Seasons of Life

Last week my siblings and I joined a group of people no one connects with joyfully.

We said "see you later" to our mom.

Now we find ourselves without the glue that held the family together, or so it feels.

We are blessed to have so many friends reach out with prayer and words of encouragement. Friends, who know the feeling whether one month or twenty years past, shed tears with us.

Even as I already forget she's no longer here and begin to push "Momma" on my cell, I am drawn to remember her in a way that pushes me forward. She wouldn't want me to stall out now.

 I remember:

Her beautiful hands and pretty painted nails.
Her garden and flower beds that grew whatever she chose to plant.
What remained of her left pinky finger from an accident as a child.
Her laughter.
Her stubborn will that never quit.
The meals she cooked with love, sometimes making something out of almost nothing.
The way she disliked having someone care for her because she was always the one taking care.
Her beautiful handwriting.
Molly, her furbaby.
Her gratitude.
Her love.
Her pride in her kids, grandkids, and great grandkids.

And her love for Jesus. Even when she didn't understand or like what was going on in life, she trusted God and wasn't afraid to say it.

I'll admit, I hate this season of life. I want to dig my heals in and say, "I'm not gonna do it!"

But this season comes to all of us. So, I suppose I will have my moments when I am reduced to a puddle, and then I will get up and do the day.

I will choose to let my granddaughter paint my nails.
I will laugh at silly things and cook memorable meals for my family.
I will draw on the "never quit" DNA.

And I will love my Jesus.