Trials

   "God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Mathew 5:4

  It's only lunchtime and the heat has driven me indoors. I spent a couple of hours in the garden deadheading, tying up the snow peas, and generally tidying up. It's enough. My heart has been called to write because my heart is grieving.

  My friend's mom passed away a couple of weeks ago. She had just turned 95 on Mother's day. While all who gathered to mark her passing celebrated that she had gone home to Jesus, her loved ones cannot help but grieve her absence.

  As people shared stories of how much she had been a part of their life, it gave me a far bigger picture of the woman I had never known. But what has stuck with me the most is her role as a prayer warrior. Everyone said at one time or another, Carol's prayers had blanketed their lives. Prayers of protection, direction, peace, healing...anything they needed prayer for and Carol was there, quietly beseeching God on their behalf.

  One story in particular touched my heart because it reminded me of my own grandmother. When someone would call Carol, needing prayer, she would immediately drop to her knees in the living room and pray. I remembered my grandmother reading her Bible, kneeling at the side of her bed. During the season of madness, it gave me comfort to think my grandmother had prayed for me even though she died when I was quite young. I am sure her prayers were about the life I hadn't yet lived.

  It's not something I've been very good about doing. While I frequently say I will pray for someone, it has rarely happened. God, forgive me for my negligence and callous disregard for their well being.

  

  I learned something over the last two weeks. I learned to lean on God even more because my friends are hurting. My abilities to ease their suffering are insufficient no matter how much I want to.

  And maybe that's why the prayers came. Constantly. Throughout the visitation, at the cemetery where my role as chauffeur enabled me to sit in the car and pray for the family as they laid their mom to rest. Prayers flowed during the service and afterwards to have God show me where I needed to be. I also prayed that He would keep me calm in the crowds, in the busyness, in the noise and unfamiliar environments. He did.

  My friend's son shared part of a letter his grandmother had written to him years ago. She wrote about her prayer life. She wrote about not always seeing the results of her prayers but she was okay with that. When God blessed her to witness the fruits of her efforts, she said it gave her an opportunity to express her deep gratitude for the knowing and the answered prayers. 

  This is her legacy. 

  And even though I am not family, Carol's legacy is the same as one my own grandmother left behind. It's only taken me fifty years to realize this. I wish to honour both these women by stepping into the gap their passing has left behind.