Every week there is another issue that divides family, friends, and country. Every week we hear of mommas burying babies, and babies burying mommas. Sometimes in the middle of all of the turmoil and tragedy, joy is also buried and weariness becomes our constant companion.
That word came across my phone more than once this past week.
I walk past the old organ and see the repaired ornament waiting to go on the tree. It was broken when it was pulled out of the box. When I saw the name on the bottom I took it to the "fix it spot" by Michael's chair. It was ready to go on the tree just in time to take a picture and send it to say that our Father takes our shattering and fixes it. Repairs it. Makes it beautiful. Only the fixer knows it was broken. Then we become testimony of His grace for all to see.
I heard it in voices of girls wanting their mommas. Just to talk. Just to ask. Just to be. It doesn't matter that they have their own little ones to take care of. They never get too old or too wise to need their own. They wouldn't want them to leave Jesus, but they sure would take an afternoon just to feel arms.
Pushing my grocery cart around the corners was a little difficult because it was so heavy. A sweet lady asked if I was feeding an army. Almost. My kids are coming home. Then unexpected tears came from out of the blue as I take a wide turn around the aluminum foil at the end of the aisle. So why am I crying in HEB?
My kids are coming home.
It is so exciting this year to celebrate arms full of baby after several years of emptiness. We will celebrate a brand new marriage. We will celebrate a new job and God's provision.
At the same time we will try to make the obvious not quite so obvious. We will ask the Lord to fill up empty spaces and be quick to hug and quick to laugh. We will cry together and be giddy together.
We rejoice because He is enough in our weariness. She told me that with tears rolling down her cheeks. He is enough momma. He came as a baby to die as a man and come back as a Savior. So that He could be enough when the absence hurts.
So we will celebrate and we will grieve. We will grieve and we will celebrate.
A whole basket full of emotion.
This weary group will rejoice.