After the funeral, after the people leave, after the cards stop coming and the plants no longer show up at your door, when people start forgetting what you never can and the tears don''t stop flowing and you think it inconceivable that any more could come, they come nonetheless.
But into the piercing pain, He comes, fully sufficient. Now, when the journey is most difficult, He choses to linger, holding us, holding me. The way He has taken us was never just about James' heart. Perhaps the journey was always more about what we as a family would learn, how our own hearts would be formed, changed, bruised. The lessons come at quite a high price. But the master does not give His instructions from afar. He is all about binding up the wounds, tending to the weary, carrying the weak, holding the broken, up close.
And He gives perspective with the passing of time. At first I scream, "I am robbed of our precious son." Then He brings me to the place, gently, lovingly, where I can whisper, "How gracious is my Father who would in kindness share James with our family for 13 incredible, amazing, wonderful years."
"As for God His Way is perfect" (Psalm 18:30).