Bryce asked me for a 'Sol Story' last night. I found that words clung in my throat. I wouldn't be able to tell a story without crying. Words are far and few when I feel a lot of emotion deeply. A year ago, I had a hard time speaking, often wanting to be alone to let words flow on pen and paper instead of using my voice. I couldn't speak. The first words out of my mouth were in a song, and that's when I knew I'd make it through.
This year is no different. Sunday was particularly difficult. I wanted to stay in bed and sleep, letting the day pass in a slight coma. I asked a friend to join me for church, to give me a reason to not bum myself out. To help remind me that as unfair as it seems, the world goes on. There's beauty in that.
Church was good. I was greeted by folks I love, and I prepared to help with communion. I felt numb, sad, and a slight pulling sensation to run away. (Don't worry, I didn't.)
However, it struck me that part of what I was asked to recite during communion was this:
And with our loved ones,
Separate from us now,
Who in this mystery are still close to us,
We join in the song of your unending nearness.
As we took communion, as I partook of the bread...I began to cry. I've been struggling for so long between knowing and understanding God's goodness with that of the frustration, anger, and doubt as I lost a dear friend. And yet, as I leaned into this remembrance of Jesus, I felt my heart choosing to hope and trust in Jesus through the heartbreak of grief.
And as my words were those to glorify God, who some days I blame with the loss of Rachelle, I mustered up enough courage to continue to seek his face.