Two weeks and a day since I held my moms warm hand and watched her take her last breath. I think each of us are drifting in and out of a fog of sorts, feeling like we will soon wake from a dream. And then the fog lifts for a moment, and the crushing weight of the reality that my mom is no longer with us comes rushing in. But this is the experience of grief as many of you know too well, and we will ride these waves with our anchor in the things we know and in the people we love and the Creator we trust.

This past weekend we spent time at the lake as a family. Our tiny little cinderblock lake house was my moms dream and creation. She had a vision of a place that would create memories, a place to retreat, to be forced into the serenity of Gods creation, to have a protected plot of land to reorient to what matters most. A place where laughter is a little louder, the sun shines little brighter and Gods voice is a little clearer. A place where heaven feels a little closer. This past weekend we took in every little part of her that is written in to the walls of that house. It was healing and it was hard. Not waking up to her sitting on the front porch sipping coffee with her giant bible on her lap felt empty and wrong. We missed her witty remarks in conversation, the warmth she created around the dinner table, and even her overly cautious fear that we would get stuck in a storm on the boat. In honor of her (sorry mom), we took the boat out when a storm was brewing. We stopped in a quiet slough surrounded by nothing but trees, not a house in sight. My dad prayed and thanked God for my moms life, and then we threw out flower petals collected from her funeral onto the lake water. We sat in the quiet and watched them float off, scattering a piece of her out among the place she loved so much. We know that my mom is not “in” the flower petals, she’s not “in” her coffin even, she is not here, she is with the Lord. But scattering those petals was a gift to us to remember all of who she was and try to release her in a sense from our human-selves that just don’t want to let go.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 has come alive to me the past week.

  “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

That was my moms actual experience. Her outer self was wasting away before our eyes, her life being eaten up by cancer, but what we couldn’t see was the ‘eternal weight of glory’ being prepared for her every day she got closer to obtaining it. Everyday the cancer took more, God gave her more, renewing and renewing and renewing. There was so much more to the story than we could comprehend, and still so much more for us to discover. So we must look to the things that are unseen, the things that are eternal, trusting that God is shaping those of us still here purposefully and beautifully to also receive an eternal weight of glory one day when we will be with Him forever. And how do we know this to be true?  Because “He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us this Spirit as a guarantee.” (2 Cor 5:5)

From my family to yours, thank every one of you who spent your Saturday with us at the funeral. So many traveled many miles to be there and we are so grateful that you stood with us on that impossibly hard but beautiful day.  It truly felt so worshipful of the God who saved her soul and also perfectly honoring of who my mom was. Thank you to everyone who have sent meals, flowers, picked up groceries, called to check in, or just said "Im so sorry". We have felt loved and ministered to by this community.

And for those who have asked, here is a link to her funeral service.

https://vimeo.com/594735079

Eyes to the unseen, 

Jessica