My house is filled with tiny surprises. Surprises left behind by my 8 year old daughter after cancer stole her life. Her toothbrush in the cup. Tiny leopard print leggings folded on the dryer. A grocery list she wrote tucked in the drawer. An artfully placed plastic mouse and construction paper mouse hole. Sweet surprises, yet surprisingly bitter. Following death, the grief came. Merciless, crushing. How could I laugh again when life is so cruel? Emotional poverty cast shadows on a soul laid empty and bare before the Maker. Lament.
And yet it was true lament, honesty and openness before God that sent me on the path back to laughter. It came in the pitch black darkness, small glimmers of light. Truth whispered, scriptures spoken of a God who cries with us, who sees our darkest hour, who walks with us through it.
Deep in lament is when the call came, the call to look up through the tears. To look up and see clearly, acknowledging pain and yet welcome freedom. The freedom to laugh, to enjoy sunshine, creation, air and food and love. And even tiny surprises.