"It is better to go to the house of mourning . . ."

Every breath we have is a gift from God. He knows our every inhale and exhale. I think about this often as I remember watching Chad's chest rise and fall in his last hours. Every. single. struggling breath was from God. Throughout his life, the strong breaths and the weak ones, God has always known how many he would have, down to his very last one. And that's true for all of us, whether we believe in God or not.

I think about our last year together a lot. Always with the disbelief that he could go from relatively healthy and well--at least managing well, looking to the future--to the point where he was on pain killers around the clock and couldn't take 10 steps. When I reflect and don't think about God's love, I can be so so sad.

That face. Those eyes. Millions of kisses all over from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. And every bit of his physical body is sitting in an urn on my mantle. All of the parts that I recognized as Chad, burned to ashes and collected in a jar. How terribly cruel. And God speaks to this moment, reaches down into my heart and my mind to remind me:

"It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart." Ecclesiastes 7:2

In this passage, God reminds me that I can't count on anything in this world. This world, with all of it's allure and promises will always come up shallow, dry, wanting. We've all heard the saying that we can only count on ourselves. Well, truthfully, we don't even have that. I know myself. I am lead around by my emotions--up and down--my selfish desires, and whatever happens along my path at the time. I am unreliable as a source of strength or direction. I have my good moments, but for as many of those I have, I have two to three times as many bad moments. Let's get real here. There is literally nothing on this earth that is faithful, permanent, trustworthy except God and His word.

I try to fill my sadness and my emptiness--I've shared all of this before--I fill it with company, food, drink, entertainment, now school too. Nothing satisfies. When I am distracted, I am okay, doing the day-to-day until I have the startling realization that he's not at home for me tonight and he won't be there tomorrow. And it knocks the wind out of me. After he died, I had moments where I physically couldn't breathe, now it's more like my life is a balloon being deflated.

How do I know, in these moments that God is real and that He is for me? Sometimes I am lost and I am doubting. I'm not going to pretend that I am the picture of the perfect Christian. But, He still calls to me in His still, small voice. And He is asking me--tugging at my heart--to tune into His frequency to hear Him louder. So, I try and I fail and I try and I fail and sometimes I get it right and I hear Him louder. And He reminds me that I am loved and I am His. He holds my heart, wraps His arms around me and quiets me. He reminds me how He loves Chad. Chad is His and I am His and this world is not the main thing. He is the main thing.

We are given these experiences so that we can connect and walk with others through their experiences, sharing our hearts. And, ultimately, pointing others to the One who is love. I want to talk more about how God is revealing His awesomeness to me in a different way, but I'll save that for another entry. In the meantime, I want to thank you for reading and for your patience with me as these entries have become more scarce. I hope to be back in touch soon. Good night!