It will be better tomorrow. Almost a mantra in my family. My mother would tell me...after an academic defeat, a bruised ego, a cheerleader cut, a broken heart. And it is true. Even in the darkest of nights, the sun rises again. In fact, the darker the night, the brighter the light. And I would know--we have had some damn dark nights...or what I thought were dark nights until the black hole that has been Lilah's absence.
It is darker than I imagined and I like it, as weird as that sounds. It seems right. I want to sit in the devastation. It feels good to me to grieve. I want to wail and moan and wallow. I want to keep my head down. When she died and our circle came to be with us when the funeral home came, to take her body away, I could not lift my eyes to meet theirs. I did not want to see their sorrow, their love, their encouragement that I could endure. I did not want to endure--surely there is no life without 1/4 of my heart.
Grief is profoundly selfish. It seems like it's all about me...all about Lilah...all about our loss. It feels like the extreme sadness will never be different than today. But by his grace, he reminds me...tomorrow is coming.
This night over 2000 yrs ago, I imagine the disciples did not want to endure either. They were sure their king was dead. Certain they had been wrong to follow a man that found himself hanged on a cross. I bet they could not imagine how God could right the wrong--but they did not get it and barely do I. And still the Lord says...
Lift your eyes to Me--It is not over yet.