Today I have the privilege of sharing a story about my dear friend Lucille. You can read part of it below, and the rest on (in)courage, a daily devotional that’s been a huge source of strength to me over the last few years.
Though Lucille no longer physically holds my hand in hers, she left me with words that hold my heart. I think of her daily, and am so grateful for the tremendous impact she and her husband have had on my life.
During our last visit, I remember wanting so much to capture every moment. Hold on to it, preserve it, and say the just right thing that would tell her how much she meant to me, how much I treasured her, and how much impact she’d had. But what words do we have that matter, when Jesus is but a moment away? For in spite of her pain, her ready posture and radiant eyes gave weighted certainty to His presence.
As it turns out, the words to be said that day were not mine, but hers. The tears had come, of course. They always do. Part longing for more of her, and part longing to be where she was — just a moment’s breath away from my son. So very close, and yet achingly, impossibly far.
She knew my thoughts, as she always has, and with her eyes holding mine, she so tenderly leaned in and said, “Now Keirsten, I want you to remember something. When you laugh, Jake is laughing right along with you. And when you cry, he wants to reach out and wipe your tears away. Your time will come, but not for many, many years. And that’s okay. He wants you to enjoy everything that those years are going to bring. He wants to smile with you through them. He wants to see you smile, Keirsten. Your time will come. But it’s not now.”
Her words were a gift I’ve come back to time and again over the last few months she’s been gone. I hear her voice in my heart, I feel her hand brushing away my tears, and I see my son, smiling right alongside…
His Truest Truths: an (in)courage post
It was just last spring we sat across the table, sharing life in layers of light and lovely, the in-depth way friends can, no matter the age or seasons between them.
There was news to share, but we let it take its time. Just as spring had followed winter, we knew the words would take root in their time.
It was in the tender, graceful way she leaned in that I knew it was coming. The way her aged hands grasped mine, and the kindness in her eyes held my own. There was such a certainty there, a clarity and peace as her practiced words fell upon my heart.
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