• 18Mar

    There he is.

    I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that someone else is keeping an eye on the kids too, as we play at the park.  He’s wearing one of his dark blue United shirts and his black jeans that I like so much.

    Then he stands up and it’s not him at all.  Uh oh!  I’ve got full responsibility.  Are all the kids all accounted for?  Have any of them wandered off?

    I can see him standing in the kitchen slicing some cheese for a snack while I clean furiously as we discuss some topic that’s got me all heated up. 

    I can see him sitting at the head of the table as we eat supper, lecturing on about some topic like how NASA needs to get their own funding rather than mooching off the government and then maybe they would start researching something worthwhile.

    I see him sitting out back at our house in WV that last week or two, playing with the wagon wheels (that he borrowed), and wanting to take the wheels off my lawnmower to try out his latest scheme.

    I can see his pleasure in my pride as I cheer him on while he’s chopping wood or cutting down a tree and putting it in just the right spot (without hitting the house).

    I can see his hands gripping the armrests of the van as he struggles with his desire to be in control as I drive home from shopping.

    I can see that passionate look in his eyes, when all the kids are in bed and I surprise him with something special.  I see the worried look as he reminds me of how to use the moped and then sends me off to a FYP night with the ladies.  I can see his intent look as he stares at his computer screen, oblivious to everything else, as he tries to work out a kink in his program.

    His hands, his eyes, his shoulders, . . . watching him move, watching him talk, seeing him sleeping in our bed, playing with the kids, driving the van, starting the fire, standing on a ladder, playing a video game, working at United, . . . .

    It’s all so vivid!  The memories are assaulting me today and I find myself bending under their crushing blow.  I’m crumpling like a paper bag in the hands of a toddler.  For a moment I am hopeless, lost in the grief, torn apart by the hurricane within.  Then God speaks and says “I am here” and resentfully I beat on His chest and say, “I don’t want you!!”  And then slump against Him in despair.  He lets me cry and I know that He will stay.  He will be there for me whether I want Him there or not.  He will not interfere if I choose to leave.  But He will stay right there and wait for me to come back to Him.  He will wait forever if need be.  And knowing that, all I can do is rest in His arms and wait for the storm to pass me by. 

    I can remember crying in Dan’s arms, too.

5 Comments to I See Him

  • I have to say that I love your last paragraph and last line statement. Especially the part about resentfully beating on God’s chest and saying, “I don’t want you!” In Christian circles I think that honesty with God is so missed. But know it is important to grow deeper in relationship with Him. I’m reminded of David, a man after God’s own heart and I think that is why he was called that – because he poured out his heart to God and laid bare his true feelings and thoughts. Thanks for your honesty Liisa- I know you are a woman near to God’s heart and that He delights in you.
    Jewel

  • It is so hard to have such bittersweet memories. Your descriptions were so vivid, I felt like I could see him too. Keep running to God as you have been, even when you don’t want to. He knows that you need Him now more than ever.

  • Oh, your honest words, your vivid descriptions, brings tears to my eyes……Thank You, Father, for not leaving us even when we desire someone more than You! Thank You for being with me in the midst of the hurricane of emotions in my aching heart.

    Thank you again, Liisa, for sharing your heart even when it is shattered and weary. By doing so you put into words the feelings others can’t explain. As I have read through your blog much tonight, two things stand out: You understand me without knowing me because Grief is your constant companion and you point your readers to God, your other constant, yet greater companion. I thank God for getting to know you through this blog.