It was the day of searching, the night of waiting. The final kiss and glimpse and touch. The phone near my hand at every moment. News? Silence. People praying. Texting. Drifting to sleep. Shallow and then back to waiting.
I can see myself there. I remember. The closing of a book, not just a chapter. The final words written. Can’t add or take away. It just is.
And I see myself now, living after the dying. Some joy, even some easy days. Fewer tears. More thoughts. In the next volume. Uncertain how this story will be written.
And then I remember that I know the Author. He is love. He is a good Father. He loves me and has a plan. But this plan hurts now. My heart aches.
Once again I bring Him my widow’s mite. All I have. My hurting heart. My uncertainty in the future. My memories. My regrets. My thoughts. My plans. I don’t know what to do with them. I trust He does.