Day of Grace
In Memory and Honor of Grace E. Smith 1992~2013
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  • Short Story

I Need Help!

8/25/2014

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Startling realization yesterday....

In order to deliver a child into this world it takes an enormous amount of resource! To ensure the health of the mother and child, much time is given to research, teaching, help, direction and conversations with total strangers. Most even take "Lamaze" classes to help further prepare the new mother and father for what is to come and how to handle the unseen.

In the same way, to ensure health... It takes no less time, effort, resources, direction and help to support the mother and father when their child leaves this world...

For me, I have been plagued by guilt that I am not progressing in (just a fancy term for getting over) the death of my child. Yes, I know it's been over a year. Yes, I am a Christian. Yes, I know Grace is in a much better place. Yes, I do believe I will see her again. But, still, knowing all that, I am heart-broken she is not here with me anymore. My heart aches to hear her voice and see her face, kiss her brow and hear her annoyance at my overbearing motherly advice. It has been a year and three months since Grace passed and the pain in my heart is no less severe and I am not any happier about it today than I was 15 months ago! And no, I don’t see that just disappearing in the next few hours, days, weeks or months.

So, no, I realize, I am not “progressing” very well. I need help.

I open my eyes each morning… I eat my lunch…I answer phone calls and buy groceries and smile politely all while swatting at that swarm of buzzing gnats beating my soul with the same rhythmic incessant thought, “A Christain who is full of faith should not be feeling these soulish emotions. People are tired of you being such a “downer” during celebratory events and casual conversations. You should be ashamed of your deep anger, bitter doubt, mounting frustration and depressing brokenness.” Which, in turn, only makes me more angry, more frustrated and more depressed! I need help!

What I am discovering is that it is not about the efficiency or depth of faith that makes this journey of burying a child more successful or quicker or less painful. But rather, what direction I apply my faith. That is the key. It is easy to see that the new mother is not negating her faith (or in fact it really has anything to do with faith) when she seeks out help and resources to bring her newborn into this world. We call that wisdom. And that is exactly where our faith should lead us…into wise council from ones who have experienced what we are going through. It is through process, wise counsel and experienced help we deliver our child into this world and it is through process, wise counsel and experienced help that we find our way back to a healthy life when our child leaves this world.

(I speak as one who lost a child, but I believe the guilt free faith of “getting help” would be beneficial through any traumatic or devastating event in our lives.)











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Victory or Failure?

3/7/2014

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     Since Grace’s death, I have really changed my mind about many things, faced a lot of difficult questions and statements and endured more emotional pain than I ever imagined I would. Some of the things I have faced are, “Grace got what she deserved. Because of sin, she deserved death.” “Because of your lack of faith, Grace never really had a chance.” “Because of what she would have done in the future…” No need to go further, you get the point. And I have given a lot of thought to such statements and observations. Certainly, I am not the only person who has heard such things upon the loss of a loved one. It’s funny how we as humans HAVE to have a reason. And when you don’t get one from God, you want to make up your own. I have been relentless to gather my own answers and have been impatient with God upon not hearing any. I can remember shortly after her death, as I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I was talking to God about how He really missed it. (I share this to my own shame!) And I meant it! So many people were believing and praying. Wouldn't it have been awesome for us all to see such a great miracle? “How many people could have been saved by her marvelous testimony of healing? I mean it God, You really missed it big time! I don’t like or understand any of this at all.” His response to me immediately was, “Laura, I don’t need to prove Myself to anyone.” “I don’t need to justify My actions to you or any man.” 

     Now, you reading this can’t understand how that came across to me because you didn't hear His voice and experience His touch. We know how we humans talk when we say such things like that to each other. (With the head snap and attitude.) But, it was not like that at all. The feeling was like when you watch a child stumbling with his newly found feet and the watchful father lunges, arms spread long and wide for him as he is teetering toward a nasty fall. It was the words of a loving Father, who very tenderly lifted up a child’s tear-streaked face to look into His earnest and loving eyes. What He was giving me opportunity for was, “Come up here, child.” “Let Me show you life, and death, from My perspective.” And in an instant I understood and I felt His outstretched arms toward me. His ways are not my ways. He doesn't need to defend His actions to anyone. He knows it all and sees the ultimate end. He doesn't need to justify Himself to me or anyone else. So, needless to say, I don’t have many answers to the ‘why’ of it all. But, I am grateful to say He is revealing Himself to me in ways that ease the fire in my head and the burning in my heart.      

     From the beginning I have struggled with viewing Grace’s death as a defeat and failure. She’s gone. My faith didn't work. My prayers didn't avail. SHE IS GONE! But, slowly, with His finger under my chin, my head and sight have been lifted upward, to see life, and death, from His perspective. His provocation to me is, “What was the point?”  Was the point of it all (my prayers, fasting and faith) to get Grace healed? If it was, then her death can only be seen as defeat and failure. Or was the point of our prayers and faith to see Grace strong in the middle of her storm and to see God move on her behalf and on our behalf? To see His will accomplished through our lives no matter the outcome? If that was the ultimate point, then, yes, the only thing you can see in the end is victory. 

     But I still question. "Should her death equal failure?"  “Laura, is death ever a part of My kingdom?” “No, Father, You are only about life and light.” “Laura, would you like for me to bring My Son, the One who died on the cross, into this conversation?”  And I gasp with the realization of how much He wills for me to understand, not about the ins and outs of Grace’s outcome. But, rather, He wants me to understand Him and His ways. 

     The input of a dear friend upon hearing all this from my heart was this observation. “Our destinies are not wrought for this time and dimension only, but rather, for eternity. Grace is still fulfilling her destiny!” How much of my sight and understanding is earthly bound! Death does not equal failure. Death does not mean the end. There is no way I would ever see the death of Christ as a failure!! Christ’s destiny did not begin on this earth and it did not end when He ascended into heaven! There is so much more to come! And I have so much more to learn.

Victory or Failure can only be defined from the position from which I stand. Earthly understanding will always lead me astray and cause me to live less than. And Heavenly understanding can never be gained from looking downward. Victory or failure? That really is the question isn't it? Grace finished her race victoriously. She finished her race with a heart full of strength, peace, faith and love. Her faith endured to the end. Grace’s life and her death can only be seen as victory as long as I’m looking through eyes that have been lifted upward by the love and grace of God.


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Dark Tomorrow

11/10/2013

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Picture"For now it shall remain, Dark Tomorrow!"
The sunny day is perfect for playing near the water. You have your picnic basket in one hand as you skip stones across the peaceful lake with the other. All is right with the world and you praise God. You look around and your heart easily soaks and pleasures in thankfulness for all His blessings and goodness toward you and all those you love. “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”


The next moment your world is turned upside down and spread apart. As you work to right yourself and clear your head, you realize you are drowning, bobbing up and down in the churning and turning lonely stars and treading aimlessly within the vast expanse of the dying galaxies. Day has abruptly turned into icy night and no matter where you look there is nothing recognizable or tangible. There is nothing to help you gain perspective, nothing to reveal true north.  You are lost. You are cold.  You know you are alive only by the deep ache inside your heart at the loss of everything you had and knew.

When your feet lose traction, your hand loses grip and you are unable to change course or direction, there are no words to describe the helplessness and devastation that wants to consume your soul. The question arises,”What now?”

“What now?”, when the present of here and now can’t be tied up all pretty with a giant bow like the tidiness of a half hour sitcom? “What now?”, when it’s been shaken down to the drawing board and you find the drawing board is empty and there are no other solutions or viable outcomes? “What now?”, when I look to the days ahead and all I see is night  and affliction? Do my hands hang feebly and weak by my sides in anger, frustration or bewilderment? Or do I gather strength and raise them to the One who is still worthy to be praised? Do I find my will and offer it freely with thanksgiving from my heart to the One who still holds me and my entire world, both day and night, in His hand?

I am not made by my circumstances. Who I am is revealed through my response to my circumstances. Is praise found in my heart and on my lips when it is sunny and bright and the world is spinning the way I want?  When the night time and chill of winter comes and the voices of the creatures that love the dark echo in my ears, what will be my response?

This song is dedicated to all who have endured the dark season of the night and wait with patience for the joy of sunrise. We do not wish foolishly for the hurrying of the morning sun and all its warmth but rather ask for the strength to endure with faith through the cold of the night in all its glory. “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”  

Dark Tomorrow

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

Song written by Eric and Laura Smith

Dark Tomorrow
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I Thought I Heard

9/6/2013

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I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I stood there crying…

He was taunting me as we stood vigil outside her surgery room door. I thought we traded her reddened scars, blonde hair and sickened time on the bathroom floor for his promised vanishing act.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I knelt there praying…

The stench of him filled my nostrils as I offered my humble prayers for her strength and healing. We stood as one unflinching and empowered from Above bound together by the cords of love.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as she lay there dying…

But this time it was my sweet Grace laughing and the joy of her heart filled my own. She stood strong in the One who gave her Life. Never would she be a victim or an excuse just pure love, effervescent joy and unexplainable peace.

I thought I heard Cancer laughing as I stood there weeping…

But this time it was my weeping that had turned to laughter when I realized my sweet Grace had just traded her cancer ravaged body for a brand spanking new one. Her time of suffering was over and all her pain was gone.

I thought I heard Cancer weeping as I stood there laughing…

In the end all he got was a used up body while Grace gain Heaven. I laugh harder through my tears and pain knowing Grace won and I will see her again.

I thought I heard our voices and our banner raised high. Never will we give in! Never will we give up! We stand together and we fight!


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Drinking from the Saucer

8/26/2013

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It seems I cried the entirety of last week! It started Monday with a wonderful group of hearts that allowed me to give them a glimpse of Grace. The tears continued….on and on….Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday was no exception. A dear friend and I travelled all over our great community Thursday promoting the Day of Grace and I had the pleasure to encounter many people who talked about our dear and beloved daughter.

The tears wanted to come but I tried my best to keep them away. I so desperately wanted to hear everything these dear fellow citizens had to say about Grace’s life and her impact on them personally.  Some talked openly with me. Some walked carefully and tenderly, not wanting to rush in and cause tears. Others wiped their eyes while I wiped mine. My cup was being filled up.

It is amazing how empty you can feel one moment. When I say empty, I mean that feeling of being utterly alone, feeling small, hollow and insignificant. Teetering on the brink of despair you draw yourself up into the furthermost corner of the darkened room of your soul, willing the thickened air to cover over and erase you like a hand wipes over a chalkboard and all memory of what once was there is not only forgotten but absolutely irretrievable.  Pain and tragedy can take a person to rooms like that.

But then, with something as simple as a smile or a kind word of another person, your spirit lifts.  When I say lifts, I mean the feeling of having a hundred pound weight cut loose from the ropes wound tightly around your chest, blood and life fills that hollow cavity of your chest once again and you experience the warm glow of the beat of hope. You actually feel the gentle breeze of the wing of a smile itching at the corners of your heart and slowly your mouth. And when you realize what that person has truly given you, you feel that smile dance and float its way to your eyes. That is when you know your soul has been released from that darkened prison and given permission to breath in the sweet air of freedom and you realize you have been given the honor of being truly touched by the kindness of another person.  

You have felt their impact and you become full again…your cup becomes full again.

To me that is what this week was all about. I am acutely aware with every fiber of my being of the loss of Grace. And still the pain of losing her is at times more than I can bear.   At the end of the day Thursday, after an emotional roller-coaster ride of a week, I came upon a poem that really summed up how I was feeling. I found it as I was sitting in the City Hall of Lumber City waiting to speak with the Mayor.

I was sitting there soaking up the stillness of the room and the lovely conversation I was having with my dear friend. During the quiet moments, I was rehearsing in my heart every word said to me that day, every hug offered to me, smile given, every tear shed. And it was like two tsunamis collided within my chest, heart and thoroughly throughout my being. The violent overwhelming sense of extreme loss and grief was met with the fierce force of human kindness, love and care. My cup was filled up. It is only after experiencing the deprivation of choice that you truly understand the value of freedom.

The same is true of inexplicable loss and grief. Anyone who has experienced disheartening tragedy knows the value of the hands that bring the fragrant ointment of comfort and healing.  I sat there feeling all these emotions and that is when I read the poem that brought pointed clarity to the churned mixture of memories new and old, notions that make my heart conflict with my head, and feelings that are too deep and sharp to fully comprehend. I understood that at the end of the day, after all is said and done, when my grief is weighed against my blessing, I can honestly say, “I am drinking from the saucer because my cup has overflowed!” **

There is no doubt true healing only comes from above. To experience the love of the Father, to know His love, fills the heart to overflowing and the soul can’t help but be glad. He made us and He knows exactly what we need, spirit, soul and body. As great as our God is I have come to realize, He is not enough. I know that sounds odd. Please bear with me.  He is God, our Father, and of course He is enough. But in His extreme love for us, His thought is MORE not just “enough”!  In His wisdom and perfection, He gave us the gift and light of each other.  His design is that we would not be alone.

His commandment was that He be FIRST! Not that He would be our all in all and not need one another. 

It is easy to get caught up in our everyday lives and forget the divine purpose placed within us. By God’s design we are needful to each other. The kind word spoken or the warm smile offered is no small thing. To the person dwelling in the dark corners, what may seem trivial and small is actually a window of light and hope. Within us is a contained treasure chest of wealth we cannot understand.
 
I look into the faces of strangers who are telling me about Grace, wiping their eyes and I know they cannot understand what they are giving me. It is a treasure more precious than gold. In that moment I am humbled by their kindness. My cup overflows. The light of their words and actions has pulled me up and out and I thank them, to the best of my ability.

I thank my Heavenly Father and I know I am now drinking from my saucer because my cup has overflowed.

As I sit here now, going back over my entire week, Friday was just like Thursday. Another dear friend sent me a picture first thing Friday morning of our Trojan High School Football Team’s helmet. And there in a gold circle is the name of our Grace. The image of that golden circle with her name on it worn proudly by those players still reverberates in the depths my mind and heart. The dear friend and Coach both tell me the players are honored to wear her name. But it is I who am honored. So much love and kindness has been given to me and my family. My cup is filled up once again. Many tears run unchecked down my cheeks but these are not tears of grief but of genuine thankfulness. My cup is running over. The existence of my life has changed with the passing of our Grace. She taught me so much through her life and the ones around me have taught me so much through her death.  You have taught me the importance of kindness and the value of what our words and actions can do inside a person. Because of you I am humbled and honored to say,” I am drinking from the saucer because my cup overflows!”  **(Drinking from the Saucer Poem ~ Author Unknown)


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Held

7/29/2013

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Rock climbing has never been one of my hobbies although I have admired from a far off the skill level and fearlessness one must attain to conquer mountain peaks. One aspect of rock climbing that has impressed me is tiny little things called “anchors.”

Anchors are devices that attach the climber to the face of the cliff or mountain. Odd how sometimes the smallest of things are the most fundamental and powerful, as to save one from death! As the climber ascends, with great force and exertion he drives anchors into the mountain surface along the way. If he happens to lose his grip and fall, he will be held and only fall the distance to the closest anchor. The hope is the anchor will support his free-fall and hold him till the climber can again retain grip and continue his journey onward and upward. The goal is to reach the top. The challenge is not to lose footing or grip as you make your way against gravity. Your hope is the anchor will catch and hold you. Your hope is that you will be held.

Over the past year I have given this concept a lot of consideration, the concept of climbing, mountains, falling and anchors. What do I believe? How far do you fall when what you believe is challenged? What happens when your faith gets violated by circumstances? Where do you go when the absolute worst nightmare becomes your reality? My realization is you fall till you are caught and held by your closest or deepest anchor, if you have one. If you do not have an anchor then there is no hope but to hit the bottom. If you are willing, after much time to heal, from the bottom you can start your ascent again, but the journey is slow and arduous. And much is lost in the process. However, if you have anchored yourself correctly, even during the worst of the storms, you can maintain your position or only lose a small amount of vertical ground if you happen to slip. This understanding of anchoring myself is a viable solution if I keep the focus of the vision, which is to reach the top of the mountain. My vision is not to climb the mountain but to attain the very top.
My faith was that Grace would live. And I climbed. I believed that with my whole heart and I climbed. I did not doubt. And I climbed. I was not alone in this but many believed for the miraculous on our behalf, especially Grace. The first time I entertained thoughts of her funeral were as Eric and I were leaving hospice, watching the hearse make its way with Grace’s lifeless body tucked inside. And I fell. Shock, grief, disbelief, bewilderment were only the beginning of my emotional state. Weeks went by. My hands, feet and heart slipped and I continued to fall.

This is the anchor that caught me. “Faith, Hope, and Love and the greatest of these is Love.”

After Grace’s death and burial I could not discuss my faith with even myself and would not dare to even look at the notion of hope. I was broken inside and there were no “horses or men” to put me back together again. But, gently my Father spoke these words and reminded me, “Love is the greatest.” He did not chide me for losing my grip on faith. Nor did He rebuke me for not remembering hope. He, very patiently, reminded me of Love. He revealed this anchor and gave me the choice to gain my footing or continue to fall. I held onto that rope and anchor with everything I had because when I looked down it was not the bottom I saw but the never-ending abyss. “Choose to Love!” is what I quietly shared with Eric that evening. “Let’s not concern ourselves with faith for the moment. Let’s not even try to deal with hope for our souls just yet. Let’s just choose to love. Let’s choose love God with all our hearts. Let’s choose love each other without question. Let’s choose to love our family and our life!” This word of the Lord was very timely because I could feel the bitterness wanting to rise in my thoughts. The walls that surround to keep out but also create prisons were starting to rise within. Thoughts of cynicism were beginning to whirl around my mind like an out of control dust bowl. But the anchor of Love caught and has held me tightly. To choose to love when you are broken and poured out is no small thing. To worship and praise God and love Him with all your might when you have no answers to the ever pounding questions of your bludgeoned heart is not a trivial thing.

And, He is not a trivial God. Months have passed and as I stood in service recently worshipping Him and loving Him, acknowledging my weakness and brokenness, like a vessel smashed to bits and the insides poured out and displayed before Him, He answered me again. His answer? A glimmer of Hope! He did not give me understanding of why or how or what but He offered me a piece of Himself, His hope. It was just a sliver, more like a dust mote or cell of skin really. But like I said He is not a trivial God and there is nothing small about Him. In that one molecule of Himself, I knew I was being healed and put back together again. Hope is being restored inside my heart, small like a butterfly landing but powerful like the changing of seasons. I am gaining my grip and strength to climb once again. My vision of the summit has not changed and my journey upward will continue. But most importantly I have learned it doesn’t matter if it is the slow and methodical climb upward or the rare but rapid decent of a spiraling misstep, I have an anchor that will hold. And I know with confidence I am HELD.


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Imprint

7/27/2013

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Life, it seems, follows the line of either climbing great mountains to forging through deep and dark valleys. We are always on the road to or through one or the other.

It is amazing what is left behind once Death comes to more than just your door but to your home to sit for a while. I loathed him and couldn’t understand why he sat there, watching, waiting and lingering like he had something to say but refused to speak. I wanted him to leave us alone, begged him to go. But, day after day he stood his ground like an ugly piece of furniture and I learned to live my life around him. Finally, the day come when he opened his arms and took my child with him. He took my daughter but also a part of me upon his departure. I find I am left with a hole in my soul and heart.

Right now it seems I am in the valley forging my way through, looking for that “piece” that will fill my heart. Time has given me the wisdom to know I am not looking for things to get easier. Death’s disturbance and theft is not something I want to shove under the rug and forget like a penny left on the sidewalk. I want to remember Grace, miss her and feel the pain of her parting for the rest of my life. What I need and am looking for is the strength to bear her memory well. To know when I feel the burden of my heart missing her, I have the strength to smile, say her name and boast of her life.

Here is the sight I have gained that is helping to strengthen me. Instead of seeing I have a hole and something is missing, I understand I have been “imprinted”. Pressure has been applied to the most tender part of me and I am changed. And because of who Grace was and our connection, the imprint is deep! A mark has been made that will hopefully never fade. I reason to myself, “What if the point was not to try to cover over those places within ourselves? What if the road we are forging through the valley to the mountain top was never meant to look perfect like the over-botoxed face that neither holds nor displays genuine emotion. What if the provision for ourselves and others were marked by our “imprints”?” But, no one likes to feel hollow or scooped out from the inside. No matter how pretty I try to make it look, no matter how “glorious” or how noble it rings to have imprints, it still feels more like a “pothole”. And where there is a “pothole” there is a hole with a “piece” missing.

It has been over two months since our Grace transitioned from this life to the next. Today the kaleidoscope of my sight has turned and the “pothole” has transformed into an imprint. The “piece” to fill it has come into view and I am humbled. Through this journey the imprint has become deeper and sweeter because I have found the rain of Grace. It wasn’t I was missing a “piece” to fill the hole; it was “peace” I needed to fill the imprint. What a change in sight that brings hope to my hurt heart and comfort to my everlasting soul.

A life filled with “potholes” turned to “imprints” seems to be the road I am forging right now. My imperfections are not covered over, hidden around bends or beautified by misdirection. With wonder, I watch as the rain of Heaven fills the imprints of my life and I am filled with peace. All I can hope for is a life to hold the sweet rain. To remember the imprints and glory in the mark of life and death on the road of my life is to live well. So with humility I drink deep of the water that fills those places, the potholes turned imprints and when I see someone thirsty as they walk their road beside me, journeying from mountain top to valley and back again, offer them a drink.


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Hope

7/15/2013

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“To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
― Ellen Bass

Emily Dickinson described hope as “the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings a tune without words and never stops at all.” Both of the previous sayings reflect a true expression of hope- the small voice inside that beckons and woos us continually, even in the midst of our deepest wound, severest feelings of despair and confinement of abandonment, to fight to love again, to give ourselves to trust again and to press forward to live again. We are creatures made to hope. Hope is the essential ingredient that feeds our immortal existence. Like air is to our lungs is hope to our souls.

The integrity of hope that holds us is not as thin as the skin or being of wishes. Wishes can be likened to the mist of a beautiful cool morning. But, as the sun bears down in the heat of the day, the mist disappears and with it all thoughts of greatness and comfort vaporize. Wishes carry all the stableness and fragility of an overburden water balloon. It is not a matter of if it will burst but rather when it will burst. Wishes are the most temporary of tiny play things. Hope’s character is nothing like a wish, but rather more like a multitude of ideals threaded together to form something powerful and substantial. Its complexity and intricacies resemble the components of a genetic code of life rather than simple and independent random concepts. In the greatest sense, from the substance of our hope the structure of our faith is built, upon which, we live. Faith and hope are designed to go “hand in glove” so to speak. What successful life can truly be lived without the structure of faith as its vital component, even its foundation? A foundation embedded with hope as its material substance.

It is hope that beckons in the midst of brokenness, contriteness of soul or grief. When faith is shattered and emotions splayed, hope is there holding the jagged pieces in something like a state of “animated suspension.” Not one piece lost or hidden from sight. Over time hope draws your eye to examine those pieces of yourself very closely. Every detail, from every angle held perfectly still so you can inspect, dissect and choose. What do I keep and what do I throw away? When we look with the eyes of grief, anger, hatred or solitude it would be easy to throw away pieces that in their entirety are meant to be kept and pulled back together again. Tell me, how would a genetic code work or look if it were missing vital pieces or unnecessary pieces added? The answer, monsters inside would be created. But with the eyes of hope, the vital and necessary pieces of our faith, life, and emotions can be taken out of “suspension” and carefully put back into being one piece at a time. Thus retrieving and creating lush, vibrant lives.

I do not believe damage or devastation can quiet the sound of hope. Hope sings his tune all through the day and night. But, sometimes our ears are deafened to the deepest places of hope inside ourselves by the circumstances of our life. We all know loss, grief, dashed expectations, misplaced trust and broken relationships. And like lungs with no air, we will die without the sound of hope ringing in our hearts. Hope is not perfected nor does it grow when you have all the answers, or have everything “together”. Forced perfection suffocates hope. But, looking for answers in the midst of brokenness or grief releases the heart of hope to beat fast. To open your heart as you bow down and pour out gives voice to the sweet tune of hope. There is something so powerful about the stirring, lightness and essence of hope that echoes and resounds in the depths of our hearts. That is why when you hear the melodious wordless tune within yourself it is important to sing out loud from that deep well of hope. So, others when they hear it, may recognize the tune of hope within themselves. This is how we know hope dwells fully alive, thriving and healthy inside us, that we do not contain its song in ourselves but we give that mellifluous tune to others. For hope, in the finest of forms, was never meant to be kept closed in, like a bird in a cage, but rather given, shouted and shared as from the rooftops.


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    Laura G. Smith

    Trying to understand what can not be explained.

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