A grave goodbye… A pathetic plea…


“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” ~ Winnie the Pooh.

The brilliance of a bear.  The philosophical musings of an animal that sleeps for half a year at a time.  Yet in all his silliness and in all his searching for and devouring of honey, this little Pooh-bear spoke words deeper than a bottomless honey jar.

How lucky we are.  How blessed and privileged we have been.  How greatly honored we should feel.  That we have something that made saying goodbye so difficult.  So challenging.  Relationships built on the rock of love.  The roots of which stretched far below the ground and fed the thriving oak that provided shelter and solace and sanctuary from whatever came our way.

How thankful I am that I was loved beyond my capacity to do so.  They say those who have been forgiven much can forgive much.  Because knowing how great forgiveness is, knowing the roots of sin and feeling them planted deep within your heart, knowing your darkness and experiencing someone else’s light, knowing all these things and feeling something so contrary to them incites greater forgiveness in the heart of he or she who has been forgiven.  I believe this also holds true with love.  Not necessarily always the case, but certainly most of the time it holds true.

And I can’t describe with my limited vocabulary, and I cannot express with my damaged heart how great a love I have been privileged enough to experience, but I now believe my capacity to do so, because I have been, is much greater.  I believe that if and when I love again I can show others the love I felt.  I can dig deep because my well is a well that doesn’t run dry.  There is a great God who loves beyond infinitely, but He didn’t think that was enough of an example, He wanted visuals for me, so he gave me a mom who had a giving spirit, a mom who loved like any good Italian mom, a traditional kind of love.  A love that was so big it felt like it was passed down for generations like the recipes she cooked.  My dad was a stronger love.  A solid love.  A superhero love that you knew that if you ever needed protection it was there.  And then he was a love that would do anything to make you laugh or smile.  His was a carefree love that you knew would always be there regardless of circumstances.  And then there was a wife’s love.  A love that stared in the face of the pain and hurt that was brought her way and said “I’m gonna love you anyway.”  Hers was a love that seemed like a combination of all the other loves.  It was a guiltless love.  A shameless love.  A love that would do anything to bring a smile to the object of it’s affection.  It was beautiful.

I wish I still had the privilege of experiencing these Oz-like, great and powerful loves. I wish they weren’t just a shadows, creeping slowly behind me, but disappearing once I turn around in a pathetic attempt to recapture them or see them in all their fullness. I wish…

But I realize this can never be the case. And I accept it. Overwhelming tragedy must lead to overcoming tragedy. Thankfully, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

How lucky I am indeed…

 

 

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