a holy discontentment.

As of late, I have been struggling with discontentment. I don’t know when it began to creep up and rob my soul of joy, but it has. And, there’s not one area I can put my finger on, not one problem I can point to, as if to say, “Yes, this! This is the source of the unhappiness, the leech sucking joy out of my life!”

There is not one big thing. Instead, there are a thousand small things. Memories of friendships that have faded away, that I wish were different. Ministry goals and hopes and aspirations left unachieved. Living hundreds of miles away from family, in a community full of people to call my own…and yet missing those foothills and fall leaves and that family like no other. Loving where the Lord has placed me, but also wanting…more. To be able to use my gifts more. To not feel so stretched, all the time. Working full-time and doing ministry full-time in my “spare time” sometimes feels like drowning. There is no stopping place. There is no space to breathe.

And singleness. Realizing that singleness is a gift and a joy and a provision from the Lord for today – for this season, and for this place, in which I have no room for dating or a husband or children. But it is hard to celebrate with friends my age when they welcome another child into the world, as I wonder if I will ever be granted the same privilege. It is hard to watch girls much younger than me enter into engagement and marriage, and wonder if I will ever have that season in my life. It is not that I don’t want to celebrate with them, or that I don’t rejoice with them, because I do. Just, after so many celebrations and so many rejoicings for others, you begin to wonder if that time will ever come around for you.

And adulthood is not always what it seemed. I fear that I will never have the income to own my own house (in my singleness). Trying to save for emergencies feels like a treadmill – once I get the hang of the current speed, someone increases the speed setting and I fall on my face while I have to deal with something like a cracked windshield or my car insurance. The security that I always hoped for simply isn’t there.

But then again – security never was there.

I am thankful for this season of holy discontentment, these moments of wrestling and searching and doubt and pain and fear, because, in my longings, I am reminded that all I really have is the Lord. Perhaps that would be more difficult if I did have more money, or had family close by, or was married and had children. Perhaps I would look to those things to identify and fulfill me, when it is not the gift that gives meaning to life but rather the Giver of all good gifts.

So I am thankful for the ache and the longings and the dying hopes, because they remind me that the only thing permanent, the only thing that is sure – the only hope we stand in is the hope of Christ, the redeemer of our broken souls. Oh, how he is a redeemer to my broken soul.

On this fall day, far from home, far from where I thought I would be five years ago, and sometimes – feeling far from knowing what is next, and knowing why things happen the way they do – I trust in the sovereignty of our Father – that he brings holy discontentment to remind us of our need for him. That the only balm for the ache in my heart is the lordship of Jesus Christ, ruling and reigning. That the ache for home and security and family and a people point us ahead to what is coming – when we will be at home with the One who made us, in the place he is preparing for us, among his people, forever secure in him, in homes we will not buy and clothes we will not make, for eternity.


when we need community.

I think, all of my life, I have been longing for community. I think there are some desires that God gives us – because he knows those are things that can shape us for good, and for his glory. And maybe community is one of them.

In kindergarten, I remember asking all of the boys on the playground if they would marry me. I’m not really sure why I thought I should do that. The twenty-eight year old me sarcastically laughs as I remember the story. Some days I feel like that kid on the playground, and like everyone else on the playground is taken or not interested. But – that’s another post for another day.

But – maybe it’s not.

I’ve seen marriage at its worst. Now, in my adult life, I’ve also seen it at its best. Not to be glorified, or put on a pedestal, or made into an idol. I’ve seen the covenant made between two sinner-saints, to love and honor and cherish all the days of their lives. It’s a covenant that I’ve seen broken. One that I have not only seen broken, but one that I’ve watched the breaking happen, and I walked in the cracks and tried to help pick up the pieces of the brokenness. Even twelve years later, it still feels like we’re patching holes sometimes, and adding tape, and trying to heal from what seems like it will never not hurt.

But, I have also seen marriage at its best. And at its best, marriage is a picture of the gospel – in that you are fully known (or perhaps, as known as you might be by another human being) and fully loved, despite being fully known. The person you are married to knows your flaws and deepest fears. They know the sin that lurks so deeply, which you can hide from everyone else. And yet…you are loved. Despite knowing the ugliness and the sin and the depravity, another person has made a covenant with you, to love and to cherish you…even in the face of that brokenness. What a picture of the cross – that in our deepest sin, Christ knows us, and loves us. Despite all the mess, he finds us broken and beautiful.

I think this is what I long for in marriage. I want to have a family, and a home, and kids. Oh, but I also want to be known. It is a hard thing to go throughout the day and come home at night and feel like it’s only ever you inside your head, and to feel like there is no one else. My deepest fear is probably living in a world where I am alone. Where I am known only on the surface, and spoken to in passing, and left to sit in the silence at a house where I wish to hear the sound of kids playing and water running in the bathtub and the screams of a child who just stubbed his toe.

And this, this, is the beauty of Christian community. You see, while all of my life, maybe I thought I was looking for marriage (even from the playground days!)…but really, I think I have been looking for community. I even think that maybe God creates us for community. After all we see community displayed in the Trinity – the loving, giving eternality of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

And so, Birmingham will always be many things. But to me, when I think back on this city and this time, I will think about community. About being known and being loved. You see, to be known is one thing. To be known and loved is a much deeper thing. In these years (especially the last two years), I have begun to understand what it means to be known and to be loved, despite the knowing. To be honest and transparent with people who care for you deeply. To show them the hard and broken places. To confess sin – and call it sin – and have a dear friend push you back to the cross. To have people who know my story and know the hurt and feel the pain – but who also can point me forward to the day coming when there will be no more pain, because my story is only a tiny part of a much larger Story.

And this is where I have to preach – if there’s room for me to do that – and to say that community is important for single people for this reason, and it’s important for married people. Married friends – let your single friends into your lives. Let them see the chaos and beauty and pandemonium of trying to put a toddler in bed while cleaning the kitchen, finishing the laundry, and packing lunches. And single friends – have friends who are single and who are married. Who are older than you and younger than you. I think we learn so much from each other when we are in different stages of life. And I think it helps tame the monster of envy when we see the gift of marriage (or singleness) and are able to see the hard parts alongside the good ones. For some married people, singleness might seem like a position you could envy (because no one ever talks about the nights they binge-watched Netflix on their couch by themselves, feeling totally alone). We learn from each other. We preach the gospel to one another in all kinds of ways, at all different stages. We all need each other.

And as for me, what I really needed all along was community. It took me a while to figure that out. (Although, if there was ever a boy who loved Jesus and theology and Harry Potter and the Avett Brothers, I wouldn’t say no to the marital type of community either. But yet again, that’s another blog post for another day…).

when there is a resurrection.

Today we celebrate the sweet reminder that Christ came, and suffered, and died. And we celebrate the truth that not only did he suffer, and die, but he was also raised on the third day. Raised to life. Not resuscitated or awoken from a deep sleep – but raised from death. It’s a joyful day.

As I celebrate this good news, I can’t help but think of all the small things that give us a small glimpse of the resurrecting work God is doing. Because, the truth of the matter is that Christ is the first fruits of the resurrection – that because he was raised, and he defeated death, we also experience victory. We too will one day be raised to new life and given new bodies. We will grasp hold of the imperishable hope that has been kept in heaven for us. Our faith will be made sight. I wrestle with what that even means, but in my wrestling, I know those truths are filled with more hope and joy than I could ever imagine.

But it’s true that, over the last year, the Lord given me opportunities to see little glimpses of his resurrecting work and power. That, as I look around me, I can see that he is working and always making something new out of what I think is dead. I see it in the spring blossoms I run by each morning. The trees are no longer dead but filled with buds, which will produce flowers and fruit and greenery. Winter will not last forever. Spring comes, and with it comes new life. I wonder if God prepared the seasons so that we would always have a small glimpse, a tiny glance, of his resurrection power at work. Just as the leaves in the fall die, and are so beautiful as they come to the end of their life, so we trust in a Savior who died, and his sacrifice was beautiful. But when spring comes, when the first daffodils begin to shoot up from the ground – we are reminded of the promise of the resurrection and the hope of new life.

I’m grateful that we see this truth in nature, but I’m also thankful to see it in situation after situation in my own life. I think back to my world two years ago, as I prepared to graduate from Beeson. I mourned what was to be lost. Community and classmates and friendship and life and routine. I grieved because it felt like something in me was dying. The loss of graduation seemed real – like I was saying goodbye to a person.

All of my life, I have been longing for community, even before I could put those longings into words. And what I began to know as community through my time at Beeson fell apart when people moved and things changed and the world was different. And yet I can see, two years later, the Lord working out his purposes for good. I think about the friends who are family through church, and the Sunday School class I get to teach and love, and the small group of girls I’ve had the privilege of “living life” with over the last seven months, and I can see that God redeems our heartbreaks and brings new life to what we think is dead.

I think back to past relationships and dreams that have died. To what never started and what ended too quickly, and to the heartbreak of friendships that faded. To my dreams and desires of being somewhere and doing something else, and I look at where the Lord has me, and how he is working – and, probably more importantly – what he is teaching me about himself. And it makes me grateful that those dreams could die so that I might know the truth of gospel in a more deeper and intimate way. To know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge.

It’s twilight in Crestwood. It’s a cloudy night, but you can just barely see the pink tinge of the sky, hidden by the dark clouds. Every sunset to me is a picture of his faithfulness. Every sunrise a picture of him bringing new life. I don’t say all of these things with ease. These past two years have been hard. They have been painful. They have been full of sorrow – over dreams deferred and lives lost and friends who are suffering and sickness and illness and heartbreak. Life is not without grief.

Yet, for those who trust in Christ, there is more to life than meets the eye – and more to life than what this world has to offer. Because we trust in God, who loved us enough to send Christ to die for us, we trust in his goodness and providence, even when we cannot see his face. We trust that he works all things for his glory and our good. And we trust in the hope of the resurrection – that earth really does have no sorrow that heaven can heal. I’m thankful, these days, to see small glimpses of this truth.

I’m thankful that, one day, we will see clearly – in our resurrected bodies.

I’m thankful that this is not the end, just as death and burial were not the end for Christ. For since he was raised to life, we will also be raised to life.

And I’m thankful that there is a resurrection.

the sixth anniversary of the obligatory birthday blog

This is the annual list of “things Amy wants for her birthday.” Some of them are always, well, jokes. And some of them are serious. And some of them are jokes, but if you really wanted to gift those to me for my birthday, that would be seriously awesome. But really, you don’t have to get me anything for my birthday – just your presence and friendship and the fact that you’re spending 92.7 seconds reading my blog is enough. But, if you insist…here are some ideas:

good music
I’ve been listening to a lot of Andrew Peterson on Spotify these days, but realized that I really don’t own a lot of his music, except for what he’s released on Noisetrade. I’d really love his newest album, “After All These Years” (and, or, really, any of his albums – I think the only one I have is “Light for the Lost Boy.”) Also, if you could make the Avett Brothers come to Birmingham or Tuscaloosa in 2015, that would be great.

peanut butter
A year’s worth of White Chocolate Wonderful Peanut Butter from Peanut Butter & Company, to be exact.

good words
There are always a million books I am waiting to read. Perhaps that’s the joy of being finished with school, finally. Although working full-time keeps me from devouring books, I still have half a shelf of books I received in 2014 that I’m still intending to read….but that doesn’t mean it would bother me to add a few to the list. I’d love to check out Graham Cole’s He Who Gives Life: The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit. Everybody needs a better understanding of the Holy Spirit – and, well, why not support my seminary professor and neighbor? I’m also waiting with anticipation to read Carolyn Custis James’s new book, Half the Church: Reclaiming God’s Global Vision for Women, so pre-orders are always appreciated.

a fancy stamper sealer thing (so I can keep up with my good words)
I’ve always wanted a fancy book stamp – the kind that’s like a seal. Or an address stamp. Or really any kind of stamp in general.

taco mama
Specifically, what I want is for taco mama to be open on Sundays, so that I never have to decide where to eat on Sundays ever again.

an invention to keep bananas green
Because I hate bananas that are yellow. And I really hate it when they have brown spots.

a trip somewhere fun
Perhaps to England. Or, to New England. Or, to Harry Potter World, where I can pretend to be English. Or, you could just give me Harry Potter related things, although I do already own all of the books…and the movies…and a glass from Hogwarts. But, I don’t have a Harry Potter coffee mug!

running sorts of things
One day I became a runner, apparently. Or maybe a jogger. That’s probably a better word for it. Anyways – things one uses while running would be helpful – such as, water bottles that you can hold while you’re running…I mean, jogging (the fancy ones with a strap on them), or armband cases that would actually fit a phone with a LifeProof case, or headbands, or music (see above), or maybe just a cheering section for me when…if…I attempt to run a 10k on my birthday.

a new mirror
I’ve been wanting a new mirror for my bedroom for, well, a long time. I like wooden mirrors, and silver mirrors, and gold mirrors (which probably fits better with my room, anyways), and vintage looking mirrors, and antique mirrors…pretty much, you get idea.

a paleo birthday cake
I started eating paleo a while back. Well, actually, last summer. I relapsed in the fall but have been back on track and doing pretty well since the new year begin. I just feel better without all the carbs (I do have some dairy now and then). It does come to my attention, however, that this could make the whole birthday cake thing a little difficult this year, so if you’d like to find a way to get me an awesome paleo birthday cake that doesn’t taste terrible, that’d be awesome. I really like hummingbird cakes, and one of my favorite paleo bloggers has a recipe for one (hint, hint…) – http://paleomg.com/easyrecipe-print/6625-0/

snow Last year, there were two good snows in Birmingham. Except one of them happened to close down the entire city and strand almost everyone at their workplaces, at random peoples’ homes, in their cars…so this year, I’d like one good, pretty snow. Enough snow to not have to go to work. But not enough snow to disrupt everyone’s lives, to where I could play in the snow and make snow angels…and then it would be gone the next day. I don’t think gifts of “Snow in a Can” will count for this one, but kudos for the creativity!

for the Gamecocks’ football defense to remarkably improve in the fall
This is probably self-explanatory.

quality time
Really, for my birthday, the best gift is to be with people I love. Perhaps on a trip, or eating at Taco Mama, or watching Harry Potter. Or while jogging. Or while eating green bananas or paleo Hummingbird Cake. But really, that’s what I want!

I hope you all know that this blog is totally for laughs. But, if you happen to have some of the gifts just sitting around your house (like a Harry Potter mug), just send them on my way, via owl, of course. Although, you might want to coordinate who sends which gift, because I probably don’t need 28 Harry Potter mugs. I mean…really 🙂

for when we celebrate and mourn.

I haven’t put pen to paper, or fingers to the keyboard, in a long time.

Oh, I’ve written plenty – plenty of emails and newsletter articles and lessons for Sunday and thoughts for small group. But, in what writing is for me…I haven’t written. And – I’m not sure why.

Sometimes, it is exhausting to formulate more words when you’ve been doing that all day. And sometimes, it is exhausting to have to think about the words. And sometimes, it is even exhausting to try to put to words the feelings in your soul – because you know that, well, I feel all the feelings. Deeply.

But tonight I’m sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, by the window. It’s a cloudy evening but I can just barely see the pink of the sunset, even still. And I’m drinking peppermint tea and wondering when my sinus infection will go away, and desperately missing the feeling of feet to pavement. Perhaps running became the new writing for me. (Don’t worry, running – I’ll be back later this week when I can breathe through both nostrils again.)

I am learning that, sometimes, we celebrate and mourn simultaneously. Perhaps this will be a theme in 2015 for me.

As I think back over the last six months, I celebrate the community that the Lord continues to put together in my life. And how he makes room and provision for such community – to live life with single and married ladies, and spend time in Scripture together, and pray together. It has brought the kind of joy to my heart that you don’t realize is missing until it is there. It has been such a hard and beautiful and lovely picture of his faithfulness to work in the midst of our brokenness.

And the reason that I have time and space and room for this kind of ministry in my life is because I am single.

I used to come back to this over and over again. I don’t think about it as much these days, until the wedding invitations come and the pictures of friends’ first babies on Instagram and engagement shoots and I begin to wonder what is next in my own life. And, maybe it’s better to say – I begin to wonder if those things will ever happen for me. I think for a long time that I wrestled with the idea of marriage and almost worshipped it – thinking that my own marriage could erase all the sad places from my childhood. I’ve lived with those demons for long enough, though, to know that an imperfect thing like marriage – even a good one – can never make those hurts go away. And that an imperfect thing like marriage – even a good marriage – is only a gift from the Giver, the one who truly deserves our worship.

I am thankful that I’ve taken marriage off the pedestal. But it doesn’t mean that, there are some days when the ache in my heart is real – for family and for children and to be a wife and to have a person. The single life can be a lonely one.

Yet even in those moments – I am reminded of the sunset tonight, that hides just behind the clouds. You see, in the midst of my loneliness and singleness, I also have the opportunity to experience family – just in a different way. These girls who I have come to love over the last six months – they are family. And these Mission Friends I play with and sing with and dance with each Wednesday night – they are family. These people i serve students with – and even these students – they are family. And these married friends, who let me come in and be a part of their lives and open their homes and worlds to me – they are family too. We find family in the most unusual spaces and they help the aches. But sometimes, I need the aches to point me back to him – to remind me of God’s goodness and sovereignty and promises – that he is faithful to keep the promises he makes, and that many of the things which cause me heartache are so very temporary. And to remind me, just in case I’ve forgotten, that what I really need is him.

And so tonight, I give thanks for my singleness – that he creates time and space for ministry and others and friendships and familyships. And that he is faithful – even in the clouds, I can see the faintest pinks from the sunset. He is faithful.

far as the curse is found.

Christmas is beautiful for some people and hard for others.

For me, sometimes it depends on the day. Or the week. Or the year.

I think all the time about the fallenness of the world. Part of the reason I do that is because I am so incredibly fallen. I am depraved and dark and sinful and twisted, and without the redeeming hope of Christ and his transforming power at work in my heart through the Holy Spirit – I have no idea where I would be.

And I also think about it because, frankly, sometimes I look around and all I can see are darkness and fallenness and brokenness. And it is most evident in my life and in my family.

When I think back on past Christmases, there have been few that have not been affected by death or divorce. When both sets of your grandparents have been divorced and remarried, and your parents divorced and both remarried (and one was left again, after twelve years of marriage), it has a catastrophic affect on how you view marriage and family and sometimes even God as Father. From the time I was a child, I have never known a Christmas untouched by divorce. It’s the reason I went to four sets of grandparents’ homes over Christmas, instead of two. It’s the reason that Santa visited two houses, instead of one. Now, as a kid, getting twice as much stuff is nice – but looking back, I probably would have traded the extra presents for a functional family.

I have never known a Christmas untouched by divorce. And there is no area of my life untouched by divorce. Now, I know there are plenty of people who can say that their parents are divorced. But the fractures and pains and wounds go back further than just my parents. Infidelity and abuse and sadness and mistrust and fear on both sides, in so many generations. I remember the first time I did a “genealogical map” in seminary and I remember seeing all of the broken and fragmented lines, representing broken marriages. My classmates had one or two on their maps. I had four – just from my grandparents and my parents. Nothing is left that is not broken in some way.

And, nothing is left untouched by death. After my mom’s second divorce, I remember wondering if there would ever be Christmas traditions ever again. Losing a family member – and that family member’s family – and half of your Christmas traditions from that separation – can really have an effect on how you look at the holidays. So we rebuilt traditions. We did new things, until they felt like old things, until we had almost forgotten what the old things were. But even without divorce, traditions and normalcy are touched by death. Grandparents aging, and getting older, and eventually moving into retirement homes, and passing away. Or, grandparents being diagnosed with cancer and dying less than six months later. Or mothers or brothers or sisters dying in car wrecks – one minute laughing and alive, and the next, gone. Maybe in your life, things have been left untouched by divorce – but death is the great reconciler, the pain we all feel.

It’s all a metaphor for sin, I think. Our world is so fallen and so broken. We see that in marriages that end and vows that are broken. And we see that in people. And in ourselves. Nothing has escaped. Everything is touched and affected and cursed by the entry of sin into the world. Darkness hovered over the face of the earth. Darkness touched everything in sight. Women cramp and feel pain during “that time” each month. Their desire is for their husbands, who will rule over them. The relationship between man and woman is broken. Man will toil over his work, for nothing. And we see it in death. From dust you have come, and to dust you will return. It’s all touched, it’s all tainted.

And this is the good news and the hope of the gospel that we have. The hope that is clearly seen at Christmas. Though the curse came, and touched us all, there is a hope that is coming. Or rather, that came. Christ came as a child, fully God and fully man, to reconcile us to the Father. Despite our sin and rebellion and shame, he entered into the world and came as our redeemer. To bring us back to the Father. But to also right the wrongs of sin. Sally Lloyd-Jones says that one day, everything sad will come untrue. The hope we have is not just that he came, but that he’s coming again – to rule and to reign, and to forever defeat the powers of darkness. It is the hope we have when we sing, “He comes to make his blessings flow, far as the curse is found.”

Yes – as far as the curse is found, as deep as it touches, in the pains and sorrows and heartaches of life – in the places left by divorce and mistrust and abuse and goodbyes and death and disease and betrayal and our own sinful inclinations – his blood goes further still. And it heals, and redeems, and his spirit works, for his glory and for our good.

This is the hope that I hold to at Christmas, when the waiting seems hard, and when everything is touched by heartache and sorrow. That he came, so that we could know him – and that we are fully known and loved by him, despite our sin. And that, because he came, we have hope. Hope in the face of divorce, and sadness, and heartache, and death – and hope that this is not the end. That he is redeeming and working – as far as the curse is found.

Even, where the curse is found.

This, this is joy to the world. Even when I cannot see it or feel it.

the melody of running.

My feet are an instrument, pounding out the same rhythm against the dark pavement at 6:30 a.m. every morning. Around Swallow, over to Mountaindale, and further down, until I’m back up Warren and finishing the end of the route. Further up and further in, so they say, just as the sun crests over the hills and the first signs of life appear in the neighborhood.

I’ve been running for thirteen months now. I could say just a year, but really, thirteen months is more precise. Because it’s what happened fourteen months ago that put my feet to pavement. It’s funny how you maybe never get over death. That there could still be moments where I think about doing something with my grandmother, or telling her something, where – for just a split second – I smile, and then, the breath is knocked out of me again.

It is not that I don’t hope in the resurrection, because I do. I know that she is with Jesus. But the mourning and the going on and the living life – and the thinking ahead to more deaths and more dying and more pain – is hard. The kind of hard that sometimes, only feet to pavement can remedy. Running until you can’t feel the sadness anymore.

And thirteen months ago, just when the world was tilting back on its axis again, everything shifted. Hours of interstate produced a fall weekend in a city and heartache of the hardest kind. And hearing his words and learning her name and seeing the ring produce the same kind of “knock the wind out of me” result as remembering my grandma’s death. Not as severe, not as profound, but still.

With the first, I think, it is death of idealism. Of a hope that life will be easy and free of pain. Smashing into the reality that life is simply hard. That there is death and sickness and grief and pain. Lost babies and woeful genetic test results and missionaries killed and children starving and women beaten and people getting old and bones breaking, and I wonder when it will all end.

And in the second, maybe, it is death to a hope and a dream, and maybe even a dream within a dream. It seems as if everyone is getting married. It seems as if they are all moving on, to their nice houses and new cars and spouses and kids and comfortable jobs. And I am left standing and have no idea what is next, or who is next, or if I will ever not be alone. It is death to a friendship that I thought just maybe could be more, with someone who I thought could know me. Who thought my jokes were funny and my insights were helpful, and who really cared about what I was thinking when I was silent. And it is death to all the other boys who were before.

And as I round the bend, onto the third mile, I remember what people say – that there are lots of people who meet their spouses later in life. That there are plenty of guys out there. And, there’s my favorite adage, the one about being really content in Christ – and that only then will you find a husband. I think all of these things are kind of true in their own respects. But I want to want Christ – solely for the purpose of wanting him. Not because contentment in him is a means to an end, but because it is the end. Because at the end of the day – I may find myself content in him and single on this earth for the rest of my days. And I want for that to be…enough.

And so maybe I grieve in the middle for death, for death of those I love, but also for the death of dreams I forgot that I had within me. The feeling of longing it is to be in a room of women your age, and to be the only one who is childless. The feeling of fear that comes over you when you think about what the days ahead will look like. The sense of loneliness and aching and wanting for family and for people to be your people.

These things too have to die. And they don’t die a quick death like my grandma, but a slow death, day after day. And maybe they will never die completely on this earth. It is the dying to self that is sanctifying. Christ in us.

And so my feet bound against the pavement the rhythm that he never leaves and he never forsakes, no matter how I might feel this morning. That he is always faithful to the promises he makes. And that even if I am single for the rest of my days, with no child, and no place or name or family of my own…he is still good. It is the song I sing as I rush past the leaves that are so beautiful, and so dying. That he could make something dying so beautiful.

It is the truth caught up in my heart even as I grieve and mourn for what was good and past and is gone. It is the melody of the resurrection and that he is making all things new – even this.

Especially this.