i spoke with my friend Sonya twice today.
the first was hard.
with our kiddos napping, we let a phone line pretend to give us a real connection … i listened as she talked about amazing things — things that Banebow is doing that i’m still trying to process so that i can report them all here — things that fill her up.
and then i listened as she talked about emptiness, about a pain so unreal that she still wakes some mornings as if it will all be over, this nightmare walk of mama bereft.
and when she cried, i couldn’t squeeze her hand, couldn’t hand her a tissue or rub her back — on this day, this one of many mile markers on the road through pain and grief: today, the one month anniversary of the blind-siding loss of sweet Bane.
and from somewhere in St. Louis, i cursed how impotent i am, how powerless i am to to tell her — by phone or email or any other modern mode of communication — something that will ease pain, bring light, give her something to see by, to get through just this one hard day.
and then: a second phone call.
and mention of a police officer.
and it was all good.
because the officer in question had stopped to inquire why she, grown woman, well-dressed, with small child, would be sitting — sitting! — on the grass near a busy intersection in a metropolitan area. and though there were all these details about her car being unavailable and her decision to walk in the drizzle to meet a friend for dinner — the real point of all the excitable screaming was to communicate these words:
“DOUBLE BANEBOW! DOUBLE BANEBOW!!!”
and my friend, who had set out on foot with heavy heart to run an errand on a hard day, had turned her gaze skyward to find a message being sent to her without any technology whatsoever. a banebow — times two.
a message that brought light and hope and comfort in a way that no words from me or anyone else could ever do.
today, we remember a sad day — and yet, even in the midst of sadness, we look forward to better days at the same time … all the while trusting in a God who is ever present, today and forever.
a God who finds us — even at a busy intersection,
a God who knows our mess — even when we need a double,
a God who bids us look to Him — even when the sky is gray,
so that he can communicate with grace unspeakable his lavish, technicolor love for us.
may you and yours be doubly blessed this weekend …