Waiting. One of my least favorite things. From waiting at the dentist’s office to waiting for my husband to come home from work to waiting to see if medication has slowed cancer. Life is full of waiting. Today I am waiting to hear news of a sweet friend on hospice care who mercifully fell asleep last night. We are waiting to hear if she will wake up here or in the presence of Jesus. The waiting feels unbearable.
Growing up, my father was the king of saying what no one else said. When we would leave each other for a trip, or even just a day of school, he would often say something like, You never know what can happen in life. Basically, he would tell us that if something happened to him or us, we’d see each other in Heaven. He wasn’t afraid to say what’s true: we never know how many moments we’re going to be given on this earth. I always took comfort in knowing that he loved me and I loved him. He was the first person to talk openly in my life about the fact that we are all going to die.
A few days ago, we celebrated Lake’s 9th birthday. In these events I feel my loss more, I feel how disjointed I am from my past life. I miss Kara so much on these days; she was so good at celebrating people. Kara wrote letters to each of our kids for all of their birthdays until 18. Ugh. They break me.
This is the one. This is the podcast that, when I listened to it the first time, broke me. There was something about distance separating me from the day we sat down to record this, listening in my living room with nothing else to do instead of sitting in the studio in front of a microphone following an outline. The stories felt fresh to my heart, the tears in the girls’ voices stung, Kara’s absence an ugly, glaring hole. But I will listen to this one again and again, for it is sitting with these women that brings Kara to mind so vividly and reminds me of her reach and influence so clearly. She changed my life; I’ll never be the same.
Sunday was the first Sunday in Advent, which is the period before Christmas in which we prepare our hearts for the coming of our King. I grew up in a very liturgical denomination, and following the church calendar with all its seasons and observances was very important. During Advent in our home growing up, my mother would light the appropriate Advent candles each night at dinner. After our family devotional and prayer time, we children would take turns reciting the Christmas story from Luke before pulling an ornament out of the Advent calendar to hang on the felt Christmas tree Mamma had made.
