There are times that I feel as if we are opposite sides of the same coin.
God required you to live every moment in the knowing that the day would come when you are forced to live without your child, and me to live within the ever-present knowing that the day will come when I am forced to leave and my child will live on without me, and the absolute terror that abides within those realities.
He has called us to be women of faith. Women who must have faith to live in the grimness of our realities–not shiny, pretty, elegantly wrapped faith but the strong, sharp, unyielding faith forged within the fires of life–the kind of faith that forces us to venture into the unknown, one foot in front of the other, every moment of every day.
When I was a girl, I wanted nothing more than to be a woman of faith. I prayed nightly that God would grant me faith. I laugh, jadedly, when I think about that now.
If only I had known then of the harsh, painful reality of faith. If I had known of the price that God requires for faith, of the trials that he places upon the faithful, the tables that he seats them at, the seeming ease in which he crumbles their hearts and pierces their souls. If I had known then of the requests that God makes of the faithful and the sacrifices that he demands of them, would I have been so quick to want it?
The epiphanic moment of realization (of the nature of faith) came to me when I was sitting in a Bible study on the gospel of Mark, and the pastor asked the question "when was the last time that you were in the wilderness?" I was the only person present who did not give an answer. Instead I sat there quietly and my heart broke the tiniest bit because I live in the wilderness.
I don’t know why God drew me to you. But I know that he drew you to me because he knew that I need your light beside me as I stumble along the unclear terrain he is leading us through, in order to stay on my feet.
You have taught all of us over and over again that happiness is a choice. I almost messaged you on the day that Grace died, asking you to still make a “Happy Days Post.”
I didn’t though, because it would have been selfish, and I don’t think that even God himself had a right to ask you to choose joy in the midst of that blow. Instead, I prayed for your heart and your well-being and knew that whatever you chose, joy or despair, we would all follow suit.
"#foreverhappydays Day 2355: Some days are happy. Some days are gut-wrenchingly sad. But even in the darkest days, there are moments of happiness too.”
Thank you for always choosing joy.