When Flowers Bloom in the Dark

It's been a few days since the little world I inhabit was turned inside out.

These past few years I've been learning that there is life in vulnerability, that the body of Christ works best when I hold up my brokenness to others just as I wish them to hold up their brokenness to me. Because the dexterity of God mends broken things. The love of God works wonders with weakness. This faith I hold, this Christ Whose name I--in all my frailty--try to bear, is the very Heart of things.

As I write this, my human heart is swelling with a mingling of grief and gratitude that makes absolutely no sense but yet is somehow the most truthful thing I could possibly feel. The grace of Abba Father cuts like a knife, but it also binds up the brokenhearted.

My dad is dying. Three days ago I was on my way to Binghamton when my sister called to tell me that he was in the hospital and had just gotten a diagnosis of acute myocardial leukemia. Right now, just three days later, he's lying on a new hospital bed in Rochester with lungs that aren't working right and a body that is breaking down. The doctor has been honest--it's a matter of time at this point. We don't know how long.

Yes, it is hard. I have cried until I feel like there is nothing left. I have prayed until I run out of words. Thank you to those of you who are supplying words to Abba in my stead. I am learning the exhaustion of wakeful nights.

But still, God is good.

My family has gathered close. Dad and I have shared more tenderness these past 3 days than we've felt free to show for many years, and I don't think I'm the only one of my family who would say that. We are all being bound together in this farewell.

I don't know how much time Dad will have before God takes his hand and leads him Up and In, but I know it will be the right number of minutes, hours, days, weeks.

I ask for prayers. That Dad would see the face of Christ, know His love, experience His peace, find intimacy with the One Who'll be leading him home. That he would be ready, as Dad himself phrases it, "to leave the porch and go inside." That my mom would rest in God, that His Spirit would be her comforter, that these last moments with Dad would be sweet, precious. That all of us children would face things with faith and a love that passes any miles spanning between us, that we could help bear each other's grief and point one another toward the God Whose name is Love. That God would give the doctors wisdom in making decisions. And in the end, that God's will would be done, whether that means lingering or passing quickly into His arms.

We're under God's wings right now.

Speaking for myself? I'm breaking, but God is mending me even as I crack.

Here are a few songs a friend shared with me. They say a lot, and they say it more beautifully than I can.

A Thousand Things   

How Emptiness Sings

Come Close Now