In college, we spent a lot of time lying on beds talking. I know, I know. We were Christian college kids. We worked through life right there in our dorm rooms instead of at the bars.
One particular late-night conversation will forever stay with me. The one where we realized we would be attending funerals for each others’ parents. There was something deep and raw in the silent recognition of what we would face together.
And I’m not ready. Dear God, we’re not ready. We’re too young. Our parents are too young. We can’t do this yet, please.
There are no words for this. Today I leaned my head against a bathroom stall (while radioing for back-up to clean-up smeared poop–keeping it real at Day Camps) and thought how unfair it was that my chaos was still going on, while my dear friends’ had stopped suddenly.
What I pray, over and over, while I keep moving and silently grieving are the words of my favorite hymn. Bring peace like a river, Dear God. Let it sink deep down inside so that even so, my friends may feel Your Presence in their souls.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul.
Please keep my friends Matt & Katy and Brandon & Jenny Casburn in your prayers after the sudden loss of Matt and Brandon’s mom today.