Lean

 My third daughter leans into my, pressing her tear soaked cheek into my shoulder. I hold her, rubbing the small of her back. Lord, who do I lean on?  I ask silently, unsure of how to be the strong one for each of my hurting kids when I myself am hurting. When we are called to be the comforter, the one who bandages up cuts, rushes kids to the emergency room when they've broken a bone and tries to figure out why a laptop won't work. 

I am broken inside, and I am watching brokenness unfold in the beautiful, messy emotions of my daughter. It is like looking in a mirror. And I find that despite all of my experiences with emotions, I have so little wisdom to speak into her hurting heart. Is it enough to hold her, Lord? I just want to be held. 

Minutes go by and her hiccups turn to punctuated breathing, which calms to a quiet and she is still buried in my neck and holding me tightly around my waist. It's not time to let go. Hold on until she lets go. Finally, she raises her head. All that comes to mind sounds cliche as I let the words go, "Tomorrow is a new day. The sun will shine and things will look different." She blinks chocolate brown eyes at me, and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. A smile. And then her eyes soften, gentle and calmed. My girl is back. 

We are on day three and the sadness is raw. Weekends are hard because we have so much time, and we all feel his absence more palpably when we are remembering that weekends are for watching funny YouTube videos about science, nature, cute animals, and for tickling, making faces and bumping hips when you walk by. They are for long dog walks in the forest and getting takeout. It's not the same, and that empty space, the empty chair never sits well. 

Lord, you must have something pretty special for us, if its better than us being together.  That's the best I can do for now. I'm reaching towards wholehearted trust, confident hope, contented love. I need you to point me in the right direction, Lord.