This afternoon when I hit the wall (in case you are new here, that means I was done - nothing left my body shuts down) I went to rest in the hammock.
I couldn't have conjured up in mind a more beautiful day if I thought about it for a hundred years. The gentlest of breezes rocked me. I felt like I was floating. As I drifted in and out on the edges of sleep the bright blue sky peeked through the new leaves. Birds sang all around me in songs that made my soul relax.
I wondered, "Is this what it feels like when you die?"
I was neither hot nor cold. I felt no pain, no shaking or numbness. No weakness, but no energy either. Just quiet. For that tiny space in time I had forgotten all about my troubles. I forgot bills, and stairs, landscaping, projects, schoolwork, moving and my long, long list of failures. For the briefest moment I forgot myself and there was nothing but beauty all around me.
My thoughts floated up into the air like the whispers of a dandelion when you blow on it and make a wish.
Then, just as all things that go up, they came down and my thoughts settled on my precious babies inside the house. I knew in that moment, "I could never leave them." God would never ask me to. Love, true love, is eternal. I envisioned myself hovering in this way, always with my family, forever. Which William will tell you is a very long time.
If I were dwelling with them in this heavenly state would they know I was there? Could they feel me? Could I comfort them, love them, guide them?
It was then I knew, it is the same with God. He is with me. I don't mean in the trees and the breeze, I mean He is here, present. He longs to comfort me. He sees me where I am. He really sees me. I felt so sad. I know this. I know it as sure as I know I have skin on my bones and yet, right now...right now I can't feel Him. I know He isright here trying to reach me, and I can't feel it. How sad that must make Our Lord.
It feels like utter desolation. I cannot imagine having lived a life without knowing the love and grace of my beloved Jesus. I feel as connected to Him as I do my own children. I can't feel Him and yet he reaches me, through the children, Steve, through kind friends bringing warm meals, and leaving encouragement after the beep on the machine. I know they are his hands and feet, and I am comforted by them. But I need my Jesus. I need the strength that I only draw from the living water. What is separating us now?
My relationship to Christ is intimate. It is knowing what He expects, it's a constant conversation. There is confidence and strength in understanding. I miss it. I don't understand. But He is still here and He will get me through this, all my hope in You, Jesus.