Five years

Like a mountain stream, the days move on–sometimes trickling and sometimes gushing, but always flowing. How is it five years since we said goodbye to Marissa?

They say that grief is love with no place to go, and it is exactly that. A full heart with no release. Like always carrying a brimming cup of water and knowing you can never put it down.

God has taught me how to carry it, and it spills out less frequently now. It is filled with many things–doubt and tears and sorrow. But He has faithfully added His mercies. Acceptance and peace and hope. Joy in knowing Him and His ways.

Grace upon grace. And an understanding.

I am meant to bear this cup. It is mine. I am equipped to carry it. This is my story, written for me. This is my work, my purpose, a way to glorify God.

I can imagine a scene where Marissa gives her cup to Jesus–all bitter pain and sorrow at once removed and its contents only good. She is not sorry that she has carried it. She is grateful for His sweetening of every drop.

On this day when we remember her leaving, the sorrow presses in. I look at pictures and recall her journey. I miss her spunk and her laughter and all her ways. I miss knowing her and having her near.

I let the mourning rise.

It doesn’t surprise or disappoint God that we still grieve. He meant for us to love her deeply, and He meant for her going to change us.

And I know she would tell me to keep walking and trusting and hoping.

That every drop added to my cup is purposeful and kind.

I know she would tell me to carry it with joy.

For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:18

Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Romans 5:2