A Spring of Joy

It was a week ago that I sat huddled under blankets in our den, fire burning, reflecting, praying, weeping. I was missing my Pappy whose birthday would have been the next day. I was longing to sit with my dear college friend who is walking through pain unimaginable as she watches and grieves the impending loss of a loved one. She and I had talked and shared and cried together that day, aching to accept the losses of this life with grace and trust.

I moved into the living room, to our old, antique piano with weathered ivory keys and a few notes that just never can quite be tuned. I needed music, not just mentally and emotionally, I needed to physically interact with it, to let my hands fumble over those keys as the tears fell. I pulled open my battered blue hymnal, the one that’s dog-eared and duct-taped, the one that I played from all through high school, the one I used as I played for church through my teen years. “Lord,” I prayed, “Just show me what I need to hear.” I opened it and let it fall to a page.

I started to play, reading the lyrics as I moved through the piece, unable to sing without my hoarse voice croaking, but then I could hear my daddy’s beautiful tenor voice singing as I played (what a sweet memory). I thought of my pappy, my nanny, of my friend, Kim, whose loss four years ago I still grieve, of my dear one who is tasting this grief in the waiting.

Oh, y’all… God knew what I needed to hear, of that “little while between… severed only till He come.” We’ll see our loves again one day.

I’m not even sure why I share this. I just hope these words bless you today, whatever you’re walking through. Death and darkness and the tomb only pain us for a little while. They pain us with a dark, weary grief, but I’m thankful for the hope that comes beyond.

“Till He come!” – Oh, let the words
Linger on the trembling chords,
Let the “little while” between
In their golden light be seen;
Let us think how heav’n and home
Lie beyond that, “Till He come!”