Making Soup, Grief and Faithful God

I strive for normalcy.
I cook the ground beef.
I make soup.
My farmer loves soup, and I don't make it enough.
The smells permeate the air.
The warmth eleveates the chill.
Soup will be good today.

I walk down cellar to put away some groceries.
Out of the corner of my eye,

I see his barn coat.

I linger there.
The familiar companion of grief awakes.
I swallow hard. 

I reach in the pockets hoping to find something. 

Something to connect me to him.

So many mornings in that coat.
I groan, how can this be?
I am so powerless to change it.
Everything so final.

Never again.
Oh how I want to hear his voice.
See his lop sided smile.
The missing is so overpowering at times.
I want to fall to my knees.
I want to dissolve in a mess on the floor.
But I just stand there.

After a few moments.

I turn off the light and head up the stairs.

The sun is shining. . .again.

A gift this fall.

I sit outside and read the Word. 

I feel the sun. 

I feel.

It's been a long time. 

I have felt numb for so long. 

I breathe deep. 

One step at a time out of this deep chasm of grief.

Again, I lift my hands to believe again. 

You are my refuge, you are my strength.

And as we continue to live without Elijah,

as we wait to see treatment options for my farmer,

we will let faith arise. 

 We will seek joy.

We will remember He is Faithful God forever. . .