The Groces

I've come here to write thoughts down many times recently. The truth is, I just haven't been able to make it happen. I don't know what to tell you. I can't find the words to build a bridge from where I was to where I've found myself now. To be honest, only a very few have come with me across that great divide. They found their way with me.  We all traveled unknowingly, but we walked that darkness together. What an amazing comfort.

Let me be plain. This is what it means to grieve with someone: To plant your feet firmly with theirs, to boldly brush off the haunting words "awkward," "appropriate," or "silence" and just be. There is no one who is leading the hurting or their companions, but Christ. And he knows no awkwardness and never did anything appropriate and the only silence is the mystery of himself.  He will show you what to do.

I can't write pages for you about the misery and horror and sorrow that entered my life the moment I found out that my Daddy died, seemingly, at his own hand. I relive that moment often enough, but the hours and necessary days and now nearly months that have followed are all chronicled somewhere else that I can't reach.  I can't come back for you and walk you through them all again.

And so it's strange for me to write here with so much going unsaid. I lost my Daddy.  Every day I lose him all over again, it seems. I grieve, I miss, I hurt, I weep, I regret, I long for, I remember.  This is my life: joy and sorrow always together.  I'm sorry if the words I chose were not the right ones for this first post.

It's not the way it's supposed to be.

Come and heal us, Lord Jesus. Come and make it all new.