Wednesday, May 29, 2013


We pulled into the parking lot and took a space right in front of the little shop where we've been getting our hair cut for years now.  An older man was getting out of his cute little Mazda Miata to my left as my children filed out of the car arguing about who would sit in the chair first.  I was already frustrated, and it was only 12:30.

We walked in and took a seat near our stylist's chair, no one buzzing about the floor.  No one.  No other stylists, and no other clients.  Only me and the kids and the older gentlemen.  It was strange to say the least, and the gentleman and I shared a puzzled look.

One of the stylists emerged from the back and let us know they would be back out shortly.  That they were making phone calls.  That they had lost one of their stylists just this morning.  And my heart quickly sank down into my own personal pool of grief.

David looked at me.  "You're crying."

"I'm not crying."

"Yes you are.  You've got water in your eyes."

"I do have water in my eyes.  I hurt for them."

You see, in that moment, I felt it all, the loss, the confusion, the pain, the anger, the love, the longing, the grief.  Because the woman lost was not just a hair stylist with coworkers and clients she had for years, but rather she was a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister, a cousin, a neighbor.  There are layers and layers of life lived, and layers and layers of grief to come.  So many will miss her.  So many will struggle with reconciling her death with what they know to be true, the very Presence of God in this world, and it's a tough process.  Because, really, when we think about it, what is grief all about to a believer?  It's the answering of the question, "Why didn't God let me keep her?"

I am not a believer in chance or accident.  I believe that in every moment of our lives, we are right where we are supposed to be.  I believe that if we have full faith in God, He will use every experience to pull us closer to Him.  I believe it so deeply in my bones that even in the midst of my current spiritual stagnancy, I know I was supposed to be there in that moment, to feel it in that place, and to hug a neck of someone that was hurting.  And I praise You, God, for pricking my heart and letting it pour out, for reminding me of Your Presence and Power and Purpose.

And I am reminded of a lovely Psalm.

I lift my eyes up to the hills - 
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
The Maker of heaven and earth. 

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