Recently, as in this whole summer, I have had ample time to think. I keep trying to find different ways to distract myself, but somehow, I just end up back in my room, alone with nothing but my thoughts and the God of the Universe.
As Christians, we talk about brokenness and sin and our deep need for a Savior frequently (as we should). But, Christian or not, we are also human. And that means we have this tendency to remain surface level. Sure, we act like we are deep creatures with important stories and riveting thoughts and hearts that long to change the world. And maybe, we are partly telling the truth. But half truths are equivalent to full lies. You see, really, we all like to pretend. We are like children, creating worlds where we can be lions and tigers and bears. We put on these masks, these labels and play a role. We are all human, yet in some twisted mind game, we refuse to admit it. Somehow, we have gotten the idea that our human nature is wrong. It is something to be hidden and covered up and never talked about. And you know what is so ridiculously silly about the whole thing? We ALL know the big secret.
Brokenness. What we refuse to admit are the specifics. The quantity. The actual sin itself. And why? Because of fear. Because of cowardice. Because we are so utterly terrified that if someone only knew the extent of the deep fissures within our souls, the shattered pieces of our purity, the lack of innocence that infects our beings, the disease of sin that spreads across our skin- if people only knew, then people couldn't possible love us. Because we have been taught since birth that love is conditional. That love is from people. And that people can only love those who stay within the lines of what is socially acceptable, of what is socially comfortable. People can only love a good liar.
And you know what? I believe that. I believe that people practice conditional love. Why? Because people are so damn broken, so fallen, so consumed with the lies of Satan, that we can't comprehend anything more. Our minds have been conditioned to believe that love comes from saying the right things, pleasing others, and not doing what society condemns as unlovable.
Like every kid in America, I have been yelled at to clean my room a million times. Seriously, I go through periods of time when it looks as though a tornado touched down between my door and bed and created a disaster that would take obscene amounts of time to sort through and clean up. My brother on the other hand, when you look at his room from the threshold, it looks clean. The floor is void of any clothing or food. It may have an item here or there scattered among the fluffy white carpet, but overall, it looks good from the outside looking in. But then you step across the door frame and you turn around. Everything, piles of clothes and food and games are smashed together in a contorted web of destruction just behind the corner of door. It's just as much of a train wreck as my natural disaster of a living space.
This is our hearts. Our lives. Our secrets. For some, our sin, and crap and pain is so obvious. For others, it's hidden to look like we have it all together. But for both scenarios, it all comes down to the same thing. We all have dirt. We all have sin. We all have emptiness and sadness and pain and grief and shame.
Around 2,000 years ago, a man came into this world with a new definition of love. Some call it 'agape' love. I call it Jesus. He came, and He loved those deemed unlovable. He picked up a prostitute from the ground and called her a daughter of the Most High. He ate with a hated tax collector and called him His friend. He welcomed a criminal into Paradise and called him His brother. Jesus comes into the room, into that havoc of living space and He builds a home. And He changes everything.
As humans, we have built a wall within that room, separating justice from love. We have a rule book to prove it. And then a Carpenter from Nazareth comes in and with Faith and a Cross, the wall becomes rubble. And He was hated for it.
It comes down to this. We look to people for affirmation, for worth, and value, and love. Because people surround us. People are our reality, our world, our tangible god. But one day, it will all be dust. And the One who created this dust, He can make beautiful things. He who designed us for so much more, He will remain. And so will we if we remain in the Father's Love. Never once does it say to remain in the love of man. Because man is human, and human is broken. But the Father, He sees man, He sees human as He designed it to be. Blameless, Perfect, Loved. And He came into this earth and he became broken. He became sin. And for that reason, the Father knows a love we can only hope to understand one day. He knows a love without conditions. Because, "He became sin so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God."
And His opinion really does far out-way that of a feeble, fleeting, man. If we look at the Son of God, at the Son of Man, we will learn something about true Love. And perhaps we will learn that we are capable of so much more.
One day, I hope I can be more real. I hope I can have enough confidence in the love of my Savior, in my redemption to my Father, that I can walk unashamed knowing my humanity on this earth, and knowing my perfection in eternity. It all comes back to Love. Everything is rooted and established in this deep, intrinsic need to Love and be Loved.
When we share our brokenness with the world- the dirty, grimy, specifics- there will be hate. But tell me, do you receive perfect love from people by wearing the mask that "saves" you from shame? Because, more then anything, I think that creates the argument of hypocrisy.
Man will always judge. But the Ultimate Judge loves you. And He is calling you to be Loved. So, "If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." (Philippians 2:1-4)
This is Love. True Love. A Love that through a Savior, we can experience and we can give. It is a love without judgment, without boundaries, without chains. It is freedom. Freedom to look beyond the grossness of what Satan corrupted, and glorify the Father who sees whom He created.
Now for the ever-so-typical and cliche, 1 Corinthians 13. An oldie but a goodie.
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
The King of Social Awkwardness
Do you ever just stop and really contemplate Jesus. I don't mean just talking at Him, or thinking about the idea of Him and His character. I don't mean talking or even just thinking about Jesus. Do you ever actually think of Him as a living and present God. Because, and I'm gonna be real honest here, I would say that I rarely do this. That sounds so bad. Sure, I think about Jesus a lot. All the time in fact. I talk about Jesus constantly. But, recently, I've just been thinking about how too often, I act like Jesus isn't in the room. I leave Him on the cross and forget the my Redeemer is the Living God that did in fact rise from the grave to live among His people, to be God With Us. It's really quite rude of me. So much of the time, I ignore the creator of my existence. I ignore my Purpose, my Joy, my Love. Because I'm to busy talking at Him or about Him. I have very poor listening skills.
I was talking to God tonight. Notice I said "to", not "with". It should be "with". And I was thinking about why I struggle so much with that. And again, my stupid human, feeble, over-logical, brain entered the equation. I can't see Him. Physically, in His flesh, in a human form, I can't see Him. Suddenly, in that moment of realization, that fact, that thought, made me so sad. For multiple reasons.
For one thing, it upsets me that my faith still doesn't seem strong enough when something such as physical evidence is not present. I know that faith is about believing in the unseen, for that is eternal. For another thing, and this is the child within me, but, despite my knowledge of Jesus, despite what I know to be true, despite what I know as reality, I don't really care. I want Him here. You can tell me all sorts of truths about how He lives within me, about how I can see Him and experience him through others, about how He is here. And all of that is truth. But that's not what I'm saying. It's not what I want. My desire is that my Jesus would stop being invisible, and that I could just see Him and touch Him and talk with Him, and not in some abstract method or form.
Then I thought about why I wanted that. What would I say? What would we do? What would He say? What would He do? (hahaha WWJD) And as I thought about this, I realized how desperately I long for His comfort. How, especially recently, I have been so scared. Literally, I don't know how I was placed in Gryffindor, because I feel as though I lack so much courage. I'm not really brave at all. Recently, dealing with life just terrifies and worries me and causes me so much anxiety. I just want to crawl into my bed and safely stay there. I feel incapable of being who I am supposed to be, who I am called to be, because I feel so inadequate. I feel so confused. I feel lost and broken. It's funny how I know the answer to all of that. After all, it is the overused, ever-so typical, Sunday school answer.
But I'm so freakin' stubborn. I just want Him here! I feel like a five year old throwing a temper tantrum (which, isn't unusual for me seeing as I act like a five year old 82% of the time). So then, I decided to think about why I wanted all this. What I desired in detail. And this is what I imagined...
Jesus walks into my room. I just cleaned it. It was the aftermath of a tornado 72 hours ago, but it's all ready for company now. I dusted and everything. He walks in and He looks around. He looks so out of place in my pink, girly room. I'm sitting on the ground, leaning against my bed. And I just stare at Him. And He stares right back, not daring to break eye contact. His eyes are kind. They have little crows feet and they crinkle in the corners, probably because He smiles and laughs so much. I feel like Jesus likes to smile and laugh. His face is the very definition of compassion. A very slight smile plays on the edges of His lips as his stares into my awestruck face. He is so glad to be in my room. And I don't even know what to do. I think about getting up. I think about saying something- anything. I think a lot of incomplete thoughts. And I'm also well aware that He knows what's going on in my head. At least, I know He's capable of knowing. Because, heck, this is freaking Jesus! I know Him. Not well enough, but I know Him. I know that well over 2,000 years ago, He was mobbed by throngs of people just wanting to catch a glimpse of Him. I know that He loved to annoy the Pharisee's and play against their hypocrisy and pride. I know that He wept when Lazarus died. I know that He told Peter that he would deny Him three times before the rooster crowed. I know that He was beaten and humiliated and murdered by the people He came to love, and be with, and save. People like me. I know that He knows every single disobedient, sinful, disgusting thing I have ever done, every thought I have ever had, every word I have ever spoken. He knows my brokenness fully. And as He's standing in my room staring into my eyes with nothing but compassion reflecting in His own, I feel naked. Because I can't hide. I can't even pretend to myself that I can hide. Because Jesus Christ is in my bedroom.
I have a hard time imagining anymore to this daydream. Because in my head, my brokenness still scares me. I hope that none of it matters. I hope that He loves me despite it all. But I just feel so inadequate to even be in His presence. But this is what I hope for.
In this moment of social awkwardness (and Jesus is the King of socially awkward situations *see the Gospel*), He comes to me. He walks towards me and bends down. He places his hand on both sides of my face. And suddenly, tears fill my eyes. And, uncontrollably, I'm losing it. He sits besides me and pulls me close to Him. He holds me tightly and rubs my back and kisses the top of my head. So far, no words have even been spoken.
After what I'm sure is an obscene amount of time, I finally pull myself into a sitting position. I take a deep breath, and I look back into the eyes of the Holy One. There are tear stains on His cheeks. I imagine that takes His thumb and rubs away the remains of my crying tirade. And slowly, I reach my own hand to His cheek, and brush away the evidence of sadness. And then, because of course, I'm a little coward, He must be the one to speak the first words.
"Dear one," He says "You forget me."
And just when I thought my eyes couldn't bear more tears, they begin to leak again. And I finally speak. The only words I can muster. They aren't beautiful, or eloquent, or at all what I would want them to be. They don't seem like enough to express the sadness and pain and regret of my heart. But they are rooted in the deepest truth.
"Jesus, I'm sorry."And the tears continue. The room is quiet. I can't look into His face anymore. I wait for Him to leave, ashamed to be in my girly pink room.
"Daughter, why do you still not see? Why do you still forget who I am? Who you know. Who you are in Me?"
"I don't deserve who You are."I angrily cry out.
"Beloved, look at me." He whispers.
And, after a while, I slowly and finally look up.
"You. Are. Loved. And Daughter, you are forgiven. It is forgotten. Long ago Dear One. You are my precious Joy. You are Mine."
And I don't know what to say. I'm dumbfounded. He is right, of course. I know this is what He has said. But it is the hardest truth to root in my heart and soul and being, because truly, a Grace such as this feels so unbelievable, uncontainable, unimaginable, unreal for a world such as ours. But here is Jesus, in my room, reminding me in person of who I am because of who He is.
And, of course this is a daydream so I don't know, but I would think that I would probably laugh. Whenever I am uncomfortable, or overwhelmed beyond belief, I tend to laugh and sometimes cry. And He joins me. And the most beautiful sound, the joy of our laughter fills the air and mind and body and soul. It fills me more than I have ever been filled. And I am complete. I am whole. Because my Savior Loves me. And I'm new.
I'm sure that with all of this, a new outburst of confidence is sure to accompany being whole in Christ. So I spring to my feet and pull Him with me.
"I want to show you everything!"
And of course, because I can condense nothing, I literally show Him all things. I talk His ear off. I show Him my favorite books and my photo albums and my friends. I show Him my stuffed animals and my favorite blanket and all my snow globes. He stumbles upon the picture of Him in the garden hanging on the wall above my bed, and He laughs at how unrealistic and untrue the portrayal of Him is. I show Him the wand my brother got me from Harry Potter World and the purple box my boyfriend made me. And then I show Him my journal and Bible. I go through and read Him different entries and He comments, "Ah, I remember when you were going through that," and "It hurt to see how much pain that caused you," and "Ha, I remember when you were so mad I wouldn't tell you what I was doing. All in good time."
Then we would go through the annotations in my Bible and laugh at my ridiculousness and He would probably roll His eyes at many of my comments.
I would take Him downstairs and show Him my absolute favorite part of my house- my baby grande piano. I would play Him every song I know. Maybe He would even ask me to teach Him one. We would laugh and talk and be together. It would be how it always should be.
I don't have an end to my daydream. Because I don't want Him to say goodbye. So I will leave it how it is. One day, I feel certain I will be with Him. I'm so impatient.
As I've been writing this, I've been thinking about how we talk at God so much. And of course, he wants us to talk. He wants us to pour our souls onto Him. That shows trust and faith. But, I think in this life, in this world, in this time, it is much more about listening. Because only when we listen can we discern even a portion of the will of the Father and only with listening can we act in true obedience. Right now, we are creatures of learning. We are being taught and disciplined. There will be a time for talking. But perhaps now is the time to be still and know our God.
For one thing, it upsets me that my faith still doesn't seem strong enough when something such as physical evidence is not present. I know that faith is about believing in the unseen, for that is eternal. For another thing, and this is the child within me, but, despite my knowledge of Jesus, despite what I know to be true, despite what I know as reality, I don't really care. I want Him here. You can tell me all sorts of truths about how He lives within me, about how I can see Him and experience him through others, about how He is here. And all of that is truth. But that's not what I'm saying. It's not what I want. My desire is that my Jesus would stop being invisible, and that I could just see Him and touch Him and talk with Him, and not in some abstract method or form.
Then I thought about why I wanted that. What would I say? What would we do? What would He say? What would He do? (hahaha WWJD) And as I thought about this, I realized how desperately I long for His comfort. How, especially recently, I have been so scared. Literally, I don't know how I was placed in Gryffindor, because I feel as though I lack so much courage. I'm not really brave at all. Recently, dealing with life just terrifies and worries me and causes me so much anxiety. I just want to crawl into my bed and safely stay there. I feel incapable of being who I am supposed to be, who I am called to be, because I feel so inadequate. I feel so confused. I feel lost and broken. It's funny how I know the answer to all of that. After all, it is the overused, ever-so typical, Sunday school answer.
But I'm so freakin' stubborn. I just want Him here! I feel like a five year old throwing a temper tantrum (which, isn't unusual for me seeing as I act like a five year old 82% of the time). So then, I decided to think about why I wanted all this. What I desired in detail. And this is what I imagined...
Jesus walks into my room. I just cleaned it. It was the aftermath of a tornado 72 hours ago, but it's all ready for company now. I dusted and everything. He walks in and He looks around. He looks so out of place in my pink, girly room. I'm sitting on the ground, leaning against my bed. And I just stare at Him. And He stares right back, not daring to break eye contact. His eyes are kind. They have little crows feet and they crinkle in the corners, probably because He smiles and laughs so much. I feel like Jesus likes to smile and laugh. His face is the very definition of compassion. A very slight smile plays on the edges of His lips as his stares into my awestruck face. He is so glad to be in my room. And I don't even know what to do. I think about getting up. I think about saying something- anything. I think a lot of incomplete thoughts. And I'm also well aware that He knows what's going on in my head. At least, I know He's capable of knowing. Because, heck, this is freaking Jesus! I know Him. Not well enough, but I know Him. I know that well over 2,000 years ago, He was mobbed by throngs of people just wanting to catch a glimpse of Him. I know that He loved to annoy the Pharisee's and play against their hypocrisy and pride. I know that He wept when Lazarus died. I know that He told Peter that he would deny Him three times before the rooster crowed. I know that He was beaten and humiliated and murdered by the people He came to love, and be with, and save. People like me. I know that He knows every single disobedient, sinful, disgusting thing I have ever done, every thought I have ever had, every word I have ever spoken. He knows my brokenness fully. And as He's standing in my room staring into my eyes with nothing but compassion reflecting in His own, I feel naked. Because I can't hide. I can't even pretend to myself that I can hide. Because Jesus Christ is in my bedroom.
I have a hard time imagining anymore to this daydream. Because in my head, my brokenness still scares me. I hope that none of it matters. I hope that He loves me despite it all. But I just feel so inadequate to even be in His presence. But this is what I hope for.
In this moment of social awkwardness (and Jesus is the King of socially awkward situations *see the Gospel*), He comes to me. He walks towards me and bends down. He places his hand on both sides of my face. And suddenly, tears fill my eyes. And, uncontrollably, I'm losing it. He sits besides me and pulls me close to Him. He holds me tightly and rubs my back and kisses the top of my head. So far, no words have even been spoken.
After what I'm sure is an obscene amount of time, I finally pull myself into a sitting position. I take a deep breath, and I look back into the eyes of the Holy One. There are tear stains on His cheeks. I imagine that takes His thumb and rubs away the remains of my crying tirade. And slowly, I reach my own hand to His cheek, and brush away the evidence of sadness. And then, because of course, I'm a little coward, He must be the one to speak the first words.
"Dear one," He says "You forget me."
And just when I thought my eyes couldn't bear more tears, they begin to leak again. And I finally speak. The only words I can muster. They aren't beautiful, or eloquent, or at all what I would want them to be. They don't seem like enough to express the sadness and pain and regret of my heart. But they are rooted in the deepest truth.
"Jesus, I'm sorry."And the tears continue. The room is quiet. I can't look into His face anymore. I wait for Him to leave, ashamed to be in my girly pink room.
"Daughter, why do you still not see? Why do you still forget who I am? Who you know. Who you are in Me?"
"I don't deserve who You are."I angrily cry out.
"Beloved, look at me." He whispers.
And, after a while, I slowly and finally look up.
"You. Are. Loved. And Daughter, you are forgiven. It is forgotten. Long ago Dear One. You are my precious Joy. You are Mine."
And I don't know what to say. I'm dumbfounded. He is right, of course. I know this is what He has said. But it is the hardest truth to root in my heart and soul and being, because truly, a Grace such as this feels so unbelievable, uncontainable, unimaginable, unreal for a world such as ours. But here is Jesus, in my room, reminding me in person of who I am because of who He is.
And, of course this is a daydream so I don't know, but I would think that I would probably laugh. Whenever I am uncomfortable, or overwhelmed beyond belief, I tend to laugh and sometimes cry. And He joins me. And the most beautiful sound, the joy of our laughter fills the air and mind and body and soul. It fills me more than I have ever been filled. And I am complete. I am whole. Because my Savior Loves me. And I'm new.
I'm sure that with all of this, a new outburst of confidence is sure to accompany being whole in Christ. So I spring to my feet and pull Him with me.
"I want to show you everything!"
And of course, because I can condense nothing, I literally show Him all things. I talk His ear off. I show Him my favorite books and my photo albums and my friends. I show Him my stuffed animals and my favorite blanket and all my snow globes. He stumbles upon the picture of Him in the garden hanging on the wall above my bed, and He laughs at how unrealistic and untrue the portrayal of Him is. I show Him the wand my brother got me from Harry Potter World and the purple box my boyfriend made me. And then I show Him my journal and Bible. I go through and read Him different entries and He comments, "Ah, I remember when you were going through that," and "It hurt to see how much pain that caused you," and "Ha, I remember when you were so mad I wouldn't tell you what I was doing. All in good time."
Then we would go through the annotations in my Bible and laugh at my ridiculousness and He would probably roll His eyes at many of my comments.
I would take Him downstairs and show Him my absolute favorite part of my house- my baby grande piano. I would play Him every song I know. Maybe He would even ask me to teach Him one. We would laugh and talk and be together. It would be how it always should be.
I don't have an end to my daydream. Because I don't want Him to say goodbye. So I will leave it how it is. One day, I feel certain I will be with Him. I'm so impatient.
As I've been writing this, I've been thinking about how we talk at God so much. And of course, he wants us to talk. He wants us to pour our souls onto Him. That shows trust and faith. But, I think in this life, in this world, in this time, it is much more about listening. Because only when we listen can we discern even a portion of the will of the Father and only with listening can we act in true obedience. Right now, we are creatures of learning. We are being taught and disciplined. There will be a time for talking. But perhaps now is the time to be still and know our God.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
And Everything is Strange
It's strange being in this house. It's strange lying here in the dark and looking at the familiarity of it all. It's strange being in my grandpa's home without my grandpa. In fact, I don't think I've ever been in this house when he wasn't here. It smells like him. It smells like home. But he isn't here. And he never will be again. Because he is home. And everything is strange.
Right about now I would hear him snoring. It would be loud and obnoxious and I would turn my music up to try to drown it out. But it's so quiet. And I hate it. This house just isn't right without him here. Because everything here is the same. The ticking clock, the portrait of my great great great grandfather, the rocking chair- it's all as it has always been.
But the quiet. The quiet is what's different because a part of this ongoing memory is now missing. And it tugs on my heart in an uncomfortable way. It makes me sad. Because it can never be as it was. I will never hear him snore. I will never see him walk through the door in his overalls and plaid shirt and baseball cap. I will never again be asked "Lulu, do you know that today's grandpas birthday?" And I will never respond "Grandpa, apparently it's your birthday every time I visit. You have got to be SO old by now. "
He named me Lulu. Everybody knows me as that here. Because of him. And the man that gave me my name, that loved me more than I deserved, that smells like this house is gone. And that hurts so much.
But I'm glad. I'm joyful. Because he suffered for too long and he is in paradise now. He is with Jesus and he is at peace. I wonder what they talk about. I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he's told Jesus about us, about me and how he named me Lulu. I wonder if he's told him about how we would come in the summer and pick raspberries or about the time he gave Sawyer a Red Ryder BB gun. Maybe he told him about the time we went fishing and I was too scared to take my catch off the hook so he had too. I wonder if he's told him about the time he made me so angry and I refused to talk to him until he apologized and then, to the shock of everyone, he did. I wonder if he's told him about how I wanted him to dance with me at my wedding. I wonder if he's chuckling about how he got out of it.
I miss him. I will always miss him. I know that the next while will be filled with many tears. But I know this separation isn't forever. One day I will sit on his lap again and I will stubbornly say something sarcastic and he will call me Lulu again. One day, I will be able to tell him I love him. And I will hold onto that hope.
Today, my grandpa will be buried in the earth. Today we will have to let go a little bit more. Today life stops for a moment as we say goodbye to a man who has been there always. Before he died, I went to see him. It was hands down, the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I had to say goodbye. And so did he. The last thing he said to me was that he loved me and it would be alright. I held his hand for hours, not wanting to let go.
Today, we emotionally will give him to the Father, though I know he is already with Him. Today, his life will be celebrated. And I will remember with joy all that he is to me. I will miss his laugh and his stubbornness and his repetitive jokes. I will miss his cocky smile and our banter and his obnoxious snoring. I will miss him calling me Lulu. I will miss his love. I will miss him. I want him here, but I'm a selfish girl. He is with Jesus. And that is a gift beyond imagining. That is enough to quiet and comfort my heart.
Grandpa. I love you. Present tense. I always will. I'll see you soon. Don't leave my heart.
Love Lulu
Right about now I would hear him snoring. It would be loud and obnoxious and I would turn my music up to try to drown it out. But it's so quiet. And I hate it. This house just isn't right without him here. Because everything here is the same. The ticking clock, the portrait of my great great great grandfather, the rocking chair- it's all as it has always been.
But the quiet. The quiet is what's different because a part of this ongoing memory is now missing. And it tugs on my heart in an uncomfortable way. It makes me sad. Because it can never be as it was. I will never hear him snore. I will never see him walk through the door in his overalls and plaid shirt and baseball cap. I will never again be asked "Lulu, do you know that today's grandpas birthday?" And I will never respond "Grandpa, apparently it's your birthday every time I visit. You have got to be SO old by now. "
He named me Lulu. Everybody knows me as that here. Because of him. And the man that gave me my name, that loved me more than I deserved, that smells like this house is gone. And that hurts so much.
But I'm glad. I'm joyful. Because he suffered for too long and he is in paradise now. He is with Jesus and he is at peace. I wonder what they talk about. I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he's told Jesus about us, about me and how he named me Lulu. I wonder if he's told him about how we would come in the summer and pick raspberries or about the time he gave Sawyer a Red Ryder BB gun. Maybe he told him about the time we went fishing and I was too scared to take my catch off the hook so he had too. I wonder if he's told him about the time he made me so angry and I refused to talk to him until he apologized and then, to the shock of everyone, he did. I wonder if he's told him about how I wanted him to dance with me at my wedding. I wonder if he's chuckling about how he got out of it.
I miss him. I will always miss him. I know that the next while will be filled with many tears. But I know this separation isn't forever. One day I will sit on his lap again and I will stubbornly say something sarcastic and he will call me Lulu again. One day, I will be able to tell him I love him. And I will hold onto that hope.
Today, my grandpa will be buried in the earth. Today we will have to let go a little bit more. Today life stops for a moment as we say goodbye to a man who has been there always. Before he died, I went to see him. It was hands down, the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I had to say goodbye. And so did he. The last thing he said to me was that he loved me and it would be alright. I held his hand for hours, not wanting to let go.
Today, we emotionally will give him to the Father, though I know he is already with Him. Today, his life will be celebrated. And I will remember with joy all that he is to me. I will miss his laugh and his stubbornness and his repetitive jokes. I will miss his cocky smile and our banter and his obnoxious snoring. I will miss him calling me Lulu. I will miss his love. I will miss him. I want him here, but I'm a selfish girl. He is with Jesus. And that is a gift beyond imagining. That is enough to quiet and comfort my heart.
Grandpa. I love you. Present tense. I always will. I'll see you soon. Don't leave my heart.
Love Lulu
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