Tonight, my friend Shawn Smucker said, “Andi, I am so happy for you, and I am so sad for you.”
I looked at him, smiled, and said, “Thank you for saying that. That’s exactly how I feel.”
Mom’s death leaves this massive, gaping hole in my life. When I picture any day without her, I break down, so I don’t do that. Instead, I try to relish the fact that the path of this life – of her life, of my life, of my dad’s life – have brought me to exactly where God wants me to be right now. So despite this massive sadness, I have truly never been happier (okay, maybe when I was blissfully ignorant as a child and got to make snow cream, maybe then I was happier, but never as an adult). I wake up each day looking forward to what is to come.
Finally, I have found a pace of life that feels natural and real. Days when I can do nothing but write and read and talk with my dad. Days when I can visit with friends and play with their kids. Days when I can drive for hours through the hills of central PA asking God, “Is that my farm? How about that one? Or that one?”
There is simply something profound about surrendering completely to the life you have been given. Life for me now is grief, rest, and writing. . . Not all ease but a lot of glory. And a heaping armful of grace.