Building a Wall

5:30 AM:

This morning, I have woken up early, to have coffee alone, and to read a little bit; to mentally and spiritually somehow get ready for the day ahead. I find myself grateful that my friend Erin has filled this space with funny, enlightening words about her yoga experiences, to remind me of the capacity for change and the gaining of all kinds of strength. The past few weeks, for me, have brought the death of a dear friend's mother, and now another death - so sharp is the pain that it is like being doused in cold water.  A dear friend has lost her son this week, and today is the wake.  Her son was only 23, and passed away after fighting cystic fibrosis for years.  Seeing my friend the night of the morning her son died was not something I will soon forget; it was the saddest thing, but it was also an honor to be with her and her husband and daughter and their numerous friends and family in their grief.  There is nothing like watching someone you love go through something like this; you are helpless and all you can do is be there.

It is raining outside, to match the day ahead.  If you go to church or read the Bible at all, you find a measure of comfort; all of this has a purpose; sadness will have an end.  But it is so hard to feel when we do not seem to live in an age of miracles (although we know that they do happen every day) and Good Friday seems closer than ever to me this year; Jesus saying, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Where is God when these things happen?  Why can't we just be allowed to see beyond the veil, to know that we will all be reunited, and that suffering will have an end?

I guess because that is not faith; that strong wall made brick by brick through trial and error, sadness and tears, dawnings and realizations that span a life.  At our own death, we are aloud to sit on top of that wall of our own making, in partnership with God - the years of believing despite all supposed evidence to the contrary - and on the other side we see faith rewarded, family reunited, and our own unique destiny.  The first side of the wall is forgotten - except for the love.

His name was and is Chris Williams. He lived, laughed, and was so loved.  He was here.  He left a mother, a father, and a sister, as well as so many others who want - and are waiting, now - to see him again.  And on this rainy morning, I need to believe that they will.  So many love them, and so many will grieve with them today.  God, bring us Easter, that follows the darkness.