words of praise.
The hallelujah I had before was yesterday's hallelujah. It wasn't meant for today. Today, in my brokenness there is a different hallelujah, a different reason to praise Him. One that sees gma in that beautiful great white throne room Revelation tells us about, with her true love, Jesus. Telling him face to face, "Thank you" over & over again. Singing with the saints who have all gone before us, "Holy, holy, holy are You, Lord, God Almighty." Just about the time my hallelujah is worn out, weary & done, God gives me a new song. Because that's just how faithful he is.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Psalm 40:3a
Sing to the Lord a new song, for He has done marvelous things. Psalm 98:1a
