Empty Tent

Thinking of Joy. How hard to bear that name, in the midst of sadness. Perhaps the way it was hard for Abraham (Hebrew: Av-ra-ham) to bear the name Av, meaning father, for all those years when his tent was empty of childish laughter.

Thinking of Joy, in her sorrow.

And asking You to hold her close, near Your own heart that knows well the tragedy of losing a Son... knows well the empty tent... the silenced laughter.

Thinking of Joy.

Thinking of You.

Summer Rain

Saw her. My new niece: Summer Rain. Tiny, in the NICU. What exactly does that abbreviation mean? Some kind of shorthand. Maybe neo-natal intensive care unit? The NICU. Pronounced nick you. Oh, and it does.

Dictionary.com defines nick thus...

1. a small notch, groove, chip, or the like, cut into or existing in something.
2. a hollow place produced in an edge or surface, as of a dish, by breaking, chipping, or the like: I didn't notice those tiny nicks in the vase when I bought it.
3. a small dent or wound.
4. a small groove on one side of the shank of a printing type, serving as a guide in setting or to distinguish different types.
5. Biochemistry. a break in one strand of a double-stranded DNA or RNA molecule.
6. British Slang. prison.
7. to cut into or through: I nicked my chin while shaving.
8. to hit or injure slightly.
9. to make a nick or nicks in (something); notch, groove, or chip.
10. to record by means of a notch or notches.
11. to incise certain tendons at the root of (a horse's tail) to give it a higher carrying position; make an incision under the tail of (a horse).
12. to hit, guess, catch, etc., exactly.
13. Slang. to trick, cheat, or defraud: How much did they nick you for that suit?
14. British Slang.
a. to arrest (a criminal or suspect).
b. to capture; nab.
c. to steal: Someone nicked her pocketbook on the bus.
—Idiom
15. in the nick of time, at the right or vital moment, usually at the last possible moment: The fire engines arrived in the nick of time.

Looking at sweet Summer Rain in that sterile bassinet, her heart needing a surgeon's knife, belly riddled with staph infection, on the mend from meningitis, bruised and needle-pricked, frail, breathing quickly, turning eyes towards mama's voice, falling asleep under mama's loving fingers. I touch her soft head.

And some kind of notch opens up in me, a hollow place, a soul wound that feels like it goes all the way down to my DNA. I am captured, stolen, in prison, tricked (I thought I was strong; now I see the truth). Will this incision of grief give me a higher carrying position? Will it guide someone in need? Is it in the nick of time?

God, carry these infirmities. By your wounds, make us whole.

Into Your Hands

Just two months short of her 95th birthday, my gardening grandma died today. Only moments ago. Too far away. I wish I could be with my Dad, who sounds broken, even as he has hopes to see her again in heaven.

Lord, into Your hands I commit her spirit. And into Your hands I commit his spirit too.