In the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold.
Grief reminds me of plants in the same pot with tangled roots. We find a single loss is seldom single. To pluck one is to pull up the others.
My husband’s mother passed away this week. Seven times now we have been asked, “How aggressive do you want to be in treating this illness? The prognosis is very poor and anything we do now beyond comfort measures will simply prolong suffering.”
It’s a horrible question to have to answer. No matter what you do, other family members will be hurt by the decision. Where is the hope in uttering the answer that cannot be avoided?
No one told me this. The older you get, the more funerals you go to, and every one of them is attached to the grief for other people for whom you have grieved.
And yet we do not grieve as those without hope. For those whose hope is anchored in Jesus Christ, this is not the end.
The night before my mother-in-law passed away was the shortest night of the year. This is the photo I snapped before going to bed. Perhaps it is a reminder that in the great scheme of things, night passes quickly in the light of eternity. There is always, always something to be thankful for. God is still good.
This is the photo I snapped when I took my coffee out on the deck the next day. Joy comes in the morning.