Tuesday, August 23, 2016

sorrow-and-grace kind of rain

baby Amelia at her grandfather's memorial service
 It was only a bit overcast at the graveside service that morning, but it started raining again the afternoon of the funeral.  I keep marveling about how strange the rains are- coming right on cue to the sorrow I see and feel.  Of course, it's not all sorrow- it may be a sorrow-and-grace kind of rain.  As soon as the preacher started reading the passage, I was sure of it again - that great cloud of witnesses are alive and well, ready to celebrate with us as we pass to eternity.   I had stared again at my father's headstone as the flag over my uncle's casket was lifted and folded and how could I not think of my dad and my uncle and my grandmother and my grandfather and even my little baby all gathering and witnessing and celebrating?

It wasn't as hot as it could have been for East Texas in August, either.  I can't understand how hot my brother must have been in his dress coat and tie, but even as he blasted the a/c when we got in the car, I marveled at the temp.  Seventy nine degrees is unheard of for this time of year even if it is a little steamy.  It was a break.  Just like the songs that kept popping up before during and after this season of all this tragedy.  Or the way my uncle kept putting his arm around me like a daddy.  Or the friend who did my laundry while I was away.  Or the beautiful dreams I dreamt on Friday night.

Hopefully this funeral season is over for a while.  The sun is out today- finally- and maybe my spirits will lift. I think about my cousin's baby Amelia- a new life, bright eyed and beautiful.  And my kids, so full of energy and hilarity.  I heard this song, "Another Story" by The Head and The Heart on a run the other day:

"I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change much
The sun still rises
Even with the pain

I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change love
The sun still rises
Even through the rain."


So does the sun rise.

And we go on as best we can, grieving but with great hope.


ah, my sweet brother


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