To maintain a grip of steel, then willingly give.
To love, and lose, and dare to love again.
To believe in promises while relinquishing the right to personal claims.
To accept tears as glittering gifts.
To believe that I am perfectly loved, even when suffered to drink anguish.
To perfectly love what (Who) I don't understand.
It is triumph.
To suffer softly. To remember that His feet are washed best with tears. To remember He has never once made a mistake. To remember there is a reason I am trusted with every sorrow.
To remember His name is made great when His children love Him anyway.
- - -
Now it's my turn. My turn to stand in the bottom of the grave and help tuck in the treasure. Me thinking this is the worst kind of personal loss-- watching some of "my people" lose something beloved. We work in silence. Wind blows and dust flies, and just like her name, around a speck of a thought layer after layer of luster is laid, while I contemplate Love.
I remember the last group ride; remember my turn on the brilliant beast while the trusted friend worked a kink out of her older sister. They're both gone now, the Diamond and the Pearl, sister jewels black as stellar space.
Silent and strong as always, friend-more-like-brother works on the other side of the cavernous hole, till the job is done.
Our girls, out little sisters; they've lost their friends, also sisters. (is that what makes us family?)
Later, after thoughts and words and prayers and tears have finished their work for the day, what is left is a lesson worthy of the gift through which it came.
But of course; Faith doesn't mean that if I believe hard enough, pray hard enough, I'll love the outcome.
Faith is believing I'm loved, regardless of the outcome.
Thanks girls. For all kinds of beautiful memories, and for standing up tall and graceful.
And trusting Merciful God. Again.
And thanks friend, for letting me love her too.