January 4, 2013.
My son died.
The next days plummeted me into depths of grief and excruciating pain. Parts of me broke that I didn’t know existed. My body ached with loss.
Today I will visit my suffering again. I will remember it. I will remember the loss. I will remember death. I will remember the nauseating sadness. But I will also remember that my extreme suffering was met with equal and surpassing goodness.
I will remember that Jesus came to me in deeper, more intimate and personal ways than I have ever experience before. I will remember that he shone light, with precision accuracy, into every crack of my broken heart. I will remember that he came to me in song. He came to me in my worship. He came to me in the body of Christ. Today I will remember that.
Today I remember the nurses who held me, sheriff’s deputy who spoke gently to me. The hospital staff that accommodated a flood of people who met us at the ER. I remember every hug and tear that was shed with me that night. I remember the offerings laid at my feet.
I remember the friends who drove cross country to stand with us and in the gap for us. I remember the friends who made that possible. I remember the friends who immediately began collecting money so that we would not have to be concerned with material things. I remember the friends who came, with five children in tow, to bring the presence of the Spirit to us. I remember the neighbors who met me in the morning with essentials and food at my front door.
I remember my church, who without reservation, climbed into the pit with me. They served me as only Jesus himself would do. I remember the next days were filled with a God-sized outpouring of comfort.
I remember the words of an unchanging, unfaltering God spoken to deliver hope. I remember the floods of people who came to offer whatever they had to give, who came to carry whatever portion of the burden they could lift. I remember the ones who worshiped with us. I remember the pastoral staff of a local church who stood for 3 hours during the memorial service. I remember the police officer who said it was his honor to direct traffic. I remember the people who served food at no cost for all the people. I remember the ones who donated the facility for our use.
I remember the suffering. But oh do I remember the blessings.
I remember I never knew I loved Jesus so much. I remember I never understood the Father’s sacrifice so much. And I remember I never felt the comfort of the Holy Spirit so much.
I remember no one individual has ever drawn me closer to the heart of my Savior. Until we meet again…
Azaiah Stone 11-2-12 to 1-4-13 MY STRENGTH IS YAHWEH