My mom and me on Easter morning, 1981
Two years ago today, my mom stepped out of this world and into the glory of heaven. I can't believe it has been two years since I heard her voice. The last time I actually heard her was on the morning of May 3rd. I called my dad to check on her and he said she wasn't feeling well. In the background, I heard her call out my dad's name; an hour later she was gone. I believe that at the exact moment she closed her eyes here on earth, she opened them to see the face of Jesus. Paul says in 2 Corinthians that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. I imagine her walking through fields of grace with her Savior, free of pain, sorrow and heartache. And I cling to the hope that Isaiah wrote about when he said in chapter 25 verse 8, "He will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces." These are just a few of the things that help me grive with hope.
Year One of my grief journey was about learning to breath again. Year Two has been about finding joy, even in sorrow. Joy to me is more than a momentary feeling of happiness. It is an abiding sense of assurance that bubbles up from deep within. Joy can co-exist with grief, where happiness comes and goes. Joy says even in the tears I can lift my head up and know that things are going to be okay. It will be okay because I trust my life to an all-knowing, all-powerful, sovereign God. Psalm 30:5 says, "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." I have found this to be true. Joy has found me and continues to find me. When I look at my children's faces, or laugh with my husband, or listen to my Dad's stories, or read my Bible, or look at the beauty of a sunset, or enjoy a quiet moment to myself, joy finds me again and again and again.