Yes I am different today, however different can be good.    A year ago Aug 24th she quietly breathed her last.  Death has a way of showing us things we could not see otherwise.

I love the art of story telling and hearing other’s stories.  Enjoy the back story to one of the recent ways God has used free form poetry.  I wrote the feeling down as best I could and had the poetic free verse on my phone saved in my notes.
The day I saw her crying in the back of the room I had my share of frustration and hot face mess.  So when I saw her style points (yes confession style caught my eye) and her friend leaning in to offer support I knew my role.  I had to encourage her.  Somethings are best bottled from a stranger.  The chubby cheeked babe who smiles at you in the check out line brightens your day.  The compliment offered in the coffee shop hits the spot more than the carefully crafted morning coffee.  Words unsolicited often spill refreshing into your day.  During our exchange I found out we both have 3 boys and 1 girl.  We both have two brothers.  We both have a parent in the ground. Gone.  And so I shared words with her that I will share with you. He gives purpose to the pain. And that is a gift.  My comfort is your comfort.  Read this as if I am talking to you because I am.

Your life is more. More than the fear of death. More because eternal life is more. I was on this porch a year ago. The pain is less. Different may be a better word. Dull ache and grateful recollections like ink blots imprint upon my paper heart.  I have been marked by you.

I want you to know you are more than I’ve let on. You are a gift God gives to the world. You are made with depth and diamonds. You are light bouncing off the waters on a summer day. You are the moon just rising reflecting hope after the golden hour of the sun. You are the taste of ripe raspberries and homemade salsa. You are the thrill of free-falling off summer cliffs. You are the cat’s cuddle in the morning. You are the dog’s tail wag when I walk in the room. You are the touch of a lover well-loved. You are a field of wildflowers only few by chance see. You are the hand that holds on. You are the kiss that I need. You are both the climb and the view. You are the training and gold won. Your words are arrows hitting the mark. You are undone and still handsome. You are the grape crushed to make wine smooth, earthen, and full. Babe to breast, life well loved laid to rest and yet lives on. Love is as strong as death. And stronger still.