Time can be a cruel taskmaster. One hand of the timepiece stretching toward the riches of future joys and one holding tight to the memories of the past. I see it even in the décor of my own home. The Victorian stylishness of days gone by slowly replaced by African treasures, new technology grace our work spaces and beautiful gifts of paintings, quilts and furniture fill our rooms.
In all that shifting of time sits a lovely coleus plant and whimsical giraffe where a birdcage once reigned. I miss Sylvester’s little voice that brought so much joy and laughter to our lives. 36 years ago, he called to me from across a pet store floor. “Hedddddo There”. I fell in love immediately and never once regretted the moment I took him home. Oh he was precocious and ornery and sometimes hard to handle but we were partners in life. Through the good and bad, happy and sad we stuck together. We moved across states together, mourned the loss of Phil and Georgana while rejoicing in the delight Roy’s love brought to our home. We came to Christ together, watched Barney and sang every Frank Sinatra song we could remember. He sang with all his little might like he did everything. He was so proud to show off his tricks to everyone that came over. He loved little children and was tender while talking to them. He poo-pooed Alex and gave us the raspberries when he didn’t like something. He was his own personality. And spoiled rotten. But I didn’t care. He was my best friend, the child I never was able to have, my companion, our pride and joy. Roy & I are both grieving our loss.
There were few quiet times in our house! Now there are way too many. Ouch.
But that ticking hand; moving through seconds, minutes, hours and eventually days, takes away the immensity of pain and reminds me to look up as God so lovingly massages my grief yet again. His Grace is so sufficient, so amazing, so unrelenting. Africa looms ahead just 2 short weeks away. Products still need shipped, missionaries still require resource hunting and fundraising for more still ensues. Fall is in the air and with it comes my favorite season of the year. Crisp weather, ground-soaking rain and the promise of holidays.
This year will not look the same as most of my past life. But that is the mercy of Papa. Joy comes in the morning – a fresh, clean fragrance of what is to be. The air crackles with expectation. There is nothing holding us back. Nothing to keep our feet planted. Eden’s Song will flourish throughout the nations. Our hearts will heal; the place left void from Sylvester’s death will be open to more of God’s goodness and pleasure. Eyes, weary from stress, tears and mourning, will sparkle once again.