I’ve been busy this week preparing our move to America. “Busy” includes facing the loss growing inside me. I know what is coming, not only the loss and it’s grief, but the inevitable fading of the pungent pain, the way a flower’s fragrance slowly fades with it’s wilting. Faces fade away and cherished times tumble out of view; nothing I do will change that.
Time with age causes me to forget, not entirely but too much, many of the people I’ve grown to love. And they forget too. I know it is coming, the loss, like so many times before. Yet the thought just occurred to me: I’m returning, after ten years, to people and places I wasn’t sure I would see again. How will my faded memories meet them? Will we still know each other or will we be strangers of a sort?
Who can say what the future holds, really? Who knows, with all the plans I’ve made, what God has for me tomorrow, the next day, and the next? Aren’t we always thinking of the next day even on our last? How we mourn our loss even while a new day is dawning!
I’m sure, without a doubt, I was not created for death but for life. God had and still has someting better in mind.