Tomorrow marks one month since my husband died. Christmas happened. A week in Texas without him happened. A memorial service planned and stressed over, now done. None of this has been like I expected. I expected a sharpness. I expected something cruel and vicious. Instead, there is a heaviness, like an elephant sitting on my chest. And there is fog. I am not the brightest light in the harbor, but I now find myself deep in a misty haze. I struggle to concentrate and to pay attention. I make a lot of wrong turns and I forget where I'm going for a moment. U-Turns are my friends. I can't find my Bible since the memorial service, going on day 5 now. It must be here somewhere, hidden by all this mist. I used to love fog. I think I still do.
I read Isaiah 6 today (online, not in my Bible). It begins with death. "In the year of King Uzziah's death," it says. Ok, I'm in. In the year that the king who reigned for 50+ years died, it says. In the year that the most influential king since Solomon died, it says.
In the year that everything went to hell in a hand basket,
Isaiah saw the Lord.
And some other eyeball-popping, heart-pounding, terrifyingly beautiful things showed up too.
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, lofty and exalted, with the train of His robe filling the temple. Seraphim stood above Him, each having six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called out to another and said,
“Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord of hosts, The whole earth is full of His glory.”
And the foundations of the thresholds trembled at the voice of him who called out, while the temple was filling with smoke.
And there's smoke (fog), too! A friend gave me some good advice today.
This is a sacred time.
A holy time.
Don't miss it.
Don't sleep through it.
Not all mountain top experiences are happy. Some are sad.
The week that Marcus died, there was an excruciatingly beautiful sunset. There was a shooting star. There were friends and family who drew near.