Back Porch Wisdom

She sits on my back porch. 
The porch we are so grateful to have. 

We gather together for a bridal shower. 

For one of the younger generation. 

I visit with a beautiful woman. 
Decades ahead of me in age and wisdom.

Decades ahead of me in grieving. 

All the years I have known her. 

She has spoken little of her grief. 

She has laughed and shared stories. 

But the raw. 

I never saw. 

Until she sits on my porch. 
9 decades of living. 

She grabs my hand with an urgency. 

Her gaze does not meet mine. 

She says. 

"How are you."

And I know. 

I know what she is asking. 

She is reaching deep to the place that only mommy's whose babies 
are the way of the earth can know. 

She turns to look me full in the face. 

She says in haltering words.

They don't understand, you know. 
Unless they have walked the path. 

They just can't.

 She gives my hand a squeeze. 

The moment has passed. 

This dear soul. 

Understands. 

Her strength;

Imparted to my ache. 

She knows the day to day. 

That no one sees. 

The alone grief. 

Where the guttural cry still longs to be released. 

She gets the raw. 

The sod holds her son and her beloved. 

The encounter was brief. 

Quiet. 

I still feel her squeeze on my hand. 

And I savor the moment. 

The gift. 

Time marches on. 

The routines for others set in motion. 

While I still feel somewhat left behind. 

Even with promises of hope. 

Even when moments of joy rise forth. 

The ache still lingers. 

The missing real. 

And so I treasure the acknowledgement from one so wise. 

I look to her life as strength to press on. 

I remember to look beneath the surface. 

Because the ache, may not be seen. 

We never know when we may minister to an aching soul. 
May we all have grace to listen. 
Eyes to see. 
Wisdom to seek the needs. 

When we die to ourselves. 
Keep our focus on the One who is able to see. 
We become more like him. 
The urgency to live life, on life becomes more important. 

Galatians 2:20
I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, 
but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, 
I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

So grab someone's hand today. 
Look into their eyes. 
Breathe life into an aching soul. 
Rejoice with one who rejoices. 

Just be there. 
Grab a cup of coffee and sit on the back porch. 
Show up.