held.

"Who told us we'd be rescued? What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares? We're asking why this happens To us who have died to live? It's unfair.

This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life And you survive. This is what it is to be loved. And to know that the promise was When everything fell we'd be held. " (excerpt from "Held" by Natalie Grant)

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It all just feels so unfair today.
The English language is too limited to provide me with adequate means to explain the depths of my sorrow and hurt. I have a hole in my heart that just will not mend. I suppose that hole always existed because I am living in a fallen world, but it just feels as if it has been spun into technicolor. I am at a complete loss as to why, at 27, I no longer have a Mom. Some days it just down right makes me mad.
Today is not a mad day, however, today is sad.

The house renovations are complete and my Mother's home will be filled with the sounds, smells, and movements of another family. My Mom no longer needs her kitchen, her beautiful bedroom that I spent a week redecorating for her only 2 years ago, the tiny master bath that she never complained was too small, the hallway of "shame" as we called it- covered with all of our pictures from floor to ceiling, the playroom that was filled with children for dozens of years as they were potty trained and fed home cooked meals, her formal living room that was wall to wall craft supplies and a top of the line embroidery machine, and the front door- the front door we all pitched in to buy her because the old one was falling apart and we wanted her to have a beautiful safe door- she was so thankful for that door.

The walls of 2525 Eucalyptus Drive have witnessed my life since the first grade. Every time I called out to her for help with a recipie or needed her to tell me how to get the printer paper to stop jamming... Those walls heard the bickering as I became a woman and wanted freedom... they heard the tears as she grieved the betrayal of her body and the ones we wept in fear of living life without her and not wanting her to live life with a broken body. The fire department made the trek up and down those halls on more than one occassion lifting her weak body onto a chair or stretcher to take her back to her least favorite place- the hospital. There were nights those walls thinned themselves so that I could hear her crying out for my help. Sometimes because she was in so much pain she could not reach the phone, other nights because she had fallen or was just scared and lonley. I would wake from a deep sleep and hear her faint cry clear on the other side of the 3500 square feet that seperated us. We were connected so deeply I sensed her needs before she spoke them sometimes. I counted it an honor to lift her up.

In the midst of reflection I am constantly left with the sentiment stated in the song line above. It just feels unfair and I find myself wondering why. If I give the Lord long enough to comfort me-typically only takes a moment-then I know that the answers to my wonderings are not important... they are not the point. Even still- each time I come back to them and cling until He peels my fingers one at a time from my desperate cry for understanding.

My biggest fear is that I will not be able to remember all of these details as vividly one day. The mere threat of it breaks my heart in two. I do not want to forget what her soft hands felt like against my arm as I lay next to her in her bed chatting about the day. I do not want to forget what her sillouette looks like standing at the kitchen sink doing dishes and preparing our meals. The look in her eyes when Jake would lavish her with love, the soft strawberry blonde hair as I would trim it in the kitchen, her eyes through dirty glasses she was too busy serving us to clean, her form sitting at the blue chair in front of the sewing machine hemming a pair of pants for me 30 minutes before I left for a function, her laugh... oh her laugh.. it would come barreling out of her room late at night as she watched other people's home movie clips on America's Funniest Home Videos... I can not let go of these moments. I have to remember.
I need to be able to tell my husband about her one day. I want him to feel as if he knew her personally. I want my children to know her the way Jake did, and while that is impossible I can give them pieces of her.

On Sunday night as I walked with Leslie to a party here in Somerville I fell and busted my knee open. It is a pretty nasty gash, and after establishing that it was gross, painful, and in need of first aid I just wanted to cry. I wanted to call my Mom and tell her that I had absent mindedly missed my footing and rolled an ankle as I collapsed on the side of the road. I wanted to hear her laugh and tell me about how she had done that before and it was the pits. After we laughed together she would have told me how to take care of the wound and what supplies I should own in a basic first aid kit for the future. She would enjoy the story and guide me through the moment of uncharted territory. Instead I relied on the people God has blessed me with here in Boston, and later called my sister, Sarah, for tips on how to heal the wound. God has already provided for those moments when I want my Mom, but in some ways that sparked more sorrow. How can I feel so incredibly blessed and thankful at the same time as experiencing the deepest pain I have known? Some days I feel completely nuts.

Held.
This is what it feels like to be in the arms of Jesus. I must say it is not a bad place to be... in fact, I would have it no other way. "The promise was when everything fell we'd be held." Thank you, Father, for wrapping your arms around me and carrying me through this valley.