My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Death is Hard

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Death is hard.

Though so much a part of life, we never quite get used to it.

Our youthful, anticipating days,

dreams of El Dorado,

meld into the rhythm of responsible days lived in responsible ways, and

that end seems so far off unless

brought near by sudden interruptions.  And yet,

for us steadily moving in the direction of end, it doesn’t really hit home—

the concreteness of it—

until we hold it in our hands, watch its last escaping breath; and

it finally hits that all things truly do end.  And it’s hard.

There is no preparation, mental or spiritual, that can make loss feel anything other than

it is.

We must all walk through it.

Even with resurrection hope, the path to light is routed through dark and deep.

Others’ deaths are a sadness and a sighing, but we move on with our living

until

it is our own daughter, our father, our mother, our career, our dream, our health,

our love—

and the losses compound and would almost bury me if not for

hope.

My Father, when I am sad and afraid, let me not lose the thread that wraps around my broken heart and is somehow keeping me together.

*************

I Corinthians 15: 54-55:  When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”  “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”

 

 

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About apronheadlilly

wife and mother, musician, composer / poet, teacher, and observer of the world, flawed Christ-follower
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9 Responses to My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Death is Hard

  1. jmgoyder says:

    Absolutely wonderful words – feeling blessed by you!

  2. Kay says:

    Yes, this brought me to tears. My own mom’s passing (last May 30) is still so fresh in my mind and heart. Still think of things all the time that I want to call and tell her—and then I remember.

    • Tough days…It is hard to close that door on life. I guess we always lived as though they would be here forever. 😦

      • Kay says:

        I certainly thought that. I hoped she would be there when Randy and I would both be retired to Tucson, in 2019. Her own mom lived to be 95, so I just really thought it would be the same for her, but she passed away three days after her 86th birthday, just a bit more than three weeks after we learned she had leukemia. I know God’s plans are sovereign, but it still hurts so much, even though I know she’s enjoying heaven along with my dad.

  3. Kay says:

    P.S. I wish I had your gift of expressing myself in beautiful poetry. And your pictures are so moving, too. Here’s a hug as you suffer in your loss, too. <>

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