On vacation for example, from the outside looking in there’s a couple that spent the day snorkeling, drinking pina coladas by the pool seemingly carefree and living their best life but as they sit down for dinner at a table with an ocean view, out of nowhere her mind gets the dreaded phone call for the millionth time or he is frantically calling 911 again. They didn’t purposely decide to start reliving those things but the brain doesn’t care that they were just served crab stuffed mahi mahi. Their appetite is gone so they force down a few bites and ask for the check.

 

Sometimes the phone call comes while in the shower and it’s safe to let the tears fall. Some days I’m watching scenes of it all from a bird’s eye view. I see Noy and I sit down to tell Wesley his brother is gone. Or I see myself sitting on the plane with Wesley and my parents forcing smiles and pretending for hours that all is well so that he is in a safe place when he gets the news. For whatever reason, often times it’s the first phone call from Bella. Most of the time we must push the thoughts away because we’ve got shit to do.

 

Noy and I don’t hide these thoughts from each other in an effort to not bring the other down. We can almost feel that the other is struggling. We don’t try to come up with comforting words to take away the pain. We just acknowledge the whole thing sucks, and that we’re thankful for each other and then try to distract ourselves.

 

When the memories come, I find myself in a constant state of prayer. Quietly asking God to comfort me, comfort Noy, give us wisdom as we parent and navigate Wesley’s grief, the girls’ grief. Asking for strength to make it through whatever comes that day. Asking that we see good coming from all of this. And asking, “what now?” “Where do we go from here?” “How can we be used?” Prayers of thanksgiving for rest, for no one asking that day how many kids we have, for the blessing of each other. And just maybe that’s the point of all of this. To find solace in closeness to Christ. To be in constant communion with Him. Not just before bed, at church and at meals but without ceasing. Praying with every breath. Always at the foot of the cross.

 

It’s not an easy task to be thankful for any of this but sometimes in moments of clarity, I can because there’s sweet communion with my Savior there. It’s there where I remember that my homesickness is for another world.

 

In gratefulness, I’m reminded that “those who navigate little streams and shallow creeks know little of the God of the tempests; but those who do business in great waters see His wonders in the deep.” In my huge, Atlantic waves of grief, I find the power of Jehovah.

 

Years ago, I found this beautiful prayer book called The Valley of Vision. I’ve read through it multiple times but it has new meaning now.

 

Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,

where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;

hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

 

Let me learn by paradox

that the way down is the way up,

 

that to be low is to be high,

 

that the broken heart is the healed heart,

 

that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,

 

that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,

 

that to have nothing is to possess all,

 

that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,

 

that to give is to receive,

 

that the valley is the place of vision.

 

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,

and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;

 

Let me find thy light in my darkness,

 

thy life in my death,

 

thy joy in my sorrow,

 

thy grace in my sin,

 

thy riches in my poverty,

 

thy glory in my valley.

 

xo

Dawn