Fruit of the view

If I could obstruct the view, I would.
But now I am starting to think that would be unwise.

Sometimes daddy-pastor's phone rings in the evening.  He gestures for quiet, always.  Sometimes his gestures are combined with a pleading look towards me that says "this is REALLY serious, I need them to hush. Now."

Words like "surgery" or "I'm so sorry" or "funeral" may drift into the dining room.  Even the younger children notice a seriousness in the air, and in their (cute, pathetic) little ways they try to reign in their wild joy of living for just a moment.



The older children know.  They know somebody is having some kind of trouble, and they are ready.  "Should we bake them something?" the oldest one asks.  "Should we offer to babysit their kids?"  (haha, "we," I think to myself.)  "Is daddy going to have to go?" they wonder.  Another one immediately starts thinking of the pictures of comfort she will draw.

It is amazing to see it, this fruit.  It has become almost like a liturgy in this home.  And it would not be so, if we were not given so many opportunities to practice.  Someone is suffering.  Daddy works, prays.  Mommy prays, bakes, babysits.  The children see suffering- they pray- and then they try to do something or cook something.

The compassion of the Father pours down through their father and mother, to others and to them, and through them (even the children!)  to others.

If I stand in the way of a flood of sadness, might I also be standing in the way of the grace and work of God?

How can I block the view?

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

2 Corinthians 1:3-5
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Not long after I write a post like this, the phone rang last night for us.  My dad-in-law was in a horrible car accident yesterday.  He is in ICU. My husband is there with him and the rest of the family.

Today we take a different part in the liturgical dance, but the dance is the same.  The Words of promise have not changed.

God Himself is the same, though we are weak with sadness.

Weak and loved.


Thank you for your prayers.