When we got home, Keri Lynn and her friend Briana were engrossed in the second part of Pride and Prejudice, so -- of course! -- I plopped myself down on the couch to watch it, too, you know, in case it ended differently than the last 50 times I'd seen it. It didn't. I loved it.
Laundry still sits unattended and is starting to spill out of the laundry room like molten lava. Scary. I'm pretty sure I'm starting to smell sulfur.
It's been really funny to watch Alice with Kody. She really enjoys him and appreciates his lack of brain power. She also gets a kick out of how chubby he is. She calls him "substantial." The kids have taken to calling him S.D. (Substantial Dog).
On a more serious note, I've been thinking a lot about death lately. When we took our trip to California, we found out about two deaths of people that we knew. A lady in my homeschool group and a friend at church. Both women were close to my age. When we returned from our trip, we got the sad news that our church's children's director had lost her son to complications he'd received in a motorcycle accident. He was only 30 years old. So many families with so many losses.
It made me think about how I would deal with a grown child's death. Brenda was at church on Sunday, not even two weeks from the death of her son, ministering to the children, receiving tearful hugs. I thought perhaps for her it was easier to just keep stepping instead of falling down crying. She continues to trust in the Lord and prays more and feels the prayers of others more. As she told me on Sunday, "This is where the rubber meets the road." She's right. It is the times of pain and loss that we must rely on God all the more.
Tonight, I was reading from one of my very favorite books. The Hawk and the Dove, by Penelope Wilcock. I highly recommend this trilogy which comes in one book binding. Cormac, a monk, has just lost a dear friend, another monk in his monastery:
Is this your healing? Cormac prayed silently in the bitterness of his soul. To waken my heart to love and friendship and then flood it with this pain? Is this your light, your gift, your way -- this agony?As I read those words, it struck me anew about the power of love and how we often look at the pain of death without looking at the privilege of that pain. The pain means we have loved and been loved. The pain means we have lived. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
He did not expect an answer. He was filled with the anger and desolation of his loss. He was unprepared for the word, whispered deep in his soul, from somewhere as far outside himself as the stars, yet as near as his own shuddering breath: 'Yes.'