Words are supposed to give comfort. Most of the time they do, if you know what to say.
This time I’m fresh out.
What do you say to the daughters of the man who just died?
What do you say that will even penetrate the fog they’re surviving? Or his widow?
What words can I possibly put together that will matter?
I want to DO and SAY and BE something for them.
I don’t think I’m big enough.
I had the privilege of speaking to him candidly about my life and he told me about his. I saw the compassion in his eyes as I shared how my father wouldn’t have welcomed home a pregnant daughter as he had. I felt a deep respect for him.
I last saw him at his grandson’s birthday party. Laughing and telling stories over bags of Cheetos as hotdogs were eaten and presents opened. I left as trash was being collected, food wrapped up and presents gathered up. Big hugs followed me out the door.
I don’t understand. I just don’t.
There was another amazing father who was gone all too soon and this feels the same to me. There are so many horrible excuses for daddies in this world. Why take take these men?
Maybe this is the place where long-held belief meets painful action.
God is good. Somehow. Even in this.
He loves them. His glory will be seen. Even in this.
Their Abba didn’t forget about them. Even for one second.
He has put me here. For this momenet.
My words are nothing but His are everything.
So I will say nothing.
I will cry with them.
They will feel my hugs.
I will hurt for them and with them.
This is the comfort they need.