A Wall of Fire

Grief is a really funny thing. It’s not pretty or convenient. It doesn’t fit into a box or into any specific expectations found from research. It comes in waves and when they come, they crash, hard. On top of my head. In public.

I decided on a whim to wander around the state capital today. I’m writing this in the capital, actually. About a year ago, in the little alcove I’m sitting in, someone sang to me the chorus of “For You” by David Ryan Harris.

“There ain't nothing strong enough to keep me away from you.

There could be a wall of fire, ten feet or higher, I would just walk on through. Where there once was only room for one Forever there will be two...”

The “forever” for the two of us lasted a lot less time than we had expected. And it seems like it’s taking forever to be able to move forward. The ache is so, so real and so, so deep.

In this season of regeneration- as I sit and wait and prepare for new life to rise from my ashes- I’m thankful for the lyrics of that song. I’m thankful for the memories they hold and for the love they have communicated across sidewalks, across the country, and across the Kansas capital building. But more than the memories, I am thankful for the meaning they hold from an eternal perspective. Christmas is in four days, and when Jesus came here to live, die, and to live again for me, he proclaimed the chorus Truth.

“There ain’t nothing strong enough to keep Me away from you.

There once was a wall of fire, always burning higher, but darling I walked right through.

Where there once was only room for one, forever we will be two,

That’s why I traveled all this way, just to see your pretty face, each and every single day. For you- to you, for you.”

Thank you, Jesus, for regenerative pain. My ashes are always made more beautiful through Yours.