Hope

Her picture hangs in my kitchen and I look at it several times a day.  Amidst the meal-making, the zipper-zipping, the remnant-sweeping, and the backpack-assembling, there she is.  Just below the lists, schedules, and reminders, there she is.

And even though I never knew her, I can't take it down.  Because a parent should not have to bury their baby.  Nobody would argue, we all know that grief is just too much.  Our hearts break and our anger rages against this injustice.  And yet all around, there is sorrow, tragedy, unimaginable pain.  Over and over the unthinkable explodes in unsuspecting homes.

So next to the ordinariness of grocery lists, to-do lists, and babysitter lists, is this little girl.  The butterfly that dances care-free across her funeral card belies the magnitude of the message.  There is only one certainty.  Only One.  He guarantees nothing in terms of my circumstances, but everything in terms of His loving grace.

I will not live in fear, but I strive to walk in conscious adoration of who He is and thankfulness for what He has done.  For the depth of His love and its rightful place as my All, my Only, my Strength, my Source.  In Him I live and move and have my being.  And, when all else fails, in Him is hope.

My misty eyes flit back past the butterfly to her name.  In the centre, where it belongs, Hope stands defiant of circumstance.  And I am humbled.