The kitchen was very much the same.
Her chair remained in its place, cozy blanket draped over the back.
Her purse sat in a corner. Her personal favorite style shoes--slip on flats--were nearby.
And it felt like she would come walking down the hall at any moment and tell us to get out of her kitchen.
If you've experienced this kind of empty familiarity, you understand the adjustment that follows. The one that steals your breath and burns your throat. The one that makes you want to scream but instead you close your eyes in silence. You don't want to cry, yet you wish you could cry it all out and be done.
Once I adjusted, her kitchen felt like an old friend.
I touched the things she loved, the stuff of life that we surround ourselves with. Pictures, books, earrings, nail polish, and a hymnal. I scratched her fur-baby, "Molly, Molly," behind the ears and told her I knew it was hard.
Those of us who gathered there talked and laughed and worked.
And we accepted the fact that she would not ever walk down the hall again.
And as we reminisced, we reminded each other of her perfect existence with Jesus. The Hope of all who believe.
All the scriptures she read and the questions she asked about heaven are no longer mysteries. And if she could, she would not choose to walk this broken earth again.
She would say, "I'll see you when you get here!"
To all who loved her and all who never had the gift in life to know her--
I hope you know HIM. Jesus the Christ, the Savior of the world. The One who said "Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in Me..."
Believe and know, God is real.
People are born. People live. And people die.
And God made a way for us to know perfect peace and joy even as we long to be with those we love.
There is no longer an earthy home to "go home" to. That's okay. Buried in my heart are the memories of fudge and crocheted slippers, laughter and Judge Judy, bird feeders and fairy gardens.
Home is in my heart.
Thank you, Jesus, for saving my soul!
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