Spring has come to the Ozarks – at least in some ways. Today was moderately cold–31 degrees–and it only warmed to near 50. That’s quite a bit different from last week’s summer-like afternoon temperatures of 80 degrees. I love the spring and the new life it brings.
My daffodils (Narcissus) make me smile every time I look out the kitchen window. They are a beautiful part of God’s creation. I was surprised to learn a couple of weeks ago that because of cultivation and crossbreeding, there are now more than 26,000 varieties among the 36 species. A friend gave me a few bulbs about 20 years ago and now I have hundreds throughout my yard, since they multiply like rabbits.
Just this week I saw a beautiful photo (not the one I’ve included) of Icelandic horses. Not one of the entire herd was exactly the same. The variety made me think of how God has made all of us different.
As I think about the difference in God’s creation, I know He enjoys color and variety. Right now, my feeders are hosting eight cardinals. These beautiful red birds bring me joy. One lonely robin adds a splash of orange.
God is a God of variety in every way. Each of us has individual traits that no one else has. As human beings, we sometimes make the mistake of wanting people and situations to be similar. Do you remember your teenage years when conformity was expected? I’m glad those years are over.
As widows, all our life stories are different, and each of us has processed through grief differently. I recently met a new widow who said she’s a private person and would not appreciate sharing about her life in a group setting. Other widows find great comfort in sharing with others. Crying for some brings relief from life’s stresses; others choose running, taking a walk, reading or watching TV.
In Samuel 1, Hannah, who was not a widow but was extremely sad and depressed, wept intensely as she prayed. Her lips moved but no sound came from her mouth (I Samuel 1:13). It was so different from how most people prayed that Eli, the High Priest, thought she was drunk. I believe Eli knew very little about praying and even less about women.
It’s near the anniversary of my husband’s homegoing 28 years ago. Several weeks after his death when things settled down, I felt as if a big burden had lifted because he had been ill for many years and his care was becoming increasingly difficult. But after all these years, I still miss our conversations and the feeling of knowing that someone appreciated my coming home.
Your reaction to grief does not have to mirror that of your friend’s. How you prioritize your time and energy into the healing process is of your choosing. Our most important pathway to healing comes through a vibrant relationship with a caring God and a friend or two who will put up with our idiosyncrasies.
walkingforward 